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' FLOATING FLOWERS, 
 
 FROM 
 
 A HIDDEN BROOE. 
 
 " A Hidden Brook, 
 In the leafy month of June: 
 That, to the sleeping (?) woods all niglit, 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 " Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye 
 Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey, 
 Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave, 
 Through mountains, plains, through empires black 
 
 with shade, 
 And continents of sand; will turn his gaze, 
 To mark the windings of a scanty till 
 That murmurs at his feet?" 
 
 He will, O Bard! 
 
 Who does not, in his pride of place, forget 
 The distant Nile, or Ganges, has its source, 
 As this just murmuring meaneth— in the rill. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM i 
 
 1844. 
 
7 
 
 
 IV^feaass^^'^**^"' 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, in the 
 Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of 
 Pennsylvania. 
 
 4^<' 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Some ten months ago, a very small and neat volume 
 was prepared; consisting, in whole, of seven of the 
 poems in this collection; and entitled: " The Pastor's 
 Tribute: or, Flowers from the Parsonage." The 
 occasion of its appearance may be most conveniently 
 described by copying its Preface: 
 
 "This little book owes its origin to the generosity of 
 a few friends — who proposed to bear the expense of 
 publication, and present the edition to the Managers 
 of a Fair, about to be held, in behalf of the First Me- 
 thodist Protestant Church. How could the Pastor 
 decline the participation implied in his permission to 
 republish, for such a purpose, even the verses of his 
 boyhood? True, he has long had, and has yet, many 
 an ampler and more glorious vision; but, with what- 
 ever sublime seeming he may yield to such dreaming, 
 he knows it to be his duty and desires it to be his 
 pleasure to welcome, at any time and in any form, 
 the interruption of immediate practical benevolence. 
 Goodness is greatness. It may assume the disguise 
 
of littleness, but only for the attainment of greatness. 
 An acorn may look like a pebble; but the one remains 
 as it was, while the other soon casts its oaken shade 
 across the long slope of the sunset mountain. God 
 bless the good, in doing good! If they plant only a 
 mustard seed, it may unfold a shelter for a thousand 
 flocks. If they give only a cup of cold water, it may 
 refresh immortality. 
 
 "Let the friends state their own objects: ' first — to 
 aid the church; secondly — to make a serious impres- 
 sion on the mind of the reader.' They say: 'If these 
 objects be accomplished, the donors will be fully re- 
 warded.' That the first will be secured, can scarcely 
 be doubted; and that the second may be, is not a 
 hopeless matter— although, if other engagements had 
 allowed, something new might have been written, 
 with a better adaptation, than will be found in some 
 of the following pages, to such an excellent design." 
 
 That Edition was quickly exhausted, at the Fair; and 
 probably would have been, if, instead of five hundred 
 copies, a much larger number had been presented. 
 Of course, its objects were accomplished. 
 
 Since then, both in this and other cities, and in 
 some country places, friends have been kind enough 
 to inquire for the trifle, as if a matter of some interest. 
 To please them, and others like them, and to please 
 and profit himself, the author now presents this fuller 
 and better collection. 
 
So much for the occasion, both of this and the former 
 appearance. A few words more, in relation to the 
 contents of the volume. 
 
 1. Here are fifty-nine poems; various in subject and 
 style, and differing in length, from twelve, to three 
 hundred and fifty lines — making, in all, nearly 4000 
 lines. They form quite a book; one, certainly, not 
 anticipated when they were written. How the pale 
 boy would have kindled, and with what improvement 
 to his verse, if he had foreseen this assemblage! 
 
 2. They are all re-publications; selected from more 
 than twice the number,which were too carelessly thrown 
 out, with nearly twenty signatures, through about as 
 many periodicals, daily, weekly, monthly, and annual. 
 Yet some were elaborated with no little anxiety. A 
 few have been so often published, that they are fami- 
 liar to many persons into whose hands they will fall 
 again. But, most of them will seem as new as if just 
 written. 
 
 3. They are arranged chronologically; because — 
 notwithstanding the disadvantage of beginning with 
 stanzas printed at sixteen — the author prefers a descent 
 from the spring no more indirect than the course of 
 the brook. If any one smile at the first rilling, and 
 rudely step into the shallow channel, and plash the 
 water, with heavy feet, till it becomes muddy, he will 
 only prevent his own pleasure. As soon as he turns 
 
away, it will grow clear again, for better visitation. 
 And, as it respects gentler visiters, before they get 
 down the space of nearly twenty years — only think of 
 that! — over which the stream passes; if they do not 
 witness an enlargement of the current — some pretty 
 curves, some rapid straits, some foaming falls, some 
 smooth and still expansions, some river-like fulness 
 and power — something, in a word, to render their ex- 
 cursion agreeable — why, sure enough, the author will 
 be — very sorry. But, meantime, he waits for their 
 report. 
 
 These fugitive pieces, thus put in safe keeping, the 
 author is now disposed to renew attention to his MSS. 
 — which, as they are more abundant, he desires to 
 make by far more valuable, than any thing he has 
 given to the press. If he succeed, it is his design not 
 only to print, but, also, to ■publish. 
 
 In all things, from the least to the greatest — The 
 will of the Lord be done! 
 
 T. H. S. 
 December 27, 1843. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 1. Piety 1824.... 9 
 
 2. On the Death of an infant 1825 10 
 
 3. The Past— The Present— The Future." 12 
 
 4. Summer 1826.... 14 
 
 5. The See-Saw .'' 16 
 
 6. Hope in Christ " 18 
 
 7. Tlie Close of the Year ." 20 
 
 8. Opportunity 1827 22 
 
 9. The Mother's Prayer " 22 
 
 10. There is a Land beyond the Tomb.. ." 24 
 
 11. The Widow's Lament " 26 
 
 12. Death and the Grave "..,... 27 
 
 13. The Momentary Glance " 29 
 
 14. My Sorrows « 32 
 
 lo. The Boy and his Grandfather " 35 
 
 10. A New Song *' 41 
 
 17. To a Skeleton " 43 
 
 18. The Dead Maiden 1828 45 
 
 19. Melancholy " 46 
 
 20. On the Death of Rev. S. Doughty ..." 50 
 
 21. To Anna «« 55 
 
 22. The Invitation " 56 
 
 23. The Proto-Martyr " 58 
 
 24. Satan « 64 
 
 25. The Spirit of Destruction '' 67 
 
 26. Genius 1829 71 
 
 27. The Genius of Poetry « 74 
 
8 
 
 28. Washington at Prayer 1829 79 
 
 29. The Fire-Fly «•' 84 
 
 30. Fashion " 85 
 
 31. Hope 1830 89 
 
 32. The Funeral ]831 91 
 
 33. Visit to a Mother's Grave " 96 
 
 34. Study to show Thyself approved 
 
 unto God « 100 
 
 35. To a Young Friend " 101 
 
 36. The Coming of the Shower « 101 
 
 37. A Man in Hell « 102 
 
 38. Prayer for a Family of Friends " 106 
 
 39. My Daughter's Birth-Day '' .. 108 
 
 40. Absence " 110 
 
 41. Stanzas, addressed to Mary "....«. 112 
 
 42. The Moment of Death 1832.... 114 
 
 43. Impromptu " 116 
 
 44. Thanksgiving for the Bible " 117 
 
 45. A Midnight Rapture 1835.... 120 
 
 46. May in the Woods " 122 
 
 47. The Patriarch's Inheritance 1836 134 
 
 48. The Existence of God 1837.... 137 
 
 49. The Unity of God " 138 
 
 50. The Truth of God <' 139 
 
 51. The Bible " 139 
 
 52. The Rain-Clouds " 142 
 
 53. Canaan *' 144 
 
 54. Unchecked Verse 1839.... 145 
 
 55. The First Man " 149 
 
 56. The Refuge " 154 
 
 57. Indulgence 1840.... 155 
 
 58. The Lord's Poor 1841 .... 158 
 
 59. William Kesley 1842. ... 160 
 
 60. Appendix. — Notes 163 
 
1824. 
 
 When floods of sorrow o'er ray spirits roll, 
 When storms of passion rage within my soul, 
 Where shall I find, for these, " the joy of grief]" 
 Where seek, for those, a curb of calm relief? 
 " A small, still voice " speaks softly in my breast: 
 "Rise; follow Me, sad soul! and gain eternal rest." 
 
 Thus whispers Piety, to whom is given 
 Immortal joy — a foretaste e'en of heaven. 
 Attend her call, my soul! from error cease; 
 Walk in her paths: for "all her paths are peace." 
 Then let grief come, let sorrow rend my frame, 
 I'll humbly kiss the rod, and bless Jehovah's name. 
 
10 
 
 1825. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 The little one is dead! 
 From worldly weariness and night, 
 
 The heaven-born spirit fled, 
 Through death, the vestibule, to light. 
 Wo had not raised the heart-heaved sigh. 
 Nor grief e'er dimm'd her azure eye. 
 
 How shall we mark her tomb'? 
 By rearing o'er it sculptured stonel 
 
 No! — strew't with vernal bloom, 
 Emblem of her — for she hath flown, 
 Like to the floweret when winds rave, 
 A bud of promise, to the grave. 
 
 Her little ear knew not 
 The guile that lurks in human tongue; 
 
 Her soul, without a spot, 
 Was never by her conscience stung: 
 0, blest! to live so little while, 
 And then enjoy her Saviour's smile. 
 
 Oh, little Cherub! say,— 
 If thou can'st list to human voice, — 
 
 Sing'st thou the heavenly lay? 
 And in God's praise dost thou rejoice? 
 Yes! fancy paints the infant choir. 
 And thou art there to tune thy lyre. 
 
11 
 
 And fancy paints thee now, 
 List'ning, while angels speak of thee, 
 
 When thou wast mortal — how 
 They smiled to see thy childish glee, 
 When in thy happy father's arms, 
 Or when thy mother scann'd thy charms. 
 
 When on thy halcyon bed, 
 They closed the little sleeper's eyes; 
 
 Watch'd thee, when sick; when dead, 
 Welcomed thy spirit to the skies: 
 Guided thee to the throne of God, 
 The purchase of the Saviour's blood. 
 
 She hath return'd to earth — 
 She spreads her golden plumes in heaven: 
 
 She shall again have birth — 
 A body to her soul be given: 
 When earth shall sink into her tomb, 
 And Babes and Christians rise in bloom. 
 
 Earth, and its vanities, no more 
 
 Can yield my soul delight; 
 I mourn away, the lingering day; 
 
 In weeping, spend the night 
 O let me witness pardoning love, 
 
 Remove Thy chastening rod; 
 For Thou dost hear the sinner's prayer, 
 
 My Saviour and ray God. 
 
12 
 
 THE PAST — THE PRESENT — THE FUTURE. 
 
 Past are the hours of infant glee, 
 And times of momentary sadness; 
 
 When sporting on my father's knee, 
 Or when a cloud came o'er my gladness: 
 
 And early memory has no clue, 
 
 By which she can those hours review. 
 
 Past are my childhood's sunny days, 
 When roving in the paths of pleasure; 
 
 When happiness was found in plays, 
 And flowers and toys were all my treasure: 
 
 But fancy strays, with smiling mien, 
 
 O'er every recollected scene. 
 
 Past are my boyhood's wilder years, 
 When school and play my time divided; 
 
 And folly on them stamp'd appears; 
 Yet swiftly and for aye they glided: 
 
 But memory gain'd, or foul or fair, 
 
 Her scenery and actions there. 
 
 The Present — to misfortune known, 
 Enveloped in the gloom of sorrow; 
 
 Without a star to guide me on. 
 The promise of a brighter morrow: 
 
 My bosom fraught with pain and wo, 
 
 And on my cheek the hectic glow. 
 
13 
 
 Fair spring now dances o'er the plain, 
 And spreads the grass, and clothes the trees; 
 
 And as I view the charming scene, 
 
 And breathe once more the balmy breeze, 
 
 My strengthen'd hope again takes wing, 
 
 And flies to meet a future spring. 
 
 The Future — ere the verdant field, 
 Is stript, by winter, of its bloom; 
 
 A victim I to death may yield. 
 
 And sleep within the darksome tomb: 
 
 My spirit shudders at the thought. 
 
 And bids me live the life I ought. 
 
 The Future — o'er the face of earth, 
 Returning winters long shall reign: 
 
 Succeeding springs again have birth. 
 And deck with beauty all the plain: 
 
 And I may see, for many a year, 
 
 The winter and the spring appear. 
 
 The Future — storms may be in store. 
 To clothe the sky of life in night: 
 
 And He who holds them in His power, 
 May bless me with continual light: 
 
 For storms at His command are still, 
 
 And brightening suns obey His will. 
 
14 
 
 1826. 
 
 O'er the blooming hills afar, 
 Comes an Angel bright! 
 And swift she guides her golden car, 
 
 That glitters in the light. 
 Smiles she on the vernal plain: 
 From her hand, 
 O'er the land, 
 Cheering treasures pour amain, — 
 Sweet, luxurious fruit, and strength-renewing grain. 
 
 Whither, Angel! is thy flight? 
 
 What fair region owns thy birth] 
 " I am from the Court of Light, 
 
 Sent to bless the blooming Earth: 
 In the sunbeam is my pleasure; 
 Southern isles. 
 Own my smiles; 
 There I ope my stores of treasure, — 
 Spread ray richest blessings, with nor price nor 
 measure. 
 
 Spring, in dewy gems array'd, 
 
 Is my Sister fair; 
 When she velvets o'er a glade, 
 
 Soon will I be there. 
 She before me tells my way; 
 
15 
 
 She dispreads 
 Mounts and meads; 
 With the tidings Earth is gay: 
 Thus the herald Dawn bespeaks the approach of Day. 
 
 Yet, a lesson I must give, 
 
 To the sanguine sons of men: 
 All these charms shall cease to live, 
 
 Autumn shall destroy the glen; 
 She shall tread where I have trod; 
 Crush the flowers, 
 Strip the bowers. 
 Wither with her magic rod, 
 And strew my faded glories rustling o'er the sod. 
 
 Though the bloom of life be thine, 
 Though thy cup of joy run o'er; 
 All thy charms shall fade as mine, 
 
 All thy joy shall be no more: 
 1 shall live, though hence be driven: 
 Other skies. 
 Wait my rise: 
 Seek your joy in sins forgiven. 
 That, when on earth you die, 'twill be to live in 
 heaven." 
 
 Many would serve a friend in need. 
 Could they perform some mighty deed; 
 But ask a little thing, and they 
 Will twist the heel, and walk away. 
 
16 
 
 THE SEE-SAW. 
 
 1 saw a plank well balanced on a fence, 
 
 By two blithe urchins. Then, they climb'd the rails; 
 
 Then, on the plank, each side, one took his seat; 
 
 Then,towardstheendeachyounkercautious moved. 
 
 At length, upon the extremities they sat: 
 
 And upwards one arose, and smiled to see 
 
 Himself so lofty, and his mate so low; 
 
 Yet, while he smiled, himself began to fall. 
 
 And up arose his mate; but then he laughed 
 
 To find himself so low — his friend so high. 
 
 So still he laughed, and his companion laughed; 
 
 Whether up or down, both shook their heads for joy. 
 
 But ah! whenever pleasure lights his lamp, 
 Old disappointment strives to blow it out; 
 See this confirm'd. One, coming to the ground. 
 Caught at a switch to wave around his head. 
 Oh, foolish boy! his balance thus he lost. 
 And tumbled from his seat. When this was done 
 His friend was soaring at a perilous height, 
 So down amain he rushed with arms a-kimbo. 
 I thought to see the big round tear roll down 
 His chubby cheeks, and hear a child *s reproach. 
 Not so: — that urchin was as scarce of tears, 
 As a crocodile of feeling, and he laughed, 
 Yes, still he laughed! and louder than before; 
 And his companion laughed, with all his might; 
 So that if any sides were hurt at all, 
 *Twas rather by the laughter than the fdU 
 
17 
 
 The world's a see-saw — 1 beheld two friends 
 Who mounted it together. One, uprose: 
 And why] — because his hapless friend went down. 
 Nature has often proved to demonstration 
 That lofty stations tend to make one dizzy. 
 And so it proved with him who soared aloft; 
 He got so turn'd, he could not see his friend, 
 And was too wise to call him, for he knew 
 That sound ascends the easiest. 
 
 Sages say, 
 And I confirm it, all things here are mutable; 
 Down sunk the high! and, as he sunk, uprose, 
 Curling his lip, contemptuous, him he scorned. 
 
 Trade is a see-saw — I beheld a trader 
 Striving to gain a bargain; but, alas] 
 He lost his centre, and was overthrown. 
 And then his partner, who was looking round 
 With gaping mouth, tumbled, and bit his tongue. 
 But oh! he could compare not with my boys, 
 For he began to swear, and talk abusivCj 
 And call his partner fool] 
 
 Oh shame! oh shame! 
 That manhood in its pride, and even gray hairs. 
 Must bow before the curly-headed youngster, 
 And watch his pastime for their rules of action. 
 
 2* 
 
18 
 
 HOPE IN CHRIST. 
 
 All human memory is a mystic chain, 
 
 Where links of joy are joined to links of pain: 
 
 Our present pleasures own a base alloy; 
 
 And wishM-for-days, may all our peace destroy: 
 
 But, Hope-in-Christ — forsakes the gloom of time. 
 
 And flies, exulting, to a fairer clime. 
 
 The gilded pomp of pride — the bauble show, 
 That vainly glitters in the world below; 
 The abject cringing of the soulless slave; 
 The dread ambition of the mighty brave; 
 The few, sublimely great — or nobly kind; 
 The selfishness that sways the common mind; — 
 Should give to faith a more than prophet's eye, 
 Celestial truth and glory to descry. 
 
 When evening shadows mantle either pole, 
 The wonders of the heavens allure my soul; 
 There's not a single star that looks abroad, 
 But magnifies the majesty of God. 
 And while so many golden worlds of light, 
 Are circled by the power of mortal sight; 
 The stronger ken of the immortal mind, 
 la vast infinity roves unconfined. 
 
 Let reasoning Fancy fold her angel plume, 
 Where yonder planet struggles with the gloom; 
 How does th' astonish'd, dazzled, vision glare — 
 Amid the rainbow splendours beaming there. 
 
19 
 
 What is this lower world"? — compared with all, 
 The summer's sparkling dew-drop scarce so small. 
 What is this lower world! — a mighty frame, 
 That heard the Omnipotent command — and came! 
 Came! clothed in beauty's brightest, purest green; 
 With lucid, living streams, in silver sheen; 
 The blazing sun pour'd on it floods of gold, 
 And grandly in infinity it roll'd. 
 
 What is the earth? — a region where delight, 
 Blooming at morn, may perish ere 'tis night: 
 A globe accursed; a theatre of crime; 
 A wilderness of thorns; a deadly clime; 
 Where heaven o'erspreads a dark, funereal pall. 
 And pain and sorrow triumph through the fall. 
 
 What is the earthi — the scene of Jesu's love! 
 An orb suspended from the throne above? 
 Grace, from the upper world, descends to this; 
 And woos the soul to everlasting bliss! 
 
 A hope in Christ! — a star, amidst the gloom! 
 A "joy, in grief!" — an angel, on the tomb! 
 A minstrel, from the circle round the Throne, 
 To sing the pleasures of the world unknown: 
 To charm, with heavenly melody, the soul; 
 And win the immortal mind from sin's control! 
 Hark! to the thrilling numbers, while he sings 
 The Glorious Palace of the King of Kings! 
 List! to the melting song of Dying Love — 
 And all the harmony of choirs above! 
 
20 
 
 It tells of skies, unclouded by a care; 
 Of white-robed saints, and golden crowns they wear; 
 Of palms of victory; thrones; and praises high, 
 Swelling responsive through the echoing sky; 
 Of silver pinions, glittering in the light; 
 Of life's fair tree; and rivers, rolling bright; 
 Of Jesu's blessings, resting on the throng — 
 Increasing, as duration rolls along; 
 Of grace for grace; of glory after glory; — 
 Oh, what a rapturous song! Oh, what a cheering 
 story I 
 
 THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR, 
 
 Moment into moment dies; 
 
 Hour succeeding hour flies; 
 
 Days and weeks depart for aye, 
 
 Months and years as sure as they; 
 And the long centuries move with rapid pace. 
 While coming ages crowd into their place. 
 
 Mortals 1 habitants of time! 
 Ye perish from the countries one by one. 
 The prince expires, crumbles his massy throne. 
 
 Death to goodness! death to crime! 
 
 Morn, in evening disappears; 
 Sets the sun; rise starry spheres; 
 
 Spring, from summer, glides away; 
 
 Autumn, from the winter gray; 
 And the bright moon, anon her beauty veils; 
 And slowly coming comets soon withdraw their 
 
 trails. 
 
21 
 
 Mortals! habitants of earth! 
 Ye dig your graves into your fathers' clay, 
 And ere your memory wholly fades away, 
 
 New nations have their birth! 
 
 What is firmi shall Nature stand. 
 
 Secure from the Destroyer's hand? 
 
 Mountains brave the rudest shocks] 
 
 Plains for ever feed their flocksT 
 Ha! the volcanoes burst the rocky mounds! 
 And earthquakes whelm in ruin fairest grounds! 
 
 Nature! — heavens, sea, and shore: 
 The flames are fanning that shall thee consume; 
 The thunders wait to wreck thee for the tomb! 
 
 Nature! thou shalt be no more! 
 
 What is firm'? the Lord alone. 
 
 And he who shelters 'neath His throne! 
 
 God shall live eternally! 
 
 Virtue, Truth, as endless be; 
 And though the sun, and moon, and stars shall fall; 
 And all men die, and sink this earthly ball; 
 
 Christians! ye who live to God! 
 Though all things perish seen in earth or sky, 
 Yet ye shall reign in glory — throned on high: 
 The heavens your firm abode! 
 
 Earth! earth, awake! awake, to praise 
 Jehovah's power — Jehovah's grace! 
 The power — in man's creation shown: 
 The grace — in man's redemption known! 
 
22 
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 " How blessings brighten as they take their flight!"— Young. 
 
 Time onward flew — but his fair offspring staid; 
 
 Young Opportunity! — with angel smile: 
 Loose in his hand he held a gift for man, 
 
 Which oft he, offering, waved with wanton wile. 
 
 And men collected round that angel's form, 
 They praised his beauty and his kindness too; 
 
 His golden wings were folded by his side, 
 And bright his blooming face appeared to view. 
 
 But man! oh, foolish man! in wonder lost. 
 
 Ne'er stretch'd his hand that blessing to receive; 
 
 When Time, again come round, sumraon'd his child, 
 And left the simple mortal long to grieve. 
 
 Oh! when that angel spread his wings in flight, 
 How did his pinions glitter in the sun! 
 
 His treasure shone more brilliant than before. 
 And man, in tears, sat down and cried — Undone! 
 
 THE mother's prayer. 
 
 I heard a prayer — and e'en an angel's ear. 
 Might thrill with rapture, such a prayer to hear: 
 I heard a prayer — the Holy one and High 
 Was pleased to listen to his handmaid's cry! 
 
 I saw a Mother lift her eyes to heaven; 
 And heard her claim the joy of sins forgiven. 
 Not for herself — for she through years had known. 
 The happiness that Christians feel alone: 
 
23 
 
 But, for her children was that prayer exprest; 
 That heaven, at last, might be their mutual rest: 
 That, let the world, with all its pomp and pride, 
 Glow as it might on time's deceitful tide: 
 Let penury, with all its frowns, descend, 
 And earth be bankrupt for a worthy friend: 
 Still might the hand Divine their footsteps lead. 
 And grant them grace sufficient for their need. 
 
 And was she answered? Soon that Mother died. 
 And left her children in the world of pride. 
 Yet, scarcely had she praised the Lord above, 
 Before her children sung redeeming love; 
 And while rejoicings sounded round the Throne, 
 Their grateful voices mingled with her own! 
 
 Ye, to whose care Jehovah has consign'd, 
 The dying body and the immortal mind; 
 Ah,claimnot wealth, nor power, nor life, nor fame! — ■ 
 Earth, misery, half-existence, and a name! — 
 But, pray your God to keep a watchful eye, 
 Support, defend, preserve, and teach to die! 
 And pray in faith — then, every child shall be, 
 Worth more than worlds, through such a legacy! 
 
 A Mother's prayers— a thousand harps in heaven, 
 Attest the grace in answer to them given! 
 Ten thousand louder songs the Lord shall hear 
 For grace in answer to a Mother's prayer! 
 
 Let grateful feelings in my bosom reign, 
 And Jesu's love inspire my votive strain. 
 
24 
 
 For one, enthroned in light, while here she dwelt 
 
 Preferr'd in prayer the wishes that she felt: 
 
 And, now my Mother's journey aye is done, 
 
 That journey I, with trembling, have begun. 
 
 Nor I alone — a Sister's step attends, 
 
 And onward, to the Throne, our pathway bends. 
 
 Another Sister, yet in tender years. 
 
 Awaits the answer of her Mother's prayers: 
 
 Her Mother's looks, impressive, mark her face, 
 
 And hope anticipates her Mother's grace. 
 
 One Parent, still, before us leads the way. 
 
 To meet the sainted, in eternal day. 
 
 Yet, which shall first enjoy that glad embrace, 
 
 No tongue can tell — the future veils its face: 
 
 I, weak in frame, dejected, walk along, 
 
 Think over former times, and pour a plaintive song. 
 
 May God attend our journey to the dead; 
 His love, our joy; and sin, our only dread: 
 And, to His Name, eternal praise be given. 
 By all who serve on earth and glorify in heaven! 
 
 THERE IS. A LAND BEYOND THE TOMB. 
 
 Born of Ihe dying, nursed by grief, 
 In thorn-paths placed, with tender feet; 
 
 An orphan vainly sought relief, 
 
 Whom seraphs might have stoop'd to greet. 
 
