P s «se®5K LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. W ■Y^^vW^^J^^-r^'^'^ THE BEING (.1^1 littthij Mmnll iplnrms BY CHAELES L. WHELER l» 1883 ■•^' ■BOSTON; EAN & WHELER. 1851. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year of our Lord 1851, by Cliarles L. Wheler, In the Clerk's Ofi&ce of the District Court of the State of New-Hampshire. Athenian Hall Office, Concord, N 11 I niitmk HYMN TO NATUKE, 7 WHEN SUNSETS GLORIES, 13 LAKE WINNEPISSIOGEE, . .^7. 15 SONG OF THE YANKEE FARMER,. 17 TIME, FAITH AND ENERGY, 19 THE APOLOGY 21 A MORNING SONG, 22 A MEMORY, 23 THE RUINED MIND, ". 25 MIRIAM, _ 33 THE BUTTERFLIES, .36 THE COMING ON OF WINTER, 37 HONOR TO FREE LABOR, .39 THE SMILE, 42 OLDEN MEMORIES,. 43 THE HUMAN SOUL, 45 MY HEART'S QUEEN, 47 LOVE'S DAINTY ROMANCE , .49 ©E fortfjr, uin luttic ijjUr, ^■^ anti make tfjrt Jrcntifs or Jfocs ■ l-^Sii Ctcr I)cc tfjat ran not lokc EHgtij pleasure on tfjc Bosf. 13 ut sckc tf)ou for no praisr 13g sonlrrDC toags of arte : Cfjat Erec f)at{) Icngtfjc of tjaisr C!)3t fjati^ a sturtiic fjartf. (TtifT tf)OU tortf) brins a trarc Zq annc iaagtorns £2^. (Gibe otfjrrs fennglgc grarf ,* Cfje rttcf)cr 0n£ am C. Cf)c jfartfjer bcnncs ^gs CfjgRic iilo fagr tf)an otfjrrs br : CTts partionrti, Surf) tfjinrfic not toiFbc ;rf)c ipocts equal Fanitiev Cf)Ou inigf)tcst fcitf) mr rnnainr 3nti tfjus csc^uc all ill, 33ut sinre C am not fame, 3Lrt eSooti iiJcn tafir gocU toill. 8 THE WINNOWING. Without reverberation into space, No Flower hath changed its primal hue, or lost A petaled leaf — no Bird but sings as first It sung, and flutters in its pristine sheen. The tiny seed that hath a subtle soul Whereof we little know, produces still Its kind, as in thy fair, edenic morn : Its kind, nor yet its likeness ; for where'er V\'e turn, no tree hath its exactest twin, Nor blade of grass, nor fruit, its patterned male. The flower that charmed and fruits that nourished them, The Primal Pair, still bloom and bourgeon, still Refresh, but tell not to the curious eye Of Edens site ; for then, as even now, Thy beauties stretched beyond the farthest bound That man's far-reaching race hath ever known. And what is man to thee ? The years that tell His generation, tear not a charm from thy llcsplendcnt face ! The race of hero-kings. That fills the earth with hollow shouts and loud Keverberation, pass aM-ay — and all Their immortality lasts not so long As lasts thy humblest flower ! And they, the vile, Des:cnorate souls, that bov/ to the old curse, POEMS. 9 And pander to their lusts, until the mind, Debauched, cries out for more e'en when the flesh Proclaims its satisfaction — oh ! how far Debased beneath the humblest thing of life They are ! Oh, rather would I die as dies The blue-eyed Violet of early spring Than live the long-drawn life of shame they live ! O Nature ! ev'n in early youth my fleeting hours, Else spent in play, were dedicate to thee ! The shaded brook, whose waters wanton chased The shy sunbeams that through the foliage stole, As blithe they jumped from rock to rock, beheld Me as a worshipper ere scarce I knew The why I sought thy templed fane. Far down The brook there was a mossy rock that sang In sweeter tones than olden Memnon sung At touch of Morning's bright and genial beams. ^ '^ There have I daylong sat, in raptest trance. And heard the Aquian Harp, and watched the whirl And trip of waters in their play. I loved To walk the long-deserted forest path. Wherein the flowers and grass exultant grew ; To wander up and down the babbling brook ; To scale the lofty hills ; to note the flowers That throve in conscious pride where'er the rain lO THE ^vINlS'o^VI^"(.. And sunshine wooed them — -these were joys that won Me from the sports of 3'outh. And now, escaped The noisy town, I feel more deep than erst The sweet, outbreathing influences of all Thy happy scenes. The soft winds touch my brow Like wings of guardian spirits ; th' flowers wild Distil a balm upon my soul that lulls The fevered pain ; the song of birds brings back The blissful memories of sinless days ; And all things ministrations exercise, Peculiar and divine, to beatify My quick-consenting heart. In thee, Nature ! I own a Teacher, silent and serene ! The Rose, down drooping with a cankered heart, The Violet, by storms prostrated low Within its natal morn, toitehingly tell The vanity of human love and hope. How silently the Lily mocks the Crown ! How eloquent the mountains hoar exhort To humbleness ! And he that walks thy paths With open eye and spirit rightly tuned. Shall meet evangels sweet in every thing ! The varied year shall teach in varied tongue : POEMS. 