i lit ? , ' t I* •*• 'M^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS QDD17T375Sfl lUh.of Keiio^s ie Conrrnccrf.- i THE POETS OF AMERICA, « " WITH OCCASIONAL NOTES. BY GEORGE B. CHEEVER / HARTFORD: SILAS ANDRUS AND SON. 1854. ■ PREFACE. The unexpected favor/ ■vvitli wliich the ^VinericaTi Common-Ptace Book of Prose was received, encouraged its publishers to hope that a shiiilar volume of extracts f om American poetiy might be attended with the same success. It is true, that there are more gooa prose writers ix oiu' countiy than there are poets ; but it would be strange, mdeed, if enough of really excellent poeti-y could not be found to fill a volume like this. It is not pretended rJiat every piece, in the following selection, is a stately and perfect song, inspired by " the vision and tlie faculty di'/ine." and containing, tlu'oughout, the true power and spmt of harmony ; but every lover of poetiy will find much to delight a cultivated imagination, and much to set him on thinking ; and every religious mind \\dil be pleased that a volume of American poetry, so variously selected, presents so many pages imbued with the feelings of devotion. If all the extracts are not of sufiicient excellence to excite vivid admiration, most of thein are of the kind that meet us Like a pleasant thought. When such are wanted 4 PREFACE. They are generally simple and unpretending in ornament, quiet and unambitious in tlieir spirit. The poetiy of devotion is the rarest of all poetry. Il is sad to tliiuk how few, of all the poets in the Eng'ish language, have possessed or exhibited the Christian character, or had the remembrance of their names associated with the thoughts of Chiist and his cross, or the feelings to which the great theme of redemption gives rise in the bosom of the Cliristian. We may find plenty of tlie sentimentahty of rehgion, expressed, too, m beautiful language — ^but as cold as a whiter night's transitory fi'ost-work on our windows. A few beloved volumes, mdeed, have theu- place in the heart ; but they are few ; and of these the praise belongs not exclusively to the genius of poetiy, but to a far more precious and elevated spuit — the spuit of the Bible. What bosom, tliat possesses tliis, does not contain the germ of deep poetiy ? What poet has experienced its influence, whoso song does not breathe an echo of the melodies of paradise ? Ill the tiTje minstrelsy of devotion, there is a higher excellence tlian that of mere genius. Poetiy herself acKnowledges a power which is not m her, and obsei-ves a deep and subhme emotion excited, wliich she cannot, unassisted, produce or maintain in the souls of her hstenei's. When she becomes the handmaid of piety, she finds herself adorned and em-iched (in another PREFACE. 6 sense than Virgil's) Avith a beauty and a wealth that are not hei own : Miraturque novos iructus, et non sua poma. All the pieces in tliis volume are of the purest moral character *. and, considering its hmits, and the comparative scantiness of American poetiy, a good number of them contain, m an uncommon degree, the religious and poetical spirit united. The importance of having books of this nature sweet and chaste in their moral influence, as well as refined in their intellectual and poetical charactei^ is not enough appreciated. None can tell how much good a volume lilie this may accomplish, if an editor keeps such a purpose in view. A thought upon death and eternity may be rendered acceptable, through the medium of poetiy, to many a mind, that would othenvise have fled from its approach. A voice from the grave and the other world may possibly here find hearers ^vho would Usten to it no where else. A devout and solemn reflection may steal, with the poetry of this volume, into the most secret recess of some careless heart, and there, through the goodness of Him. who moves in a liidden and mysterious way, "his wonders to pei'fonn," and whose spirit can touch the soul with the humblest instruments, prove the first rising of that blessed well of water, which spiingeth up to everlasting df8. 1 * G PREFACE. Many of the finest pieces in tliis volume have been dra\\Ti out from comers where they had long lain forgotten and neglected. Some of the devotional melodies are almost as s\veet as any in the language.. There are several fugitive anonymous pieces, that deserve a place along with those of the truest poets TJie extracts fi-om acknowledged sources are as various fis they are beautiful. None can describe nature with a shupler and more affecting beauty than Bryant. None could draw an American landscape in truer roloi-s, and throw more endeaiiugly around it the charai of moral and devout reflection, than Wilcox. In the bold dehneation of external scenery, and in painring human passion, philosoj)hy, religion, and the domestic affections, none have displayed a more powerful fancy or a deeper pathos of feelmg, than Dana. Few have written nobler odes than Piei-pont. Bums Inmself could hardly have thro%\Ti off a sweeter extempore effusion than some of Brainard's. In the difficult field of sacred drama, Hillhouse has shown a rich and classic imagination. Few will contest the beauty of Wilhs's Scripture pieces. Others might be named, whose poeny at once individuahzes tlieu* genius in the mind ; but it is unnecessary. May the volume, thus selected, please and do good. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page. A Sacred Melody jinoiiymoua J7 Acliv,'! Christian Rencvolence tho Sodrco of Happiness. Carlos iVilcoi 17 Inscri[)tioii for the Entrance into a Wood. ... . . Bniant 19 Tiie Death of Sin and the Life of Holiness. ,'' . . , R.H.Dana 20 A Demon's false Descri!)lion of fallen Intelligences. . HilUiotise 22 Hadad's Description of the City of David Hillhouse 25 The Song at Twilight Lucretia Maria Davidson 25 Hagar in the Wilderness. JST. P. Willis 27 Return of the Buccaneer * R. H. Dana 30 Appearance of the Spectre Horse and the Burning Ship. R. II. Dana 31 The Death of tiie Flowers. . Brijant 35 -The Skies Bryant 33 From " The Minstrel Girl." J. G. TVhiltier 37 *' Weep fur yourselves, and for your Children." . JUrs. Sigournei 38 The sudden coming on of Spring after long Rains Carlos llllcoz 39 Slavery " Carlos Wllcoi 41 Hymn for the African Coloni;;ation Society. Ple.rpont. 12 Jedicatiun Hjmn PicrpmU. 43 Evening Music of the Angels. ... . ITdlkoiLse 44 Vernal Melody in the Forest. ..... Carlos IVilcoz. 45 Close of the Vision of Judgment. . Hillhmise. 46 " As thy Day, so shall thy Strength bo." .... Mrs. Sigourney. 48 The Pilgrims Mrs. Sigoumcy. 48 The Coral Grove Percival. .50 Hehrew Melody . Mrs. J. G. Brooks. 51 To a I'hiM Jlnonymous. 51 Tiie Western World Bryant. 52 To a Waterfowl. Bryant. .54 The Constancy of Nature contrasted with the Changes in Life. Dana. 55 *' And fare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale." .... Dana. 56 Sonnet. The Free Mind fV. L. Garrison. 57 Marco Rozzaris F. G. llaU.eck. 58 Weehawken F. G. Halleck. liO On laying the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill Monument. Pierpuitt. 61 ^ TABLE OF CONTENTS. Fa :e. il,.(isseau and Cowpcr .... Carlos JVilcox. IJ] To the Dead . Brainard. 63 The Deep . B^-ainard. 64 Scene after a Summer Shower Andrews JVarton. 65 The Ciiild's VVisli in June Mrs. Gllman. 65 From " The Minstrel Girl," J. G. Whitlier. 63 Description of a sultry Summer's Noon Carlos JVilcox. 63 'I'he Dying Cliild Christian Examiner. 70 Looking unto Jesus Christian Examiner. 71 Scene from Hadad Hillhouse. 72 Roman Catholic Chaunt. From " Percy's Masque." . Hdlhoxwe. 76 Song ... From the Talisman. 77 September *..r Carlos Wilcox. 77 On the Loss of Professor Fisher Brainard. 78 Idle Words Anonymous. 79 " He knovveth our I'rame, He remembereth we are Dust." R. H. Dana. 80 Immortality R. H. Dana. 80 The mysterious Music of Ocean. . Walshes J^'ational Oazette. 82 Summer Wind. ... ^ . . . Bryant. 83 Summer Evening Lightning. . . .... Carlos Wilcox. 84 J^pring . J\r. P. Wilhs. 65 'J'o Seneca Lake . Percival. 85 Mount Washington , N. H G. Mellen. 8G To the Dying Year J. O. Wkittier. 87 The Captain. A Fragment Brainard. 88 '•' They that seek me early, shall find me." . . . Columbian Star. 89 A Son's Farew«ll to his Mother, &c Connecticut Observer. 90 " Hushed is the Voice of Judah's Mirth." . From the Port-Folio. 90 Extract from a Poem delivered at the Departure of the Senior Class of Yale College, in 1826. JV. P. Willis. 91 Rf^tirement. ... Anonymous. 94 To the River Arve. . . Talisman. 93 Tiie Burial Anonymous. 96 On the Loss of a pious Friend. Brainard. 96 [carus From the Port-Folio. 97 Sunset in September ... Curios Wilcox. 98 From " The Buccaneer." R. H. Dana. 100 Punnet. ... Bryant. 101 Power of the Soul in investing external Circumstances with the Hue of its own Feelings. - . . R. H. Dana. 102 Spring in Town Bryant. 103 The Sabbath Carlos Wilcox. 105 'tidustry and Prayer ... Carlos fVilcox. 106 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 9 Page. Consolations of Religion to the Poor. . .... Percival. 107 Extract from " The Airs of Palestine " ....... Pierpont. 107 On the Death of Mr. VVoodwaru, at Edinburgh Brainard. 109 From " The Minstrel Girl." J. G. Whittier. Ui.) The Torn Hat J\r. P. IVilUs. Ill "The Memory of the Just is blessed." . . . Mrs. Sigourney. 112 The Wife. . . JST. Y. Daily Advertiser. 113 Song of the Stars. Bryant. 114 Summer Evening at a short Distance from the Cit}'. . Jilonio Lewis. 