 Meekly he trod his painful path, 
 Till manhood spread its fields around; 
 
25 
 
 Then sunshine broke the brooding wrath, 
 And rosy beauty flush'd the ground. 
 
 A blooming virgin, Heaven bestow'd — 
 To cheer the wanderer with her smiles; 
 
 And lovely children round him glow'd, 
 In all the bliss of playful wiles. 
 
 Again affliction plied her rod : 
 
 His wife in wakeless sleep reposed! 
 
 And, one by one, the open'd clod, 
 On all his lifeless offspring closed! 
 
 Humbly he gave a glance on high, 
 
 Tumultuous heaved his rending breast; 
 
 A dewy film came o'er his eye, 
 
 And sunk his frame in dreamless rest. 
 
 Is there a reckless Ruling Power, 
 
 Whose sv/ord with blood of goodness reeks] 
 Whose tranquil smilings bless the hour, 
 
 When virtue's heart with sorrow breaks'? 
 
 Who dips the shafts of death in wo, 
 And rudely snaps the strings of life; 
 
 And o'er His victim, cold and low. 
 
 Heartless exclaims— Thus ends the strife! 
 
 No! true as Edenblush'd in bloom, 
 Or Calvary's risen Lord ascended, 
 
 There is a land beyond the tomb! — 
 Where suffering virtue is befriended. 
 
26 
 
 Where every thorn that stung- on earth, 
 Is recompensed by growing glory, 
 
 And sweeter pleasures spring to birth. 
 Than can be told in mortal storv. 
 
 THE WIDOW S LAMENT. 
 
 The sunshine is bright on the valley and stream, 
 And nature, all blooming, exults in the beam; 
 But darkly the willows and cypresses shade. 
 The solitude sad where my husband is laid. 
 
 I went to the home where my children were born, 
 But widowhood view'd it as lone and forlorn; 
 Dear children were there, and the parents were 
 
 blest; 
 But I was the stranger's disconsolate guest. 
 
 The husband seem'd ever to gaze on his wife, 
 And sweetly she smiled on the joy of her life; 
 At the breast, was an infant; and, shouting with glee, 
 A blue-eyed boy danced on the fatherly knee. 
 
 I envied them not; but I could not forget, 
 That there my own husband and children had sat; 
 And, struggling with sorrow, I mentally said — 
 My babes are all scatter'd, my husband is dead. 
 
 The mother was kind, and she strove to allay, 
 The sorrow that's wasting my spirits away; 
 And I could but look up through the lovely sky, 
 And pray that her eyelids might ever be dry. 
 
27 
 
 Ah! sunshine may brighten the valley and stream, 
 And beautiful nature exult in the beam; 
 But, darkly the willows and cypresses shade, 
 The solitude sad where my husband is laid. 
 
 DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 
 
 As winter stops the river's flow, 
 And spreads the face of earth with snow; 
 So Death congeals the living red. 
 And lays his white robe o'er the dead. 
 In his dominions ne'er a rose, 
 Its ruby beauties can disclose; 
 But there the dewy-winged gale, 
 Breathes damply on the lily pale. 
 Ha! could some favour'd one behold 
 The revelling o'er the body cold; 
 His eye would gain a ghastly glare, 
 And thought return with horror there. 
 Around the bodies of the dead. 
 Circling with slow and solemn tread, 
 Grim Death patrols, in horrid state, 
 With all the ministers of fate. 
 Their moist and sallow faces gleam 
 In the dim taper's fitful beam; 
 And ever, to the spell-bound sight. 
 Their glazed eyes roll in livid light; 
 While o'er their silent, senseless slave, 
 Their broad black banner slow they wave; 
 And dark and chill the shadows fall, 
 Wrapping the corpse in mystic pall. 
 
28 
 
 Upon that ring, a haggard Form, 
 Who holds his banquets with the worm, 
 Bends the keen spirit of his eye, 
 With most inveterate jealousy. 
 With hasty step he rounds his way, 
 Impatient for the victim clay: 
 While all his humid nature thrills 
 With worse than winter's rudest chills. 
 
 But when the morning sun-beam spreads, 
 
 And the living leave their sleepless beds. 
 
 The Grave, with his dark cloak o'er him thrown, 
 
 Lists, from the pit, for the mourner's groan; 
 
 And Death, with his fiends, unseen by men, 
 
 Pore upon love with malicious ken; 
 
 And as the friends of the dead draw nigh. 
 
 And gushing tear-drops drown the eye. 
 
 Grief points her lance at the beating heart, 
 
 And the poison of Death attends the dart. 
 
 When the sorrowful stand by the broken earth, 
 
 And dust returns whence dust had birth; 
 
 The hellish throng fall down at the feet, 
 
 Of Him who spreads the winding-sheet; 
 
 And then, at the signal sceptre wave. 
 
 They leave the dead to the mighty Grave. 
 
 But oh! when the lifeless child of light. 
 
 Is laid in the awful vault of night. 
 
 Ere the sound of the mourners' steps has fled. 
 
 The Grave knocks light at the home of the dead; 
 
 And nature shrinks at the horrid token. 
 
 The flesh decays — the bone is broken. 
 
29 
 
 The coffin yields — and the summon'd worm 
 Feeds on the wreck of the human form: 
 Feeds — till its tooth no more can find, 
 And all is gone that once held mind. 
 
 THE MOMENTARY GLANCE. 
 
 The following lines were written after hearing the relation 
 of a fact, in substance as follows:— A gentleman was deprived 
 of the power of vision. He was informed that, if he would con- 
 sent to a certain operation, he might again see; though, proba- 
 bly, it would be only for a few moments. He immediately de- 
 termined that the operation should be performed; that, once 
 more, he might look upon the things of light. His wife and 
 children, to him the dearest objects on earth — were brought into 
 the room, and so situated as to become the first subjects of 
 sight. The oculist exerted his skill, and the effect was as pre- 
 dicted. He was blessed with one momentary glance,— he saw 
 those he loved best— and his soul shrunk back in darkness. 
 
 He thought of former days — and sigh'd; 
 
 Beauty was veil'd to him, 
 And grandeur, glittering in its pride, 
 
 And novelty, were dim; 
 And memory sung the evening when 
 Night came — to leave him not again. 
 
 He thought upon that sacred day 
 When marriage vows were given, 
 
 When wit and beauty made him gay, 
 And earth appeared a heaven; — 
 
 When pleasure hung her lovely bow 
 
 O'er all the storms that rage below. 
 
30 
 
 But one delight of nuptial life 
 That husband could not know; 
 
 For while his faithful, tender wife 
 Gazed fondly on his brow, 
 
 He could not meet her speaking* eye 
 
 With love's bewitching sympathy. 
 
 And though his children climbed his knee, 
 And sung their songs of mirth; 
 
 And love imagined them to be 
 The fairest things of earth, 
 
 He saw not the peculiar grace 
 
 That kindled in each smiling face. 
 
 O! dark and dreadful was the doom 
 That fate had o'er him thrown; 
 
 'Mid flowers he looked not on their bloom, 
 'Mid friends — he was alone. 
 
 A star set in a starry sky, 
 
 But hid from all its brilliancy. 
 
 Hope sprung to life — the hand of skill 
 
 His misty eyes might clear; 
 And to his view, in sunshine, still 
 
 The loved of earth appear. 
 'Twas so — his soul look'd forth in light, 
 Then backward shrunk in deeper night. 
 
 He saw a soft, a piteous smile, 
 Beam from his anxious wnfe; — 
 
 He saw the dewy charms awhile, 
 Of those fair buds of life; 
 
31 
 
 And sight was not — but memory made 
 A sketch of all that could not fade. 
 
 All earth's magnificence — the glow 
 
 Of nature and of art — 
 Wealth, beauty, fame, — could not bestow 
 
 Such rapture on his heart, 
 As that one momentary view 
 Of those, — the lovely and the true. 
 
 Thus, should some holy eye behold 
 
 The glories now unknown, 
 The palms — the crowns — the harps of gold— 
 
 The rainbow and the throne — 
 And then deep darkness pall the show, 
 Could he forget his vision? No! 
 
 Communings high, in silent hours, 
 
 Would fix his thoughtful soul; 
 He'd muse on the celestial powers, 
 
 And bid the moments roll 
 More swiftly — 'till the day should come, 
 When he might soar from earthly home. 
 
 Neither could he, the blind one, cease ^; 
 
 To think when dawning light, !; 
 
 Gave all his tenderness release, [ 
 
 And brought his all to sight; j; 
 
 And hope unto his soul would say, || 
 
 " Ye all shall meet in endless day." ji 
 
32 
 
 MY SORROWS. 
 
 These oaks, in mossy mantles hoar, 
 Their wither'd branches now dispread, 
 
 O'er one whose pleasures are no more — 
 O'er one whose warmest hopes are dead. 
 
 Through hazy clouds, her cheerless way, 
 The pallid queen of heaven pursues; 
 
 Emitting still a sickly ray, 
 
 And bathing earth in baleful dews. 
 
 The passing wind, with sullen moan, 
 O'er yonder grave-yard slowly sweeps; 
 
 And by that dim-discovered stone, 
 A broken-hearted widow weeps. 
 
 The stream, that glimmers through the vale, 
 
 Her weedy garden sadly laves; 
 But she delights, though faint and pale, 
 
 To weep amidst the field of graves. 
 
 Ah! let no sound of mirth intrude, 
 To break the silence reigning here! 
 
 Grief consecrates this solitude, 
 
 With hopeless sigh and burning tear! 
 
 Thou, Pity! heaven-descended maid! 
 
 With pensive eyes of liquid blue! 
 O, visit Thou this mournful shade — 
 
 With sorrow sympathize anew! 
 
33 
 
 Not twenty summers on my path, 
 
 Have pour'd their horns of golden bloom; 
 
 Yet dark misfortune's fatal wrath, 
 Has pall'd my mental sky in gloom. 
 
 Fond nature, to my raptured eye, 
 The brilliant course of glory shows; 
 
 I see the onward crown, and sigh 
 To think the prize for others glows. 
 
 Yet envy's voice I scorn to hear, 
 I would the meed in triumph gain; 
 
 But sadly sinks my soul with fear, 
 Fast bound in fate's relentless chain. 
 
 The hectic glow that warms my cheek, 
 Allures the heartless dragon — death: 
 
 And friendly tears most keenly speak, 
 The quick surrender of my breath. 
 
 For me, no more the glowing hearth, 
 Of home, and all its charms, appear; 
 
 An outcast on the face of earth. 
 
 And doom'd the stranger's scorn to bear. 
 
 Twelve moons have scarcely sway'd the sky, 
 Since all the joys of home were mine ! 
 
 No tears of sorrow dimm'd mine eye. 
 Save, sainted Mother! tears for thine! 
 
 Alas! again that painful thought, 
 My aching bosom wildly wrings! 
 3 
 
S4 
 
 Where shall forgetfulness be soughf? 
 
 Oh, where are found th' oblivious springs? 
 
 Can he, whose sister sought the skies — 
 Can she, whose brother sleeps in clay — 
 
 Can they conceive the pains that rise, 
 When loving mothers pass away? 
 
 No! ye may shed the feeling tear, 
 
 Where blooming verdure marks their tomb; 
 But ah! the motherless must bear, 
 
 A night of unimagined gloom. 
 
 There rise a thousand little woes, 
 
 A thousand little joys, to tell; 
 To gain, from grief, a slight repose — 
 
 To make the bliss, unspeakable. 
 
 And where, but in a mother's breast, 
 Can woes like these one sigh command? 
 
 Or joys receive as sweet a zest. 
 As from a mother's smilings bland? 
 
 Remembrance paints an awful storm. 
 When rung, with beating hail, the dome; 
 
 When howls proclaim'd the demon's form, 
 And swift destruction rent our home. 
 
 Then, o'er that storm, maternal love — 
 A rainbow, to our sight was given! 
 
 And while our gaze was fix'd above, 
 It gently vanish'd into heaven! 
 
35 
 
 I've watch'd the early, crimson streak; 
 
 And upv/ard glancing golden ray! 
 Have seen the mountain's kindled peak, 
 
 And hail'd the flood of glowing day! 
 
 And thus, I vainly hoped, would be, 
 The opening of my youthful years; 
 
 That glory should arise on me; 
 
 And bright'ning fortune chase my fears! 
 
 But, sick, and homeless, and bereft, — 
 I claim thy guidance, O, Despair! 
 
 My mother's tomb-star still is left — 
 Conduct my tottering footsteps there! 
 
 THE BOY AND HIS GRANDFATHER. 
 
 Where an old oak threw its shade, 
 Flickering o'er the verdant glade; 
 Around whose mossy trunk were seen 
 Aspiring shoots of vernal green; 
 Sat a boy of tender years, 
 With a man of hoary hairs. 
 
 The boy with buoyant soul was blest, 
 And lithesome limbs that scorn'd to rest; 
 Bright as the morning o'er the mead, 
 With rosy cheeks and auburn head, 
 And with a spirit-sparkling eye, 
 That shone with light from pleasure's sky; 
 And with as musical a voice, 
 As early birds, when they rejoice. 
 
36 
 
 His grandsire awed the gazer's sight: 
 His furrow'd face and locks of white, 
 His eyes, that seem'd to mortals dim, — 
 Dazzled with thrones and seraphim — 
 The settled features, and the tone 
 Of voice that spoke of seasons gone; 
 Seem'd quite to consecrate the place, 
 And clothe him with a saintly grace. 
 
 The one — just risen, like the star 
 That heralds morning's radiant car. 
 Unthinking, too, as that sweet light, 
 Of sinking in the shades of night: 
 With curious vision scann'd the sky, 
 That curtained earth's variety. 
 And as that star, when young and bright. 
 Glances on earth his golden light, 
 And sees the bowers the woodbine weaves, 
 With opal dew-drops on the leaves; 
 And sees their ruby flowers expand. 
 To shed fresh fragrance o'er the land; 
 While humming-birds, arrayed in sheen. 
 Of mingling crimson, gold, and green; 
 Never alighting, gently sup 
 Nectar from the honey-cup; 
 And silver streamlets slip around, 
 Charming the air with lulling sound; 
 And singing birds their wild notes swell, 
 To make the joy unspeakable: 
 So the world with charms was rife. 
 To him who breathed the morn of life. 
 
37 
 
 The other, like the evening sun, 
 Tracing- the pathway he had run; 
 With one world fading on his view, 
 As broke upon his sight anew; 
 Look'd, fondly lingering, o'er the whole, 
 While sweet remembrance bound his soul. 
 And as the sun, before it fades. 
 Behind all objects throws the shades; 
 So actions past to him were seen, 
 Fronting his eye in golden sheen; 
 The good, with holy light was graced, 
 The evil, in the darkness placed. 
 
 O! there was mortal in its bloom, 
 And mortal bending to the tomb! 
 Here — a new-kindled spirit glow'd, 
 
 Beautiful in its fair abode; j 
 
 As through a lucid vase, the light, 'j 
 
 With mellow lustre meets the sight: S 
 
 And there — a spirit pure and high, |j 
 
 Shone through decay'd mortality; I 
 
 As though that vase had broken been, | 
 
 And through the chinks the flame were seen! i' 
 
 With grateful joy, that favourite hung 3 
 
 Upon his loving grandsire's tongue. a 
 
 Heard how the lonely rivers laved, | 
 
 Shores whose unbroken forests waved, P 
 
 Where now is fell'd the forests' pride, M 
 
 And cities spread the river's side. J 
 
38 
 
 No sound along those shores was heard, 
 
 Save the sweet warbling of a bird; 
 
 Or, as it skimm'd the waters blue, 
 
 The paddle of the light canoe; 
 
 Or eager shouts, as through the brake, 
 
 With stones the red boys chased the snake: 
 
 Unless the wily hunter sprung 
 
 His prey — and poison'd arrows rung; 
 
 While flying turf and cracking brush, 
 
 Bespoke the wild deer's rapid rush: 
 
 Or, warriors, frightful in array, 
 
 With whoopings met in awful fray. 
 
 Then, stories of that time of strife. 
 When thousands pledged theirword — their life; 
 Their fortune — and their sacred all; 
 Freemen, to stand — or, heroes, fall: 
 When through the clouds of curling smoke, 
 The flames of burning cities broke: 
 When bloody vapours dimm'd the skies. 
 And earth and heaven shook with cries; 
 With eagerness that boy would hear, 
 Nerving his frame in scorn of fear. 
 
 But when he heard of Britain's rout. 
 And young Columbia's victory shout; 
 Heard of the gleam of sword and shield, 
 And plumes— the pomp of battle field; 
 Of patriots, shaking hill and shore. 
 With musquetry's and cannon's roar; 
 
With quicker pulse his bosom beat, 
 And his brow glow'd with fervent heat^ 
 While, darting fire from either eye. 
 He straitened up 'most three feet high. 
 
 Yet, when he heard of widows' cries, 
 And orphans' tears, and lovers' sighs^ 
 Of universal sorrow, shed 
 On infant and on hoary head; 
 He wept to think that war should doom 
 So many thousands to the tomb; 
 And make survivors spend their breath, 
 In nursing torments worse than death. 
 
 And, when he heard of Heaven's decree^ 
 " Henceforth, Columbia shall be free!" 
 Was shown the workings of that Power 
 Who saved us in destruction's hour: 
 He turned his beaming hazel eye, 
 With reverence upward to the sky; 
 And clasped his hands, and said — " I love 
 The God of Peace, who reigns above; 
 O! that He evermore may be, 
 The Guardian of oyr liberty!" 
 "Amen!" the raptured grandsire said, 
 And, grateful, bowed his hoary head. 
 Then, rising, gazed upon the boy. 
 While his heart thrill'd with /ear and jo?f. 
 
 He thought upon the innocence. 
 That praised the hand of Providence; 
 He thought of that child's pilgrimage 
 Through boyhood, youth, and prime, and age: 
 
40 
 
 And of the thousand thorns that strew 
 The path that mortals journey through; 
 The guilt that fastens on the mind, 
 And makes a fiend of human kind: 
 And/e«r he felt, that wo might be, 
 The portion of his progeny. 
 
 He thought upon his own decease. 
 As nigh at hand, with perfect peace. 
 Wrth retrospective glance he viewed 
 The narrow path he had pursued: 
 Thought of the many later born 
 Into the world, and sooner gone; 
 And many that were lingering yet, 
 Who oft in holy counsel met, 
 With Washington and Lafayette: 
 And all life's circumstances seem'd 
 To pass his mind as though he dream'd; 
 And then he jay'd — to think that death 
 Would give him life by taking breath. 
 
 He could but pray — "Lord! as my form 
 Shall soon be given to the worm, 
 My soul, when parted from the clay, 
 May guardian angels guide away! 
 And as my grandson may remain. 
 To quaff his share of joy and pain; 
 And as the path his feet have found. 
 May lead him over varied ground; 
 Whether in valley or on hill. 
 Saviour! Do thou be with him still! 
 
41 
 
 And if a storm should shake the sky, 
 And darkness dim the pilgrim's eye; 
 Soon may the sun's inpiercing beam, 
 In beauty, on his vision gleam; 
 And angels o'er the dark clouds throw, 
 The lovely colours of the bow: 
 That, while the tempest shall decline, 
 He may adore the hand Divine. 
 And, as his infant voice has blest, 
 The Power that gave Columbia rest; 
 O! may his last breath tell the praise, 
 Of Him who flowers the Christian's ways; 
 And may a death-smile light his face, 
 With more than raptured seraph's grace!" 
 
 A NEW SONG. 
 
 O! why should I give way to grief! 
 
 And ever be lamenting? 
 Though life's so brief, I've no relief 
 
 From sinning and repenting! 
 The birds that sing in yonder grove, 
 
 Enjoy each passing hour; 
 The bees that o'er the meadows rove. 
 
 Rejoice in every flower: — ■ 
 Then why should I give way to grief, 
 
 And ever be lamenting? 
 Though life's so brief, I've'no relief 
 
 From sinning and repenting ! 
 3* 
 
42 
 
 The rabbits ramble o'er the green, 
 
 With joy they sip the dew-drop; 
 The squirrels live in heaven, I vireen. 
 
 When chattering on the tree-top; 
 Then why should I give way to griefs 
 
 And ever be lamenting'? 
 Though life's so brief, I've no relief 
 
 From sinning and repentingl 
 
 The humming-birds, with crimson breast. 
 
 Young Flora's rainbow minions. 
 So happy arc, they scorn to rest, 
 
 And carol with their pinions: 
 Then why should T give way to griefs 
 
 And ever be lamenting? 
 Though life's so brief, I've no relief 
 
 From sinning and repenting! 
 
 Alack! the difference now I see! 
 
 These things are ne'er found sinning! 
 But all day long, the even thread 
 
 Of righteousness are spinning! 
 Then still may I escape from grief, 
 
 And all this dire lamenting; 
 Though life is brief, here's one relief. 
 
 No SINNING, no repenting! 
 
43 
 
 The most of the following lines were written in the Lecture- 
 Room of Dr. Joseph P*****h, of Philadelphia. The author en- 
 tered the room a few minutes before the time of the lecture, and, 
 having a skeleton, pendent from the ceiling, for one of his com- 
 panions, he was prompted to pencil this address. It was in- 
 tended to be very respectfully inscribed to the excellent Lec- 
 turer,— but the writer's sense of itsunworthiness prevented him 
 from associating it with a name so highly esteemed- 
 
 TO A SKELETON. 
 
 Thou monument of death! Thou wreck of life! 
 Sole, sad remembrancer of mortal strife! 
 
 Thou image of destruction! — type of doom! 
 Mocker of joy! — and index to the tomb! 
 Thou smilest ghastly on our living forms. 
 And seem'st to whisper — Ye shall feed the worms! 
 
 Thine eyes, how desert! and thine ears, how dull ! 
 How lost to thought, thine empty-eaten skull! 
 Thy ribs, how heartless, cold, and reft of love: 
 And motionless thy limbs, so wont to move! 
 
 Thou wast as I; — sensation clothed thy bones; 
 With bliss thy bosom glo w'd, or heaved with groans. 
 
 A thousand wants, a thousand whims impell'd. 
 Thy buoyant feet to trace the verdant field; 
 Or speed thy longing eyes to see tlie player; 
 Or keep the pathway to the house of prayer: 
 
44 
 
 Thy hands, to bless the poor with daily bread, 
 Or tear the suffering debtor from his bed; 
 Or, haply, to some pledged but faithless friend, 
 Thyself, the trembling, piteous palm extend. 
 
 Ha! strong the fancy that could see thee now, 
 Hard by the helm, or plodding at the plough! 
 Once, all instinct with art, thy will controll'd 
 Its countless instruments with subtlest hold; 
 Unseen — but still omnipotent to move, 
 To deeds of bitterest hate or sweetest love. 
 
 Yet where is now that will? Canst thou declare"? 
 Unclose thy haggard jaws, and tell me where] 
 All unsubdued, uncheck'd, triumphant still. 
 Immortal flames the free and glorious will; 
 O'er time, o'er distance, spreads its wide domain; 
 The noblest subject of Jehovah's reign. 
 
 Farewell, gaunt Skeleton! — thou tellest a tale 
 That makes the sinner sad in heart — and pale! 
 
45 
 
 1828. 
 
 THE DEAD MAIDEN. 
 
 The rose from her cheek hath faded, 
 
 The light from her eye hath fled; 
 Ah, who can gaze with a quiet heart, 
 
 Where sleepeth the youthful dead? 
 Her forehead is white as the lily, 
 
 Her tresses are smoothed and parted; 
 And their lips have retained their wonted smile 
 
 To comfort the broken-hearted. 
 
 Composed in her snowy mantle. 
 
 How calm is her wakeless sleep! 
 She looks as life, like a happy dream. 
 
 Had given no cause to weep. 
 Her hands are reposed on her bosom, 
 
 And brightened her face with glory; 
 And haply the parted soul, to its mate, 
 
 Is whispering a hopeful story. 
 
 Her brow is marked with a signet, 
 
 That angels to see rejoice; 
 They sing of the day the dead shall rise 
 
 At the great Archangel's voice: 
 " The sepulchre waits for thee. Sister! 
 
 But soon shall arise the morning, 
 When thou shalt adore thy Redeemer, God, 
 
 In beauty and bright adorning!" 
 
46 
 
 Ob! ye who are young and blooming! 
 
 Would ye shine by the dazzling throne) 
 Then breathe your vows at the Saviour's shrine, 
 
 Him worship and serve alone. 
 Then, triumph shall tell your departure, 
 
 And angels shall sing o'er your rest; 
 And beauty shall crown you with bloom divine, 
 
 In heaven eternally blest. 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Again I vent my plaint — my troubled heart 
 Will pour its sorrows through the lines of verse. 
 Yet, verse is all too feeble, to convey 
 My inward feelings. Vainly must my pen 
 Essay in words to tell my bitter anguish. 
 Ha! could I speak my woes, the hardest heart 
 Would melt with pity; and the dryest eyes 
 Pour forth unceasing tears: for then, indeed, 
 Language would be but pathos. But, alas! 
 They are too big for utterance: hollow cheeks, 
 And sunken eyes, and livid lips; my feet 
 Tott'ring beneath their load; my bended form, 
 Inclining to the grave; and all the signs 
 That haggard misery stamps upon her prey. 
 Reveal but slightly that which gnaws my heart. 
 
 I've look'd on nature, and have look'd in vain, 
 To find some emblem of my wretchedness. 
 