1 1 The Spring shall brighten Hope's effulgent wing, And make the heart grow young again I The grass Up creeping from the freed, exulting brook, The flowers putting forth their petaled leaves In tender trust, shall come to him like voices From graves of those we love — telling that He Whose care sustained them in their winter-tomb, Shall lead our souls through Death's all-going gate To brighter worlds of endless morn ! The Fall Of th' year is full of sights admonishing Of man's mortality ; and Winter, swathed In whitest robes, whereon the sunbeams touch And linger half afraid, teaches austere Of man's last going forth. Froni out thy wonib, ph Nature ! spring the glories of the fleet And changeful year ! And thou that gave them birth Art sepulchre as well. From depths profound Of yonder wood, as from a chancelled aisle, A voice comes forth that stills the whisp'ring leaves, And sadly thrills through all my inmost soul : " Go forth, oh worshipper ! and count the sands Along yon ocean side ; or hence to farthest bounds. And number every forest leaf, nor deem It vain or profitless employ : for each 12 THE WINNOWING. Is epitaph and monnment of men Whose life perchance was long as thine, and whose Ambition was stronger !" The clamb'ring vine Conceals the blasted oak and ruined v/all — The tufted grass, with flowers filigraned Between, doth charm our eyes till we forget The cold, damp grave beneath. And it is well. Oh Nature ! keep our lives in sweet accord To thee ! and when our ripened time shall come, The soul shall feel no pall upon its trust. I am content what time befalls. Plant trees Above my grave, and let their roots engird My frame around ; let flowers also bloom Thereon. So would I rest. A tree shall be My monument — a flower, my epitaph, Outlasting Theban pomp ! "^^ ** ** ** POEMS. 13 -WHEN SUNSET'S GLORIES/' When Sunset's glories fade away Along Dorado's golden shore, In one green vale his beams delay And pensive o'er the landscape pour. So o'er the twilight Realm of Dreams The hallowed light of Eros pours, And oft thy trysting presence seems To meet me on those blissful shores- The Bee, benighted on the mead, And sleeping in the Lily's bed, And rocked by Zephyrs as they speed To wanton with the Roses red, Is not so purely lodged and kept As are my secret thoughts of thee ! — When thou wert gone have I not wept 1 What Flower e'er wept the 'parting Bee ? The Daisies young, at shut of day. Defiant close their crimson gates ; And thus thy spirit wards away Each look that base imj^ortunates. 2 14: THE WINNOWING. But once I looked into thine eyes. Nor felt them turned away : In them I read, as in the skies, The dawn of Love's unending day. The Stars remind me of thine eyes, The Lilies of thy stately mien ; And something wakes a glad surprise — A thought of thee — in every scene ! — My heart is yearning for thy love With faith that nothing may divide I Oh ! shall my heart's unwearied dove Return for aye unsatisfied ? The treasures of the dirty mine I cannot, would not, offer thee ; A AVhite Rose were the better sign To speak the full heart's homage free ! Methinks thou deemest one true heart As wealth and worth enough for thcc : If so, believe me void of art, For none have ever loved like mc '. Soutli-Carolina— 1850. POEMS. 15 LAKE WINNEPISSIOGEE.* Sweet Smile of the Spirit ! in beauty outstretching As fiir as the eye in its rapture can soar I How gladsome thy waters still sparkle in sunlight, And dance with a song on the pebble-strewn shore ! How beauteous the islets that smile on thy bosom Like gems on the breast of an amorous queen I And Rainbows that bend from the brow of Monadnoc Scarce equal the hues of their flowery sheen ! The sentinel mountains that tower above thee, And stand, like the gods, with their heads in the sky, Still shield thy fair bosom from boreal Tempests, That howl in their anger while hurrying by. Not wildly exalted the praise of thy beauty, Bestowed, in thy name, by the Indian tongue ; For where, in the climes by the godlike made classic, Have poets a brighter and fairer e'er sung ? ■'* The -wovil "Winnciiitsiogee is, 1 believe, from the language of the Ossa- pees, a tribe now extinct. The