115 Introduction to the Poem of " Yamoyden." . . . Robert C. Sands. 118 Dawn Jr. P. Willis. 119 The Restoration of Israel J. TV. Eastburn. 120 The Buried Love Rufus Dawes. 121 The Missionary W. B. Tappan. 123 Missions Mi-s. Sigourney. 123 The Fear of Madness. ... ... Lvcretia Maria Davidson. 125 Tlie Matin Hour of Prayer Anonymous. 125 Song. . From Yamoyden. 127 Solitude. Mrs. Sigourney. 127 Bishop Ravenscrofl. 6, W. Doanc. 128 The Life of God in the Soul of Man. ...... R. H. Dana 130 To Pneuma J. W. Eastburn. 133 To a Star Lucretia Maria Davidson. 134 Thanatopsis Bryant. 135 Sacred Melody . . J^. Y. American. 137 The Graves of the Patriots. . . Percival. 138 Funeral Hymn Christian Examiner. 139 ToLaura, two Years of Age JV.P. Willis. 141 •' The dead Leaves strew the Fores«,-walk." .... Brainard. 142 Reasons of Prayer Henry Ware., Jr. 143 EjfTect of the Ocean and its Scenery on the Mind of the Buccaneer, when agitated with Remorse for liis Crime R. H, Dana. 145 The third and last Appearance of the Spectre Horse, &c. R. H. Dana. 147 God's first Temples. A Hymn Bryant. 149 Scene from " Hadad." Hillhoiise. 152 Extract from " The Airs of Palestine." Pierpont. 156 The Falls of Niagara , Brainard. 157 At Musing Hour T. Wells. 157 Evergreens.. ._ PinJiney 158 The Flower Spirit Anonymous. 158 " Man giveth up the Ghost, and where is h« r" Christian Examiner 159 Woods in Winter Longfellow. 160 A r^ast Wish. _ . Anonymous 161 10 TABLE OF CONTENTS. The Winged Worsliippcrs. . . . . Charles Spr a irue. Ifi3 Death of aa Infan: Mrj. Si^ourney. ]Ki Burns F. G. Hailed:. \Ki Mary Magdalen. Fiom the Spanish . Bryant. iG6 Be Humble Jones. 167 Sabbath Evening Twilight. ... Jliionymoiis. I(j8 Tho Burial of Arnold. J^. P. IVillis. 169 Lin^s to a Cliild on his Voyage to France, Sec. . . Henry fi^^are, Jr. 170 New England. . . ' Psrcival. 172 The Damsel of Peru. . . ........ Bryant. 173 Power of Maternal Piety. .......... Mrs. Sigonrney. 175 Niagara. From the Spanish. U, States Review and Literary Gazette. 177 A!)s:iIom JT. P. Ulllis. 17S Hymn of Nature W. 0. B. Peabo-ly. 181 The Garden of Gethscmano. . Pierpont. 183 Trust in God. .. .......... Percival. 183 Heaven. . . ...... Christian Examiner. 184 Geehale. An Indian Lament Anonymous. 185 Scene from " Percy's Masque." Hillhouse. 18G To S****, weeping . . .^vnmjmous 191 Autumn ... Longfellow. 193 The Bucket . Samuel Woodworth. 191 The Snow-FIake Hannah F. Gould. 195 " I am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life." . . . Anonymous. 193 The Iceberg J. 0. Rockwell. 197 Hymn Pierpont. 198 The Bride Anonymous. l69 On seeing an Eagle pass near me in Autumn Twilight. . G. JSIcllen. 20f) To the Hon. Theodore Frelinghuysoa, on reading his eloquent Speech in Defence of Indian Rights. ..... . IV. L. Garrison. 291 Genius Slumbering. . Percival. 202 Genius Waking '. Percival. 204 The Spirit of Poetry Longfellow. 208 [ncomprehensibility of God Jiliss Elizabeth Townsend. 207 Lament of a Swiss Minstrel over the Ruins of Goldau. . . J. .\''eal. 209 Lines on visiting the Burying-Ground at New Haven. Christian Disciple. 211 Tho Pilgrim Fathers Pierpont. 21 1 Song of the Pilgrims T. C. Upham. 212 Dedication Hymn JJ". P. Willis. 213 Extract from a Poem written on reading an Account of the Opinions of a Deaf and Dumb Child, before she had received Instruction. She was afraid of the Sun, Moon, and Stars Jrdlhcu. The Silk Worm. . Mrs. Hale. 363 2 14 TACLE OF CONTENTS^ Pige. The Reverie. Written from College on the Birth Day of the Autlior's Itlotlicr Friibie. 364 The Soul's Defiance Anonymous. 3C5 Hymn for the second Centennial Anniversary of the City of Boston. Pierpont. 3C6 Napoleon at Rest .. Pierpont. 368 Tiie Death of Napoleon I. McLcllan, Jr. 369 Jbrusalcm. . •*••••••>.•. Brainard. 37(/ The Angler's Song. ........... /. McLellan, Jr 37a Who is my Neighbor ?..... Anonymous. 373 Hymn. Matthew, xxvi. 6 — 13 Ckristlan Jilirror. 374 ' Broken-hearted, weep no more." . ... Episcopal Watchma^' 375 The Sweet Brier. ......... .... Brainard 376 Mother, What is Death? Mrs. Giiman. 316 Last Prayers. ........ Mary Ami Browne. 377 A Noon Scene. Bryant. 379 New England's Dead. . /. McLellan, Jr. 381 Installation Hymn. Pierpont. 332 The Wanderer of Africa. Alonzo Lewis. 383 A Legend J. Q. Whittier. 384 They heard a Voice from Heaven, saying. Come up hither." Rev. xi. 12. . . . Mrs. Sigoumey. 38G Occasional Hymn. Pierpont. 387 The Sleeper Commercial Advertiser. 388 God's Omnipresent Agency Carlos Wilcox. 389 The Farewell. . Anonymous. 339 Sunrise on the Hills Anonymous. 390 Lines on passing the Grave of my Sister Micah P. Flint. 391 The Revellers Ohio Backwoodsman. 393 "I would not live always." B. B. Thatcher. 39i The Disimbodied Spirit W. O. B. Peabody. 395 Lines on hearing of the Death of Grarafilia Mohalbi. Mrs. Sigoumey. 396 Crossing the Ford 0. fr. //. 396 Hymn of the Cherokee Indian L McLeUan, Jr. 397 Lake Superior . . S. O. Goodrich. 398 Oriental Mysticism Leonard Woods. 400 To a Sister about to embark on a Missionary Enterprise. B B. Thatcher. 401 The Pilgrim Fathers. ... .... Charles Spraifue 40? INDEX OF AUTHORS. Pa?e. Allston, W . 233, 303, 326 Auonyinons. 17, 51, 79, 94, 98, 125, 158, 161, 158, ia=i, ,191, 196, 199, 231, 249, 252, 253, 274, 276, 277, 280, 291, 305, 315, 328, 329, 3,59, 365, 373, 3c9, 390 Brainard, J. G. C. 63, 64, 78, 88, 96, 109, 142, 157, 254, 264, 284, 308, 344, 370, 376 Brooks, Mrs. J. G. . . .51 Browne, Alary Ann 377 Bryant, \V, C. 19, 35, 3G, 52, 54, 83, 101, 103, 114, 135, 149, 166, 173, 239, 244, 256, 265, 282, 291, 298, 300, 322, 379 Child, Mrs 321,356 Christian Disciple. . . », 170, 211 Christian Examiner. 70,71, 139, 159, 184, 240, 270, 341 Christian Mirror 374 Columbian Star 89 Commercial Advertiser . 388 Cnnnocticut Mirror . . . 356 Connecticut Observer. ... 90 Dana, R. H. 20, 30, 31, 55, 56, 80, 80, 100,102, 130, 145, 147,241, 247, 298, 302, 318 Davidson, Lucretia M. 25, 125, IS'} Dawes, R 121, 275 Dyansjti \\' . .158.54,7 Pige Eastburn. J. W. 120, 133, 334, 347, 3r,5 Episcopal Watchman. . . . 375 Everett, E 225, 250 Everett, A. H 314 Flint7M . .259 flint, M. P 391 Frisbie, L 286, 36^1 Gallaudet, W. E 289 Garrison, VV. L. . . . 57, 201 Gilmaii, Mrs 66. S76 Goodric.'i, S. G 395 Gould, Hannah F. . . . 195 Graham, S 278 Greenwood, \V. P. . . . 233 Hale, Mrs 218,363 Hallcck, F. G. 58, 60, 163, 2B, 240, 296, S'Jo, 362 Ilillhouse, J. A. 22, 25, 44, 46, 72, 76, 152, 186, 214, 294, 340 Huntington, D, ... 218, 316 Idle aian 246 Jones 167 Ladies' Magazine (Mrs. Haley's). 335, 338 Lewis, A 115, 38^j Lon^'fcllow, G. W. 160, 193, 206, 257, 260, 306, 31'2 16 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Pa^re. 216 Massacliusetts Spy. . . McLellan, I. Jr. 359, 3G9, 372, 381, 397 Mellon, G 80,200 Monthly Anthoiogy , 284 National Gazette (Walsh's). 82,251 Neal, J 209 New York American. . . . 137 New York Daily Advertiser . 113 New York Evening Post. . . 232 New York Review 331 New York Statesman. . , . 272 North American Review. . . 307 Norton, A. 65, 225, 255, 269 Ohio Backwoodsman, O. W. H. . . . 393 . 396 Peabody, W. O. B. 181, 215, 281, 325, 336, 336, 337, 345, 395 Percival, J. G. 50, 85, 107, 138, 172, 183, 202, 204, 228, 258, 262, 267, 267, 294, 351 Pickering, H. . . . 230, 339 Pierpont, J. 42, 43, 61, 107, 156, 183, 198, 211, 293, 301, 343, 357, 266, 368, 332, 387 Pinkney, E. C 153 PortFoiio, . , . .90,97 I'a»e. Rocliinglmm Gazeite, . . 288 Rockwell, J. 197 Sands, R. C 116 Sigourney, Mrs. 33, 48, 48, 112, 123, 127, 163, 175, 292, 309, 348. 336, 396 Smith, Louisa P . . 233 Sprague, C. . . . 162, 403 Talisman. . . ... 77, 95 Tappan, W. B. . . . 123,209 Thatcher, B. B. . . . 394,401 Townsend, Elizabeth. . . 207 Unitarian Miscellany. . . . 327 Upham, T. C 212 U. S. Rev. &. Lit. Gazette. . 177 Ware, H. Jr. . . .143,220,353 Wells, T 157 Whittier, J. G. 37,66,87,110,349,384 Wilcox, C. 17, 39, 41, 45, 61, 68, 77, 84, 93, 105, 106, 330, 342, 389 Willis, N. P. 27, 85, 91, 111, 119, 141 , 169, 178, 213, 224, 271, 310, 310 Woodworth 194 Woods, L 400 Vamoyden, 127 217 THE POETS OF AMERICA. A Sacred Melody. — Anonymous. Be thou, O God ! by night, by day, My Guide, my Guard from sin. My Life, my Trust, my Light Divine, To keep me pure within ; — Pure as the air, when day's first light A cloudless sky illumes, And active as the lark, that soars Till heaven shine round its plumes. So may my soul, upon the wings Of faith, unwearied rise, Till at the gate of heaven it sings, Midst light from paradit?e. Active CJiristian Benevolence the Source of suhUme and lasting Happiness. — Carlos Wilcox. WouLDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief? Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold. — 'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm i3 wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled. Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air. 2* B 18 CUEEVER'S poets of AMERICA. Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night When death is waiting for thy numbered hours To take their swift and everl;isting flight; Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed; Do something — do it soon — with all tliy might j An angel's wing would droop if long at rest. And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest. Some high or humble enterprise of good Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind, Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food. And kindle in thy heart a flame refined. Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind To tills thy purpose — to begin, pursue. With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind ; Strength to complete, and with delight review, And grace to give the praise where all is ever due. No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit To light on man as from the passing air ; The lamp of genius, though by nature lit. If not protected, pruned, and fed with care. Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare ; And learning is a plant that spreads and towers Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare. That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers. Has immortality of name been given To them that idly worship hills and groves, And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven? Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves. To measure worlds, and follow where each moves ? Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease. By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves ? Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ? Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear, But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim Thy want of worth ; a charge thou couldt not hear From other lips, without a blush of shrtme, Or prid? indignant ; then be thine the blame. CBEEVER'S POETS OF AMERICA. 19 And make thyself of worth ; and thus enlist The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame ; 'Tis infamy to die and not be missed, Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist. Rouse to some work of high and holy love. And thou an angel's happiness shalt know, — Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow Jn many a branching stream, and wider grow; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours. Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow. Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers. / Inscription for the Entrance into a Wood. — Bryant Stranger, if thou hast learnt a truth, which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares To tire thee of it, — enter this v/ild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze. That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men. And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth. But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. And hence these shades are still the abodes Of undissembled gladness : the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while, below. The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect. Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the glade Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beaoa That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment : as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene. Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy 20 CHEEVER's poets of AMERICA. Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves, The old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, That lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them, tv.isting high, Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and, tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sanJs, or leaping down the rocks. Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In Its own being. Softly tread the marge. Lest from her mi Iway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee. Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace. Tlie Death of Sin and the Life of Holiness. — Da.va. Be warned! Thou canst not break or 'scape tlie power In kindness given in thy first breathing hour : Thou canst not slay its life : it must create ; And, good or ill, there ne'er will come a date To its tremendous energies. The trust. Thus given, guard, and to thyself be just. Nor dream with life to shuffle off this coil; It takes fresh life, starts fresh for further toil. And on it goes, for ever, ever on. Changing, all dovv-n its course, each thing to one With its immortal nature. All must be. Like thy dread self, one dread eternity. Blinded by passion, man gives up his breath, Uncalled by God. We look, and name it death. Mad wretch! the soul hath no last sleep; the strife To end itself, but wakes intenser life In the self-torturing spirit. Fool, give o'er! Hast thou once been, yet think'st to be no more ? What! life destroy itself? O, idlest 'beside the well her God had given To gush in that deep wilderness, and bathed The forehead of her child until he laughed In his reviving happiness, and lisped His infant thought of gladness at the sight Of the cool plashing of his mother's hand. Return of the Buccaneer. — Richard H. Dana. Within our bay, one stormy night, The isle's men saw boats make for shore, With here and there a dancing light That flashed on man and oar. \ When hailed, the rowing stopt, and all was dark. j **Ha! lantern work! — We'll home! They're pla3nng i shark!" ' Next day, at noon, towards the town, i All stared and wondered much to see j Matt and his men come strolling dov/n. i The boys shout, " Plere comes Lee !" [ " Thy ship, good Lee ?" " Not many leagues from shore j Our ship by chance took fire." — They learnt no more. I j He and his crew were flush of gold. j " You did not lose your cargo, then ?" i *' Learn where all's fairly bought and sold." j Heaven prospers those true men. i Forsake your evil ways, as we forsook , Our ways of sin, and honest courses took ! j " Wouldst see my log-book ? Fairly writ, j With pen of steel, and ink like blood ! j How lightly doth the conscience sit! { Learn, truth's the only good." i CHEEVEH's poets of AMERICA. 31 And thus, with flout, and cold and impious jeer. He fled repentance, if he 'scaped not fear. Remorse and fear he drowns in drink. " Come, pass the bowl, my jolly crew. It thicks the blood to mope and think. Here's merry days, though few !" And then he quaffs. — So riot reigns within ; So brawl and laughter shake tliat house of sin. Matt lords it now throughout the isle. His hand falls heavier than before. All dread alike his frown or smile. None come within his door, Save those who dipped their hands in blood with him \ Save those who laughed to see the white horse swim. Appearance of the Spectre Horse and the Burning Ship to the Buccaneer, — Ibid. " To-night's our anniversary ; And, mind me, lads, we'll have it kept With royal state and special glee ! Better with those who slept Their sleep that night, had he be now, who slinks ! And health and wealth to him who bravely drinks !" [1 The words they spoke v/e may not speak. , i^ The tales they told we may not tell. Mere mortal man, forbear to seek The secrets of that hell ! Their shouts grow loud. 'Tis near mid-hour of night. What means upon the waters that red light ? Not bigger than a star it seems ; And, now, 'tis like the bloody moon : And, now, it shoots in hairy streams Its light! — 'Twill reach us soon ! A ship ! and all on fire ! — bull, yards and mast ! Her sheets are sheets of flame ! — She's nearing fast 1 And now she rides, upright and s'ill. Shedding a wild and lurid light 32 cheever's poets of amekica. Around the cove on inland hill, Waking the gloom of night. All breathes of terror ! Men in dumb amaze Gaze on each olher 'neath the horrid blaze. It scares the sea-birds from their nests. They dart and wheel with deaf'ning screams; Now dark, — and now their wings and breasts Flash back disastrous gleams. O, sin, what hast thou done on this fair earth ? Tlie world, man, is wailing o'er thy birth. And what comes up above that wave. So ghastly white ? — A spectral head I — A horse's head — (May heaven save Those looking on the dead, — The waking dead !) There on the sea he stands — The spectre-horse ! — he moves ; he gains the sands ! Onward he speeds. His ghostly sides Are streaming with a cold, blue light. Heaven keep the wits of him who rides The spectre-horse to-night! His path is shining like a swift ship's wake ; He gleams before Lee's door like day's gray break. The revel now is high within : It breaks upon the midnight air. They little think, midst mirth and din, What spirit waits them there. As if the sky became a voice, there spread A sound to appal the living, stir the dead. The spirit-steed sent up the neigh. It seemed the living trump of hell. Sounding to call the damned away, To join the host that fell. It rang along the vaulted sky : the shore J.irr8d hard, as when the thronging surges roar. It rang in ears that knew the sound ; Ami hot, iVailied clieeks are blanched with fear. And why dooi Lee look wildly round? Thinks he the drowned horse near r CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. He drops his cup ; his lips are stiff with frio;ht. Nay, sit thee down ! — It is thy banquet ni^ht. " I cannot sit. I needs must go : The spell is on my spirit now. I go to dread ! I go to wo !" O, who so weak as thou, Strong man ? — His hoofs upon the door-stone, see, The shadow stands ? — His eyes are on thee, Lee !— Thy hair pricks up ! — ". O, I must bear His damp, cold breath i It chills my frame ! His eyes — their near and dreadful glare Speak that I must not name !" Thou'rt mad to mount that horse ! — " A power within, I must obey, cries, ' Mount thee, man of sin !' " He's now astride the spectre'* back. With rein of silk, and curb of gold. 