47 
 
 I've thought a clouded star — one wholly pall'd 
 In blackest night, and wandering all alone 
 And useless; privileged no more to catch 
 The kindred smilings of the unclouded host; 
 Or glance its lustre on the waveless lake, 
 That loved to hold its image in its bosom; 
 A star involved in tenfold midnight darkness — 
 Might picture somewhat of the loneliness, 
 The desolate cheerlessness that I endure: 
 Oft memory tells me of a tender bird; 
 Driven by tempests, till its wearied wings 
 Could scarce expand. Then, gradually the storm, 
 Relenting into kindness, died away; 
 And the dark parted clouds far offward roll'd, 
 And the bright sunshine broke upon the earth, 
 And'all things glisten'd in the glorious change. 
 Then, sinking gently towards the blooming earth 
 The gladsome bird pour'd forth its gratitude, 
 In sweetest melody, as though each throb 
 Of its reviving heart declared its joy. 
 But suddenly, ere yet its weary wing 
 Had closed within its nest, the gathering storm 
 Again returning, fiercer than before, 
 Whirl'd it away in breathlessness to gasp 
 Its life out on the bosom of despair! 
 I've thought my fate has likeness to this bird's, 
 Bat still 1 show not half its bitterness. 
 
 I often muse upon the happiness 
 
 That gladdens my coevals: they go forth, 
 
48 
 
 And gaze upon the azure-cinctured arch, 
 With feelings peaceful as the placid heavens; 
 They look around upon the blooming earth, 
 All redolent with beauty and delight; 
 They see the ocean sparkling in its joy, 
 And smiling on the sun; they see the rivers, 
 Winding their glorious way among the bowers; 
 They hear the woodland music, every breeze 
 Alive with harmony; they see the lambs. 
 Disporting on the mead; and the mild deer, 
 Viewing his antlers in the forest lake; 
 The squirrel chattering on the top-most oak, 
 And laughing at the wind that shakes the limb 
 It clings to; and the quick-ear'd innocent rabbit. 
 Sipping the morning dew, its only drink: 
 They see all nature's pleasantness, and feel 
 Their hearts to dance with rapture at the sight. 
 
 But I partake not of the general joy! 
 I see, and with a quicken'd eye, the charms 
 That bloom and breathe around me; but my heart, — 
 The heart that once was raptured with such views. 
 That warm'd, dilated, thrill'd and seemed to wish 
 A thousand voices to express its bliss — 
 Is sicken'd with them now; for still arise, 
 Dismal forebodings that the lovely flowers, 
 Which seem so fragile, shall myself outlive, 
 And when they wither, drop their faded leaves. 
 Like emblems, on my grave; — the trees shall spread 
 Their shrivell'd foliage o'er me — and the winds 
 
49 
 
 In sadness sigh amongst the echoing reeds 
 That autumn's blight shall stiffen on my bed! 
 And who can think, without a pang severe, 
 Of bidding to the world the long adieuT 
 Forests and gardens, with their tribes oflife; 
 The hills and dales; oceans, and all their streams 
 The glowing sun, blue heavens, and moon and stars; 
 And man, with all his_works, towers, towns and 
 
 navies, 
 His music-paintings-sculptures-and his lore: 
 Ah! where are these to those who sleep in deathl 
 And can it be that all we love below, 
 Can be forsaken with nor tear nor sigh? 
 Even I, though lost to all earth's loveliness, 
 And weeping o'er its beauty, fain would weep 
 A little longer; and in memory think. 
 That what is now so powerless to yield 
 One momentary pleasure, once was all 
 That young imaginations picture joy. 
 Yea, I would linger here, for still I find, 
 That sorrow hath a charm to make me cling 
 To life, even though I still must sorrow on. 
 
 I am a helpless shipwrecked mariner: 
 
 Lone on a plank, and midway in the bay, 
 
 Fast rushing to the ocean. I behold 
 
 The shores in bloom, with fruitage clustering thick. 
 
 I see the far off cottage, and espy, 
 
 E'en walking on the beach, ray fellow-man. 
 
 And yet, I can nor signal to the shore. 
 
 Nor leave this sole support; and every wave 
 
50 
 
 Still farther sweeps me tow'rd the boundless waste! 
 Where is my hope? I now can but resign 
 Myself unto the will of Him, whose eye 
 Beholds my imminent wretchedness; and still, — 
 Though swiftly hurrying from the sight of all 
 That seems a rest for hope — some passing barque 
 May see my floating form, and yet deliver. 
 If not, I sink: if this my fate must be, 
 I'll welcome it with smilings, and will yield 
 My way-worn body to the monster's maw; 
 Sure that my God will guide him to some isle, 
 Bright on the bosom of eternity! — 
 And make destruction land me safe from harm! 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE DECEASE OF THE KEV. S. DOUGHTY. 
 
 In Three Parts. 
 Part I. The House of Mourning. 
 I stand beside the cofSn, and behold 
 The soulless frame of man. My swelling heart 
 Aches in its narrow limits, and mine eyes 
 Grow dim with sorrow. 
 
 What! oh, what, is man! 
 He goeth forth, and death is in the way; 
 He fain would turn aside and walk with life; 
 But this may not. He fain would shut his ear 
 Unto the messenger's voice, and heed him not; 
 But in his inmost heart an echo wakes 
 At the unearthly call, and the warm blood 
 
51 
 
 Runs chill through every vein, the vital fount 
 Congeals to icy coldness, and the soul 
 Loosens its ties, expands its trembling wings, 
 And seeks the bosom of eternity! 
 
 The mould of manliness is there; those eyes — 
 Which once beheld, may never be forgot — , 
 Are closed upon for their long dreamless sleep. 
 And oh! to think that all he once admired 
 Is gone for ever; ocean, earth, sky, sun. 
 And all the host led nightly by the moon! 
 To think that all earth's music shall be heard 
 Never! — that all the lore of bard and sage 
 Is not — that every friend of glowing heart, 
 Kindred and offspring are, alas! no more! 
 I must not — dare not think — Oh! death! death! 
 death! 
 
 Song of the Angels as they bear the Spirit to Paradise. 
 
 We come! we come! the sapphire gates throw wide 
 Cherub and Seraph! Glory's hierarchy! 
 Burning around the everlasting throne. 
 Hymn the Eternal's praise! Space! spread the 
 
 sound 
 Far as infinity! sphere shout to sphere! 
 And orb to orb! We come! we come! we bear 
 The parted spirit, in ecstatic trance, 
 Now waiting for its Maker's touch divine. 
 To strengthen vision for the charms of heaven! 
 We bow! we bow! Father Omnipotent! 
 
52 
 
 And here present our charge; whom there we found 
 Rejoicing in thy Omnipresent love! 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Soliloquy of the Saint. 
 I am a Spirit ! The mystery is out: 
 And, like an eagle from its prison fled, 
 I feel the freedom of infinity! 
 Desire is now accomplishment: 1 look, 
 With keener sight than mortal eye extends, 
 All round immensity; whose only bound 
 Is far off darknesS' — on whose bosom shines 
 Innumerous stars — darkness that none may near! 
 I look, and wish — And lo! upon this globe. 
 Which, when I wish'd, was glimmering on my sight, 
 I stand; and view a world of larger frame 
 Than is the sun; which on yon atom earth, 
 I thought with awe the hugest orb of space! 
 How swells my new existence! Yet 1 think. 
 Even as on earth I thought! I am the same. 
 I joy in mine identity; and can 
 At will remember all I ever knew: 
 Yet, without pain! How dwells my ravish'd being 
 On all the beauties circling round my gaze! 
 The novelties of unimagined scenes! 
 The high sublimities of boundlessness! 
 Oh! how I joy! As thought to thought succeeds, 
 Still greater swells my soul; nor can I know 
 A thought inferior to what now 1 think; 
 Nay, each succeeding thought superior grows. 
 And with fresh knowledge and with stronger power. 
 
53 
 
 How mean are all the thoughts of mortal man! 
 
 Repress'd and bound by limits so confined. 
 
 There did I toil, to know the history 
 
 Of one small globe, for some few thousand years; 
 
 While here I grow in all the intelligence 
 
 Of worlds magnificent, to which the earth, 
 
 In age, is less than infant to gray hairs (!) 
 
 Of worlds innumerous, to which the stars, 
 
 That studded earth's empyrean and enzoned. 
 
 Are as a unit to infinity! 
 
 There travell'd I for some few thousand miles, 
 
 Saw various scenes, and read of many more; 
 
 And thought the earth too vast, for one poor mind 
 
 To treasure all its aspects: here, I fly, 
 
 From orb to orb untired; and dwell with joy, 
 
 On scenes to which e'en Eden was a heath! 
 
 And feel that countless worlds of larger sphere, 
 
 Shall in duration come familiarly, 
 
 As a favourite bower, into ray memory; 
 
 And every nook be known, in every orb 
 
 That shines throughout immensity; until 
 
 I feel that space is my eternal home. 
 
 And all its glories are to me distinct. 
 
 As the few rooms in my once earthly home! 
 
 There I enjoy'd the presence of a few, 
 
 Whom I entitled friends; and some I pass'd 
 
 With a slight word, as though my narrow heart 
 
 Could hold small part of earth's small company; 
 
 But, here, are myriads after myriads, more 
 
 Than mortals in a life-time could conceive! 
 
 Yet shall each one in this multitudinous host, 
 
54 
 
 Become my bosom friend, ere yet I feel 
 One proper notion of eternity! 
 
 And here, oh! how my reverent thought delights 
 To muse upon the Holy One Supreme! 
 Men on the earth, out from the city's throng 
 Betake themselves, and in some shadov^y dell, 
 With flowers and vines embower'd and adorn'd, 
 Think to immure themselves in solitude! 
 And this, when every voice of bird and leaf, 
 Of flower and vine, and cooling water-brook, 
 Whisper the presence of the Mighty One; 
 Whose omnipresent, all-sustaining power 
 A leaf depends on, even as a world! 
 
 How glows my being, how with rapture thrills! 
 When glad I think — there is no solitude! 
 But, far beyond where angel wing has been, 
 Should I pursue my way; and find an orb 
 Greater in glory and in wonders newer 
 Than any yet I know; there would be God, 
 Even as in highest heaven! — even on his Throne! 
 And there could 1 adore; and there could learn 
 Of all I saw, the history and design! 
 
 Oh! hallelujah! Let each heavenly power 
 Exalt the Maker's praise! Here, here indeed, 
 Is music of the spheres — when every orb 
 Sounds harmony divine! Here, here indeed, 
 Are views sublime, more than the warmest tongue 
 In heaven can tell! Here, happiness supreme; 
 And endless! Oh, how great! how great! how great ! 
 
55 
 
 Oh! could my boy — my darling boy! behold 
 His father's high felicity! — Could they, 
 My kindred and my friends — my glory see: 
 How would they dry their eyes, and on bent knee, 
 Give praise unto the Eternal, and beseech 
 The influence of His Spirit to guide them on 
 To the same heaven — the happiness of God! 
 
 TO ANNA. 
 
 'Tis our Spring time of life, 
 
 And our pathway is green, 
 And the blue sky above us 
 
 Is bright and serene; 
 The roses are blooming, 
 
 The breezes are bland. 
 And birds, with their melody 
 
 Cheer-up the land; 
 The humming birds hum, in the blossoming tree; 
 And beauty disporteth, all flushing and free. 
 
 That the Summer may smile, 
 
 With abundance and health: 
 And the Autumn, all-grateful. 
 Kneel down with its wealth: 
 ' That Winter may gently 
 Congeal our hearts' flow: 
 And death fall as lightly, as 
 Dew-drops or snow: 
 In humble devotion, be this our request, 
 And fear shall evanish, and hope sing to rest. 
 
56 
 
 And the God of the year, 
 
 Who the violet paints, 
 Who beholds the young robins. 
 
 And soothes their complaints; 
 Who gladdens the lambkins; 
 
 The sun-fish who feeds; 
 And strengthens the honey-bee. 
 
 Rich from the meads; 
 Has numbered our hairs, and has promised in love. 
 That faithful who live, shall reign happy above. 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Where the Lily-isle sleeps in the lap of the hills. 
 
 Like a babe in its cradle, a bird in its nest; 
 Where the plaint ofthe doves and the lapse of the rills 
 Like the voices of angels, sink deep in the breast; 
 Where the breezes blow cool, and the willow grove 
 
 shades. 
 And the urns of the mountains pour down their 
 
 cascades ; 
 There thy brother, enraptured, calls — Sister, love! 
 
 come! 
 For the spirit of Eden has here fixed her home! 
 
 The wild eagle calls shrill, on the cliff-top alone, 
 
 As to waken the ear of the heroes above; 
 While young Liberty smiles from her azure-hued 
 throne. 
 And her favourite sons bless the land that they 
 love. 
 
57 
 
 Here the spirit of beauty, midst fountains and flowers, 
 Plas embrighten'd her colours, and painted the 
 
 bowers; 
 And her rosy cheeks flush, and her starry eyes 
 
 shine, 
 For her dwelling on earth is so like her divine! 
 
 Here the crystalline brook ripples softly around, 
 And the willows, like sentinels, compass the isle; 
 
 Here the freshest of verdure is spread on the ground, 
 And the choicest of flowers in their loveliness 
 smile: 
 
 Here the wild rose and woodbine their fragrance 
 declare, 
 
 And the perfume of violets hallows the air. 
 
 'Tis the censer of nature! and sweetly a voice 
 
 From the heavens proclaims — let the island rejoice! 
 
 In the midst is a fountain, that springs from its bed, 
 
 Like a beautiful naiad, to gaze on the vines; 
 And a shower of diamonds around her is shed, 
 And a halo of rainbows her temple entwines. 
 Like a zone round the margin, and looking below, 
 Where their images whiten like figures of snow. 
 Bend the sad nuns of nature, the pale lilies bend. 
 And complain o'er the heaven they cannot ascend. 
 
 Through the arch of the precipice gleaming afar, 
 On the shore of the lake that now glistens in 
 light. 
 
58 
 
 -'Midst the green-bosom'd hills that ne'er echoed 
 
 with war, 
 The most lovely of villages breaks on the sight. 
 There the fane of religion shines bright in the sky, 
 And the cots of the villagers gladden the eye; 
 There's the home of our childhood; and far, far 
 
 away, 
 Like the vapours, the mountains seem melting to 
 
 day. 
 
 I have tested the strength of my beautiful boat, 
 
 And its safety is sure as if broad as the lake; 
 
 Like the glide of a duck, is the ease of its float, 
 
 And the beamings of sunshine bespangle its wake. 
 It is white as a cloud never tinged with a hue. 
 And its sapphirine path as the heavens is blue; 
 And the breezes blow fresh through the vapourless 
 
 dome. 
 And thy brother, enraptured, calls — Sister, love! 
 
 come! 
 
 THE PROTO-MARTYR. 
 
 There sat the Elders, proud: and, in their midst, 
 On upraised seat, with reverend snowy beard, 
 And princely brow, th' Hanasi; on his right, 
 The venerable Ab, whose eye parental, 
 With sternness and unbrook'd authority. 
 Shone 'neath his shaggy brows, — but not with love. 
 
59 
 
 Upon his left, the Cracham sat, unmoved; 
 With wisdom beaming from his vacant orbs, 
 Which seein'd as if their vision inward turn'd, 
 To scan the workings of sage intellect. 
 
 But there stood one — a lamb amidst fierce lions, 
 Whose holy look might well have won him love; 
 On whom, a wrathful crowd, malignantly, 
 Gazed, with knit brows; and twitted scornfully. 
 Yet stood he silent, and, with pitying sigh, 
 Or soft-breathed pray'r, and upward-glancing eye, 
 Alone, noticed their sharp-told bitterness. 
 Not in the flush and bloom of youth, with foot 
 Firm-fixed, and folded-arms — too proud for wo; 
 Nor yet, with silver locks, dim sight, and brow 
 Wrinkled, — all bending with his griefs and years; 
 But, with the fire of youth subdued, yet warm; 
 And with the serious mien of age, adorn'd 
 With the sweet winning meekness that appear'd 
 In Him he served; — and like Him in his years, 
 When on the Cross He died; and, like Him, now. 
 Called forth to stain the shrine of truth with blood! 
 
 The crowd's rude clamour hush'd; and then uprose 
 The witnesses forsworn, who thus declared: 
 The LAW he has blasphemed; and prophesied, 
 The holy temple's total overthrow! 
 
 Then turn'd the eyes of that rough multitude: 
 And, lo! tl e blessed countenance of him 
 They slander'd, radiant with beaming glory. 
 Shone like the Angels' — when, before the Throne, 
 They catch the splendours of th' Eternal Sun. 
 
60 
 
 As Moses their law-giver from the mount 
 Descended, bright with heavenly lustre; now, 
 With the same lustre, glorious acquittal! 
 Shone th' accused!* And, for the sacred temple, 
 That generation did not pass away, 
 Until Destruction, like a Samson, heaved 
 From their firm bases every mountain pillar; 
 And o'er its rock foundation, Roman foes, 
 Driving the ploughshare, levell'd ev'ry stone! 
 Thus doth the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, 
 By signs unerring, manifest to men 
 The lurking liar; and innocence approve! 
 Then spake th' Hanasi — " Say, are these things so] 
 Forth stood th' accused; his mild benignant eye, 
 Brighten'd with all the glow of innocence, 
 And on the prince he look'd with sunny smiles; 
 As though, to prove his guiltlessness, required. 
 But simple words and few. In substance thus, 
 His mellow voice then sketch'd their history: — 
 He told of Abra'am's calling; and his faith; 
 And of the promise, that, though childless then, 
 And gray with years, in after-times his seed, 
 Innumerous as the stars, should rule in Canaan. 
 Then spake he of the patriarchs, — of Joseph; — 
 And of th' Egyptian bondage; and the birth 
 Of the fair Moses, and his history; 
 Of Pharaoh's hardness; and the deadly plagues 
 That strew'd his land with corses, and with wails 
 Rent the black sky; — of Sinai's awful height. 
 Where th' ministering angel gave the holy law; 
 Of Israel's base idolatry, when low, 
 
 * Suggested by a remark in Dr. Adam Clarke's Commentary^ 
 
61 
 
 Before the golden calf, they prostrate fell; 
 
 Or cali'd upon the kingly sun, by day, 
 
 And, after sunset, on the moon and stars! 
 
 Spoke of the tabernacle, from whose roof, 
 
 Of four-fold violet skins, by day arose 
 
 The guardian cloud, and upward flamed, by night, 
 
 The fiery pillar — like the northern blaze 
 
 That oft, on winter eve, gleams up the sky; 
 
 The sacred tabernacle, where the host, 
 
 Repentant, worship'd at Jehovah's shrine: 
 
 Then, of the sun-bright temple, gold-o'erlaid, 
 
 That Solomon, obedient to his sire, 
 
 Upraised, and there invoked Jehovah's presence, 
 
 To beam from 'midst the four-faced cherubim! 
 
 But, the Most High— he cried, with swelling voice. 
 
 And heaven-turn'd eye — in temples made with 
 
 hands, 
 Ne'er fixed his dwelling place! for lo! His voice: 
 Heaven is my throne, and earth, that rolls beneath, 
 My humble footstool! Who shall rear the dome 
 That I may enter, and the shadowy cloud. 
 That veils my glory, throw aside, and pour^ 
 Upon its walls, the full of my eflTulgence'? 
 Where is the rest to which ye would invite] 
 Have I not made them alll Did not my word 
 From nothing roll the earth in pristine beauty, 
 Give to the sky its blue, the earth its green, 
 Infuse the sun with light, and the bright moon, 
 And kindle every star that burns above] 
 Think ye Infinity is bound by man] 
 
62 
 
 Then burst a deaf'ning^ shout from thronging foes, 
 Who fear'd his descant on the majesty 
 Of God, would useless make the sacred temple. 
 But he was firm, and soon as silence sway'd 
 The angry clamour, fearless, thus rebuked: 
 Ye stifF-neck'd and uncircumcised! ye wrong 
 The Holy Ghost, and, as your fathers did, 
 Do ye! Of all the Lord's prophetic race, 
 Was there a soul your fathers injured not? 
 Alas! they slew the men of holy lips, 
 That told the coming of the Righteous One: 
 And ye — fit sons!— Him they foretold have slain! 
 Ye! who, with boasting, triumph in the law, 
 Bestow'd by angels, yet obey it not! 
 
 Then were they fired with rage; their tiger eyes 
 Flamed fiercely; and with hate they gnash'd their 
 
 teeth! 
 But, all unmoved, with steadfast lifted look, 
 The Christian pierced the heavens, and there beheld 
 The bright Shechinah, and his blessed Lord. 
 Behold! — he cried, in rapture — glory's courts 
 Shine through the parted heavens, and there I see 
 The Crucified beside the throne of God! 
 
 Then burst a roar of voices — tumult shook 
 The solid walls: — and, with stopp'd ears, his foes 
 Rush'd on the lone, intrepid one, and swift, 
 Through crowds malignant, shouting for his death, 
 Beyond the city walls they hurried him. 
 Stripp'd of his robes, in resignation meek, 
 The sufferer call'd on Him he thus adored, 
 Saying: — Jesus! Lord! receive thy servant's soul! 
 
63 
 
 And, as his persecutors press'd his death, 
 
 He knelt amidst them; and with upward eye, 
 
 Mild as the cloudless blue, he call'd aloud 
 
 To Him — who from the heaven of heavens look'd 
 
 down. 
 And waved, with smiles, a starry-cinctured crown! 
 To Him he call'd, saying — "Lord! lay not this sin 
 Unto their charge!" 
 
 But they all merciless, 
 Down trode him to the earth, and on his breast 
 Heaved a huge stone; while, from the murderous 
 
 crowd, 
 Volleys pour'd fast upon him! 
 
 Like a babe, 
 That slumbers, when its mother's lulling voice 
 Sings o'er its weariness; so, in the arms 
 Of his loved Jesus, Stephen fell asleep! 
 
 Hail! First of Martyrs! If a mortal's song 
 May reach the Courts of Glory, thou shalt hear 
 The loudest plaudits of a grateful Church! 
 But this thou need'st not — for the sweet approval 
 Of Him who crown'd thee, was, eternal joy! 
 And thousands now, — with martyr crowns adorn'd, 
 Who follow'd in thy footsteps — by the throne 
 Of the Eternal, burn with glory; where 
 Thou, as their glorious leader, bowest down 
 Crying, — 'Holy! holy! holy! to the Lord, 
 The Great Jehovah, — and the Lamb for ever! 
 Ol First of Martyrs! great is thy reward! 
 
64 
 
 Apostate angell Fallen from glory's height! 
 Thy plumeless wings have lost their primal flight! 
 Seamless and shorn, dethroned morning star! 
 Eternal darkness shrouds thy wandering carl 
 Ruler and bane of earth's sustaining breath! 
 Thy heart is poison, and thy frame is death! 
 Soon fall the storms that on thy triumphs lower. 
 And stayless thunders paralyze thy power! 
 
 Malignant Fiend! tell why — late blest and fair. 
 Do Eden's tenants droop in mute despair] 
 Why are her cedars blighted] and why fade 
 Her glowing roses] — Wherefore falls the shad© 
 Of jasmine bowers — and myrtles, rustling round? 
 Why desert sand where fountains should abound! 
 Why hang her birds their heads and wings supinel 
 And why, in helpless wo, her beasts recline] 
 Tell why, — before yon Seraph's flaming sword. 
 With guilt and shame, departs her mournful lordl 
 And why, with tears and trembling, — as he moves. 
 Leans on her lord the partner of his loves] 
 Wherever they turn, surrounding charms decay! 
 Why fade those charms] Why speedeth man awayl 
 Answer, thou envious Fiend! yea, lift thy crest! 
 Thy subtle malice triumph'd o'er the blest! 
 The well-springs of enjoyment ceased to roll. 
 And griePs slow poison rankled in the soul! 
 
65 
 
 Why o'er yon lifeless youth does beauty weep? 
 Why mourns old age with sorrow still more deep'? 
 Why artless infancy caress the dead"? 
 And why the cloud of justice brood o'erhead] 
 Why shrinks yon haggard formi Ha! sudden blow! 
 Hot lightning scathes the fratricidal browl 
 And Abel's parted soul pronounced a tone, 
 That made to tremble thy exulting throne! 
 
 Earth glooms! the sun is blood! the mighty rain, 
 One world-wide cataract, booms from heaven 
 
 amain! 
 Earth's firm foundations burst! the waters rise; 
 And mountain tops, like islands, brave the skies! 
 Far, far below, their storm-beat bases rock, 
 And their throng'd summits, shrieking, own the 
 
 shock! 
 Still swell the waves, till not one isle appears! 
 Till wreck'd the glories of a thousand years! 
 Why thus? — Alas! but one on earth was good! 
 Thy myriad slaves provoked th' o'erwhelming 
 
 Flood! 
 
 Why glows the redd'ning sky with burning hazel 
 Why are yon cities swallow'd by the blaze? 
 The sulph'rous showers with fatal fumes descend, 
 And groans, and crashing towers, the welkin rend! 
 On thy seduced ones pours the fiery rain, 
 And hell ingulfs the Cities of the Plain! 
 
 Why roll yon chariots 'twixt the parted waves? 
 
 Why speed yon horsemen blindly to their graves? 
 
 4* 
 
66 
 
 Thy harden'd vassal leads their awful way, 
 
 Till coil'd destruction, plunging, whelms his prey! 
 
 With tenfold rage, the surging ocean roars. 
 
 And strews the slaughter'd hosts along its shores! 
 
 From Eden^s withering, to Egypt's death. 
 Thy venom tainted all of human breathi 
 From Egypt's death cry, to the passing hour. 
 O'er recfeless man has reign'd thy baleful power! 
 And, — till the wheels of time shall cease to roll. 
 Till earth is fire, and heaven a shrivell'd scroll — 
 Mankind shall yield their ofF'rings at thy shrine. 
 And God's creation serve thee, — as if thinel 
 Yet, what the cost of free-will vows to thee] 
 Oh! that rash man would question Calvary 1 
 
 Exiled Archangel! does no ray of light 
 
 Allure thine eye beyond eternal niglif? 
 
 To where the sapphire gates and pearly wall 
 
 Surround the glory of the God of allf 
 
 To where thy birth-right throne — a beaming sun, 
 
 Bright with the shadow of the Holy One — 
 
 Peers o'er the stars of wing-veil'd seraphim, 
 
 That holy anthems never cease to hymn! 
 