word signifies the " Smile of the Great Spir- it.'' and is a beautiful exemplification of native i^oetical cxpresf^ion. 16 THE WINNOWING. How oft have 1 lain on thy green sloping margin And mused on the legend that tells of thy birth — The beautiful tale of the Indian poet, Brought down from the days of the primitive earth. When God had completed, (so ran the tradition,) This Eden-like 1 land for the red hunter's home, He sate on his throne of radiance celestial, And drank in the whole as 'twere oped in a tome. He smiled with a joyance so great and exctatic, The tears of his gladness fell down from his face. And ever thereafter, among the blue mountains, The Indian hunter God's presence could trace, New-Hampshire — 1851- POEMS. 17 []ONG OF THE YANKEE PARMER. I. OuE boast is not of castled homes Up'on our thousand hills ; Our boast is not of noble blood That through our veins distils : No — 'tis our pride that we were born In Freedom's chainless clime, And if escutcheon we would bear, The Plough were choice sublime ! Were tillers of our Yankee land, We're stalwart men and true, Wlio toil with ready heart and hand Where'er there's icork to do. II. We reck not that our clime 's without The charm of classic fame ; Enough for us that Freedom here Re-lit her altar flame. To us this has a sweeter charm Than clusters round the graves, Where Roman chiefs unhonored lie Beneath their children's slaves.. 18 THE WINNOWING. We're tillers of our Yankee land, And sons of freehorn men. Who hurled Oppression from its strand^ To Jie'er return again ! III. Our liomes are on ten thousand hills, And yet our hearts are one — Our voice is heard at Washington, Our will is ever done. We love our Home, and ne'er will seek For brighter streams afar. Than those which sing our eyes to sleep Beneath our evening star. We're tillers of our Yankee land, And delve icith hearty pride To make it fairer than the strand Of Arno's classic tide. Boston— 1836- POEMS. 19 TIME, FAITH AND ENERGY, I TURNED and read historic pages, Filled with deeds of mighty men, Whose towering minds controled their agetj With the Sword and with the Pen ; And then I mused and questioned thoughtful How their hero-names were won, And how the teeming tomes were fraughtful With their deeds so nobly done : But while I sat and deeply pondered Over Act and Destiny, Unsummoned by the thought I squandered, Home the answer came to me : — " To every soul of genius towering God has given helpers three — The names of these, the vict'ry showering. Are ^imtf JFaitiD att^ Mnttg^.** — Time ! that aye with equal measure, Bears us on its ceaseless flow. Still lengthens out our hour of pleasure, Deadens every sharper v*'oe ! And he that sows, with godlike reason, Nebula of after deed. 20 THE AVINNOWING. Shall find the harvest, in its season, Equal to his hope and need. • — Faith ! in God is life eternal. Faith in man's a tower of strength, And whoso hath this gift supernal, Shall obtain his hope at length. 'Tis Faith that Avhispers to the spirit God is just and man is true — That tells the soul it shall inherit Things the faithless never knew. — Energy ! th' godlike soul and tireless Pent within our mortal clay, Ignites the Act that flickered fireless, Lights to-morrow in to-day ! It is the power that wins the glory Hallowing the Poet's name ; It is the power that gives to story Bright and fair the Hero's fame, O man ! that still with brave endeavor Toilest up Life's beaten way. Despair not — ftilter not — no, never Howe'er darkly glooms the day ! Still on ! though Penury and Sorrow Every ouAvard step pursue, POEMS. 21 And still from great examples borrow Strength to bravely dare and do ! And whatsoe'er thy great ambition, Poet-wreath or hero-crown, Press onward in thy chosen mission, Waving all 'gainst Fortune's frown ! Yes, on ! and by these three supernal, By Time, Faith and Energy, The gifts of Earth that are eternal Shall at last be showered on thee ! Georgia— 1849. THE APOLOGY. The Bee that trifles with the Flower, Hath songs that well deceive it, But when its virgin sweets are gone, Ne'er feels a shame to grieve it, But, kissing you, I am no Bee, And well you may believe it, For every time I touch your cheek 'Tis fairer as I leave it ! 