'Tis fearful speed ! — the rein is slack Within his senseless hold : Nor doth he touch the shade he strides, upborne By an unseen power. — God help thee, man forlorn! He goes with speed ; he goes with dread ! And now they're on the hanging steep ! And, now, the living and the dead. They'll make the horrid leap ! The horse stops short : — his feet are on the verge. He stands, like marble, high above the surge. And, nigh, the tall ship yet burns on. With red, hot spars and crackling flame. From hull to gallant, nothing's gone. She burns, and yet's the same ! Her hot, red flame is beating, all the night. On man and horse, in their cold, phosphor light. Through that cold light the fearful man Sits looking on the burning ship. Thou ne'er again wilt curse and ban. How fast he moves the lip ! And yet he does not speak, or make a sound ! What see you, Lee, — the bodies of the drowned? c 34 CHEEVER 3 POETS OF AMERICA. " I look — where mortal man may not — Into the chambers of the deep. I see the dead, long, long forgot; I see them in their sleep. A dreadful power is mine, which none can know. Save he who leagues, his soul with death and wo." Thou mild, sad mother, waning moon, Thy last, low, melancholy ray Shines towards him. — Quit him not so soon ! Mother, in mercy, stay ! Despair and death are with him ; and canst thou. With that kind, earthward look, go leave him now .' O, thou wast born for things of love ; Making more lovely in thy shine Whate'er thou look'st on. Hosts above, In that soft light of thine. Burn softer : — earth, in silvery veil, seems heaven. — Thou'rt going down ! — Thou'st left him unforgiven ! The far, low west is bright no more. How still it is ! No sound is heard At sea, or all along the siiore, But cry of passing bird. Thou living thing, and dar'st thOu come so near These wild and ghastly shapes of death and fear ? Now long that thick, red light has shone On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still bay. On man and horse that seem of stone. So motionless are they. But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns : The night is going — faint, gray dawn returns. The spectre-steed now slowly pales , Now changes like the moonlit cloud. That cold,lhin light, now slowly fails. Which wrapt them like a shroud. Both ship and horse are fading into air. Lost, mazed, alone, see, Lee is standing there ! The morning air blows fresh on him ; The waves dance gladly in his sight ; cheever's poets or America. S5 The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim — 0, blessed morning light ! He doth not hear that joyous call ; he sees No beauty in the wave ; he feels no breeze. For he's accurst from all that's good ; He ne'er must know its healing power. The sinner on his sins must brood ; Must wait, alone, his hour. Thou stranger to earth's beauty — human love — There's here no rest for thee, no hope above ! The Death of the Flowers. — Bryant. The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. - Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the wither'd leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrub the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow, through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprung and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain Calls not, from out the gloomy earth, the lovely ones again. The v/ind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, And the wild-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow : But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men. And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade and glen. And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,. To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home. 38 cheever's poets of America. When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still. And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers v/hosc fragrance late he bore. And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. And then I think of one who in her youthful befauty died. The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my ; i '.-» : In the cold moist earth we laid her when the forest ca-^i the leaf. And we wept that one so lovely should have a life ?o brief; Yet not unmeet it was, that one, like that j'oung friend of ours So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. The Skies. — Bryant. Ay, gloriously thou standest there, Beautiful, boundless firmament! That, swelling wide o'er earth and air. And round the horizon bent. With that bright vault and sapphire wall, Dost overhang and circle all. Far, far below thee, tall gray trees Arise, and piles built up of old. And hills, whose ancient summits freeze In the fierce light and cold. The eagle soars his utmost height ; Yet far thou strctchest o'er his flight. Thou hast thy frowns : with thee, on high. The storm has made his airy seat : Beyond thy soft blue curtain lie His stores of haii and sleet : Tlience the consuming lightnings break ; There the strong hurricanes awake. Yet art thou prodigal of smiles — Smiles sweeter than thy frowns are stern : Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, A song at their return ; The glory that comes down from thee Bathes in deep joy the land and sea. :=^ CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. 37 The sun, the gorgeous sur, is thine. The pomp tliat brings and shuts the day. The clouds that round him ciiange and shine, The airs that fan his way. Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there The meek moon walks the silent air. The sunny Italy may boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies. And lovely, round the Grecian coast. May thy blue pillars rise : — I only know how fair they stand About my own beloved land. And they are fair : a charm is theirs, That earth — the proud, green eartl: — ^has not. With all the hues, and forms, and ain. That haunt her sweetest spot. We gaze upon thy calm, pure sphere. And read of heaven's eternal year. Oh ! when, amid the throng of men. The heart grows sick of hollow mirth. How willingly we turn us, then, Away from this cold earth, And look into thy azure breast, For seats of innocence and rest ! From " The Minstrel GirV — James G. Whittier. Her lover died. Away from her, The ocean-girls his requiem sang. And smoothed his dreamless sepulchre Yi^here the tall coral branches sprang. And it was told her how he strove With death ; but not from selfish fear : It was the memory of her love Which made existence doubly dear. They told her how his fevered sleep Revealed the phantom of his brain — He thought his love had come to keep Her vigils at his couch of pain ; 4 38 cheever's roETs of America. And he would speak in his soft tone. And stretch iii^ arini to cla-p the air, And then awaken with a nioua. And weep that there was noihing there ! And when he bowed himself at last Beneath the spoiler's cold eclipse, Even as the weary spirit passed, Her name was on his marble lips. She heard the tale ; she did not weep ; It was too strangely sad for tears ; And so she kept it for the deep Rememberings of after years. She poured one lone and plaintive wail For the loved dead — it was her last- Like, harp-tones dying, en the gale Her minstrelsy of spirit passed : And she became an altered one. Forgetful of her olden shrine, As if her darkened soul had done With cdl beneath the fair sunshine. ** Weep for Yourselves, and for your Children.^- Mrs. Sigourjvey. We mourn for those who toil. The slave who ploughs the main. Or him who hopeless tills the soil Beneath the stripe and chain ; For those who in the world's hard race O'erwearied and uublest, A host of restless phantoms chase, — Why mourn for those who rest ? We mourn for those who sin. Bound in the tempter's snare, Whom syren pleasure beckons in To prisons of despair. Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn. Are wrecked on follj'^'s shore, — But why in sorrow should we mourn For those who sin no more 7 Yy e mourn for those who weep, Whom stern arilictlons bend CUKEVEll's POET? OF AMERICA. 39 With anguish o'er the lowly sleep Of lover 01* of friend ; — But they to whom the sway Of pain and grief is o'er. Whose tears our God hath wiped away. Oh, mourn for them no more ! TTie sudden Coming on of Spring after long Rains.— CarIiOS Wilcox. The spring, made dreary hy incessant rain, Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale. Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near Its cultivated base, fronting the south, Where, in the first warm rays of March, it sprung Amid dissolving snow : — save these mere specks Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers, In other years bright blowing soon as earth Unveils her face, and a faint vermii tinge On clumps of maple of the softer kind, Was nothing visible to give to May, Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's Than like November's universal gloom. All day, beneath the sheltering hovel, stood The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask The food of winter. A few lonely birds. Of those that in this northern clime remain Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring. At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat, Come suddenly to view with lively notes. Or those that soonest to this clime return From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen. But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute. Or only skipping, with a single chirp, In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds. That half way down the mountain side oft hung. As if o'erloaded with their watery store, Were parted, though with motion unobserved. Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared Its lowest, e'pn its cultivated, peaks. 40 cheever's poets of America. With sinking heart the hushandman surveyed The melancholy scene, and much his fears On famine dwelt; when, suddenly awaked At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound, Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near His window, round their dwelling chirping quick. With spirits by hope enlivened, up he sprung To look abroad, and to his joy beheld A sky without the remnant of a cloud. From gloom to gayety and beauty bright So rapid now the universal change, The rude survey it with delight relined, And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout. Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds Start at the touch of vivifying beams. Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field A flood 01 verdure. Clothed, in one short week, Is naked nature in her full attire. On the first morn, light as an open plain Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below. With strong reflection : on the last, 'tis dark With full-grown foliage, shading all within. In one short week, the orchard buds and blooms; And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers. It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze. Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes. E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth. And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air. Filled with a watery glimmering, receives A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays. Each day are heard, and almost every hour, New notes to swell the music of the grove.<«. And soon the latest of the feathered train At evening twilig"ht come ; — the lonely. snipe, O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air, Invisible, but, with faint, tremulous tones. Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head ; — ^nd, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen ^^lying awhile at random, uttering oft A cheerful cry, attended with a shake Of level pinions, dark, but, when upturned, Against the brightness of the western sk)-. One white plume showing in the midst of each. CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. 41 Then far down diving with loud hollow sound ; — And, deep at first within the distant wood. The whip-poor-will, her name her only song. She, soon as children from the noisy sport Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones. To hear the echoes of the empty barn, Are by her voice diverted, and held mute. Comes to the margin of the nearest grove ; And when the twilight, deepened into night. Calls them within, close to the house she comes. And on its dark side, haply on the step Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen, Breaks into strains articulate and clear, The closing sometimes quickened as in sport. Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve All harmony, activity, and joy. Is lovely Nature, as in her blest prime. The robin to the garden, or green yard. Close to the door repairs to build again Within her wonted ti'ee ; and at her work Seems doubly busy, for her past delay. Along the surface of the winding stream, Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim ; Or round the borders of the spacious lawn Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er ^ Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine, Easy and light. One snatches from the ground X downy feather, and then upward springs. Followed by others, but oft drops it soon. In playful mood, or from too slight a hold. When all at once dart at the falling prize. The flippant blackbii'd, with light yellow crown, Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick Till her breath fail, when, breaking oiF, she drops On the next tree, and on its highest limb, Or some tall flag, and, gently rocking, sits. Her strain repeating. Slavery. — Carlos Wix-cox. All are born free, and all with equal rights. So speaks the charter of a nation proud Of her unequalled liberties and laws, 4» 42 cheever's x^'oets of America. While, in that nation, — shameful to relate, — One man in five is born and dies a slave. Is this my country ? this that happy land. The wonder and the envy of the world : for a mantle to conceal her shame ! But why, when Patriotism cannot hide The ruin which her guilt will surely bring If unrepented ? and unless the God Who poured his plagues on Egypt till she let The oppresjed go free, and often pours his wrath. In earthquakes and tornadoes, on the isles Of western India, laying waste their fields, Dashing their mercenary ships ashore. Tossing the isles themselves like floating wrecks, And bui'ying towns alive in one wide grave. No sooner ope'd but closed^ let judgment pass For once untasted till the general doom. Can it go well with us while we retain This cursed thing ? Yv'ill not untimely frosts. Devouring insects, drought, and wind and hail, Destroy the fruits of ground long tilled in chains ? Will not some daring spirit, born to thoughts Above his beast-like state, find out the truth, Ttjat Africans are men; and, catching fire From Freedom's altar raised before his eyes With incense fuming sweet, in others light A kindred flame in secret, till a train. Kindled at once, deal death on every side ? Cease tlien, Columbia, for thy safety cease, And for thine honor, to proclaim the praise Of thy fair shores of liberty and joy, V/hile thrice five hundred thousand wretched slaves, In thine own bosom, start at every word As meant to mock their woes, and shake their chains. Thinking defiance which they dare not speak. Hymn for the African Colonization Society. — Pierpont. With thy pure dews and rains. Wash out, God, the stains From Afric's shoie, And, while her palm-trees bud. CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. 4J? Let not her children's, blood With her broad Niger's flood Be mingled more ! Quench, righteous God, the tliirst That Congo's sons hath cursed. The thirst for gold. Shall not thy thunders speak. Where Mammon's altars reek, Where maids and matrons shriek, Bouii;-. I '?eding, sold ? Hear'st thou, God, those chains. Clanking on Freedom's plains, By Christians wrought ! Them, who those chains have worn. Christians from home have torn. Christians have hither borne. Christians have bought ! 1 i j Cast down, great God, the fanes That, to unhallowed gains. Round us have risen — Temples, whose priesthood pore Moses and Jesus o'er. Then bolt the black man's door. The poor man's prison ! Wilt thou not. Lord, at last. From thine own image, cast Away all cords. But that of love, which brings Man, from his wanderings, Back to the King of kings. The Lord of lords ! Dedication Hymn. — Pierpont- 1 THOXJ, to whom, in ancient time. The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung, Whom kings adored in songs sublime. And prophets praised with glowing tongue, — 1 ! i 44 cheever's poets of America. Not now, on Zion's heicrht alone, The favored worshipper may dwell. Nor wl.ere, at sultry noon, thy Son Sat, weary, by the patriarch's well. From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer—- The incense of the heart — may rise To heaven, and find acceptance there. In this thy house, whose doors we now For social worship first unfold, To thee the suppliant tln-ong shall bow, While circling years on years are rolled. To thee shall age, with snowy hair. And strength and beauty, bend the knee. And childhood lisp, with reverend air. Its praises and its prayers to thee. O thou, to whom, in ancient time. The lyre of prophet bards was strung, To thee, at last, in every clime, Shall temples rise, and praise be sung. Evening Music of the Angels. — Hillhoitse. Low warblings, now, and solitary harps. Were heard among the angels, touched and tuned As to an evening hymn, preluding soft To cherub voices. Louder as they swelled. Deep strings struck in, and hoarser instruments. Mixed with clear silver sounds, till concord rose Full as the harmony of winds to heaven ; Yet sweet as nature's springtide melodies To some worn pilgrim, first, with glistening eyes. Greeting his native valley, whence the sounds Of rural gladness, herds, and bleating flocks. The chirp of birds, blithe voices, lowing kine. The dash of waters, resd, or rustic pipe, Blent with the dulcet distance-mellowed bell. Come, like the echo of his early joys. CH.EEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. In every pause, from spirits in mid air, Responsive still were golden viols heard, And heavenly symphonies stole faintly down. Vernal Melody in the Forest. — -Carlos Wilcox.* With sonorous notes Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet. All chanted in the fulness of delight. The forest rings. Whd^e, far around enclosed With bushy sides, and covered high above With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks. Like pillars rising to support a roof, It seems a temple vast, the space within Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody. Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct. The merry mocking-bird together links In one continued song their different notes. *He was a true poet, and deeply interesting in his character, both as a man and a Christian. He resembled Cowper in many respects ; — in the gentleness .and tenderness of his sensibilities — in the modest and re- tiring disposition of his mind — in its fine culture, and its original poetical cast — and not a little in the character of his poetry. It has been said vvitii truth, that, if he had given himself to poetry as his chief occupation, he might have been the Cowper of New England. We pretend not to place his unfinished and broken compositions on a level with the works of the author of the Task ; but they possess much of his spirit, and, at the same time, are original. Like Cowper, "he left the ambitious and luxuriant subjects of Hction and passion, for those of real life and simple nature, and for the developement of his own earnest feelings, in behalf of moral and religious truth." Amidst the throngs of imitators, whose names have crowded the pages of the annuals and magazines, hip is never to be seen ; and the merits of his poetry are almost unknown to those who regulate the criticisms of the public journals. But it is both a proof and a consequence of his original powers and his elevated feelings, that, instead of devoting his mind to the composition of short, artificial pieces for the public eye, he started at once upon a wide and noble subject, with the outline in his mind of a magnificent moral poem. The history, the sce- nery, and the public and domestic manners in this country, aiforded scope for the composition of another Task, which, if the powers of the writer were equal to his subject, would be more for America, and the religious world, than even Cowper's was for England and his fellow men. Mr. Wilcox did not live to execute his design ; but the fragments he has left us are so rich, in a vein of unaffected poetry and piety, that they make us sorrowful for what we have lost, and indignant that his merits are so little known and appreciated beyond a small circle of affectionate Christian friends. — Ed. 46 CHEEVER's POTTTi? OF AMERICA. AdiJing new life and sweetness to them all. Hid under shrubs, the squirrel, that in fields Frequents the stony wall and briery fence, Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach Unheard till just upon him, when, with cries Sudden and '^harp, he darts to his retreat, Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree : But oft, a moment after, re-appears, First peeping out, then starting forth at once V\lth a courageous air, yet in his pranks Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far Till left unheeded. * Close of the Vision of Judgment. — Hillhousk. As when, from some proud capital that crowns Imperial Ganges, the reviving breeze Sweeps the dank mist, or hoary river fog, Impervious, mantled o'er her highest towers, Bright on the eye rush Brahma's temples, capped With spiry tops, gay-treliised minarets, Pagods of gold, and mosques with burnished domes. Gilded, and glistening in the morning sun. So from the hill the cloudy curtains rolled. And, in the lingering lustre of the eve. Again the Sa\'ior and his seraphs shone. Emitted sudden in his rising, flashed Intenser light, as toward the right hand host Mild turning, with a look ineifable, The invitation he proclaimed in accents Which on their ravished ears poured thrilling, like The sVver sound of many trumpets heard Afar in sweetest jubilee ; then, swift Stretching his dreadful scepti-e to the left. That shot forth horrid lightnings, in a voice Clothed but in half its terrors, yet to them Seemed like the crush of Heaven, pronounced the doom. The sentence uttered, as with life instinct. The throne uprose majestically slow ; Each angel spread his wings ; in one dread swell Of triumph mingling as they mounted, trumpets. And harps, and golden lyres, and timbrels sweet. And many a sti-ange and deep-toned instrument CHEEVEIi S POETS OF AMERICA. Of heavenly minstrelsy unknown on earth, And angels' voices, and the loud acclaim Of all the ransomed, like a thunder-shout. Far through the sides melodious echoes rolled. And faint hosannas distant climes returned. Down from the lessening multitude came faint And fainter still the trumpet's dying peal. All else in distance lost, Vi^hen, to receive Their new inhabitants, the heavens unfolded. Up gazing, then, with streaming eyes, a glimpse The wicked caught of Paradise, where streaks Of splendor, golden gleamings, radiance shone. Like the deep glories of declining day. When, washed by evening shqwers, the huge-orbed sun Breaks instantaneous o'er the illumined world. Seen far within, fair forms moved graceful by, Slow turning to the light their snowy wings. A deep-drawn, agonizing groan escaped The hapless outcasts, when upon the Lord The glowing portals closed. Undone, they -stood Wistfully gazing on the cold gray heaven, As if to catch, alas ! a hope not there. But shades began to gather, night approached. Murky and lowering ; round with horror rolled On one another their despairing eyes. That glared with anguish ; starless, hopeless gloom Fell on their souls, never to know an end. Though in the far horizon lingered yet A lurid gleam ; black clouds were mustering there ; Red flashes, followed by low, muttering sounds, Announced the fiery tempest doomed to hurl The fragments of the earth again to chaos. Wild gusts swept by, upon whose hollow wing Unearthly voices, yells, and ghastly peals Of demon laughter came. Infernal shapes Flitted along the sulphurous wreaths, or plunged Their dark, impure abyss, as sea-foul dive Their watery element. O'erwhelmed with sights And sounds of horror, I awoke ; and found For gathering storms, and signs of coming wo, The midnight moori gleaming upon my bed Serene and peaceful. Gladly I surveyed her \Talking in brightness throuo;h the stars of heaven, A.nd blessed the respite ere the day of dooin CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. " As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be.'* — Mrs. Sigourxey. When adverse winds and waves arise, And in my heart despondence sighs, — When life her throng- of care reveals, And weakness o'er my spirit steals, — Grateful I hear the kind decree, That " as my day, my strength shall be. 5* When, with sad footstep, memory roves Mid smitten jo\-s, and buried loves, — When sleep my tearful pillow flies, And dewy morning drinks my sighs, — Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee, That " as ray day, my strength shall be " One trial more must yet be past. One pang, — the keenest, and the last ; And when, with brow convulsed and pale, My feeble, quivering heart-strings fail. Redeemer, grant my soul to see That " as her day, her strength shall be.** The Pilgrims. — Mrs, Sigourwey. How slow yon tiny vessel ploughs the main ! Amid the heavy billows now she seems A toiling atom, — then from wave to wave Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed, — or reels. Half wrecked, through gulfs profound. — Moons wax and wane, But still that lonely traveller treads the deep. — I see an ice-bound coast, toward which she steers With such a tardy movement, that it seems Stern Winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone. And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds. — - They land! — They land! — not like the Genoese, With glittering sword and gaudy train, and eye Kindling with golden fancies. — Forth they come From their long prison, — hardy forms, that brave The world's unkindness, — men of hoarv hair. CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. 49 A.nd virgins of firm heart, and matrons grave. Who hush the waiUng infnnc with a glance. — Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round. Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, And savage men, who through the thickets peer With vengeful arrow. — What could lure t/ieir steps To this drear desert? — Ask of hinr v/ho left His father's home to roam through Haran's wilds. Distrusting not the Guide who called him forth. Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed Should be as Ocean's sands.-^ But yon lone bark Hath spread her parting sail. — They crowd the strand, Those few, lone pilgrims. — Can ye scan the wo That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail link Binding to man, and habitable earth, Is severed .' — Can ye tell what pangs were there, What keen regrets, what sickness of the heart, What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth, Their distant, dear ones ? — Long, with straining eye. They watch the lessening speck. — Heard ye no shriel; Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness Sank down into their bosoms .' — No!, they turn Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray I — Pray, — and the ills that haunt this transient life Fade into air. — Up in each girded breast There sprang a rooted and mysterious strengtli, — A loftiness, — to face a world in arms, — To strip the pomp from sceptres, — and to lay Upon the sacred altar the warm blood Of slain affections, when they rise between The soul and God. — And can ye deem it strange That from their planting such a branch should biooni As nations envy r — Would a genu, embalmed With prayer's pure tear-drops, strike no deeper root Than that which mad ambition's hand doth strew Upon the vv^inds, to reap the winds -igain ? Hid by its veil of waters from the hand Of greedy Europe, their bold vine spread forth In giant strength. — Its early clusters, crushed In England's wine-press, gave the tyrant host 5 D 50 CHEEVER's poets of AMElllCA. A draught of deadly wine. -O, ye who boast in your free veins the blood of sires like these, Lose not their lineaments. — Should Mammon cling Too close around your heart, — or v/ealth beget That bloated luxury which eats the core From manly virtue, — or the tempting world Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul, ■ Turn ye to Plymouth's beach, — ami on that rock Kneel in their foot-prints, and renew the vow They breathed to God. The Coral Grove. — Percival. Deep in the wave is a corai grove, Where the purple mullet and gold-tish rove. Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue. That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, hke the mountain drift, And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral rocks the sea plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that q-low In the motionless fields of upper air : There, with its waving blade of green. The sea-flag streams through the silent water. And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter: There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea ; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea : And life, in rare and beautiful forms. Is sporting amid those bowers of stone. And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of storms. Has made the top of the waves his own : And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies. And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; CHEEYER S POETS OF AMERICA. 51 Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Tn^f^uafh th'^' bending twigs of the coral grove. Hebrew Melody. — Mrs. J. G. Brooks. Jeremiah x. 17. From the hall of our fathers in anguish we fled. Nor again will its marble re-echo our tread. For the breath of the Siroc has blasted our name, And the frown of Jehovah has crushed us in shame. His robe was the whirlwind, his voice was the thunder. And earth, at his footstep, was riven asunder ; The mantle of midnight had shrouded the sky, But we knew where He stood by the flash of His eye. Judah! how long must thy weary ones weep, Far, tar from the land where their forefathers sleep ; How long ere the glory that brightened the mountain Will welcome the exile to Siloa's fountain ? To a Child. — Aivontmoits. " The memory of thy name, dear one, Lives in my inmost heart, Linked with a thousand hopes and fears, That will not thence depart." Things of high import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be. To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. Seek Truth — that pure, celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined, In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth ; But her majestic port the willing- mind. 52 CIIEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul. Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roU. Be FREE — not chieuy from the iron ch.iin, 13ut from the one which passion forges ; be The master of thyself ! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. Tiainple thy proud lu^t3 proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek Virtue. Wear her armor to the fight ; Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek Virtue ; she alone is all divine ; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. Truth — Freedom — Virtue — these, dear child, have power, If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour : Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged arid soiled ; Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. The Western World. — Bryak^t. Late, from this western shore, that morning chased The deep and ancient night, that threw its shroud O'er the green land of groves, the beautiful waste. Nurse of full streams, and lifter up of proud Sky-mingling mountains that o'erlook the cloud. Erewhile, where yon gay spires their brightness rear. Frees waved, and the brown hunter's shouts were loud Amid the forest ; and the bounding deer Fled at the glancing plume, and the gaunt wolf yelled near. And where his willing waves yon bright blue bay Sends up, to kiss his decorated brim, And cradles, in his soft embrace, the gay Young group of grassy islands born of him, And, crowding nigh, or in the distance dim. CHEEVER's poets of AMERfCA. 53 Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear or bring. The commerce of the world — with tawny limb. And belt and beads in sunlight glistening, The savage urged his skiff like wild bird on the wing. Then, all his youthful paradise around, And all the broad and boundless mainland, lay Cooled by the interminable wood, that frowned O'er mound and vale, where never summer ray Glanced, till the strong tornado broke his way Through tlie gray giants of the sylvan wild ; Yet many a sheltered glade, with blossoms gay, Beneath the showery sky and sunshine mild. Within the shaggy arms of that dark forest smiled. There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake Spread its blue sheet, that flashed vAth many an oar, Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake. And the deer drank — as the light gale flew o'er, The twinkling maize-field rustled on the shore ; And v/hile that spot, so v/ild, and lone, and fair, A look of glad and innocent beauty wore. And peace was on the earth and in the air. The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there : Not unavenged — the foeman, from the wood. Beheld the deed, and, when the midnight shade Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe wi:h blood ; All died — the wailing babe — the shrieking maid — And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade, The roofs went down ; but deep the silence grew When on the dewy woods the day- beam played ; No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, And ever by their lake lay moored the light canoe. I^ook now abroad — another race has filled These populous borders — wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms ure tilled ; The land is full of harvests and green meads ; Strea,m3 numberless, that many a fountain feeds. Shine, disembowered, and give to sun and breeze Their virgin waters ; the full region leads New colonies forth, that toward the western seas Spread, like a rapid flame among the autumnal trees. 5* 54 ■ cheever's poets of America. Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its hist fetters off; and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength. Or curb his swiftness in the forward race. Far, like the comet's way through infinite space, Stretches the long untravelled path of light Into the depths of ages : we may trace, Afar, the brightening glory of its flight. Till the receding rays are lost to human sight. To a Waterfowl. — Bryant. Whither, 'midst falling dew. While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way . Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong. As, darkly painted on the crimson sky. Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. Or. where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power, whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome laud. Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. CHEEYER S POETS OF AMERICA. 55 Thou'rt gone ; the abysjs of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy ceitam flight, In the long way that I must tread alone. Will lead my steps aright. 27ic Constancy of JVature contrasted with the Changes in Human Life. — Dana. How like eternity/ doth nature seem To life of man— that short and fitful dream ! I look around me ; — no v/here can I trace Lines of decay that mark our human race. These are the murmuring waters, these the flov/ers I mused o'er in my earlier, better hours. Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. Long years have past since this was last my home ! And I am weak, and toil-worn is my frame ; Biit all this vale shuts in is still the same : 'Tis I alone am changed ; they know me not : I feel a stranger — or as one forgot. The breeze that cooled my vv'arm and youthful brow, Breathes the same freshness on its wrinkles now. The leaves that flung around me sun and shade, While gazing idly on them, as they played. Are holding yet their frohc in the air; The motion, joy, and beauty still are there — But not for me ! — I look upon the ground : ?^Tyriads of happy faces throng me round. Familiar to my eye ; yet heart and mind In vain would now the old communion find. Ye were as living, conscious beings, then. With whom I talked — but I have talked with men! With uncheered sorrow, with cold hearts I've met ; Seen honest minds by hardened craft beset ; Seen hope cast down, turn deathly pale its glow ; Seen virtue rare, but more of virtue's show. 56 CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. And fare thee well, my own green, quiet Vale. — Dana. The sun was nigh its set, when we wore come Once more where stood the good man's lowly home. We sat beside the door ; a gorgeous sight Above our heads — the elm in golden hght. Thoughtful and silent for awhile — he then Talked of my coming. — " Thou'lt not go again From thine own vale ; and we will make thy home Pleasant; and it shall glad thee to have come." Then of my garden and my house he spoke. And well ranged orchard on the sunny slope ; And grew more bright and happy in hi? talk Of social winter eve, and summer walk. « And, while I listened, to my saddor soul A sunnier, gentler sense in silence stole ; Nor had I heart to spoil the little plan Which cheered the spirit of the kind old man. At length I spake — " No ! here I must not stay I'll rest to-night — to-morrow go my way." He did not urge me. Looking in my face, As he each feeling of the heart could trace, He prest my band, and prayed I might be blest, — Where'er I went, that Heaven would give me rest. The silent night has past into the prime Of day — to thoughtful souls a solemn time. For man has wakened from his nightly death. And shut up sense to morning's life and breath. He sees go out in heaven the stars that kept Their glorious watch while he, unconscious, slept,— Feels God was round him while he knew it not — Is awed — then meets the world — and God's forgot. So may I not forget thee, holy Power ! Be to me ever as at this cah.