 Say! would thy wings renew their former flighf? 
 
 But thou art doom'd to flames and endless night! 
 
 Yon ocean rock beholds thy midnight form, 
 And hears thy voice loud rolling on the storm; 
 "When, plunging in the grave thy fiery spear. 
 Thou cry'st — *• The Scourg e of Nations moulders 
 here! 
 
67 
 
 " I urg'd him on! — Yea, since the pristine fall, 
 " All guilt is mine that stains this cursed balli 
 *' Not I alone unhappy] Still, each wo 
 **I dealt to others, caused myself a throe! 
 "Hated by all that's good, I know full well; 
 " And ' fit to master' — all that serve in hell!" 
 
 First Foe of Man! the universal air 
 Exalts to Heav'n the Christian's fervent prayer: 
 ** Soon fall the storms, o'er Satan's crown that lower; 
 *^ And stayless thunders paralyze his power!" 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 
 
 With power commission'd by the Source of Power, 
 To quench a planet or to crush a flower — 
 To scourge a nation, or an infant pain — 
 To vex a worm or make a world complain — 
 Prone on the buoyant winds, in flowing robe, 
 The Spirit- of Destruction sweeps the globe. 
 
 Where yonder space glooms black upon the sight, 
 A sylvan mansion rear'd its modest height. 
 There artless Pleasure, smiling, fix'd her seat. 
 And Eden's angels graced the green retreat. 
 Fired by the Spirit's torch, its flames arose, 
 And the charr'd fragments now its site disclose. 
 
 Swift from the open hills, the swollen floods 
 Whelm all the vales, and toss th' uprooted woods. 
 
68 
 
 The startled peasant, bounding from his sleep. 
 Feels his walls trembling to the rushing deep; 
 Cities, surprised, usurping water beats; 
 And Peril plies her life-boats through the streets. 
 
 Loud roar the reinless winds: their headlong rage 
 No force can quell, and distance scarce assuage; 
 The hoary forests, wreneh'd, in ruin fly; 
 And trunks, and leaves, and branches shade the sky. 
 Lone homesteads, razed, lament their lawless wrath; 
 And unroofed hamlets mark Destruction's path I 
 
 On booms the whirling tempest, ocean raves, 
 Heaves treacherous bills, and scoops a thousand 
 
 graves. 
 The shrieking sailor, plunging down th' abyss, 
 Resigns to fate, and yields the hope of bliss; 
 While, hovering ghastly in the meteor's glare. 
 The Spirit of Destruction triumphs therel 
 
 The trees are touchM with poison; withering fast,. 
 The shrivell'd foliage rustles on the blast. 
 The burning pastures harden to a crust; 
 Where flow'd the brooks, the cattle paw the dust> 
 The blooming virgins, sickening waste away, 
 Blanch'd is the rose, and dimm'd the visual ray. 
 The sturdy shepherds sink, unnerved, and faint; 
 And " waterl water!" loads earth's loud complaint. 
 
 Yon nursling infant to the bosom turns; 
 And where was life — a deadly fever burns; 
 
69 
 
 The mother pores with anguish on her child; 
 She moves not, speaks not; but her eyes grow wild — 
 Her brain is crazed, — and harki the maniac sings: 
 " An angel points me to yon cooling springs! 
 Cheer up, my Ishmael! Lot the waters rise, 
 And shady groves defend from scorching skies! — " 
 'Twas heaven she saw — and there her soul has fled; 
 And her sweet infant, nestling hugs the dead! 
 See! fondly twined, he shuts his weary eye! 
 Oh! orphan infant! wake beyond the sky! 
 
 Unclouded azure o'er yon city reigns. 
 
 And golden glory gilds its glancing fanes. 
 
 Yet Hunger there for food despairing calls: 
 
 Plucks the spare grass that sprouts along the walls: 
 
 Or madly prostrate at his palace gate, 
 
 Gnaws his lank arms, and bites the rod of fate. 
 
 The noon-day terror — and the midnight death, 
 Destruction's venom fills the common breath. 
 The strong grow weak, the active sink supine; 
 And purple spots reveal the fatal sign. 
 The streets are grown with grass; the Sabbaths 
 
 smile. 
 But silent sleep the belfrey and the aisle. 
 One general lazar-house, the city stands; 
 And one vast sepulchre, the neighbouring lands. 
 
 Destruction stamps the earth,— the valleys rend. 
 Towns prostrate fall and topmost hills descend. 
 Where lakes lay level, mountains touch the skies; 
 And where spread cities, wreckful oceans rise. 
 
70 
 
 A world of horrors dims the aching sight, 
 
 And shrieks and thunders shalie the orbs of night. 
 
 Fires, floods, and whirlwinds to thy nod conform; 
 And drought and famine — deadlier than the storm! 
 The plague, gaunt terror, strews the putrid ground! 
 And heavingearthquakes spread their victims round! 
 Yet, were thy sway here bounded — earth would 
 
 bloom, 
 And Eden, rising, triumph o'er the tomb! 
 Thy robes be bloodless; and thy power a name, 
 Scarce heard amidst the loud reports of fame! 
 These slay thy thousands,— but thy arrows fly 
 Thick as the streaming sunbeams through the sky! 
 The earth is veined with poison — herbs and trees 
 Suck in the death and shed ii on the breeze! 
 Beasts prey on beasts, and lap the crimson flood; 
 Envenom'd reptiles fire the human blood; 
 And unseen insects, mocking pomp and pride. 
 Throw down their ghastly myriads at thy side! 
 While man uplifts his fratricidal hand. 
 And pours his brother's life at thy command! 
 
 Thou shalt consume the globe, — the stars shall 
 
 fall; 
 And silence, wreck and darkness compass all! 
 And thou no more! Then new-born worlds shall 
 
 shine. 
 And universal roll the eternal golden line! 
 
71 
 
 1829. 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 In childhood he had loved to wander forth 
 And feast his soul on beauty, \yhere the brook 
 Flow'd darkly pure beneath the forest shade; 
 And where the hermit lilies on the bank 
 Sat in their snowy robes, all meekly bent 
 As though ashamed to show their loveliness; 
 And where the cascade shouted, as itleap'd 
 From knoll to knoll down to the lucid stream; 
 And where the wild bird on the bough o'er head 
 Sang to its mate, that on the tiresome nest, 
 Patiently brooded, longing for the day 
 When the sweet younglings, from the broken shells, 
 Should hft their voice for food, and open wide 
 Tiieir thronging beaks impatient for the worm; 
 And where the cool breeze rustled the green leaves, 
 And kiss'd the dimpling waters, and bestow'd 
 Motion and life on all things as it pass'd: 
 There loved he to repose, and yield his mind 
 To desultory musing and sweet peace. 
 
 Youth came; — and nature's lovely walks were left, 
 For the still world of books. Stern science led 
 His weary eye through tomes all dull and dead; 
 And bade him yield the bright imaginings 
 Vision'd in childish joy: and strip the sky 
 Of its pure holy beauty, and the earth 
 
72 
 
 Of all its strong enchantments, and employ 
 
 Ills thoughts on things of dismal truth. The blue, 
 
 That like a rich pavilion circled earth, 
 
 He learn'd was naught. The stars, that came at eve, 
 
 Like angels, watching o'er a sleeping world, 
 
 Were worlds themselves, that roll'd afar away 
 
 Heedless of earth, absorb'd in selfishness. 
 
 The moon, that seem'd an angel nearer come, 
 
 More fond, to watch the better, was an orb 
 
 Whose gilding was all semblance — borrowed all. 
 
 And then the glorious sun, that oped the gate 
 
 Of rosy morn, and waved his golden locks, 
 
 Rejoiced to see again mountains and vales, 
 
 Was but a fixed fire, so far remote 
 
 That numbers scarce could count the mighty space. 
 
 One talk'd of metals, clays, and crystals bright; 
 And closed by saying diamonds worth a plumb, 
 Were mere black charcoal! Then another came, 
 And snatch'd away a rainbow colour'd flower, 
 And bade him think no more of hues or scent. 
 But mark the shape of stalks, the taste of roots! 
 Another wisely prated on wild thought, 
 And said 'twas naught but the effect of some. 
 Or all, the worm-like motions of the brain! 
 Another proudly preach'd that noble man, 
 With all his lofty claims, was but an ape 
 Shorn of his tail! But wherefore swell the list? 
 The atom insect that can only breathe 
 A thimble-full of air before it dies; 
 As well as the vast mammoths that ere now, 
 
73 
 
 Exhausted the blue vault — the mighty race, 
 All famishing for lack of a mere breath: 
 All things, alive or dead, were made to appear 
 Alike and useless, loveless and untrue! 
 
 He turn'd away disgjisted — as a chief, 
 Used from his cradle to the twanging bow, 
 And all the wild ambition of the chase; 
 Used to bold freedom, roaming through deep woods. 
 Climbing the loftiest heights, and joying in 
 The thundering storm as in the sunny calm; 
 E'en as the chief thus used, when far away, 
 From scenes of former life; and wandering sad, 
 Among the stationary piles of art; 
 And midst a race, as soulless as their bricks; 
 As he repines, and pants for his own trees. 
 And wayward waters, and turns back with joy: 
 So did the youth from all that science taught. 
 Turn back to live with nature; and to live 
 Amidst an ideal race, that smiled around. 
 To him, in every shady nook of earth, 
 Or sunny spot, or waters wandering wild. 
 Then he rejoiced, his spirit burn'd within. 
 And when his thoughts grew cold, he held a steel 
 Up to the lightning, and brought down the bolt 
 That broke his bonds, and set his spirit free! 
 
 Religious Papers, like good angels come; 
 
 And, while they point to heaven, bless our home! 
 
74 
 
 THE GENIUS OF POETRY* 
 
 Oh that the glowing feelings of my heart 
 Could find a fitting voice — an utterance 
 To thrill the list'ner with due sympathy! 
 Then should th' indignant numbers roll severe, 
 And with uncustom'd tones alarm the souls 
 Of thousands, tampering with the sacred lyre! 
 
 My spirit burns with patriot love intense, 
 
 And swells with rapture, when the power of song, 
 
 Loud from a native harp, sends forth its spell; 
 
 But anger chafes me, when I hear the strains 
 
 Of puling sentimentalists, who vex 
 
 Their silken strings with touch so delicate, 
 
 That, but for sickly eehoists, the ear 
 
 Of silence scarce would vibrate to the sound. 
 
 Mere grasshoppers of poetry! they chirp 
 
 The livelong day, upon the birth and growth 
 
 Of a poor blade of grass; and long discourse 
 
 Upon the freshness of a morning dew-drop! 
 
 Their narrow sight — as narrow as their souls — 
 
 Feels no extension, never circuits round 
 
 The flowery verdancy — hills — oceans — skies; 
 
 Nor once beholds th' innumerous " shining ones," 
 
 That look from far upon their sister earth. 
 
 The eagle, from his eyry in the clouds. 
 
 Waves his wide wings, and, soaring to the sun, 
 
 Gazes with unblench'd eye upon the blaze; 
 
 And, bathing there his plumes in golden light, 
 
75 
 
 Scarce deigns a glance towards the speck beneath. 
 But they, like worms, in the heart of a red bud 
 Alone delight; and leave it not, until 
 Their poisonous slime has wither'd its young bloom! 
 
 Genius of Poetry! ere time began, 
 
 The ear of space delighted in thy harp! 
 
 In some far region of immensity, 
 
 Where the first ray of light created gleam'd 
 
 Through utter darkness, — thou wert call'd to being. 
 
 Then in thy hand was placed the holy harp, 
 
 And the awful voice of the Eternal Sire 
 
 Bade thee extol omnipotence and love: 
 
 Waken dull silence to sweet harmony, 
 
 And lead the joys of myriad new-born souls. 
 
 Loud as thy numbers roll'd, the golden spheres 
 
 Moved to the music, wond'ring at the charm! 
 
 'Twas then the laurel, of immortal green, 
 
 Bloom'd round thy brow, and joy ineffable 
 
 Burn'd in thy heart, and swell'd thy voice sublime. 
 
 When earth came forth in glorious array, — 
 
 With flowery vales, and hills, and waters clear; 
 
 And overhung with azure, whence the sun 
 
 Effuses rich benevolence on all; 
 
 And where the nightly stars with ardent beams 
 
 Shine round the moon, like seraphs round the throne: 
 
 Then sang the sons of heaven, the morning stars, 
 
 Concerting with thy harmony, and space 
 
 Awoke her countless echoes, to prolong 
 
 The birth-ode of the new-created orb. 
 
 'Twas thou, that — from the altar of high heaven 
 
76 
 
 Bearing a living coal — the prophet's lips 
 Touch'd with the sacred fire, hallow'd his heart. 
 And bade his tongue reveal the thoughts of God. 
 'Twas thou that tuned the Grecian voice to song, 
 And charm'd Italian skies with melody. 
 'Twas thou that came so sweetly from above, 
 To the shepherd watch on Judah's moonlit hills, 
 While wonder pointed to the starry crown, 
 That glisten'd o'er the huts of Bethlehem! 
 'Twas thou that pour'd on Milton's shaded mind 
 Light from eternity, and gave him power 
 To vocalize the wonders that he saw: 
 The deathless horrors of all-writhing hell, 
 The undying glories of rejoicing heaven. 
 
 Genius of Poetry! thou noblest born! 
 Thy themes are as thy joys — rich and sublime! 
 Creation is thy range; where'er a star 
 Sends forth a ray, thy wing is wont to fly. 
 And oft, where never roll'd an orb, away 
 In solitary, unillumined gloom, 
 Thou boldest high communion with thy God. 
 His omnipresent power and tender love, 
 Delight thy musing moments; and thy harp 
 Is richest and most eloquent in praise. 
 Thy quick perception gladdens in events, 
 To others hid; thou knowest sounds and views 
 Unheard, unnoticed by the grosser-born. 
 Where'er thy pinions wave, new pleasures rise 
 Sweet in thy breast, and eye and ear, and all 
 Thy ravish'd senses wonder and admire. 
 
77 
 
 The music of the spheres is heard by thee, 
 
 And angels ne'er may know its richest tones, 
 
 Delighting thee; thou see'st a purer light 
 
 In every beam, than falls on other eyes; 
 
 Colours have finer shades, than others see, 
 
 By thee perceived, and when the thunder speaks 
 
 Loud from his midnight throne, thou dost discern 
 
 An import and atone none else may know: 
 
 And in the lightning flash thou see'st a glance, 
 
 That else who once beholds shall surely die! 
 
 Does Beauty claim thine eye? a fairer bloom, 
 
 More lovely grace, and look of sweeter power, 
 
 Voice more melodious, bosom holier, 
 
 'Tis thine to know, than aught beside create, 
 
 Can ever find: the azure of the sky, 
 
 The green of earth are fresher to thy view; 
 
 The flowers put on a lighter tint; the brooks, 
 
 A lucid quiet, known to none beside! 
 
 Does Grandeur call thee? Lo! the boundless scene 
 
 Glows with a living spirit; and thy heart 
 
 Swells with expanding rapture, high and wild, . 
 
 And unexpress'd, save in thy thrilling song. 
 
 The aged forest bows his hoary head. 
 
 In reverence, and waves his trembling arms 
 
 On high, to hail thy coming to his shades. 
 
 The mountains loftier lift their lofty heads. 
 
 And stand like giants guarding the sweet vales 
 
 Of humble peace, from the demoniac storm. 
 
 The seas explain to thee their mysteries; 
 
 For thee the blue heavens cast their veil aside. 
 
78 
 
 And sun, and moon, and stars come near, and show, . 
 Unto thy favour'd eye their wondrous things. 
 Does Novelty attract thee'? things more strange 
 Appear in things the strangest, and a power 
 Alike peculiar, wonders in thy sight. 
 The clouds assume all hostile forms, and wage 
 Celestial warfare; meteors on swift wing 
 Bear to the Prince of Hell tidings of earth; 
 And comets, issuing from the eternal throne 
 To see if earth's iniquity is full, 
 Wave wide the threat'ning sword, — the startled sky 
 Shrinks from the horrid light, and pales with fear. 
 Earth listens, motionless, expecting still 
 The thunder of Destruction's chariot wheels: 
 And Time throws down his scythe, crushes his glass, 
 And, trembling, waits th' archangel's dooming voice! 
 
 Genius of Poetry! thine eye is bright, 
 Thy song is but begun! Thou, who beheld 
 And sang the birth of every orb that shines, 
 Shall yet behold them desolate, and sing 
 Their requiem, when no echo will survive 
 To answer thy lament! Then night, restored, 
 Shall soon forget that day usurp'd her throne — 
 And dwell in deeper darkness than was known, 
 Before a ray gleam'd trembling through the void. 
 Then shall a new creation, brighter far 
 Than even thou can'st image, ask thy song: 
 To celebrate a bloom, to wither never! 
 A beauty still to be more beautiful! 
 A grandeur ever growing more sublime! 
 A newness, ever changing! and a joy, 
 Immortal as the ever.living God! 
 
79 
 
 WASHINGTON AT PRAYER. 
 
 Silence was on her throne — the moon and stars, 
 Hush'd by her lifted sceptre, softly walk'd 
 Their azure pathway; and the quiet earth, 
 Had not a rustling leaf, for the lull'd winds 
 Slept in the hill-side shadows, and the trees 
 Leaned o'er their images, all dark and still, 
 In deep unruffled waters. 
 
 There were tents, 
 White in the mellow moonl'ght; where a host, 
 Of weary warriors lay, in such repose, 
 As though the camp had been a field of tombs, 
 And all the host were mouldering. Here and there 
 The armed sentinel paced to and fro. 
 Or wondering at the beauty of the scene^ 
 Or, musing on the future, gazing sad 
 Upon his shadow, feeling that his life 
 Was transient likewise, and would disappear 
 In the night of death, as disappeared the shade 
 When the moon darken'd, and the passing mist 
 Made all its outlines blend in fellow gloom. 
 The instruments of battle, fraught no more 
 With human vengeance, lay as harmlessly 
 As when they slumber'd in their native hills — 
 Untaught to thunder and unstain'd with blood. 
 The banner that had waved o'er fields of slain, 
 Was now its bearer's pillow, and he dream'd 
 With his head resting on rent folds, of love, 
 And fireside peace, and female tenderness. 
 
80 
 
 That sleeping host concentred in itself 
 The hopes of a wide world. Fell Tyranny — 
 The fiend grown gray in shortening human life, 
 Who joys the most when joys mankind the least, 
 And scourges most who lowliest submit,^ 
 Had spread his sails and push'd his giant prow 
 From a far isle, and o'er the trembling sea 
 Pursued his scornful course, and landing proud 
 Upon this mighty continent, had call'd 
 The nation to approach, and kiss his rod. 
 His helm was like a mountain, and his plume 
 Gloom'd like a cloud; his lifted sword far shone — 
 A threat'ning comet; loud his thunder voice 
 Demanded death or crouching; and his stamp 
 Shook the firm hills and made the whole earth reel. 
 Many bad gone — led by the hand of Fear — 
 And knelt unto the monster, kiss'd his rod, 
 And pointed at their brethren's breasts their swords. 
 But these had seized their weapons, and stood up, 
 E'en in his very shadow, and his threats 
 Answer'd like men, and rang their shields for war. 
 But hitherto these valiant ones had fail'd 
 In the fierce conflict; and in rest were now 
 Waiting the morrow, and a deadlier shock. 
 
 But One was watchful in that silent hour, 
 Whose heart had gathered to itself the cares 
 Of all his struggling brethren, and was sad 
 That still Success was herald to the fiend. 
 Out from his tent he came, and when he heard 
 No sound, he joy'd to think that wo had not 
 
81 
 
 So heavily press'd upon the sleepers' hearts 
 As on his own; and then he felt a weight 
 Still heavier fall upon himself, as thought 
 Pictured the thousands trusting in his arm: 
 The slumberers round — the nation's aged ones, 
 Whose dim eyes ceaseless wept o'er scenes of 
 
 blood — 
 The mourning widows, clasping to their breasts 
 Their famish'd infants — and the virgins pale, 
 Bereft of love, and in the arms of lust 
 Dying a thousand deaths! 
 
 On the bare earth, 
 He knelt, in suppliance meek; and humbly laid 
 Beside him, his plumed helmet, and his sword, 
 Unsheath'd and glittering, and ask'd of God 
 To look on him, all helpless, and to bless 
 His nerveless arm with might and victory — 
 To smile on his worn warriors, and infuse 
 Spirit and fire in every languid pulse — 
 To frown upon the tyrant, and destroy — 
 And bid the mountains sing from pole to pole 
 The song of liberty, and the free waves 
 Clap their glad hands and answer from afar. 
 
 God heard and answer'd; — and the Spirit of 
 
 Strength 
 Walk'd in the camp, from tent to tent, and breathed 
 An iron vigour through the sleepers' frames, 
 And in their hearts a courage ne'er to quail. 
 And Weakness sought the valley where the foe, 
 Pillow'd upon a hill, stretch'd his huge length 
 5 
 
82 
 
 In cumbrous slumber; ancJ his giant limbs 
 Grew soft as babe's; while Mockery soothed his soul 
 With dreams of speedy triumph and rich spoil. 
 And Truth came down, and charm'd the suppliant 
 With promise of deliverance soon to be. 
 And o'er the mountain-top came young- Success: 
 The sentry had not hail'd her as she pass'd, 
 JBut shut his eyes in fright, and thought he saw 
 A ghost, nor dream'd that she could leave the fiend. 
 Washington rose in peace, replaced his helm 
 Upon his brow, and sheath'd his glittering sword, 
 And felt a power was on him none could stay! 
 
 Ohl I have read of chieftains who call'd out 
 Their banner'd multitudes, and circled round 
 The noon-day altar, and anon looked up: 
 While the white-bearded priest plunged deep the 
 
 knife 
 In fellow flesh, and bathed himself in gore, 
 To appease the gods and gain celestial aid! 
 And 1 have read of armies front to front, 
 Pausing in awful silence, with the match 
 Blazing o'er loaded cannon, and bright swords 
 Flashing in vengeful hands; while solemnly 
 Uncover'd chaplains bow'd between the foes, 
 And pour'd their mingling prayers — ere Death 
 
 began 
 His sacrifice unto the Prince of Hell! 
 But this was gilded seeming — a mere show 
 To warm the vassal soldiers to high thoughts, 
 And make them glow for carnage — ^^not for right. 
 
83 
 
 'Twas mumbling prayer to God, with lips profane, 
 While their hearts wish'd the answer of a shout 
 From the excited ranks — the cry for blood. 
 They look'd upon their warriors, as their dogs 
 Are look'd upon by sportsmen; and they hoped 
 Such solemn mockeries might their men inspire, 
 As gentle pattings fire the unloosed hound: 
 And all their plan was but to curb their rage 
 Till it grew fierce, then burst the bands and urge 
 The hosts to slaughter! 
 
 Pure Sincerity 
 Delights to kneel in solitude, and feels 
 God's presence most where none but God beholds. 
 And when I think of our high-hearted chief 
 Watching while others slept — swelling his soul 
 To sympathize with thousands, yea, to care 
 For others' cares, while by themselves forgot; 
 Joying to find Repose had quieted 
 The tents of all around, yet keeping far 
 Her presence from his own; and when I think 
 Of his divestment of self-strength, and deep 
 And fervent longing for Almighty aid — 
 I feel as if Sincerity did smile 
 Upon that hour, and name it in her joy 
 The Eden of Duration! purest page 
 In the truth-written history of time! 
 Surely that quiet scene was fraught with life, 
 And circling angels wonder'd while they heard 
 The hero's soul expressing secretly. 
 And sacredly, before the all-seeing God, 
 
84 
 
 No care— no wish, but for his country's good! 
 And wonder'd — nay, they wonder'd not that God 
 Should sanctify the life-destroying sword: 
 For 'twas thy sword, O sainted Washington! 
 
 TO A I IRE-FLY. 
 
 Little twinlder! in the shade, 
 Of the melancholy gloaming; 
 
 Through the summer's green arcade, 
 Self-illumined, joyful, roaming: 
 
 Greater thou, in reason's eye. 
 
 Than the worlds that shine on high! 
 
 Stars on burning axles roll, 
 Through infinity of space; 
 
 Never reach a resting goal, 
 Never weary in their race: 
 
 Rolling on and shining bright. 
 
 Cheering all the realms of night. 
 
 Yet thy light exhibits power, 
 
 More than all the stars that shine; 
 
 Life! — though but for one short hour, 
 Life — the breath of God, is thine! 
 
 Let thy little heart expand! 
 
 Wing thy lamp through all the land! 
 
 He that made the hills and vales, 
 Rivers, oceans, earth and sky; 
 
85 
 
 Talks in storms, and breathes in gales: 
 
 Giveth thee self-wilVd to fly! 
 Greater power in thee is shown, 
 Than in midnight's starry zone! 
 
 While fallen Adam mourn'd the fatal stroke, 
 That sear'd creation as the law was broke; 
 From the kind heavens, a form of beauty came; 
 By Mercy sent — Improvement was her name. 
 And thus her message: — Mourning one, rejoice ! 
 And praise whom I obey, with thankful voice! 
 
 Alas! said man, can pleasure soothe the heart 
 That soon must quiver on destruction's dart] 
 Can he who holds a hell within his breast, 
 Sing as in heaven, and lull the storm to rest? 
 Command fair Eden's lightning-scathed trees 
 To bloom afresh, and perfume every breeze! 
 Or bid yon cataract, thundering to the plain, 
 Turn to its fount, and sleep in peace again! 
 Will they give heed] then ask not me to raise 
 A single sound of happiness or praise. 
 