22 THE WINNOWIXG. A MORNING SONG. Akouse ! tlie King of Day is making his way Througli the golden gates of j\[orn ; And list ! gay Chanticleer, both far-off and near, Proclaims the night forlorn. Arouse ! And mount the fleet and graceful steed. And o'er the hills away, Away ! Till the dappled light upon the mead Dissolves in open day. Arouse ! the blithe Redbreast has left its snug nest And sings amid the flowers ; Whilst the Honey-bee, upon the flowery lea, Improves the morning hours. Arouse ! And mount the fleet and graceful steed, And o'er the hills away, Away ! Till the dappled light upon the mead Dissolves in open day. Cherokee (Country — 1850, POEMS. 2:3 A MEMORY. LoxG ago, beneath the arches Of our tall, patrician trees, Sat I in the evening twilight. Fanned by the gentle breeze : Meg was sitting close beside me, And her hand was laid in mine, While our hearts' united beating Acted Love's sweet pantomime. Forth the starry hosts were marching, In their bright and blazing helms, But I heeded not their splendor, — All my stars were 'neath the elms ! Oh, not with glasses telescopic Needed I to sweep the skies ; Heaven itself to me descended, And its stars were woman's eyes ! There we sat, and talked, and trifled. While the hours stole noiseless by ; Vows we made, and truth we plighted, That seemed too pure to ever die. 24 THE WINNOWING. Thus oft we met, and oft we parted, Trimming still Love's guiltless lamp ; Venus' coming oft was looked for, But heedless passed Mars' fiery tramp. Sweetest flowers, born of beauty, Perish ere the rude winds blow ; So the flower I loved and cherished Passed from out Life's vale of woe. — Tremblingly the leaves are falling From the tall, patrician elms. While alone I sit recalling Thoughts of O'S'E in yonder realms, (5for,G. Tlic starry Galij.i:o, in his midnight cell, Compassed around by bigot foes, yet felt The pleasures of creative mind ! And as He threw his hopeful thought into the far, Resplendent Age yet to be, godlike rose Above his bitter doom, and cried aloud — ''Epur si mnovef' Ay, he could suffer chains To bind his limbs, and triumph still ; for well He knew that God's great laws immutable "Would speak for him in coming times. ^ ^ And they Who freely gave Life, Liberty and all, A willing sacrifice for God's most holy cause, "^^ad still a glorious recompense of Life iternal. Maiiius amid the ruins )f Carthage ; Spencek eating the bitter bread )f Poverty in haunts hence classic made ; So>iVXRi in exile dying homesick : Old Li:ae, deserted e"cn by filial love : Ay, each and all whose tears c"er wept tlieir great ( 'alamity, had some sweet recompense That made their doom less bitter seem. Thank God () ye ! whose woes can find relief in tears — In Heaven's promise — or, (what is half as sweet,) In hope of earthly fame. But woe like miue POEMS. '29 Is tearless. Ashes of the Hopes that once Illumined Reason's march, arc swept within The fountain of my tears, and they are quenched. At times the dead, cold blank tliat wraps my urain, As though a Vampyre grasped it in his hand, Departs ; and Memory, with her mystic key, Unlocks the treasured stores of sinless days — Restores with ever faithful hue and look. Each face and scene the heart holds dear. 'Tis then my childhood's early Home I trace, And con its every charm with miser eye. A lowly cot within a valley nestled down, And flowers grew around its door, and bees Unceasing kept their toil-beguiling hum, AVhile birds did plunge in ambient air, as mad With some great ecstacy of song. From out The base of yon orbed hill a brooklet flowed Adown the vale, a modicum of whose Translucent waters trilled and sparkled o'er A mimic wheel. A tiny mill it was, AVhose wooden saw could only cleave the air ! The orchard old, whose every tree was known By its familiar name ; the meadow green. Whereon, when Evening's shadows came, we feared oO THE AVIISNOWIjNG. To look, lest Will-o"-the-Wisp should thither lead Us unaware ; the wood-girt pond wherein The sweetest water-lilies grew — ^all, all Divinely glow in Memory's magic glass. Far down the vale a white-spired church arose. And when the Sabbath's stillness came, and all The fragrant hay was lying in the fields Untouched, how beautifully the church-bell said Its message sweet from God. And, ceasing toil, In comely garb the people thither thronged To hear how Christ had died for them, and how The heavenly hosts made joy when sinners turned To God in their repentant hearts ; and they, The little children, hand in hand, were there. To hear of Him who loved them all so well. But ah ! too soon the