 Look o'er the earth — the withering curse hath made 
 The young to wrinkle — evergreens to fade. 
 Where late the angel Beauty look'd around, 
 Palaced in Eden, and with glory crown'd; 
 
86 
 
 And saw her image in the dark clear lake, 
 And her fair pictures hung on every brake, 
 And not one spot on all creation's face, 
 But bloom'd with health, and shone with smiling 
 
 grace: 
 Look now, and see — alas! that I have seen! 
 What dreadful ravage mars the sweet serene! 
 Behold the blasted Paradise! the path 
 Is red with vengeance; and the voice of wrath 
 Mutters afar, as if repeating still, 
 The curse that drove me from the holy hill. 
 
 See the prone, smouldering woods; the mountains 
 
 brown; 
 The clouds that gloom creation with their frown; 
 And lo! the turbid river swells and roars. 
 And heaps the spoils of ruin on its shores. 
 No wing is there in heaven; and earth below 
 Is dumb with all the eloquence of wo. 
 The throne of Beauty crumbled to the ground, 
 And her dash'd crown in fragments fell around; 
 And as she fled, a long loud howl arose. 
 And traitor Echo triumph'd with her foes! 
 
 " But cheer thee, Mourner!" bright Improvement 
 
 said, 
 " The God of mercy sends thee ample aid; 
 But list my voice, and earth, that seems so sad, 
 Deck'd with new charms, again shall make thee 
 
 glad. 
 Thy doom is but to toil; I come to bless 
 Thy whole employ, and make the labour less. 
 
87 
 
 Soon shall young Time the darken'd heavens clear; 
 And woods and mountains bloom throughout the 
 
 year; 
 The turbid streams in lucid lustre flow, 
 And all creation in fresh beauty grow. 
 But list my voice, — and every new employ 
 Shall bring less pain, and yield increase of joy. 
 And, as thy sin from Eden turn'd thy path. 
 And made the world the heritage of wrath. 
 Thy toil, by me directed, shall compel 
 From ruin, better than from what you fell: 
 And make — for loss of Eden full supply, 
 A fairer garden ail beneath the sky." 
 
 The Fiend of Darkness, hid in robes of light, 
 Stood near, and heard. Then, to the den of nighty 
 Swelling with fur}?-, swift he glanced; and there, 
 Thus, to the host infernal, pour'd his care: — 
 
 " He whom I hate, has sent Improvement down. 
 To wake to smiles, what 1 have taught to frown, 
 I heard the minion promise joy to man. 
 But I exist, and joy he never can! 
 What! is it thought that I, who lately drove 
 The wheels of terror through the bowers of love. 
 Will tamely bear the tortures of my doom, 
 And see those bowers again array'd in bloomi 
 No! while there lives a soul of Adam's race, 
 The groans of earth shall pain the ear of space! 
 
 " Spirit of Change! arise! 'tis thine to be. 
 Again the cause of human misery! 
 
88 
 
 E'en while I hate, I bid thee near my throne. 
 For still my hope depends on thee alone! 
 Spirit of Change!— ha! how can I but feel, 
 That but for thee, I still could bear to kneelJ 
 That but for thee, my kingly-crowned brow, 
 Would brightest shine of all in heaven that bow! 
 Yet go! — for sure the subtle power that raised 
 My rebel arm 'gainst Him I should have praised. 
 The power that triumph'd in the recent fall, 
 Can poison Mercy's cup with bitterest gall? 
 Go! — and, where'er Improvement bends her path. 
 Assume her semblance, and let loose thy wrath! 
 Go! and though man, behind the mask, may trace 
 The blended horrors of thy fiendish face; 
 Thy toys shall make him cast her works aside. 
 And follow thee, in all the pomp of pride! 
 The mimic, rather than the mimick'd, love; 
 And wish the angel housed again -above! 
 Then shall thy name be Fashion, and mankind 
 Shall crave thy hand, and vow theuiselves are blind; 
 While trusted thus, all other fiends shall be 
 As peace to fury, when compared with theel" 
 
89 
 
 1830. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 When the smoke of the battle-field darkens the 
 
 And the thunder of war makes the firm earth 
 move; 
 Hope sees through the gloom where the sufferer 
 lies, 
 And hears the low sigh for the home of his love. 
 She comforts his soul with her promise of life, 
 Of his child's caress and the kiss of his wife. 
 
 When the sky and the ocean are dark with the 
 storm, 
 
 And the foam-crested waves curl high in the air; 
 Hope trusts to the tempest her radiant form, 
 
 And rescues the sailor that kneels to despair. 
 She sings at his side that the danger shall cease, 
 And he open the door of his cottage in peace. 
 
 But how oft, when she promises earthly relief, 
 
 She merely evinces the wish of her soul! 
 The warrior's spirit departeth in grief, 
 
 And the sailor sinks where the wild waters roll. 
 The sea-monsters feast on the child of the wave, 
 And foul vultures drink the warm blood of the 
 brave! 
 
 5« 
 
90 
 
 There are times, when her music — like songs of 
 the blest, 
 
 Revealeth in sweetness the language of truth; 
 When she sings to the Christian who seeks his rest, 
 
 Thai his body shall wake in unperishing youth: 
 And his spirit — though seeming to venture alone, 
 With beautiful angels shall fly to the throne! 
 
 Then — oh! then there is something divine in the 
 
 _ sound! 
 
 And the saint's last breath is expired in delight! 
 " See the smile on his lips!" is whisper'd around, 
 
 "As seraphs had kiss'd them, so lovely and bright !'* 
 While the soul unfoldeth her wings like a dove. 
 And hastes to the bosom of Infinite Love, 
 
91 
 
 1831. 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Duly I went. 
 The hearse and carriages in order stood, 
 And groups of men, at corners of the streets, 
 And round the door, in pensive mood conversed. 
 The handle of the lock was bound with crape: 
 The passage-v/ay was dark. An aged man 
 Silently took my hand, and led my steps 
 To the still chamber of the coffin'd corpse. 
 The half-closed shutters mellow'd the sun's glare. 
 And spread a solemn twilight through the room. 
 The tables and the mirrors were all clothed 
 \n. spotless white, and from the mantle broad 
 Down to the floor the linen drapery hung, 
 I stood beside the corpse, and lifting up 
 The snowy covering, gazed most thoughtfully, 
 Most reverently, most sorrowfully gazed 
 Upon that face, emaciate, pale, and cold. 
 The hollow temples — the transparent brow, 
 Part shaded by the dark and glossy hair — 
 The purple eye-lids, covering the glazed balls. 
 Sunk in their sockets — and the wasted cheeks — 
 And blenched lips, still brighten'd with a smile — 
 The sweet composure resting over all — 
 Oh! 1 did gaze, until ray heart grew large, 
 And tears relieved my sadness. 
 
&2 
 
 Soon I heard 
 The voice of mournkig, and approaching- steps. 
 Then came the parents — bent with age and grief, 
 The brother and the sister weeping came, 
 To give the last look to the one so loved. 
 They look'd — they wept; — all but the white-hair'd 
 
 sire, 
 He merely heaved one sigh — and felt one tear 
 Start from its source, as though it were his last; 
 For he had seen much trouble, and was used 
 Sternly to bear a quiet agony. 
 The mother kiss'd the cold lips o'er and o'er, 
 And bathed the pallid cheeks with streams of grief; 
 The sister leaned upon her brother's arm, 
 And cried aloud; while he, with lips compress'd, 
 Strove to subdue his pain— his exquisite pain, 
 To see his daily fellow lying there. 
 They turn'd away — and as they turn'd, the sire 
 Gave the last glance, and fill'd his swelling heart: 
 Oh God! — he said— but ere another word 
 Fell from his tongue, he check'd the murmuring 
 
 thought.. 
 
 The face was weiVd again — the coffin lid 
 Was closed and screw'd — and then the bearers came 
 And hore the body to the plumed hearge. 
 The mourners took their seats — the train moved on 
 Slowly toward the dwelling of the dead. 
 Men at the doors, and from the windows, women 
 Look'd carelessly: an infant, in the arms 
 Of love maternal, clapped its tiny hands 
 And pointed, smiling, even at the hears©'. 
 
93 
 
 Ah! little knew that sinless child of death! 
 I wept while thinking of its after days I 
 
 We had pass'd through the gate, and now we stood 
 Around the open grave. Strong-armed men, 
 Grasping the ropes, the coffin slowly lower'd. 
 Until it rested on the cold damp floor. 
 
 Around us were the marble monuments; 
 
 And graves, o'ergrown with long thin grass and 
 
 flowers; 
 And overhung with trees, of richest leaf; — 
 Some spreading wide, and casting a light shade. 
 While others, pendent, even to the ground. 
 Threw o'er some favour'd mounds a deeper gloon^. 
 The cricket, by the tomb-stone hid, sent forth 
 Its evening song, and on the upper branch 
 The robin whistled merrily. Afar, 
 Upon the river's bank, and stretching thence 
 Back to the o'er-topping hills, the city lay. 
 Above us, was the cloudless blue — the sun. 
 Descending to the verge, shone 'twixt the trees. 
 And burnish'd the clear waves with liquid gold; 
 And every swelling dome and steeple high; 
 And every hill's brow bless'd with yellow crown. 
 All things rejoiced. 
 
 Alas! — one joyless group, 
 We, weeping, stood around that open grave: 
 The trembling mother and the struggling sire; 
 The sister, with swollen eyes and throbbing heart; 
 The brother, striving sadly with his grief. 
 
94 
 
 Oh! who could comfort them? — who bind their hearts, 
 Their broken hearts, in bonds of peace again? 
 Who soothe their troubled souls? 
 
 The passing wind 
 Was more consoling far, than would have been 
 The voice of heathen or poor infidel! 
 For heathen eye ne'er saw the flowers of hope, 
 And infidels but crush them under foot. 
 
 If e'er my heart had joy — if ever yet, 
 
 Pleasure hath fired mine eye or loosed my tongue, 
 
 'Twas when, with healing words, from God's own 
 
 mouth, 
 I bade the mourners think of him, who says — 
 
 "I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE." 
 
 The Resurrection! — Calvary's cross was red. 
 With Jesu's heart's blood, and the sealed tomb 
 His pierced body held; — but cruel death. 
 Though it had mangled him; and the strong grave, 
 Though it had bound him for eternity; 
 Both were dragg'd captives at his chariot wheel. 
 From the rock sepulchre he rose again. 
 As though he left the downy bed of sleep. 
 And, surely as he rose, this Christian's frame, 
 With all the strength and grace and hues of youth, 
 Of youth no more to fade, shall rise again. 
 The resurrection and the Life! — the life! 
 Immortal life! What though these rural charms — 
 Yon city's pomp — he witnesseth no more? 
 What though this pile of clay shall be cast down, 
 Hiding his body from his fellow's gaze? 
 
95 
 
 What though his flesh shall blacken and then rot, 
 
 And feed a thousand worms? — make it as foul 
 
 As pitiless fancy can! What then? Why life — 
 
 Again T say, immortal life is his. 
 
 No sooner had his spirit left his frame, 
 
 Than friendly saints, well-known in former days. 
 
 And glorious angels with their golden wings, 
 
 Sang him their welcome, and conducted far 
 
 Where Paradise in fadeless beauty blooms. 
 
 And now — while we, with decent rites, inter 
 
 His much-loved form, — the hand, the gentle hand 
 
 Of smiling Jesus haply lifts the crown. 
 
 And, while his servant kneels before him, bends. 
 
 And rests it on his brow — bright as a star! 
 
 The parents yielded resignation meet. 
 
 The brother's and the sister's hearts grew calm. 
 
 Uncovering then our heads, in reverence due. 
 
 We bless'd the Lord for our sweet gospel hopes; 
 
 And thence, with fresh resolves to follow Christ, 
 
 Departed to our homes in perfect peace. 
 
 Life's the temple's outer pale. 
 For priestly service trod: 
 
 Death will soon uplift the veil. 
 And let us in, to God! 
 
96 
 
 VISIT TO A MOTHER S GRAVE. 
 
 The time that I had waited for, arrived: 
 The hour of evening gloom. Earth lay at rest, 
 And the bright stars were on their silent watch. 
 The village street — that had an hour before 
 Been gay with forms of childhood, youth and age, 
 In sportive walk, or conversation, joined — 
 Was all forsaken. Olden willows hung 
 Their long green branches nearly to the ground; 
 But they, the laughing children— who had swung, 
 Dependent, there — were dreaming of new joys! 
 The river-waves upon the grassy bank, 
 Shadow'd by ancient elms, made music still; 
 But white-robed maidens, leaning on the arms 
 J, Of tall youths, fondly, were no longer there; 
 
 m But in their chambers mused on plighted vows! 
 
 ^'■' The comfortable porches — where the old 
 
 Had met in converse, or, alone, review'd 
 The path of life, and cast an onward glance 
 Into futurity; or, turning, gazed 
 With smiles upon the willow-swinging boys — 
 The porches were deserted, and the old 
 Bow'd at their family altars, blessing God! 
 Such was the hour, when, from my grandsire's door 
 I bent my steps to seek my mother's grave! 
 My soul was glad that no obtrusive eye 
 Would note my path and errand; for I long'd 
 To yield my heart to grief, mine eyes to tears, 
 Where grief is full and tears most freely flow. 
 
97 
 
 The fencing- scaled, I stood among- the graves. 
 There, searching in the gloom for ways between, 
 With careful step I shunn'd the sacred mounds, 
 Nor dared to trample on a fellow's dust. 
 The grave 1 sought was found — my Mother's Grave; 
 And I was there alone! No one to chide — 
 No one to draw me thence; alone to muse, 
 To kneel in sorrow, weep, and call on God. 
 Oh! how I prized that hour! The starry niglit 
 Was dearer far than day! the moaning wind 
 More musical than pleasant voice of friend! 
 
 And can it be? — my feelings prompted thus — 
 And can it be? My mother dead and here! 
 This clay — is it her covering? Tlie tall stone — 
 Hath it indeed, her name? I felt the stone; 
 I traced the deep-cut letters with my hand, 
 And trembled as I found each letter true! 
 I thought of Home, as once it was — of home 
 As brightened by a Mother's smile of love. 
 How tenderly she loved us! Emily, 
 My sister! thou rememberest her love! 
 Nay, my young sister — even she can tell 
 How tenderly our Mother loved us all! 
 True, wealth was not our patron, and, at times, 
 E'en comfort seem'd departing; — true, her frame 
 Was wasted by disease and rack'd with pain; 
 But still her patient soul was rich in peace, 
 And the mild radiance of her eye and lip 
 Imparted peace, as though ourselves were if]. 
 And she a healthful angel, kindly sent 
 
98 
 
 To breathe delight upon our fainting hearts! 
 
 I lingered with these thoughts. Each room of home 
 
 Had scenery that charmed me; in the midst, 
 
 My Mother, scattering blessings. Morningscenes — 
 
 Noon-day and night scenes — meal-time — study — 
 
 prayer: 
 Bright winter scenes — when the warm fire was 
 
 built, 
 And we all gather'd round it, wishing still 
 The welcome coming of our evening treat! 
 Fair summer scenes — when every door was wide, 
 And the new-painted hearth was well adorn'd 
 With boughs and flowers in humble vase combin'd. 
 The more I mused, a clearer light was thrown 
 On every picture, and my Mother's form. 
 Her look — her motion — vivid were as life! 
 I broke the spell! again I wildly cried — 
 And can it be? — My Mother dead and here! 
 My whole soul was impassion'd, and I bow'd 
 Beneath the power of passion, all subdued: 
 For it was true! — I could not shun the truth — 
 And such a truth! — O God! to think that there 
 My Mother was corrupting! food for worms! 
 
 Others may scorn the body — call it clay; 
 A poor clay tenement, unworthy thought — 
 A casket — valueless, but for its gem. 
 But long as memory can repeat the phrase, 
 " You had a Mother!" shall my tongue refrain 
 From such dishonour to the sacred dead. 
 I loved my Mother's form — around it twined 
 
99 
 
 My best affections. Spirits are unseen, 
 Unheard, unfelt. I knew my Mother's soul 
 But through the loving eye — the gentle voice, 
 And lip of fondness, kissing my young cheek. 
 1 loved her eye — it beams upon me still! 
 I loved her voice — it still consoles mine ear! 
 I loved her lip — behold! the smile is there! 
 Alas! 'twas but a dream! again I wake: 
 The eye — the voice — the lip of love, are lost! 
 Oh! how my spirit struggles, as I cry — 
 Say, can it be! ray Mother dead and here! 
 Aye! wasted — mouldering — every part dissolved! 
 
 " Twas then that God vouchsafed my troubled 
 soul, 
 A glorious emblem of my Mother's bliss. 
 I had knelt down, and o'er the grave's head bent; 
 And there, at the wild prompting of despair, 
 I call'd — in low tone — Mother! — and the wind. 
 As silently I paused, stirr'd the long grass 
 Upon the grave-top — but no voice replied! 
 In mad self-mockery, again I spoke. 
 In plaintive tone, my Mother! — but no sound 
 Broke the deep stillness! Upward to the sky, 
 With heart relenting to the will of God, 
 Then turn'd my glance; and lo! a meteor bright — 
 Bright as the morning's herald-star! — shone out 
 From the blue distance, and athwart the sky, 
 On golden wing, with trailing glory, flew — 
 Till lost again in azure; and \felt 
 The truth it taught — Your Mother is in heaven! 
 
100 
 
 ' STUDY TO SHOW THYSELF APPROVED UNTO GOD.' 
 
 Where shall the soul obtain, 
 .Some MAXIM that will lead 
 From sorrow's desert plain, 
 
 To pleasure's fountain-head! — 
 Which, like an Angel guide, 
 
 Shall point where Jesus trod, 
 And bring at last to Jesus' sideT 
 'Tis this, — 'tis this! 
 The golden key of bliss — 
 "Approve thyself to God!'* 
 
 How happy is the breast, 
 This maxim that maintains! 
 
 Can aught disturb his rest. 
 
 Whose CONSCIENCE has no pains? 
 
 Earth frowns — but Jesus smiles! 
 Strikes — but he wards the rod! 
 
 And lures — but vain are all its wiles! 
 Mortal! may this 
 Direct thy way to bliss — 
 
 " Approve thyself to god!" 
 
 Shepherds to see that Infant came, 
 And Sages joy'd to hear his name; 
 While Angels glitter'd on the eye, 
 As though all heaven were passing by. 
 
101 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 Read — think — and fix thy duty in thy mind; 
 And then, despite the world's alluring charms, 
 Despite the strong temptations of the fiend, 
 Despite the evil stirrings of thy heart, 
 Sternly 'perform thy duty to the last. 
 Swerve not a moment. Let thy lofty hope 
 Stand at the throne's foot in mid-heaven! The 
 
 flowers 
 Of sinful pleasures, trample on; and wear 
 The thorns of persecution on thy brow — 
 Should such a crown be bound there — with a smile. 
 In God be thy dependence; in the blood 
 Of Christ, thy self-abjuring faith. And then, 
 The path of life, or long or short, shall be 
 A path of peace; and when the gate appears, 
 The Gate of Death — thou shalt advance with joy. 
 And sound the iron knocker: glad to think 
 That, as the folds shall part, all heaven will shine 
 Full on thy sight — thine own inheritance! 
 
 THE COMING OF THE SHOWER. 
 
 O, many a long and weary day, 
 Nature has waited for the shower; 
 
 The leaf has wither'd on the spray. 
 And faded every drooping flower. 
 
 The grain-fields watch with weary eye 
 
 Each hopeful cloud that floateth by; 
 
 T-Ian looks and mourns — but mourns in vain; 
 
 rhere falls no blessed drop of rain. 
 
102 
 
 Butlo! the time has come! the cloud 
 
 With welcome gloom o'erspreads the ground; 
 
 There is the flash! and hark! how loud 
 In highest heaven the thunders sound: 
 
 Drop after drop! and full and free 
 
 On field and forest, flower and tree, 
 
 The cloud's whole treasure falls amain, 
 
 And earth rejoices in the rain. 
 
 Thus when the soul has mourn'd; — when all 
 
 The plants of grace have seem'd to die; 
 When the faint spirit's feeble call, 
 
 Has claim'd the mercy of the sky; — 
 Then the refreshing time draws near, 
 Down comes the shower; the dry and sear 
 Revive at once, and all are seen 
 In fragrant bloom and fruitful green! 
 
 A MAN IN HELL. 
 
 " Lost! lost! forever lost!" 
 
 And as the words 
 Startled my wond'ring soul, I turned and saw- 
 Walking upon the black and barren shore, 
 On which the liquid fire in billows dash'd — 
 A form of man; a ruin'd, haggard form, 
 With eyes of agony and frowns of wo. 
 
 " Lost! lost! for ever lost!" 
 
 And as he spoke, 
 In worse despair he wailed and gnashed his teeth. 
 
103 
 
 « Lost! lost! for ever lost!" 
 
 And the firm tone 
 Told that the soul had summon'd all its strength, 
 To pour again upon the airy gloom 
 The sorrows of imprisonment in hell. 
 
 " As the strong wind a moment blows aside 
 VTon clouds of smoke, o'erhanging my abode, 
 I see afar the earth on which I dwelt. 
 Ha! at the sound, again its calm, blue sky, 
 Its hills and vales, enrobed in dewy green. 
 And its cool, purling waters — aye! its founts. 
 Cold from the rock! — alas! my parched tongue! 
 Curst be the power that brings such scenes to view, 
 That makes me seem to see, and hear, and taste 
 The streams refreshing, while my mouth and throat 
 Are dry and hot, and all around is fire, 
 And all above is suffocating smoke! 
 No drop comes down — no oozing moisture liere 
 Dampens the burning soil. How plenty there! 
 When slight exertion flush'd my healthful frame, 
 The well was at my side, and the full cup 
 Supplied my thirst." 
 
 Again he gnash'd his teeth; 
 He wail'd, and as he wail'd he wept — wept tears 
 That stood like molten lead drops on his cheeks. 
 His voice was heard again: — 
 
 " Oh! more than fool! 
 Mad! mad! deliriously mad! to choose. 
 Aye! choose^ the path that brought my footsteps 
 here. 
 
104 
 
 Oh! I remember my dear mother's tears— 
 My father's prayers — my sister's loving words — 
 The preacher's warnings, and the Bible's too — 
 And the kind Spirit whispering to my heart! 
 But the world tempted — and I was its slave; 
 My passions prompted — and I was their slave; 
 And he that governs here, and suffers most, 
 He lied, and I believed-^and was his slave! 
 And I am lost! lost! lost! for ever lost! 
 Aha! aha! earth! with thy blue serene — 
 And hills and dales in dewy freshness clothed— 
 And with thy rippling streams! thy rippling streams! 
 Aha! thy rippling streams! farewell! farewell! 
 And as he cried, a cloud of darkest smoke 
 Veil'd from his view his native star-like orb. 
 
 Again he walk'd the shore, with hurried pace, 
 And ever and anon he gazed above. 
 At length a parting in the clouds was seen, 
 Wide in the zenith^and he lifted up 
 His aching arm, and pointing to the space, 
 " There — there is heaven! and let it shine! shine 
 
 on 
 Ye gates, and walls, and palaces! wave on 
 Ye trees of life, in pleasant breezes wave! 
 And flow — ye living waters! — gently flow! 
 And bloom, ye banks! in spring immortal bloom! 
 Shine! wave! flow! bloom! as now, so evermore! 
 There are, of servile soul, unnumbered hosts, 
 Angelic call'd, and sainted, who have bow'd 
 In coward homage to the haughty One, 
 
105 
 
 To be his minions — to rejoice in heaven. 
 But never thus did I — nor would I now, 
 Should every angel come with winning voice, 
 And tell me, 'Kneel but once and heaven is thine.' " 
 
 The lie was spoken, but it brought no peace: 
 Th' undying worm, that to his heart-strings clung, 
 More fiercely gnaw'd them; and the poor wretch 
 
 writhed. 
 Till due confession faltered on his tongue: — 
 
 " Yea, I would bow; but now, alas! alas! 
 Too late! too late! release can ne'er be found— 
 For I am lost! lost! lost! for ever lost! 
 
 " But even now my curse is not complete: 
 Fain would I hear these waves for ever dash — 
 For ever breathe in this sulphureous night — 
 Nor know a change. — But oh! the hour will come 
 When 1 must leave these shades, and stand reveal'd 
 In all my ruin — in full glare of light — 
 Before the judgment seat! while saints shall gaze, 
 And angels, and shall tremble as they hear 
 The record of my crimes — all— one by one, 
 Told to the throng immense! How that I call'd 
 God's word a lie! — the Holy Ghost repulsed! 
 And crucified the Son of God afresh! 
 
 " Ha! shall my tender mother's tearful eyes, 
 My father's and ray sister's, see me then] 
 Yes, they — array'd in ever lovely youth. 
 White-robed and crov/n'd with glory fit for heaven! 
 6 
 
106 
 
 Shall see my ghastly form — black from the pit, 
 
 And foul as hell — a loathsome thing accursed! 
 
 Aye, they shall see me thus — and catch the sound 
 
 From Jesu's lips, confirming my sad lot: 
 
 ' Depart again to everlasting Jirel^ 
 
 And I — the reprobate of all; a lost, 
 
 An outcast soul; joyless, unclean, abhorrM — 
 
 Shall come — with songs of angels, sights of bliss 
 
 Thronging my mind — to meditate, with grief, 
 
 Upon the broad disgrace stamp'd on my soul, 
 
 Full in the view of the whole universel 
 
 Shall come to bear the gnawings of this worm — 
 
 The burning of these flames — the agony 
 
 Of a soul used to hope, that cannot now 
 
 Conceive a moment in eternity 
 
 Of joy or ease." 
 
 And as he spoke, he shook 
 With wo unknown to words; but, as he shook, 
 He still exclaimed: "Lost! lost! for ever lost!" 
 
 PRAYER FOR A FAMILY OF MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Almighty! thine are all things; and thy love 
 Delights to show its fulness in rich gifts, 
 To all thy meek disciples. 
 
 In thine ear, 
 I breathe a fervent prayer that these my friends; 
 May know thy goodness fully now and aye! 
 