cherished scenes decay. The while Oblivion's twilight shadows rise, And wrap my brain in dullness and in gloom. Yet through its hollow cells, as through the night. Anon some shrouded Thought will steal along, As spectres haunt the ruined vrall and keep. From blasted oaks the mistletoe will spring ; The arrow spent may serve some nobler aim ; But what, oh God ! can charm his soul to earth POEM'S. 31 Who feels his brain forsaken of the Dreams And Forms that whilom made their dwelling there T Hath Hope a lure to win his steps from Death, Where all is peace and equal state 1 Alas ! Of what avail were Earth's best boon to him Of MIND bereft? A chikVs poor plaything were As well ! Oh Hygia ! thou giver of health, Of laughing eye, and rosy lip and cheek, Hast thou no Balsam for the Dying Mind ? Oh, give me rich elixir — stay the touch That mildews — blasts — corrodes — benumbs my brain ! — Oh, stay the blight, or give me deepest draughts Of mandrao-ordia's oblivious wine ! Oh God ! thou sure, unfailing refuge here For him who sickens on Life's sharded way < Thou friend to him whom every friend forsakes, Thou balm for woes that nothing here can cure ; To THEE I turn in agony of soul And prayer unuttcra])le. My heart is whelmed In voiceless pain, and cannot ask its wish. Thy will be done ! 1 cannot lay my hand ITpon the soul's poor cage and say — Depart, 32 THE WINNOWING. Tliou fiuttering Bii^d ! But oh, my God 1 how sweet Were death to mc, Mhose soul unceasing moans Above the wreck of Mind — the barque of Life, And all its rich argosy freight, bestrewed In stenching, tarnished splendor! Yet, oh God \ Thy will be done ! ^- -^ '^ * ^cufh-Caroliiia — ISoO. POE.MS. 83 MIRIAM. Thk subject of the followiug poem was an orphaned Engii^k lady who canie to Georgia to support herself by teaching. Her spirit was imbued with a mel- ancholy profound and irradicable ; yet it was impossible not to be pleased with her gentle manners and sweet voice. She found warm friends and protectors, but they little availed. The cold, red clay of Georgia rests upon as gentle a bosom as ever made loveable and noble our human nature. How long shall I remember The orphan MiraAM, The loveliest Flower that ever Adorned the classic Cam I If I could wish my moments Of lengthened course to be^ I would but say, Flow only With her sweet memory ! She had not Beauty's moulding,. Its studied mien and airs ; But something in her aspect Enchained me unawares. Her eyes were as pure fountains That quench the pilgrim's thirst, Yet leave the spirit's longing More deep than 't was at first.. 34 THE WI^NOWIKG. Her curls, like constant sunset. Fell o'er her pallid clieek. Where Sorrow sat ennobled — A beauty none may speak. Her voice was richest music — Her ' heart-strings were a lute And whoso heard its accents Was charmed, still and mute. The atmosphere around her Seemed hallowed aiway, As though sweet spirits o"er her Had made it brighter day. I ofttimes had this fancy. (Sithence a creed mature,) That visitants supernal Await upon the jDure, And breathe into the spirit A poppy redolence. That Vv'raps in softest visions The merely clayey sense ; Till the tendrils of affection Are loosened, one by one, POEMS, -f-'5 And the spirit rises buoyant To realms beyond the sun. Else ^vhe^cforc die the flowers Ere Autumn's frost ensues ! Else wherefore dies the maiden That every Grace endues ? There is a flower that opers In th' murkiness of night. But shuts again its portals. Before the dawn of light. So oped the life of Miriam In Sorrow's chilly hour — A bud too early blasted To ever opo a flower. The Cypress tree is drooping Where MieIxS.m"s asleep, — There let the fairest flowers Their purest tears bcv.'cep ! Her only tomb my heart is, That sometimes melts in tear; In fear this dear memorial Will perish with my years. Ueorsia — lSi9. 3b THE WINNOWING. THE BUTTERFLIES. JTrotn t!)r jra-nrf). Ye Butterflies ! with snovry wings, Careering o'er the swelling sea, Can"st say, sweet voyagers, when shall I On Avings as snowy follovv' ye ? Know ye, my wantons of the air, Know ye my lilaek-cyed Bcujadcre / If ye could lend your wings of light. My spirit would not linger here ! I'd leave to you the Roses sweet And on my airy pinions fly — Ma Baijaderc ! sweet Flower of I.ove, Upon thy hosom let me diei POEMS. 