107 
 
 Health, wealth, extended life; — the thousand joys 
 Of social intercourse with kindred hearts; — 
 Oh! may I ask — and earnestly — all these? 
 Nay; — who of mortal frame can apprehend 
 Th' effects and fitness of the things to come 1 
 Thou only — Lofty One! — who lookest abroad. 
 From unimagined height, o'er all the years 
 Of infinite duration! — Thou, alone, 
 The circumstances leading to result 
 Of final bliss, may'st know! With thee, I rest 
 The choice of outward portion. 
 
 But I pray — 
 (Thou dost permit, and Thou wilt grant such prayer) 
 I pray that all simplicity of truth, 
 All gentleness of feeling, such as dwelt 
 In our Exemplar, may be ever theirs. 
 I pray that faith — and hope — and love may be 
 The treasure of their souls. Unwavering faith; 
 Firm as a rocky islet, mid the surge 
 Of myriad temptations. Sun-like faith; 
 Scattering the darkness of futurity. 
 And pouring on the palaces of heaven 
 Immortal radiance; cheering to the eye 
 Of weary pilgrim, longing for the gate. 
 And HOPE — sweet hope — with strong, untiring 
 
 wing; 
 Sporting before them o'er the heavenward way: 
 At times, far onward in its rapid flight, 
 Bright as a meteor near the throne of God; 
 And then, returning, floating on spread plumes 
 Just overhead, and singing, like a lark 
 
108 
 
 That from the dawn-cloud sees the rising sun,— 
 Its song of rapture, quickening the faint step 
 And gladd'ning the sad heart with thoughts of rest. 
 And LOVE — triumphant love — o'er all supreme: 
 The fairest spirit in the universe! 
 Thy favourite, Father! Oh! permit her voice 
 To prompt them to thy praise, and to the boons 
 Claim'd by their suffering fellows! Let her walk 
 In beauty in their midst, and they will be 
 Of all the happy, happiest; and their looks, 
 Smiling, like hers, shall win them entrance, soon 
 As they shall touch the threshold of thy courts! 
 The prayer thou hearest— for Christ's sake let it be! 
 
 MY daughter's birth-day. 
 
 Then thought I, every chord of thine, 
 
 Harp of my youth! with joy shall ring. 
 The young immortal! gift divine! 
 
 Her welcome to the earth I'll sing. 
 But when T saw the world, though bright, 
 Was bathed in a delusive light, 
 My yielding faith was lost in fears. 
 And every harp-string wet with tears. 
 
 Oh, shame! when God, in tender love, 
 Had granted such a precious boon, 
 
 That I should stay the burst of joy 
 And doubt His faithfulness so soon! 
 
109 
 
 My harp— when such a bliss was given 
 That earth assumed the hues of heaven— 
 To sweeter song should have been strung, 
 Than childless angel ever sung. 
 
 Behold! a year the sun has past 
 
 In daily glory o'er her head, 
 And He who brought her into life 
 
 Has still preserved her from the dead. 
 And more — though many hours have been 
 When pale and weak her form was seen — 
 Her gentle eye so blue and coy, 
 Ten thousand times has flash'd with joy! 
 
 'Twas sweet to watch her opening mind. 
 From the first living glance that proved 
 The soul within was looking out, 
 
 And, looking, something saw it loved; 
 To when, with most enchanting grace, 
 The kindling smile adorned her face; 
 And still she laugh'd, while, small and white, 
 Both hands were waving with delight! 
 
 And now, though many weary miles 
 
 Of land and water intervene, 
 Methinks my darling babe I see. 
 
 With careful step and brow serene, 
 Tott'ring along, while at her side 
 Her watchful mother walks as guide, 
 And, hoping that I soon may come. 
 Tells her to call her father home! 
 
110 
 
 I can no more. Great Shepherd! thos, 
 
 Though I am distant, still art near! 
 Yet in thy bosom bear my lamb, 
 And keep it safe another year! 
 The lamb is thine; but let me hold 
 And lead it nightly to the fold, 
 And all the day with it abide, 
 Where the still waters smoothly glide! 
 
 ABSENCE . 
 
 Oh, when the heart has lost its mate, 
 
 It is indeed a lonely thing! 
 Nor early morn nor evening late. 
 
 Its wonted happiness can bring. 
 
 Strangers may pass before the eyes, 
 The young — the beautiful — the gay; 
 
 But still the heedless spirit sighs. 
 As if no footstep mark'd the way. 
 
 And friends — e'en friends — may kindly come, 
 With cheering words and pleasant voice, 
 
 But many thoughts of distant home 
 Steal o'er us, and we can't rejoice. 
 
 No — deep in fancy's magic hall. 
 
 Affection from the world retires, 
 And there, from memory's pictures all 
 
 Selects the one she most admires; 
 
Ill 
 
 And, gazing on the smiling face 
 
 And form of her beloved mate, 
 She heeds nor friendly voice nor grace, 
 
 At early morn nor evening late. 
 
 Yea, — thus for one the heart will swell, 
 
 But I have sadder lot to rue; 
 Have bid not only wife farewell, 
 
 But little one, with eyes of blue! 
 
 But ah! if merely absence make 
 The crowded world so lonely seem, 
 
 What grief is his, who starting, wakes. 
 As though his life had been a dream, 
 
 And finds— all still — -without a breath, 
 
 His wife or child, cold — cold in death! 
 
 And more: — if deeply thus I mourn 
 While absent from my wife and child: 
 
 How raves a parted spirit — torn 
 From prayer — from hope — from mercy mild. 
 
 Flying from point to point abroad. 
 
 Exiled for ever from its God! 
 
 Friends bought with money, fail when money flies; 
 Those won by merit, not till merit dies. 
 
112 
 
 Stanzas, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO : 
 
 " But one thing is needful : and Mary hath chosen that good 
 part, which shall not be taken away fiom her." Luke x. 42. 
 
 '* But one thing is needful:" — the World, in her 
 pride, 
 
 And with scorn on her features, may scoff at the 
 truth. 
 And the angel-like Tempter may walk at thy side. 
 
 To fasten on earth the affections of youth; 
 And Fancy may brighten — thy footsteps to win. 
 The hues of the :9owers in the pathway of sin; 
 But the frown of Jehovah all evil shall blast. 
 And the truth of the Lord be aeknov/ledged at last. 
 
 " But one thing is needfuh" — to sit at the feet 
 
 Of the Saviour of sinners, in meekness and love; 
 With His smile resting on us, to hear Him repeat 
 
 The glory that dwells in His palace above;. 
 To learn from His lips that the Spirit is given 
 To th* humble in heart to prepare them for heaven; 
 And to feel, as \we catch the sweet tones of His voice» 
 That the soul, v/hen v/ith Jesus, cannot but rejoice. 
 
 Then list to me, Mary! this portion be thine, 
 In the morning of youth from the world turn away; 
 
 With the warm words of prayer seek assistance 
 divine, 
 For the boon shall he given as sure as you pray. 
 
113 
 
 And when thou hast chosen this excellent part, 
 A heavenly peace shall be breathed on thy heart. 
 And as fragrance can never be drawn from the 
 
 flower, 
 So to separate these there is none shall have power. 
 
 6* 
 
114 
 
 1832. 
 
 THE MOMENT OF DEATH. 
 
 ^Tis awfully sublime! Behold her form, 
 
 How weak and thin! — almost a skeleton! 
 
 Her lips are pale — her brow and cheeks are white 
 
 As the new-fallen snow, and shine like pearl. 
 
 Her finest temple veins are visible 
 
 In all their violet outlines; her dark hair 
 
 Is sadly smooth and glossy; and her eyes, 
 
 Her full clear eyes are gloriously bright. 
 
 Her hour has come. And yet how sweetly calm! 
 
 Think not her love has perished, for it burns 
 
 Upon its holy altar, with a flame 
 
 Purer than ever; and the weepers here 
 
 Are they who kindled it. That trembling one 
 
 Is her fond partner, and his wounded heart 
 
 Throbs with a pain his trembling cannot tell, — 
 
 Sharp, strong, deep, dreadful — aye, unspeakable! 
 
 And this, in bud-like beauty innocent. 
 
 This is the babe she nursed upon her breast, 
 
 And kiss'd a thousand times while in her arms 
 
 Asleep it ky, with seraph droams and smiles* 
 
 But sh€ has given her loved ones to her God, 
 
 Who gave them first to her; and she is God's, 
 
 And therefore hath she now such perfect peace! 
 
 Oh! 'tis a strange, and yet a blessed thing. 
 Thus to await the moment of her death! 
 
115 
 
 See how her bright eye wanders round the room 
 Gazing by turns on each familiar face, 
 And then looks up and flashes, as she saw 
 Some angel herald of her coming Lord! 
 Mysterious ties are gently loosening now — 
 The bonds of flesh and spirit; slow unfold 
 The soul's immortal wings, strong with desire 
 To soar above the stars and wave in heaven. 
 Earth must grow dim and shadowy, as the light 
 Of glory, dawns and gleams and shines around; 
 And things of wonder now begin to throng 
 Upon her inward vision! Yet she breathes 
 Softly as ever, and hath not one fear! 
 But look — her eyes — oh how intensely bright! 
 Her smile — how like an angel's! — and her hands, 
 They wave! — they wave! — and hark! her whisper- 
 ing voice — 
 " 'Tis Jesus! Jesus!" 
 
 She is with the Lord! 
 
 Where the Summer zephyr play'd. 
 
 In the flowers' perfume; 
 Or down the dimpled streamlet stray'd, 
 
 And dipt his golden plume: 
 
 Winter binds a jewell'd veil. 
 
 O'er every naiad's eyes; 
 And masked trees, of hill and dale, 
 
 Glitter in disguise. 
 
116 
 
 AN IMPROMPTU. 
 September 19, 1832, — at night. 
 
 Alas for the fire-side 1 
 The parents and children, at morn, noon, and night, 
 There met in the fulness of love and delight; 
 But now the pale orphans, all silent and lone, 
 Despondingly muse on the days that are gone. 
 O'er the altar of prayer are no father's hands spread. 
 And their sweet-smiling mother is one of the dead. 
 
 Alas for the fire-side! 
 
 Alas for thee, Zion! 
 Thy angel-like daughters, all gentle and pure, 
 Who well could the mourner to Jesus allure; 
 Thy sons who commanded the comforting voice, 
 And bade the prone sinner arise and rejoice; 
 Nor sighing — ^nor tears — nor entreaties could save, 
 Thy fondest and boldest have gone to the grave. 
 Alas for thee, Zion! 
 
 But joy to the Freed ones! 
 All hail, ye immortals! in glory array'd. 
 No more of temptation or sorrow afraid: 
 The wings of your spirits are folded; you rest 
 By the streams of delight 'mid the forms of the 
 
 blest; 
 The bloom that adorns you, the plague shall not 
 
 blast, 
 The bliss you inherit for ever shall last. 
 
 Joy— joy to the Freed ones! 
 
in 
 
 THANKSGIVING FOR THE BIBLE. 
 
 The grateful utterance of a glowing heart 
 Accept, O GodI My spirit burns to tell 
 Its debt of love. 
 
 Oh! all-surpassing Book! 
 A gift that worlds were far too poor to buy! 
 The very hand that holds it thrills with joy; 
 The ardent eye is giaddenM by each page; 
 And when I press the treasure to my breast, 
 The deep pulsations quicken at the touch, 
 While, looking upward to the beaming sky. 
 And glancing at each star that sparkles there, 
 I feel my immortality; and call 
 The earth a moment's stopping place — my home 
 The central heaven — the universe my range! 
 
 Father! [ thank Thee. Heart, and voice, and harp, 
 With feeling, word, and music, yield Thee praise! 
 
 What though the mighty Angel spread his wings 
 O'er hill and dale, and in the fatal shade 
 Thousands lie down and perish, and the wail 
 Of kindred thousands, weeping o'er the dead, 
 Alarm the land; still may my soul obtain 
 A short relief from sympathetic tears, 
 And, musing on Thy promises, grow calm 
 As saint who rests in heaven. Ay, should my 
 
 friends — 
 They who would be, but for Thy warning voicCj 
 
118 
 
 The idols in the temple of my love — 
 Fall, one by one, till the grave held the lasty 
 Still — oh! forbid my holy faith should fail! 
 Still — ah, my God! stay, stay my fainting soull 
 Stilly still, triumphant o'er vain fears — my heart* 
 My wounded heart, would leap with new delight. 
 And 1 would stand upon their tombs and shout 
 In hope of everlasting fellowship! 
 
 My mother is in heaven! The golden streets 
 Of thine eternal city — and the plains 
 That ever bloom around it — and the hills 
 That close the vast horizon, all adorn'd 
 With thine effulgent glory — never saw 
 The passing shadow of o'erflying death. 
 My mother hath no fear! There, at her side. 
 Three cherub children, glad and beautiful, 
 For ever walk, and other kindred saints 
 Commune with her rapt spirit. 
 
 But on earth, 
 A throng of loved ones breathe the tainted air; 
 From some around whose wrinkled temples shine 
 Locks white as silver, to the new-born babe, 
 Lying in snowy raiment on the lap. 
 And wondering at his mother's earnest eyes. 
 And one, to whom my spirit can but cling 
 With most intense affection, walks the wards 
 Of a vast crowded mansion, where the poor, 
 Rack'd by a hundred vices, daily fall, 
 And, in their dying agony, behold 
 
119 
 
 Coffin and corpse, and know their fate the same! 
 
 Ah! shall my father — can I say it — die? 
 
 I yet receive his frequent letters, fraught 
 
 With fondest love and pious confidence. 
 
 And shall the hand that writes them, write no more! 
 
 Shall others send the black-seal'd note, to tell 
 
 His eyes are closed — his body in the gravel 
 
 And I be parentless? How nature mourns ! 
 
 flow would I love to break all bonds and rave — 
 
 Eave like a maniac, at a lot like this! 
 
 But grace — all powerful grace — e'en then could 
 
 swell 
 My soul with rich enthusiastic hope, 
 And lead me through this distant stranger-land 
 Light-footedjia expectance of my home' 
 
120 
 
 1835. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT RAPTURE. 
 
 Amen! 
 The will of God be done! 
 He calls the beautiful away, 
 To worship at the Throne. 
 The beautiful in soul. 
 The saintly and the good, 
 The sinner freed from sin's control^ 
 
 Wash'd in redeeming blood. 
 God calls the holy one awayj 
 With crown of light, 
 And vestments bright^ 
 To walk amidst the bloom of everlasting day. 
 
 Amen J 
 The dream of life is pastJ 
 O, what a maze of mingling hues? 
 Far backward, melts at lastt 
 And what a roar of sounds,— 
 Gay laugh and chilling wail: 
 Like thunder on the sun-set bounds^ 
 
 Now, — like a dying gale: 
 The voices, and the rainbow hues,. 
 They faint, they fade. 
 The flight is made: 
 To thee, O mocking earth! no more the spirit sues! 
 
121 
 
 Amen ! 
 An onward verge of liglit! 
 Landscapes uncursed and cloudless skies! 
 Fair groups in robes of white! 
 And coming voices bland, 
 Of melody and bliss; 
 The pressure of an angel's hand, 
 The warmth of saintly kiss; 
 A deathless world with nightless skies! 
 Beauty and Youth, 
 And Love and Truth, 
 O, blest exchange, for all that lives, of all that dies! 
 
 Amen! 
 The Vision of the Blest! 
 The sweetness of the Saviour's voice! 
 The happiness of rest! 
 The Majesty Divine, 
 In solar pomp serene: 
 From whose far rays, all suns that shine 
 
 Their golden glories glean! 
 O, Loved of Heaven! lift up thy voice 
 With kindred tongues, 
 Unite thy songs. 
 Or, rapt in silent praise, in God alone rejoice! 
 
 Then shall Time 
 Bend in his strength between creation's pillars; 
 And wreck the universe to find a tomb! 
 
122 
 
 MAY IN THE WO DS; 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO OT. F. 
 
 Once more I breathe the warm mid-city air; 
 Retired and quiet; musing at m.y desk. 
 But, while the sunlight through the window beams, 
 Part shaded by the half-roll'd blinds; and flies 
 Dress their thin wings upon the brighten'd floor; 
 And plays the shadow of the waving tape, 
 That ties the curtain, witnessing the wind; 
 And frequent glooms, descending from the clouds 
 In silent promise floating, briefly dim 
 The little scene so pictured at my feet; — 
 Fancy, with open bosom, walks the woods; 
 Communing with all spirits that inhaunt 
 Their green and cool and musical retreats. 
 
 To thee, my Friend! while thus a leisure hour 
 Opens with pleasant thoughts, I pour my verse 
 Freely and gladly. Haply simple things 
 Will flow through all the song; not now inspired 
 With such intent as often spheres the soul 
 In highest glory; — but, in frame serene, 
 Sung with sweet love of beauty and repose. 
 
 A weBk ago, last Saturday, I rode 
 A woodland track upon the Eastern Shore. 
 No hurry urged me onward; low the reins 
 Hung, loose; and inoffensively the whip; 
 While, perfectly contented, slowly walk'd 
 My fine gray pony, with her flowing mane, 
 
123 
 
 In rich adornment of her arched neck, 
 
 All smoothly drooping; and her sidelong eye 
 
 Enchanted by the verdant border grass. 
 
 It was a close and cloudy afternoon, 
 
 And all the leaves on all the branches hung, 
 
 As though with very faintness they would fall; 
 
 And every tree appear'd to bow its head 
 
 In utmost awe; and all the forest joined 
 
 In mute, imploring homage for a shower. 
 
 But onward pass'd the providential rain 
 
 To answer greater need. And soon the grove, 
 
 Refresh'd by leafy draughts unseen but full, 
 
 Drawn from the moisten'd air; and briskly stirr'd 
 
 By their old partners in delight, the winds, 
 
 Shook every limb and rustled every twig. 
 
 Thankful that while their wishes were denied 
 
 Their wants were granted; casting grief away 
 
 And waving wide with universal joy. 
 
 Near to the road-side, little yellow cups 
 
 Sprinkled the humid verdure; and, beyond. 
 
 Tall, branchless stalks of cluster'd blue-bells rose, 
 
 Showing the hue of heaven, and pointing there; 
 
 While, blending rose and lily, all around 
 
 Wild honey-suckles flush'd the ground with bloom; 
 
 And over these, half-reaching to the height 
 
 Of venerable, all-protecting oaks, 
 
 The taper dogwood's fragrant blossoms spread; 
 
 Cheering the green obscure with pyramids 
 
 Of snowy beauty; loveliest when the sun 
 
 Broke from the clouds, and through the open roof. 
 
124 
 
 High waving" and transparent, quivering sent, 
 Pure as the spotless flower, his golden rays. 
 
 On as I passed, a few attractions charm'd 
 
 My ready senses, and excited thoughts 
 
 That one*who loves me may not scorn to hear. 
 
 An oak — tall, straight, and ample in its girth; 
 Firm-fix'd below and spreading wide above; 
 Sound, strong, and flourishing. It might be named, 
 Methuselah! the forest patriarch. 
 There must have been a long, long lapse of years 
 Since that was but an acorn. In the homes 
 That now its top o'erlooks, the grave has found — 
 Oh! many a victim, since its little germ 
 Peep'd from the soil. Alas! how short is life! 
 How many generations of mankind. 
 Full of vast schemes and boasting boundless hopes, 
 May live to second childhood, and expire ^ 
 Beneath the shadow of the same old tree; — 
 Old, but still green! And that, — how steadfast stood, 
 The sylvan chieftain! what a robe of pomp 
 In breezy fulness floated round his form! 
 But hold! — 1 draw a contrast; may not thus, 
 To gain the pleasure of a sounding verse. 
 Personify as man the very power 
 That mock'd the fleetness of my flowery term, — 
 And, as I rode beside its mighty trunk. 
 Shook all its honours proudly o'er my head. 
 And yet that tree too near resembled man. 
 A princely prize had met with cold regard, 
 
125 
 
 If only to be gain'd by clasping tight 
 Its pillar'd strength, or climbing to its boughs. 
 For, closely creeping, like a deadly snake, 
 Through every crevice, under every plate 
 Of swelling bark, and showing, here and there^ 
 Its brown and hairy line, the poison-oak 
 Ascended — striking terror to my heart! 
 Terror, — for years ago, on that same shore, 
 1 sufFer'd strange eruption, and was told: — 
 *' Perhaps some poison-oak was on the fire, 
 And as it burnt, you smelt it." Poison-oak! 
 Never to be forgotten! When I read. 
 Beside the winter stand, let no dread log 
 With this sad vine be placed upon the fire: 
 Nay — sooner let the hearth grow cold as rocks 
 That brunt the icy surge of polar seas. 
 And when I ride, let no contiguous tree 
 Extend an arm to help the creeper reach 
 My passing form; thus prompting me to push 
 The limb aside, and feel, too late, my foe. 
 Rather — far rather, let my charger course 
 The shrubless sands, beneath a cloudless sun, 
 Straining endurance every burning step. 
 Yes, there I lay, — but 'tis too long a tale: 
 Enough — enough! but never, never more 
 Let poison-oak my shuddering frame molest. 
 But now recurs the question, for reply, — « 
 In what respect does this resemble man? 
 Your thoughts, my Friend ! may not accord with 
 mine, 
 
 m 
 
126 
 
 But so, it seemed, we sometimes meet with men, 
 In whom we note an excellence of gifts. 
 Sublime and peerless; who, although their minds 
 Command admiring love, must yet be shunn'd: 
 Because of some acquired, vile, viper vice — 
 Some venomous habit winding round the heart. 
 
 Birds! — Many were about me; but a page 
 
 Would fail to show them, fully. Let a touch, 
 
 Of some distinctive point, suffice for each. 
 
 The red-bird, like a British fifer, blew 
 
 His solid whistle. Sharp o'erhead was heard, 
 
 The crow-tormenting king-bird's victor note; 
 
 And one sweet oriole amused me much. 
 
 Glad singing on the topmost twig, but still, 
 
 As near I drew, removing further on; 
 
 Yet ever, with his pinions closed or spread. 
 
 Warbling his strain; as though he sought to say: — 
 
 *'I am a poet, sir! and, let me rest 
 
 Or keep me flying, long as life shall last 
 
 My glowing soul shall pour its joys in song." 
 
 While thus the nearer, oft, from distant gloom, 
 
 Melodiously the plaintive turtle-dove, 
 
 Her saddest music breathed; the charmed soul 
 
 A moment stopt the heart, and stood to hear. 
 
 But others, songless, wanting voice or rest, 
 Were busy all about me. Flitted light 
 From spray to spray, the blue-bird; near the ground, 
 From bush to bush, the speckle-breasted thrush, 
 With knowing eye that watched the passenger, 
 Hopt, quietly; and quick the prudent wren, 
 
127 
 
 Along the lowest fence-rail, ran, and hid 
 Beneath the angle's shelter, in the grass. 
 While — pleasing me as much as any — swift, 
 With crimson head, blue back, and white-striped 
 
 wings. 
 From tree to tree the wise wood-pecker flew. 
 Tri-colour'd bird, — its image should appear, 
 
 France! with each of thy tri-colour'd flags! 
 The bird that loves above all else on earth 
 To pick at rotten, blockhead royalties. 
 
 1 like to mark it, running round and round, 
 The crumbling column, and then, holding fast, 
 With most tenacious claws, lean boldly back 
 And send its rapid piercer rattling home. 
 'Tis a loud warning to all trees; enough 
 
 To make them tremble from their lowest roots 
 Up to their highest boughs; — for thus must all 
 Decay, and feed the worms — and these, the birds. 
 If here, my Friend! you see another thought 
 That fits great things, apply it so, yourself; 
 I play awhile with poetry — not thrones. 
 
 But, ere we leave the birds one more remark 
 May not be useless. Men are like them, here: — 
 The silent are the busy. They who work 
 Have little time to pain or please the world, 
 With dove-like moans or oriolean songs. 
 
 But let me not forget a little nest, 
 
 A lonely nest, adhering to a branch 
 
 That the wind waved beside me as I passed, 
 
 As though to say: — " Behold! a happy home!" 
 
128 
 
 What! that] 'Tis true; the trifle is a home. 
 
 How small its room! and that without a roof! 
 
 Except, indeed, the ever-changing leaves. 
 
 Mark its foundation! neither rock nor sand; 
 
 Falling and rising, constantly, yet safe. 
 
 Sweeps the wild blast that brings the awful storm; 
 
 Pours the full torrent from the melting clouds; 
 
 Flies the fierce lightning quivering through the sky; 
 
 And peals the thunder, rolling deep and long. 
 
 Yet swings that nest upon the tossing branch; 
 
 Wet with the rain-drops, glistening in the flash. 
 
 And trembling to the thunder; — all exposed 
 
 But all unhurt; still — still a happy home. 
 
 Oh! give me love, and let me be a bird. 
 
 My home, a nest; and every wind my foe; — 
 
 Rather than own the noblest hall that man 
 
 Has ever built, to walk its joyless courts 
 
 With drooping head, and heart that fondly seeks 
 
 Affection's sympathy — but seeks in vain. 
 
 Softly! a whisper seeks my spirit's ear! 
 
 *' Beware of error. Mind! you saw no birds 
 
 Nestling together; no tremendous storm. 
 
 Haply the mates do never hold at once, 
 
 The downy seat; but interchange their tasks 
 
 While eggs or young are there, and then forsake 
 
 Both and for ever what they need no more." 
 
 It may be so — I know not. Where's the man, 
 
 Of all the wise on earth — come! tell his name! 
 
 Whose knowledge circles all things! There is none. 
 
 Then here I leave the point — and if I err, 
 
 Oh! many a poet, writing wondrous verse 
 
 Of what he never knew — has done the same. 
 
129 
 
 Bat other things — what other things were there? 
 
 I sketch a few. For instance, o'er my head 
 
 A kind of fly, about an inch in length; 
 
 Light-hued and slender-bodied; all erect 
 
 Its head and tail; and from its hollow sides 
 
 Its filmy wings projecting; — sailed along, 
 
 So gaily on the gentle tide of air, 
 
 With such a humming, as of tiny wheels, 
 
 I could but gaze and name it as it went 
 
 A little, living steamboat! True; the thought 
 
 Was not a wise one:— but alas! how apt 
 
 The human mind to cherish foolish things! 
 
 And I had rather lift my head and smile 
 
 To think a buzzing insect, as it flies, 
 
 A little, living steamboat— than pronounce 
 
 A prince or priest, my master! For the first 
 
 No evil wrought; — but ah! what mountain piles 
 
 Of bleeding bodies, ever echoing loud 
 
 From base to top with wounded spirits' groans — 
 
 The sad memorials of the other's reign — 
 
 Oppress the earth, and in the eye of heaven 
 
 Rise high, invoking pity or revenge! 
 
 Thus then it seem'd that I had noticed all 
 The wilderness contain'd. But what a thought! 
 How prone is man to glance along the woods 
 Of knowledge, and, because a trifling part 
 Rewards the eye, suppose the whole is known: 
 As though the distant darkness were a wall — 
 And not a vast, expanding, crowded world: 
 While oft, beneath his feet, things undiscern'd 
 7 
 
130 
 
 Exist as though they were not. So with me; 
 For, crossing soon a narrow bridge of logs, — 
 On either side of which still waters lay, 
 Dark with the dye of countless sunken leaves, 
 And spotted here and there with spreading dock, — 
 ' Humph!" said a bull-frog, plunging to the depths; 
 As though he knew — but made mistake in me — 
 A word to certain people is enough. 
 Still this, at least, he made me understand: — 
 Some things are not content to be o'erlook'd. 
 I'll mark you, sirl thought I; and man shall learn — ' 
 That man I mean who pants to leave a name 
 To after times, and scarcely cares for what, — 
 A homely lesson that may do him good. 
 Up from oblivion's gloom, sometime he mounts 
 And silent squats upon the shore of life; 
 Then, as the world goes by, if nothing more 
 His utmost swelling can accomplish, — humph! 
 He cries, and sinks, unseen, whence first he rose. 
 Or if he compass more — aye, win a crown; 
 Still, to my mind, if this his highest aim, 
 Such greater glories meanly he neglects. 
 That e'en the bloated bull-frog's hollow trump 
 Deserves more honour than his worthless name. 
 
 What more? I fear this trespass. Waving webs 
 Awaited victims. Hence the passing line: — 
 Earth's fairest scenes are full of fatal traps. 
 
 Again;- — a human home. A hut of logs, 
 la a square garden lot; about whose fence 
 
131 
 
 The forest waves, with north and west relieved 
 By long, close rows of that same odorous tree, 
 The snowy-blossom'd dogwood. Round the gate, — 
 Sad contrast to the beauty of the place — 
 Bare-headed and bare-footed children play'd, 
 With uncomb'd hair and faces that appear'd 
 As though they had to wait for rain to wash: 
 While in the door, a haggard woman sat. 
 Could she have been their mother? Very strange. 
 She never found a fountain in the shade. 
 Still on; and paths that led to other homes 
 Open'd, at times, on either hand; and these 
 Always afford me pleasure. Wanting facts, 
 I fancy they conduct to neat abodes 
 Of peace and love. How happy is the man — 
 So breathes my sou! as up the path I look — . 
 When here he turns aside his weary feet, 
 And knows he soon shall join the smiling group 
 That make his bower a blessed paradise! 
 
 And more? Yes, more — but most must be withheld. 
 Who tells at once the full amount he knows? 
 And who that aught declares, will not the best? 
 " But not a word is here of many things 
 That throng the woods!" I know — but did not meet, 
 And what I met not would infringe the plan 
 That gives the garrulous mind its only check. 
 Beside, what eye, since Adam's, ever saw. 
 That richest spot where nature kindly show'd 
 A full museum of her countless charms? 
 If fancy's hand, my Friend! had held the pen, 
 Squirrels with long and bushy tails, had run 
 
132 
 
 Along the ground, and, mounting to the forks 
 Of hickories, had closely laid, and watch'd 
 The man below, with slanting, black-bead eyes. 
 Buzzards had floated on unmoving plumes 
 Where'er the sky was seen, so loftily, 
 So easily and gracefully, that men 
 Had scorned balloons and sigh'd for wings alone; 
 And thousand, thousand things from heaven, earth, 
 
 sea, — 
 Art's pride and Nature's beauty, — had combined 
 To crowd a scene, — with no original. 
 
 Yet, ere I close, two observations more 
 
 Request a record. Ample sections there 
 
 Were thickly strewn with leaves — the last year's 
 
 growth. 
 'Tis an old song that leaves illustrate life; 
 Fresh, fading, falling. Homer may have learn'd 
 This wisdom on his gentle mother's knee. 
 But, a new point — unburied leaves; the dry 
 And wasting skeletons that seem to warn 
 The living verdure, waving on the boughs 
 Above them; — where they flourish'd once them- 
 
 selves. 
 I thought — suppose the bones of perish'd men, 
 Were ever thus in sight; stopping our ways, 
 And filling all our fields; demanding toil 
 Severe and long, to clear a little spot 
 To raise our corn, — or channel out a line 
 To lead the fountain waters to our doors; 
 Where then would be that heedlessness of death 
 
133 
 
 Which marks the myriads who delight to dance, 
 Now, on the flowery floor that hides the gravel 
 Where then the gorgeous glories that command 
 The sinful homage of a haughty world! 
 Where then the madness that exchanges heaven 
 With all its everlasting realms of light, 
 For meteor fires that flash around the tomb, 
 And when the wanderer reaches it,— expire! 
 
 And now the last. Just as we left the woods, 
 And coursed the open road, with piny skirts, 
 Westward I turn'd my eye. Long, narrow clouds 
 Of shadowy blue, with golden space between, 
 Stretch'd, line o'er line, across the sunset sky. 
 The scene was that which people oft describe 
 Thus: — " Now the sun is drawing water up." 
 To me it seem'd, as though, behind the clouds, 
 A pyramid, magnificent above 
 All former thoughts of splendour, reach'd mid- 
 heaven; 
 Most massive, and most perfect in its shape. 
 Effulgent — grand, beyond all pomp of words. 
 Thus, then, as set unseen the solar orb. 
 The envious clouds, that would have hid his light. 
 Became the very scaffolding within 
 Whose vast enclosure, gloriously was built 
 His monument, to charm the wondering world! 
 
 So let the Christian triumph o'er his foes; 
 Without a shade approaching other spheres, 
 And envy's self approving him in this. 
 
134 
 
 1836. 
 
 THE patriarch's INHERITANCE. 
 
 The following is an extract from an unfinished MS. and occurs 
 at the close of an interview between the Almighty and Abraham; 
 in the course of which is introduced the promise thus stated in 
 Genesis: "And the Lord said unto Abiam, after that Lot was 
 separated from him, Lift up thine eyes, and look from the place 
 where thou art, northward, and southward, and eastward, and 
 westward: for all the land which thou seest, to thee will I give 
 it, and to thy seed for ever," &c. 
 
 This pronounced. 
 
 The Radiant Form Vv^ithdraws. And now return 
 Sunshine and shade, and cool, delicious airs. 
 Restoring common joys. The saintly chief, 
 Reviving, stands erect; but still his robes. 
 With lingering glory, make the noon-beams pale. 
 Soon all his senses feel the flowing soul, 
 Quick with new life and thrilling power intense. 
 His eyes, undazzled, drink the pouring sun. 
 And sweep entranced the swelling scene below — 
 Mountains, and hills, and plains, and lakes, and 
 streams. 
 
 O, blest, enchanting vision! All around, 
 Enrich'd with purest green, and all remote 
 Adorn'd with deepest blue; the bending sky 
 And farthest summits mingling fainter hues, 
 Walling the world with sapphire. All he sees, 
 He hails his own; and burns with lordly flame» 
 
135 
 
 His the down-rushing torrents; his the brooks, 
 Flashing from every vale; and his the lakes, 
 Wide sparkling bright, as though a shower of gems, 
 On silver falling, scatter'd countless lights. 
 His too the rolling woods, the laughing meads. 
 And rocks of waving grapes — his every wind, 
 Stirring the world with life and breathing far 
 Fragrance and music — his the silent cloud, 
 That fleetly glides along the soft mid-air. 
 Reflecting, moon-like, from its upper plain 
 Of snowy beauty, every ray from heaven; 
 And o'er the under landscape leading on 
 Its shadowy darkness, running up and down 
 The ever changing mountains. Who may tell 
 The many sources of his gushing joy] 
 Not only Jordan, and its palmy plains; 
 Lot's Citied Garden; and the orient heights 
 Of fruitful Gilead, sweeping to the marge 
 Of Bashan's mellow pastures: not alone 
 The visual charms delight his ardent soul, 
 Around, though fair, and fairer still remote; 
 But wider regions — lost in distant haze. 
 Or shut from sight by intercepting bounds — 
 Fairest of all. Far flies his circling thought 
 From Edom's southern plains to Hermon's brow. 
 Frost- wreathed, and lowlands steep'd in streaming 
 
 dew; 
 And on to snow-crown'd Lebanon, with slopes 
 Of fadeless verdure nursed by living founts, 
 And glorious cedars sway'd by balmy winds, 
 
136 
 
 In whose high boughs the eagle builds her nest, 
 And on whose roots the fearful lion sleeps; 
 And thence to Tabor's central cone, and fields 
 Of Eden-like Esdrelon; and the oaks 
 Of flowery Carmel, waving o'er the sea; 
 And Sharon's rosy bloom; and Eshcol's vale, 
 Purple with vines from Hebron to the coast. 
 O'er all the range his ravish'd mind expands, 
 Warm with high hopes of wondrous days to come. 
 The promise — like a meteor — how it lights 
 The gloom of future ages! Lonely there 
 The childless stranger stands — sublime in faith: 
 Sure that the ten throned nations reigning round, 
 In stately power, with pomp of idol shrines, 
 Shall yield to his descendants; shall behold 
 His mightier seed— thick as the seashore sands. 
 Countless as stars that crowd the clearest sky, — 
 Pouring their myriads over hill and dale. 
 Casting the champion pride of princes down, 
 Dashing the templed monsters in the dust, 
 Sounding the trump of triumph through the land. 
 Thronging the scene with holier, happier homes, 
 And rearing high, to flame with heavenly fire, 
 Earth's only altars to the Only God I 
 
137 
 
 1837. 
 
 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 
 
 We need not soar above the skies, 
 
 Leave suns and stars below; 
 And seek Thee with unclouded eyes, 
 
 In all that angels know: — 
 The very breath we here inhale, 
 
 The pulse in every heart, 
 Attest with force that cannot fail, 
 
 Thou art— O God! Thou art! 
 
 If, 'midst the ever-during songs 
 
 Of universal joy, — 
 The chime of worlds and chant of tongues- 
 
 The praise that we employ, 
 May breathe its music in Thine ear, 
 
 Its meaning in Thy heart; 
 Our glad confession deign to hear, ^ 
 
 Thou art— O God! Thou art! 
 
 
138 
 
 THE UNITY OF GOD. 
 
 When God — neglected or denied — 
 From ancient tribes withdrew his grace, 
 
 How soon the erring myriads strove, 
 With phantom forms to fill his place. 
 
 On every hill, by every stream, 
 
 All homes within, all way-sides near, 
 
 The hallow'd idols senseless stood, 
 
 The helpless suppliants bow'd with fear. 
 
 With gods for every foot of land. 
 And every pause of passing time, 
 
 In life, no soothing peace they found. 
 In death, no heavenly hope sublime. 
 
 O Thou, the true and living God! 
 
 Maker of all, above — below; 
 Eternal — self-existent One! 
 
 How blest are we Thy name to know! 
 
 One God — enlighten'd faith adores; 
 
 One God — harmonious nature cries; 
 One God — our common Sire and Lord, 
 
 The brotherhood of mind replies. 
 
 To Thee — Supreme! — to Thee alone, 
 Be hymns of highest glory sung; 
 
 The source of joy to every heart, 
 The theme of praise to every tongue. 
 
139 
 
 THE TRUTH OF GOD. 
 
 Can truth divine fulfilment fail? 
 
 Sooner shall star-crown'd nature die! 
 Truth is the very breath of God — ■ 
 
 Part of his own eternity! 
 
 Earth's every pulse may cease to flow, 
 And every voice be heard no more; 
 
 The forest, crumble on the mount — 
 The sea, corrupt upon the shore; 
 
 The moon's supply of light, expire; 
 
 The sun itself, grow dense with gloom; 
 And fairer systems, sphered afar, 
 
 Dissolving, own the common doom. 
 
 But, long as stands Jehovah's throne, 
 
 Long as His being shall endure; 
 So long the truth His lips proclaim, 
 - Remains inviolably sure. 
 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 Heedless of all inferior claims of power, 
 Infallible authority I seek; 
 Authority Divine; reveal'd in form 
 That Sense may witness. 
 
 Where can this be found] 
 Tell, boasting sages! where? That such exists 
 Pale reason, faint with straying, fondly hopes; 
 And conscience warrants. 
 
140 
 
 Sadly may the soul 
 Commune with nature — question winds and waves, 
 Woodlands, and wastes, and haunts of busy men, 
 In darkness and in sunshine — all is vain: 
 Nor multitude nor solitude instructs. 
 
 No radiant lines on earth's expanse display 
 This priceless lore. The meadow's moisten'd mold 
 Soft with bloom-sprinkled growth of fadeless green. 
 And dark with fragrant wings of flocking airs. 
 Is blank and void. The mountain's rocky peak, — 
 Alone because of height, still, pure, and cold; 
 Bright challenge to an empire's farthest gaze; — 
 What is it, but a nameless monument? 
 An unmark'd altar, bathed with holiest dews, 
 Hung, morn and eve, with shrine of rose and gold, 
 And served by seraphs none may see or hear. 
 
 The ample sky in cloudless glory shines: 
 Grand, with its solar orb in central pomp; 
 Rich, with its fulness of remotest stars; 
 Or beauteous, with the pale and smiling moon. 
 Watching, with matron love, the sleeping sphere. 
 But all the golden urns that bless the eye 
 With streaming lustre, leave the spirit dark. 
 
 The early angels feel supreme constraint: 
 No plume enchants the dawn; and not a tone 
 Charms the bland quiet of the sunset air. 
 The prophets long have fail'd to lift their voice, 
 Seal'd in the silence of forgotten tombs; 
 The once-rejected Son is now enthroned; 
 
141 
 
 Inspired apostles wake the world no more; 
 
 No more the Spirit, in the inward ear 
 
 Of souls that burn with rapture, breathes its fire — 
 
 Quick thoughts in living language; silent, all 
 
 Old oracles; all silent earth and heaven. 
 
 The Sire himself is mute; nor day nor night, 
 
 In crowded city or in lonely glen. 
 
 By one or millions is His utterance known. 
 
 'Tis most profoundly solemn — this repose 
 
 Of our Creator! All things vocal round, 
 
 Only in Him alive! Himself alone, 
 
 Unheard! 
 
 Unheard! 
 
 Our Father's voice unheard! 
 
 Where then shall man resort] Where find the law, 
 Supreme and universal] One to rule, 
 Though violated all on earth beside. 
 
 Behold! a Book! the Bible! Book of Books! 
 Take — read — and think. But hold with reverent 
 
 hand; 
 Regard with reverent eye; with reverent mind, 
 Receive its truth. Then press it to thy heart, 
 Indulge thy grateful love, and, falling prone 
 Before the Essential Presence, bless His name — 
 Praise, ever praise for this excelling gift! 
 
 I muse and am amazed. Books, countless books, 
 Countless as sands, and leaves, and flowers, and 
 stars, 
 
142 
 
 Yet here is one to which all else must yield, 
 As gems unto the sun — the Book of God! 
 Genius draws near, ashamed; and learning sighs, 
 Smitten with conscious folly. 
 
 Man may blow 
 A bubble — breath divine creates a world. 
 And yet the difference here is greater still, — 
 And it were better to destroy a world 
 To save a bubble, than destroy this book, 
 And let crown'd science reign from pole to pole. 
 
 THE RAIN-CLOUDS. 
 
 Dun clouds, that only dim the day, 
 O'erspread the ample sky. 
 
 And summer realms, in rich array, 
 Calm in the shadow lie. 
 
 'Tis but an intervening veil, 
 
 Alive with beams above, 
 Where hill and valley gladly hail 
 
 The gleaming form of Love. 
 
 How blest the holy angel now. 
 Who folds his heavenly plumes, 
 
 On some far mountain's silent brow, 
 Which still the sun illumes! 
 
143 
 
 Thence wide his radiant eyes compare 
 The landscape, low and green; 
 
 The high blue beauty of the air 
 The showering clouds between: — 
 
 The upper light, the under rain, 
 
 The blended, guardian bow; 
 The grandeur of the solar plain, 
 
 The streaming good below: — 
 
 How soon the shadow disappears, 
 
 While yet the blessing stays; 
 And nature, smiling in her tears, 
 
 Is rapt in speechless praise: — ; 
 
 How heaven and earth unite again, 
 Refresh'd, and cool, and bright; 
 
 The bloom and verdure bent with rain. 
 The rain drops fill'd with light. 
 
 O world! thus cheer'd by power Divine, 
 
 Thine altar, hush'd and lone. 
 To him becomes a hallow'd shrine. 
 
 Whose place is at the Throne. 
 
 And there he learns — meek Child of Love! 
 
 E'en clouds their Maker show: 
 Reflect His glory from above, 
 
 And pour His grace below. 
 
 S^ 
 
144 
 
 CANAAN. 
 
 For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of 
 brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of 
 valleys and hillsj a land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and 
 fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of oil olive, and honey; 
 a land wherein thou shalt eat bread without scarceness, thou 
 Shalt not lack any thing in it; a land whose stones are iron, 
 and out of whose hills thou may est dig brass. Deut. viii.7— 9. 
 
 There was a good land. Thus the voice Divine, 
 That erst the world in angel hearing blest, 
 Instructed Moses, when, in after years, 
 To Jordan's verge he led the chosen tribes. 
 A goodly land — where countless water-brooks, 
 From valley depths and fountains welling up, 
 And springing down from rocky hills sublime, 
 Flow'd freshly on. A land in season rich 
 With golden wheat reposing ripe and full, 
 And earlier barley waved by vernal airs; 
 Where cloud-like vines luxuriantly droop'd, 
 With clusters greater than a man could bear; 
 And shadowing fig-trees shower'd delicious fruit; 
 While cool pomegranates, flush'd with juicy seed; 
 And olive groves, distilling softest oils; 
 And honey, sweetening all the balmy cliffs; 
 Enhanced the common festival: — a land 
 Not only thus with bounteous growth supplied 
 Of varied food — but stored with means of art: 
 Where iron vein'd the stones, and rugged slopes 
 Struck by a spear disclosed their copper hoards. 
 
14S 
 
 1839. 
 
 UNCHECKED VERSE. 
 
 Inscribed to Dr. G. B.—the author^s most intimate Friend. 
 
 Let no accusing- spirit vex my soul, 
 
 As though it were reluctant to its task. 
 
 'Tis more than willing — passionately burns 
 
 With quenchless ardour in its high emprise. 
 
 But, as a giant — who, in weight of mail 
 
 Full clad, would leap to hear some martial strain, 
 
 And swing his sword, and smite his sounding shield, 
 
 Light as a love-lass, lifted by a lute — 
 
 Shall yet be helpless in the narrow grasp 
 
 Of wrist and ankle fetters, lock'd and left: 
 
 So, by these fleshly bonds, the mightier soul, 
 
 Chafed and enfeebled, scorns them, and yet yields. 
 
 What!— coldly breathed, then madly shouted wild; 
 What! — shrieks the offspring of Eternity; 
 Shall thus the nature that aspires to heaven; 
 That now, in vivid vision, crown'd with stars, 
 Wielding the comet as its flaming blade, 
 Bearing before its heart the silver moon, 
 Foot-wing'd with lightning, — lo! on echoing clouds, 
 Strides in full pomp, — the Mystery of Power! 
 Shall such a nature shrink within the guise 
 Of this soft sense, victim of fire and frost, 
 Thrilling with threatenings of disease and death,— 
 
146 
 
 And, baffled in its most sublime attempts, 
 Pine, all uneasy, in its May-day-home^- 
 Wander, as restless, 'mong its fellows' homes, — 
 Return, through sun and shade, and still pine on, — 
 Half frenzied that its pinions want their plumes, 
 And cannot — cannot, cannot, CANNOT SOAR? 
 
 God only knows me! Startling verity! 
 
 My fellows are not witless of my name; 
 
 My friends, my fault of frankness fondly praise; 
 
 My father's memory holds my first hour's breath; 
 
 My wife laughs out, assured she knows me well; 
 
 My children turn their quiet eyes on mine, 
 
 And witch me with my own identity; 
 
 But still my spirit, in its inner cell, 
 
 'Bides undiscover'd: like a hermit, looks 
 
 From cavernous shadows where none else intrude, 
 
 Calm on the open sunshine of the world. 
 
 I call to them; I tell them where I am, 
 
 And what I am; yet still they know me not. 
 
 Spirits there are, which I have never known, 
 
 Do they know me? Angels, of other worlds; 
 
 And men, of other ages; do they see 
 
 The secrets of my being? Fiends from hell, — 
 
 Can they in-penetrate my inmost heart? 
 
 Spirits of loved ones — outwardly well known, 
 
 Now disembodied — know me better, they. 
 
 Now, than of old? See they the fiery pulse 
 
 Of thought and passion flashing through my soul? 
 
 Oft have I fancied thus, and since they left 
 
 The precincts of our union, been constrain'd 
 
147 
 
 To holier walk to keep their purer love. 
 
 But this is doubtful. Nay, with rising faith, 
 
 I dare assert eternal solitude! 
 
 Save to the eye of Him whose glance of light 
 
 Streams through me, as the slant and subtle sun, 
 
 Shoots beams innumerous through a drop of rain.* 
 
 But He alone! , 
 
 O solemn, searching truth! 
 Outward communion hath its countless hosts, — 
 Each, still, an inward stranger to his peers! 
 The conscious quickness known to One alone, 
 One in the Universe! To One alone, — 
 One, for eternity! But He! — O bliss! 
 The Good! The Infinite Spirit! Life of life! 
 Thought of all Thoughts! Passion of Passions! 
 
 All, 
 In all! The Truth of Truths! The Love of Loves! 
 Holy of Holies! Joy of Joys! — My God! 
 
 He knows me. All my sin, and all my wo; 
 My penitence, my faith, my hope, my love; 
 My faculties, facilities, and works; — 
 Opinions, fancies, feelings — clear and vague — 
 However dark to me, to Him like noon! 
 Knows me, all times, all places, all estates; — 
 Day, night; home, far; sick, well; gladordistress'd; — 
 Knows in all changes — wholly — evermore! 
 
 I know not Him. I've heard His reverend name, — 
 Heard His high attributes; and seen His works; 
 
 * Suggested, I suppose, by a similar thought, in Bowring's 
 Translation of Dershavin's Ode to the Deity. 
 
148 
 
 And bow'd before Him, as the Soul of Souls; 
 
 And call'd upon Him, as my Only Hope; 
 
 And loved Him as my Father and my Friend; 
 
 But more I may not — He is known to none! 
 
 I — next to Him, as known to Him alonet 
 
 He — every where, in all immensity! 
 
 And every where, to all eternity! 
 
 Round all and in all — Breath — Pulse — Mind of 
 
 all- 
 Unseen, Unheard, Unfelt, Unsearchable! 
 
 Father of Spirits! All good! All glorious! 
 Hear the lone prayer, of this poor panting heart! 
 Bless me! Even me! O Father! — bless Thy child! 
 In life, in death; on earth, in heaven; in time, 
 And in eternity; alone, with else; 
 Gay, or in grief; or safe, or girt with harms; — 
 Still, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost— One God! 
 Still let Thy vital blessing on me rest: 
 Its light and warmth so filling all my soul, 
 That, one with Thee, I evermore may dwell 
 In Thee, and Thee in me — a sinful man, 
 Redeem'd and happy in the living God, 
 
149 
 
 THE FIRST MAN. 
 
 *' These are the generations of the heaven and the earth when 
 they were created, in the day that the Lord God made tlie earth 
 and the heavens. And every plant of the field before it was in 
 the earth, and every herb of the field before it grew: for the Lord 
 God had not caused it to rain upon the earth, and there was not 
 a man to till the ground. But there went up a mist from the 
 earth, and watered the whole face of the ground. And the Lord 
 God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his 
 nostrils the breath of lifej and man became a living soul." Gen. 
 ji. 4-7. 
 
 ■ Light rose the morning mist, 
 
 Through calmest regions of untainted air; 
 Touch'd as it rose, with brightest, warmest tints 
 Pour'd from a sun, unspotted, uneclipsed; 
 And far disclosing, by its soft ascent, 
 A scene surpassing all that genius dreams, 
 When beauty's choicest visions charm the soul. 
 
 So fresh, so green, so blooming, all below; — 
 
 So white the pebbles, gleaming from the depths 
 
 Of clear, cool waters, gently gliding round; — 
 
 So fair the flowers that lean'd along the marge, 
 
 More splendid in the mirror, upward turn'd; 
 
 But fragrant, as they droop'd and blush'd above; — 
 
 So graceful every motion, every shape 
 
 Of woodlands, mellow'd with an emerald hue, 
 
 Dawning through foliage with no faded leaf; — 
 
 So loving every action, every look 
 
 Of living wonders, filling wood and wave 
 
 With frolic mirth by evil undisturb'd; — 
 
 So winning and entrancing countless birds, 
 
150 
 
 Up warbling gaily, with no pause of fear, 
 Songs blent with sweets from blossoming homes 
 of bliss. 
 