37 THE COMINS ON OF WINTER. The Indian Summer's gone — the far-off v\-oods Have lost their dark green look ; Their falling leaves bestrew the forest walks, Or whirl away on the eddying brook. And Summer's birds less oft are heard to sing,^ The sweeter ones are gone away ; 1 oft'nest hear the lone Woodpecker's taps. Or shrilly the pipe of the Jay. The hoar frost glitters o'er the gathered fields When Morning comes Avith lazy beams ; And spangled filigranes of crystal spars Meet midway on the pebbly streams. But blither still they sing for all the cold, As did the little barefoot boy That yestermorn ran quickly past my door. Carolling with a feigned joy. The clouds' deep shadows lie upon the fields. The sunlight falling faint between ; 33ut oh ! how darker the shadowy memories rise As I survey the changing scene ! 4 88 THE WINNOW liSG. There is a melancholy joy that suits The pensive dreaminess of mind, To wander off into the pathless woods And hear the wailing of the wind. I've wandered all day long through yonder woods. Nor nothing profited nor done ; As on the brook the leaves went whirling by, My thoughts to naught but rever}' run. Betimes the Stripped Squirrel stared at nie. Or dropped his nuts upon my head ; — If others were like me, 'twere naught of men The forest tenents e'er could dread ! The night comes on — there's snov/ in yonder clouds.; Good night to Autumn fields, good night ; — To-morrow's dawn shall see the Earth array-ed In purest robes of spangled light ! Ncw-Hampsliire — 18.51- POEMS. o9 HONOR TO FREE LABOR. FoiiGET awhile tlie hero-names That bhxze in ancient story : The humbler hero of to-day May claim his mead of glory. The Plongh, the Anvil and the Loom Shall have historic I3ages, And he that makes shall well deserve The praise of future ages. Who makes a blade of grass to grow Where all before was arid, Is greater than the victor king With kingdoms tributaried. The Plough runs smoothly o'er their graves Who toiled in War's endeavor ; The harvest waves where once they fougi-t, And there shall wave forever ! Who swings aloft the pondrous sledge. Some useful thing to fashion, Is nobler than the Lily-hand, The slave of lust and passion. 40 THE WINNOWINOr. Whatever springs from Labor's hand Is free from shame and sorrow ; Its columned shaft shall catch the light That soonest dawns to-morrow ! The Loom ! — to Cartwkight be renown' Far greater than my ditty : His praise is spoken in the hum Of every Factory city I Nor less to him whose genius planned The fast-revolving spindle ! — While cotton grows on Southern plains Their fame shall never dwindle 1 To Morse, who tamed th' electric flashy. And made it Thought's evangel, To tireless speeds from clime to clime Like Truth's far-flashing angel ; To Watt, above his steam-engine Of well-adjusted motion ; To Fulton, on his flaming barque Careering o'er the ocean ; To Sii(i:ffeii midst his printing types, Daguerre with sunbeams painting ;. Cassini, throwing up his streams To cheer the sick and fainting : POEMS. 41 To each and all wliose genius teems With things of worth and beauty, Be freely poured the Muses' praise — A pleasure and a duty. To make — it is to rule a world Of Genius' own creation; To toil — it is to beautify For Time's perpetuation. When mind and hand in concert work. Earth's secrets ope before them ; Triumphal arches, hugest domes, Instanter tower o'er them I No more the sons of Fame shall throng Where foemen bid defiance ; A brighter prize shall lead them through The paths of Art and Science ! Grow green, ye fields ! and wave, ye woods ! In God's own sunlight beaming ; No more amid your happy vales Are War's red banners gleaming ! (Jeorgia— 1847. 4^s^ 42 THE WINNOWING. THE- SMILE. The heavens were glowing 'neath Morning's first beam, As brightly he came thro' the portals of Day, When swiftly adown the Light's silvery stream, A Smile, like an angel, was holding its way. It came to the earth — and a cottage of clay Was blest with the love that fell bright from its wing ; It stole to the lip of a child at its play, And wreathed o'er its face wdtli the sunniest spring. The mother delightedly hung o'er her child, And brother and sister came fondly around. And echoed his calling, right merry and wild. Till trembled the air with the jubilant sound ! That Smile, as a glance, passed from face unto face,. And cheered every heart wdth a blessing benign ; Nor Sorrows nor Cares but departed apace. While davfning they saw but that heavenly sign. Oh ! sweet is the day, and delightful the earth. When Smiles in the morning bless children and friends, For Anger and Friendship join hands at the hearth,. And peace to each heart like a spirit descends ! Geor^a~1848. POEMS. 43 OLDEN MEMORIES. I. When the poppy-wrcathcd Night Fills my soul with dreamy sleep, Mute around my aching heart Olden Memories softly creep ; And as tearful mourners watch Still a-near the lovely dead, There they watch with pallid Hopes Whose inspiring souls have fled. II. Sleep may pour her opiate Like a balm, into my soul, But the ghosts of perished Dreams Haunt its cells without control. Back they come in sheeny robes, And, with voice as sweet as yore. Whisper o'er my heart" s light chords Nevermore ! O nevermore ! III. When the rosy-blushing Morn Sly into my window pccpsy 44 THE WINNOWING. And dispels the gentle drug That my soul in slumber steeps, Far away the watchers fly. Waving wings that loathly soar, While they weep and sadly sigh N&cermore ! O nevermore I Oeorsria— 1S48. ''#'li^.^ POEMS. 45 THE HUMAN SOUL, The human soul i O, idly still The searching thought we squander : Beyond Life's dim and twilight bound No living foot may wander I The Dead are gone into that realm No living eye may enter ; But thence they cannot come to me To act my spirit's Mentor ! Oh ! vain it were to tire the eye Perusing Plato's pages, And vainer still to break the gloom That hovers o'er the Ages. The worm hath reveled o'er their hearts — The solid tombs have crumbled ; The demi-gods of Fame are dust. And all their might is humbled ! They cannot speak ! From out the gloom There comes no truthful token — Unto our doubting, wavering thought No spirit- word is spoken ! 46 THE AVi^sNOWIXG. The wuikl of Beauty smiles around. The world of God within us ; Yet all that eye or thought can know Will not to Faith e'er win us. We doubt — we delve — we ponder still. And What ? and Where? we question : We fear to take the human heart's Or ev'n a flower's suggestion ! Be still, proud Reason ! on thy throne, Thou art not self-created ; Thy sway hath hounds thou canst not pass. Thy reign is arbitrated ! The Lark encaged will ceaseless pine To soar to fields of azure ; And something in us finds not here Its all-sufficing measure I Oh ! check the proud, presumptions swell Of Reason's vain demurring. And in thy weakness turn to Faith, Of instinct more unerring ! Gcorgiar- 184y roEMS. 4 MY HEART'S (JUEEN. Dr.e beiwou fur thee and me.— D. II- JacqlkS. I. Not the tiling of Fashion's ortist Is the maiden I adore ; Not the toy of wealth unbounded Sways my heart forevermore ! Beauty's charm and virtue's treasure Better are than fortune's sheen : "Twas for these my heart first chose her \ye to be its gentle queen ! When you meet her, pass her by — Seek some maid in F(n-tune's train : Tarn away your venal eye From the cheek of Fanny Vane, II. In your ramble have you seen her — Seen my own heart's peerless queen While she gathered morning flowers, Tripping o'er the dewy green ! 48 THE WINNOWING. Blushed she not e'en like the young rose 'Neath your rude and earnest gaze ? Fell her eyes not on the greensward When your look bespoke your praise ? When again you meet my heart's queen Bend upon admiring knee, Nor with look's too earnest gaze Press upon her purity ! POEMS. 49 LOVE^S DAINTy ROMANCE. PART FIRST. It was a moonlit night in June, And all tlie perfumed air Was laden with a plaintive tune Of musical despair. A Mocking-Bird was plaining low In sorrow for his mate : His heart dissolved in tones of woe As he bewailed his fate. Alas! I said, 'tis little joy That Love can make us here ; His purest treasure's but alloy, A having and a tear ! And oft is Love's auroral morn Beclouded ere its noon, By hearts that in a haughty scorn Reject its purest boon. And then I mused upon the stars, How they no fading knew ; 4 50 THE wi>;novving. And tlien upon the orient bars, Befrecked Avith Morning's hue. The sun, the clouds, the starry train, The rainbow's arch of tears. Immortal beauty still retain Through all the lapse of years. But Love departs — his idol grows Like Memnon's — voiceles, cold — And they that made the plighted vows Forget the thoughts of old. The Mock-Bird's song of sorrow deep Was latest in my ears. And then it wailed into my sleep Upon a sea of tears. I closed my eyes to Venus' light. And all my tender thought Was of the dreaminess of Night To overflowing fraught. There was an eye looked in my soul, A soft blue eye and meek ; And once methought that there did roll A tear upon my cheek. POEMS. The angel of my dream, methouglit, Then met me in a kiss — A touch that instantaneous wrought A wild, ecstatic bliss. How long in that sweet sleep I lay No count of mine made known — My spirit met the coming day With sunrise of its OAvn. But list ! what voice is it that grieves In tones so soft and sweet 1 A voice so sweet that e'en the leaves Its murmurings repeat. Song. 