 So wide, so high, so glorious, all above: — 
 So dazzling, to the eagles' glance, the sun; 
 And so intensely blue, the boundless sky, 
 Through whose dim distance breezes slow and bland 
 The melting mildness of the mist withdrew. 
 
 Realm — subjects — court — in grand array complete; 
 Why comes not forth the crown'd and sceptred 
 
 King! 
 A world in waiting for its God-like Chief, — 
 Why lingers yet the pomp of peerless power? 
 
 A bowery slope, with bloom and verdure soft, 
 Opening on park and plain, in sun and shade, — 
 Selectest loveliness of earth and sky, — 
 Reveal'd the noblest of all forms Divine, 
 The mold of man! 
 
 The air was hush'd with awe; 
 The grove, intent, as every leaf in thought; 
 Sport 'neath the branches stood unmoved; above, 
 With folded plumes, in silence, music gazed. 
 
 Unconscious yet, the perfect structure lay. 
 It was not death! The air had never known 
 The coming spectre, breathing, claim its sphere; 
 The waters had not darken'd to their depths, 
 Or shudder'd in the shadow of his wings; 
 The earth had never quaked beneath his feet, 
 
151 
 
 Seal'd by their print, a common sepulchre: 
 
 Nor in that ample frame had active warmth 
 
 Evolved and been exhausted; no decay, 
 
 Obstruction none, nor aught of fatal sign 
 
 Invoked the grave! And yet it was not life! 
 
 Nor swoon, nor trance, nor any accident 
 
 Of vital being held its empire there. 
 
 And sleep was not; no sense had been awake; 
 
 No pulse was yet in motion; in the brain, 
 
 No outward image, no perceptive mind. 
 
 A statue! — not from adamant cut out, 
 
 With superficial gloss of solid mass; 
 
 But wrought from dust, with transformation strange, 
 
 To bone, flesh, blood; without, of port sublime; 
 
 Within, of rarest wisdom; only known 
 
 To Him who made it — ready at His touch, 
 
 To start! — with thousand instincts quick inspired. 
 
 A matchless work. The common elements 
 
 In glorious union, such as earth and heaven 
 
 Had none to rival. Angels there beheld 
 
 Innumerous symmetries, which God alone 
 
 Could harmonize in thought; which God, Himself, 
 
 Imbodying, deem'd the glory of his skill, — 
 
 The image of his own Communing Form: 
 
 All dignity and beauty blent with grace: 
 
 And over all a faint-diffusing tint, 
 
 A glowing prayer to catch the flame of life. 
 
 It seem'd the pause were purposed that the Sire, 
 Pleased with his offspring, might demand of all 
 
152 
 
 If such a shape became the lord of earth? 
 And all the native ranks gave glad assent; 
 Such mild, subduing majesty went forth, 
 From that Unliving One; and all on high, 
 Spirits of Power, of Beauty, and of Speed; 
 Spirits of Order, Government, and Law; 
 Spirits of Life, Health, Immortality, — 
 All witnesses of all the works of God — 
 Exulted in tiie fitness of the choice, 
 And hail'd the Coronation of the Man! 
 
 The Breath of Lives! 
 
 And instantly arose, 
 Flush'd with the fire, the Father of the World! 
 His soul was in a trance of truth and bliss. 
 Thought and affection filling first with God, 
 Admiring and adoring: promptly sage 
 To know all facts, relations, ends; and soon 
 Opening his senses to the realm around! 
 
 A deeper silence held the subject sphere: 
 Watchingthose wondrous eyes, whose starry glance 
 Pierced the dark glen, o'er hill and valley shone. 
 Reposed enraptured on the ardent sun. 
 And gave the whole calm circle to the mind. 
 Then gush'd the sound of waters on his ear, 
 Fresh inspiration! Whispering brooks came close. 
 And, hurrying through the gloom, again look'dback 
 From distant sunshine; and the solemn roar 
 Of unseen falls, from forests moist with spray, 
 Remoter homage brought subdued and slow. 
 Quick, low and sweet began, and swelling rose. 
 
153 
 
 The myriad welcoming of half-hid birds, 
 The near leaves trembling with their trill'd delight; 
 While, self-recover'd from that royal glance, 
 The lion, rising in his wild retreat, 
 Pour'd the haught thunder of a stronger life! 
 Woke, too, the wind — and touch'd the tissued nerves 
 With most delicious coolness; while the flowers 
 From dewy censers flung their perfumes forth; 
 And all the scene, released from its restraints, 
 With nobler charms than when so brightly still, 
 Waved shadowy round; and he — the lord of all! 
 Shook, as a child in joy, his manly locks! 
 
15<t 
 
 1840. 
 
 THE REFUGE. 
 
 O Infinite One! in all good Infinite! 
 
 What praise should ever from my heart ascend, 
 
 For knowledge of Thy Nature and Thy Will! 
 
 What prayer attend my praise! That, as I know, 
 
 Glowing and glad I may obey and love! 
 
 Loving, obeying, — feel Thee ever near; 
 
 Communing with Thy Spirit — as a child 
 
 Its sparkling eyes to brighter sparkling eyes, 
 
 Lifts, as its mother smiles; and thrills with joy 
 
 Of speechless, spirit-piercing sympathy: 
 
 That so — unhappy, in this crowded world. 
 
 This lone, wild, wicked, wretched, dying world, — 
 
 I, cleaving still to Thee — my Father God! 
 
 In Thee, and what Thou orderest, may exult! — 
 
 Thee — if the Universe were now a void — 
 
 My home and friends! — my sun, moon, star, heaven, 
 
 earth! 
 Cherub and Seraph! — Saviour! — All-in-All! 
 Immense, eternal fulness of all grace, 
 All glory! 
 
155 
 
 INDULGENCE. 
 
 Disease relents. The mind awakes. Versification is an amuse- 
 ment. Ideality acts wildly, but easily; and is permitted to 
 act wildly, because, it acts easily. Yet it is difficult afterward 
 to reduce the chaos to order. But I consent to the effort. 
 
 As, in the seeming close of this dull spell, 
 My subtlest powers are weary- worn and sad; 
 I turn to Thee — O Form of Fadeless Youth! 
 Thou of the brightest eye and sweetest voice! 
 First, fairest, loveliest charmer of my life! 
 Ideal Seraph! — turn to Thee, and seek 
 The thought and passion of Thy glorious song! 
 
 Thine, all the heaven of truth — clear, cold, pure, 
 
 bright! 
 Thine, all the earth of love, — flower'd, fruitful, 
 
 warm! 
 Thine! Angel on the Sun-throne of the soul! 
 
 Bareft of thee, with heaven of night and mist, 
 Truth swells its unseen amplitude in vain; 
 While love's chill'd sphere its ripening vintage 
 
 checks, 
 Dewy and drooping with infolded bloom. 
 But when the still, live glory of thine orb 
 Dawns, shines, burns, blazes, in our spirit's morn; 
 Then early eagles gleam, aloft, alone; 
 Far-floating in the illimitable void; 
 And flash, like swiftest wings, from sinless worlds, 
 White, cliff'-cast torrents, down a thousand vales! 
 
156 
 
 Or, so — the vast of mind, disclosed, expands; 
 And noblest thoughts in highest regions soar: 
 So, all the heart awakes; hope's mountains glow. 
 Glistening, deep leap the holiest streams of joy; 
 Fruits feel the flush on all the hills of faith; 
 Soft from devotion's groves, sweet voices breathe; 
 And fragrance fills the violet vales of peace. 
 
 O Seraph of the Sun! thus centre-throned, 
 Lord of two worlds! — not only downward beams 
 Thy glory, — though the common eye is blind; 
 But — if such symbol thou wilt deign to know. 
 As some great diamond globe, with inner fire 
 Unshaded and most radiant in its flame, 
 Lights not alone the temple's tearful floor. 
 But scenes of bliss all round the pictured dome; 
 So, to the saintly vision, upward shine, 
 By smoke and cloud untouch'd, thy purest rays — 
 As if with spirit-thought to see their God, 
 And spread their poor, pale tribute at His feet. 
 Feebler than moth's the mightiest eagle's wing; 
 Darker than mole's, the brightest eagle's eye; 
 Compared to mine, — companion of thy flight! 
 Disdain my pinions rest in earthly shades: 
 And faint not when they wave above thy fires; 
 The earth hath all its orbit in my glance; 
 The near sun mildly beams as distant moon; 
 And flames undazzling all the heaven of heavens. 
 
 Sun Seraph! thus I vaunt me of thy power — 
 Instantly prompt and infinitely full. 
 
157 
 
 I fear to ask thee for the least relief, 
 
 For, soon as ask'd, creation hears thy voice 
 
 And hastes to offer its exhaustless stores. 
 
 If I but sigh to see the world so drear, 
 Thou puttest to mine eye a little prism, 
 And cloudless sunbows colour all the sphere. 
 
 I hear of heaven and long to see its bliss: 
 
 And all the stars whirl by me like a dream, 
 
 And sink, stjll whirling, far beneath my feet, 
 
 Till all their circles close in one, and that 
 
 Concentres to a point — and that is lost. 
 
 And round and round me breathe such living airs; 
 
 And in my very heart such music rings; 
 
 And on my sight such boundless glory breaks, 
 
 Burning and burning, ever more to burn; 
 
 That soon, as though immensity had pour'd 
 
 Its focal splendour on my soul alone. 
 
 And there eternity retain'd its power, 
 
 I fold my plumes, but find no gloom within, 
 
 And falling prone, lie trembling and adore. 
 
 Yet, while my body yields to these dull pains, 
 I win a pleasure in this wild escape. 
 Of the tired spirit, and may not in vain 
 List to the rustling of its wayward flight. 
 Thus sporting, though more idly than a bird: 
 For, sometime will the precincts of the cage. 
 Be lone and still — and all the dream be real! 
 
158 
 
 1841, 
 
 THE lord's poor, 
 
 Methought 1 saw the Son of God;— 
 
 The thorns still red, the nail-prints fresli: 
 
 His patient look betray'd a pain 
 
 Sharper than all that thrill'd his flesh, 
 
 O suffering', saving Lord of LoveT— 
 Warm from my heart the language came— 
 
 Coidd'st Thou forsake the Throne of heaven^ 
 To bear, on earth, such wo and shame] 
 
 Thine own creation knew Thee not — 
 Thy chosen cried — away I away I 
 
 But all the ardour of my soul^ 
 
 Entreats Thee, Master!— stay, oh stay! 
 
 I'll soothe Thy griefs, Til heal Thy wounds. 
 With trembling joy Thy brow unbind y 
 
 Gentile and Jew from me shall learn 
 The common duty of raankindl 
 
 Lo! crown'd with glory — changed, He stoo^! 
 
 Sun-like, the radiant bosom-scar! 
 His hands, the orb and sceptre borel 
 
 And shone, on either foot, a starl 
 
159 
 
 How sunk my heart! ashamed to know 
 I could not bless the Lord of all; 
 
 When, suddenly and silently, 
 A pale group came, at Jesu's call. 
 
 Pointing to them — with smiles, He rose! 
 
 But rising said — Disciple! see, 
 Though I depart, the poor remain — 
 
 Kindness to them is love to me! 
 
160 
 
 1842. 
 
 WILLIAM KESLEY. 
 
 Hope flies! — 
 
 And round the dim and dewy scene. 
 Stalks stalwart Fear, vaunting his prophet-skill: — 
 " / saw the hand that touch'd that ample brow, 
 And thence foretold this pale and sad event! 
 True, many angels pleaded for his life; 
 Some, that his short and compact frame was strong. 
 As if a youth's, to bear yet heavier years; 
 Some, that his mind, matured and well-inform'd, 
 la facile power still held its varied gifts; 
 Some, that his heart, well tried of old and true. 
 Grew fjurer and was richer in its love; 
 While others, turning gently from the man. 
 Pointed, with trembling fingers, to a group 
 Whose home-prayers gush'd in eloquence of tears; 
 And others, with their vision on the Church, 
 Spake of his wisdom and her constant need, — - 
 His faith, his zeal, his courage, and his toils; 
 And others, by a wider, nobler range, 
 The common Church — ^nay, more, the common 
 
 World.^ 
 But all their pleas were vain. I — /, alone, 
 Foresaw, foretold, — by day and night, foretold, — 
 Through every change, foretold — the end is death! 
 And loL the truth! How pale, cold, silent now! 
 
161 
 
 Form, Mind, Heart, Home, Church, World, unheed- 
 ed, all. 
 Naught now remains but soon the Grave must hide." 
 
 Hope fled! — 
 
 But whither? Far beyond the range, 
 Where Fear may triumph! Fear is like the nighty 
 Earth-born and bound to earth; but sunny Hope 
 Is here a guest whose native sphere is heaven. 
 There straight she fled, nor with a lonely flight. 
 Fear strode beside the corpse, with shade athwart; 
 But wiser Hope, with birth-right more sublime. 
 Ascended with the spirit. Why remain] 
 To see the gathering darkness of decay? 
 To hear the widow's wail, the orphan's cry? 
 To look on altars hung with funeral crape? 
 And mourn the last heart-rendings of the grave? 
 We soar, sings Hope, still soaring as she sings — 
 The soul, aside, all thrilling with the song. 
 We soar — and all the little things of earth. 
 Are lost, already; nay, the earth itself 
 Dwindles into a star — and disappears. 
 We soar — with God's infinity around! 
 We soar — with God himself our Life of Jives! 
 Serene, O soul! serene! be all serene! 
 What! does the light transpierce thee? let it shine — 
 'T will glorify thee, as the sun a gem! 
 What! does the music awe thee? let it sound, — 
 The name of Jesus fills the loudest strain! 
 What! shrink'st thou from the rainbows of the 
 throne, 
 
162 
 
 And quiverest 'midst the rustling plumes around? 
 Serene, O, soul! the Lord draws near — " Well 
 
 done! 
 Thou good and faithful servant! Enter in!^^ 
 What! does the joy entrance theeT Droop thou 
 
 not — ■ 
 Who made, on earth, the blind man eye the noon, 
 Shall make thee, here, Himself undazzled see! 
 Behold the King! — in all His beauty shown! 
 The Land immense, with distant beams adorned! 
 The Saints! the Angels! Lo, their glorious throng! 
 
 I see! I see! but hide me with your wings. 
 
 Cherub and Seraph! Lead me as a child, 
 
 dose to His throne! This crown — I'll lay it there, 
 
 Low at his feet! I feel the Saviour near! 
 
 I see the dear memorials of His wounds! 
 
 My heaven is here! All glory to the Lamb! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 ISsTEAD of 130, or 144, pages, it will be seen that the voiunie 
 consists of ]68„ The Printtir informs me of six vacant pages, 
 in the additional form rendered necessary by excess of matter, 
 and, therefo;e, I avail myself of the opportunity of appending a 
 few notes. 
 
 Page 9. — Piety. 
 
 This was the first of my publications. When I saw 
 it in print, how greatly I was pleased ! The place, 
 time, newspaper, feelings, are matters of distinct re- 
 membrance. So much for a new class of excitements. 
 Not another article, of all I have published, has any 
 such association. To know, that an editor had not 
 only read it, but approved it, and directed its inser- 
 tion ; and that the compositor had set it up, letter by 
 letter; and that the proof-reader had carefully revised 
 it; and that the press-man had multiplied so many 
 copies of it; and the carrier and the post-master dis- 
 tributed them so widely; and, doubtless! — so many 
 readers given it their attention : — that was an epoch. 
 
 Again, this first effusion — first in print — affords a 
 pretty good index to the general character of its succes- 
 sors: — a blending of the depressions of affliction with 
 the counteracting elevations of religion. " Blessed 
 be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; 
 who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may 
 be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by 
 the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of 
 God." 
 
 Since its publication, in the little, dingy " Satuk- 
 DAV Evening Post," the first of the weekly literary 
 papers in our goodly city, what a multiplication and 
 expansion of such vehicles of intelligence has been 
 witnessed 1 The "Post" now, with its national title, 
 and the "Courjer," and the "Museum," and others: 
 what magnificent sheets are they, in comparison with 
 their humble pioneer! — and what an influence they 
 exert ! — and how carefully this should be consecrated 
 to good works ! Let all men know that there is no- 
 thing like doing good. 
 
164 
 
 Page 50. — Death. 
 The E.EV. Samuel Doughty was a highly respected 
 member of tiie Philadelphia Conference of the Metho- 
 dist Episcopal Church. I well remember his excel- 
 lent ministry. His brother, Col. William Doughtv, 
 one of our three principal Naval Architects, a gen- 
 tleman greatly esteemed in both church and state, I 
 am happy to acknowledge as a noble-hearted personal 
 friend. The distinguished landscape-painter, is ano- 
 ther brother. 
 
 Page 56. — ^The Invitation. 
 These stanzas are taken from a fictitious narrative, 
 entitled " Emily Morton," in the " Remember Me " — 
 a religious annual, published by E. Littell, Esq., 
 long and well known in connexion with the "Museum 
 OF Foreign Literature and Science:" now, the 
 "Eclectic Museum." The articles immediately 
 preceding and following this, " To Anna," and "The 
 Proto-Martyr," are from the same work. For my 
 contributions to that volume, constituting about one- 
 sixth of the whole, 1 received pecuniary compensation — 
 a rare thing to me, and, of course, not to be forgotten. 
 
 Page 64. — Satan. 
 These opprobrious couplets were written, in a fit 
 of indignation, as a sort of reply to a spirited poem, 
 by the Rev. George Croly, author of "Salathiel," 
 ^c, in which his miscreant-majesty was described 
 as: — 
 
 " fit to master all but Heaven!" 
 
 who, that had virtue or verse in him, could brook 
 
 Ihat.^' 
 
 Page 67. — The Spirit of Destruction. 
 This poem was prepaied, with more than ordinary 
 care, in hope of a prize; but did not win it. The 
 judges selected four compositions, as so nearly equal 
 m merit, that it was difficult to decide between them; 
 whereupon the publisher gave nothing for either, and 
 {he poets had to make out, as best they could, with 
 neither fame nor money. One of the four, was " The 
 Athenian Daughter," by N. P. Willis, Esq.;— 
 
165 
 
 another, I believe, " The Death of Samson," by R. 
 Morris, Esq.; — the third, 1 have no recollection of; — 
 the fourth, was "The ISpirit of Destruction." A 
 gentleman who has since acquired high literary and 
 judicial distinction, was afterward kind enoucrh to 
 pay it the discriminating attention which is charac- 
 teristic of an honebt and capable critic. 
 
 Page 71. — Genids. 
 
 This hasty off-throw was signed DEiviocRrTUS, — the 
 name of the laughing philosopher being thus, occa- 
 sionally, employed, to indicate a dash of humour or 
 extravagance, which, without such token, would have 
 been inexcusable. So, with a sonnet in 1826: — 
 
 To MY Lamp. 
 Hail to my lamp! when dark misfortune shrouds, 
 
 My little spot of life, how many seem 
 As though they cannot see me through the clouds! 
 
 But thou dost bless me with thy cheering beam 
 When darkest is the darkness; and dost wait 
 Beside me, as sweet mercy stands by fate. 
 At silent midnight, when the dusky hour 
 
 Threatens to hide my paper, ink and pen; 
 Thine eye uncloses, and thy glance of power 
 
 Drives him, abash'd, back to his murky den: 
 Then thou dost smile upon me, while i write 
 Such words as shall the darken'd nations light! 
 Still lead my magic pen, my Friend in need, 
 And unborn myriads shall applaud the deed! 
 
 Page 74. — The Genius of Poetry. 
 This poem, like "The Spirit of Destruction," 
 " Washington at Prayer," »&c. first appeared in the 
 "Philadelphia Monthly Magazine." Soon after, 
 an editor, whose talents, as then displayed in his own 
 poems, I estimate more highly now than 1 did in ray 
 \'outh, took the liberty, 1 presume in very sincere 
 compliment, to register my name, with his opinion of 
 my poetic character, in one of a series of sketches, 
 headed " Young American Writers." Happening 
 to stop at the office, I was surprised to see this notice 
 in proof, and instantly objected to it, on the very 
 
166 
 
 good ground, that 1 had yet done nothing deserving 
 public regard, and with a feeling of lofty an:ibition, 
 not to be forgotten, that had relation to the attain- 
 ment of a far higher title to the sacred reputation of a 
 poet. The kind editor had quoted, as a favourable 
 specimen, the paragraph commencing — 
 
 " Genius of Poetry ! thou noblest born!" 
 But, when the paper appeared, a very significant 
 token was presented of the displeasure I had excited 
 by my objection. The eight lines beginning — 
 
 " Does Beauty claim thine eye?" 
 were omitted^ and so the connexion was broken;* 
 while, at the foot of the column, the same space was 
 occupied by the substitution of the following very 
 sage reflection: 
 
 "The pursuit of fame is a heart-burning and weary- 
 employment, but the thirst for glory may be called an 
 
 emotion inherent to the poet's mind. Mr. S may 
 
 ultimately reach a reputable station in the heights of 
 Parnassus, but so far as human happiness is con- 
 cerned, we would advise him to forego the dream 
 which is a burning force upon the soul." 
 
 Now, the amusement derived from these reminis- 
 cences, is enhanced by their connexion with the pre- 
 sent volume. Lofty as my aspirations then were, and 
 still loftier as they now are, yet here I am, nearly fif- 
 teen years after, of my own will, just closing the 
 collection, in book form, not only of such articles as the 
 one thus mentioned, but, of even earlier and inferior 
 productions. Nay, more, I am even pleased with the 
 task, and hope others will be, also. Still further,! am 
 conscious of increasing zeal in relation to the com- 
 pletion of unprinted matter, of the same kind, but of 
 more importance. 
 
 Page 91. — The Funeral. 
 The deceased, in this instance, was the son of Mr. 
 Francis Coates, of Baltimf>re, one of the patriarchs of 
 the Methodist Protestant Church. 
 
 * So it was afterward imperfectly published in the < 
 DELPHiA Book." 
 
167 
 
 Page 96. — Visit to a Mother's Grave. 
 
 In the Methodist Episcopal grave-yard, Burlington, 
 New Jersey. A spot consecrated by the repose of 
 saints — well known to the jewel-keepers of the King 
 of glory. 
 
 Page 101. — To a young Friend. 
 This young friend was Dr. Harrod, son of J. J. 
 Harrod, Esq., of Baltimore; another of the patriarchs 
 of the Methodist Protestant Church; an intelligent, 
 generous, and ardent Christian. His son, the Dr., 
 died with consumption, at Leghorn, whither he had 
 repaired in hope of health. His admirable character 
 is endeared to many. 
 
 Page 106. — PRAiTiRFOR A Family of my Friends. 
 Never shall I forget the '• White Cottage," in 
 Kent County, Md., or the family who honoured it as 
 their home. Death has since brought them messages 
 hard to be received. But let us remember the exqui- 
 sitely spiritual stanza of the pious and poetic Her- 
 bert: 
 
 " With patient step, thy course of duty run, 
 God nothing does, or suffers to be done; 
 But thou wouldst do thyself, couldst thou but see, 
 The end of all events as well as He." 
 
 Page 108. — My Daughter's Birth-Day. 
 Then was another new fountain opened in my heart. 
 With what a gurgling rapture it gushed forth! Blessed 
 be the children! 
 
 Page 116. — An Impromptu. 
 This was written, on reception of a report, that the 
 Rev. Dr. Francis Waters, whose name is commen- 
 dation, had fallen, among others, a victim to the cho- 
 lera. Happily, his presence is yet with us. So, in 
 Thanksgiving for the Bible, page 117, allusion is 
 made to the same dreadful disease, in Philadelphia, in 
 connexion with the exposure of my dearest friends to 
 its desolating power. These, too, by Divine mercy, 
 escaped. I was then in Talbot Cy., Md. Here, the 
 remembrance of J. Parrott, Esq., — one of the warmest 
 
168 
 
 friends I ever met, — rises, vividly and gratefully, be- 
 fore me. Precious days were known there. 
 
 Page V22. — May in the Woods. 
 "The Eastern Shore," here mentioned, is that of 
 the Maryland counties, on the eastern side of Chesa- 
 peake Bay. The scene described, is in Queen Ann's 
 County, and was traversed in a ride from the neigh- 
 bourhood of Centreville, by the "Clinton Hall" road, 
 to Church-Hill. If any one imagine the description 
 inaccurate, let him go there, next May, and see. But 
 — Clinton Hall! — I could write a Poem about that. 
 Yet 'tis now after three o'clock, in the morning! So 
 it was there, sometimes, in the little parsonage, on the 
 lawn, under the old elms. But, indeed, it is not often 
 so. Clinton Hall was then the residence of my well- 
 known, faithful, and warmly-beloved friend — I mean 
 every body's — the Hon. P. B. Hopper. He now lives 
 nearer to the Church, for which, as well as for many 
 others, he has laboured so long and so usefully: more- 
 over, 1 doubt not he lives nearer heaven, also, where 
 he may rest for ever. One has recently ascended 
 from his Olivet, in the likeness, and with the light- 
 ness, of her Lord. 
 
 Page 160. — William Kesley. 
 A wise and useful member of the Maryland Con- 
 ference of the Methodist Protestant Church — a true 
 man of God. As my humble verse is itself a tribute 
 to his memory, I need add no more. But, lately, when 
 Samuel L. Rawleigh went up from his circuit, was 
 there not "joy in heaven.'"' — and special joy in the 
 greetings of these fellow-labourers? Must it not be 
 pleasant, to talk there, of things hereP The zealous 
 Rawleigh is worthy to walk arm in arm with the sage 
 Kesley, along the hill-tops of glory, and down by the 
 waters of life, and up through the gates into the city, 
 and across the great golden square, to the portico, and 
 palace, and welcoming presence of the King of Kings. 
 
 Finale. 
 I may not linger longer. The pale boy, and the 
 on-living, on- working man — here we are! twain in 
 one. Reader! 'till we meet again, let us exchange 
 blessings! Dost thou bless me.^ So I bless thee! 
 The Lord bless us both ! Amen,