'Tis well with the Flower That lives but a day — The tears of the Twilight Beweep its decay. 'Tis well with the Hours That quickly are flown— They hallow in memory The joys we have known. 'Tis well Avith the Cloudlet That fades from our sight — All pure in its being, It fades into light. 51 i^2 THE WINNOWING. 'Tis well with the Planet Hurled down from its throne • Such glorious fading No mortal hath known. Tis well with each creature Of earth and of air — They sport an existence Unburdened by care. But woe for the maiden Whose love-laden heart Must silently treasure The pang and the smart, — Who poureth her spirit As lavish as rain — Who loves, but whose love is Keturned not again ! Though Modesty's vestals Keep ward ever nigh, Her secret's betrayed by A glance or a sigh. The heart of the maiden Hath many a tone, But sighs for the music Of one not its own. But oh ! if her glances Awaken no love, Forgive her the sinning Of ana'cls above ! POEMS. 53 As sweet as words that bashful tell The love of many years, As strange as tho'ts that sudden swell At beauty's half-hid tears ; So soft that voice upon the air Its soulful cadence trilled, So sweetly strange the tumults were That through my bosom thrilled. I looked around in sweet amaze To see from whence the sound, But naught rewarded my poor gaze Saxe footsteps on the ground ! Now, Dian of the Silver Bow, You need not doff your shoe ; So fair a one as this, I trow, Was never worn by you ! And look ! the very grass upsprings Beneath its envied tread — So light, the wearer sure had wings And so has quickly fled ! My footsteps fondly lingered still Upon that magic ground, 54 THE WINNOWING. Like one enchanted late, whose will Would fain again be bound. PART SECOND. So indestructable the light That memories prolong, We are the happier for a sight, And for a simple song. That morn I was in happy mood, And yet I scarce knew why — Where'er I walked nor field nor wood Had aught to win my eye. One question clamber' d in my thought Where'er I roved along — How can be seen, how can be caught My morning bird of song ? When sunset's gold-dust showers rain From out the bannered west. The arbor's rustic seat again Shall be my nightly rest. And I will seem to woo the Moon As cold she moves along. POEMS. The whiles I watch to catch eftsoon My morning bird of song. Two livelong nights my vigils burned Into the opening day, Before to me my bird returned To sing her morning lay. The third ! oh sweet auspicious morn, Devoid of all annoy ! The very trees, with newborn flowers, Were tremulous with joy ! As 'tween a thought and dream I lay, I felt the foliage stirred, And with a gentle, quick assay I caught my timid bird. In maiden shame her blushing cheek Was nestled close to mine ; And when her blue eyes dared to speak They said " Forever thine !" And so I won my Allie Rose, So timid yet so bold ; And love between us constant grows— Let common loves grow cold ! 57 NOTES 10. The rock here spoken of lies in the middle of the brook; and the water which flows under it, through some unseen contri- vance, causes a kind of liquid sound resembling the notes of the Piano-Eorte. I early called it, in consequence, the Aquian Harp. 11. Some learned philosopher— I forget who— has argued to great length in fayor of the idea that America was the original seat of Paradise. 1 2 The Arabian romancers tell of an enchanted library, full of fairy wonders and mystic lore, hid deep in the bosom of a high mountain, the wonderful entrance of which opened but once in a year, and into which whoever dared to enter was forced there- fore to remain a twelvemonth. When the portal again opened he was ready again to go forth " so armed in forbidden lore as to be able to soar above the heads of the multitude, and to control the powers of nature." ■^f ->.l * I tym' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS illlllH 018 603 084 9 •>^ * ;s» -■'■* i-r>:i ** v?^- ■