^ hour. The tree tops now are glittering in the sun: Away I 'Tis time my journey was begun. Why should I stay, when all I loved are fled. Strange to the living, knowing but the dead ; CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. 57 A homeless wanderer through my early home • Gone childhood's joy, and not a joy to come ? To pass each cottage, and to have it tell, Here did thy mother, here a playmate dwell ; To think upon that lost one's girlish bloom. And see that sickly smile, and mark her doom : — *• It haunts me now — her dim and wildered brain. I would not look upon that eye again ! Let me go, rather, where I shall not find Aught that my former serf will bring to mind. These old, familiar things, where'er I tread, Are round me like the mansions of the dead. No I wide and foreign lands shall be my range, That suits the lonely soul, where all is strange. Then for the dashing sea, the broad full sail ! And fare thee well, my own green, quiet vale. Sonnet. The Free Mind. — William Lloyd Garrison.* High walls and huge the hody may confine. And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze. And massive bolts may baffle his design. And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways : *Tliis sonnet, written during Mr. Garrison's despotic imprisonment, pos- sesses a noi)leiie3s and an energy in the thought, a corresponding ease and oritriuality in the expression, and an antique richness in its wlioJe structure, whicii n\;ke it worthy of the happiest 'Olden Times' of the English Muse. Witli ail the heart, we bid its author God speed in his efiorts in the cause of freedo/n. But it needs patience and prudence, as well as stern moral cuuruge. The possible result of the Colonization Society, and the success 'vhicii may attend tho efforts for the entire abolition of slavery in this coun- try, constitute the great problem, on the solution of which our prosperity, and perhaps even our existence as a nation, depends. Every man who can speak, every editor who can influence the public mind, should certainly be doing all in his power to hasten forward the period of complete emancipa- tion. " Speed it, O Father ! Let thy kin^^dom come I" Ep. rtS CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control ! No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose : Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole, And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes ! It leaps from mount lo mount; from vale to vale It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers; It visits home, to hear the fire-side tale, Or, in sweet converse, pass the joyous hours. 'T is up before the sun, roaming afar. And, in its watches, wearies every star! Marco Bozzaris. — F. G. Halleck. [He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of tlie an- ient Platffia, August 20, 182.3, and expired in the moment of victory. His DLSt words were — " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain."] cien last At midnight, in his guarded tent. The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power ; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet ring, — Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last ; He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, " To arms ! they come : the Greek ! the Greek !" He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band ; — " Strike — till the last armed foe expires. Strike — for your altars and your fires. Strike — for the green graves of your sires, God^and your native land !" CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. 50 They |bught, like brave men, long and well, They piled that ground wiUi Moslem slain, They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud hurrah. And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber. Death ! Come to the mother, when she feels. For the first time, her first-born's breath ; — Come when the blessed seals "Which close the pestilence are broke. And crowded cities wail its stroke ; — Come in Consumption's ghastly form. The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; — Come when the heart beats high and warm. With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,— And ihou art terrible : the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word. And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Bozzaris ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time. Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's— One of the few, the immortal names. That were not born to dia. 60 CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. Weehawken. — F. G. Halleck. Weehawkeij- ! in thy mountain scenery yet, All we adore of Nature, in her wild And frolic hour of infancy, is met ; And never has a summer's morning smiled Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye Of the enthusiast revels on — when high. Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep, And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes The breathless moment — when his daring step Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear The low dash of the wave with startled ear, Like the death-music of his coming doom. And clings to the green turf with desperate force. As the heart clings to life ; and when resume The currents in his veins their wonted course, There lingers a deep feeling, like the moan Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone. In such an hour, he turns, and on his view, Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before liifi:-- Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue Of summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him The city bright below ; and far away. Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, And banners floating in the sunny air, And white sails o'er the calm blue waters hent, Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there. In wild reality. When life is old. And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold Its memory of this; nor lives there one, Whose infant breath was drawn, or bojnood days Of happiness we;;e passed beneath that sun, That in his manhood prime can calmly gaze Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, Nor feel the prouder of his native land. CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. 61 On laying the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill Munvr ment. — Pierpont. 0, IS not this a holy spot ? 'Tis the high place of Freedom's birth ! God of our fathers ! is it not The holiest spot of all the earth ? Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side ; The robber roams o*er Sinai now ; And those old men, thy seers, abide No more on Zion's mournful brow. But on this hill thou. Lord, hast dwelt. Since round its head the war-cloud curled, And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt In prcyer and battle for a world. Here sleeps their dust : 'tis holy ground: And we, the children of the bra. e. From the four winds are gathered round. To lay our offering oil their grave. Free as the winds around us blow, Free as the waves below us spread. We rear a pile, that long shall throw Its shadow on their sacred bed. But on their deeds no shade shaH fall. While o'er their couch tliy sun j-hall flame : Thine ear was bowed to hear their call, And thy right hand shall guard their fame. Rousseau and Cowper, — Carlos Wilcox. Rousseau could weep; yes, r.ith a heart of stoue. The impious sophist could recline beside The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone On all its loveliness at even tide — On its small running waves, in purp'e dyed. Beneath bright clouds or all the gio^i^ing eky, 62 cheever's poets of America. On the white sails that o'er its bosom gUde, And on surrounding mountains wild and high, Till tears unbidden gushed from his enchanted eye. But his were not the tears of feeUng fine ^ Of grief or love ; at fancy's flash they flowed, Like burning drops from some proud lonely pine By lightning fired ; his heart with passion glowed Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed A chilhng coldness both to friend and foe, As Etna, with its centre an abode Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow Of all its desert brow the living world below. Was he but justly wretched from his crimes ? Then why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen, With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes Genius and feeling, and to things unseen Lifts the pure heart through clouds, that roll between The earth and skies, to darken human hope ? Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene To render vain faith's lifted telescope. And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope ? He, too, could give himself to musing deep ; By the calm lake, at evening, he could stand. Lonely and sad, lo see the moonlight sleep On all its breast, by not an insect fanned. And hear low voices on the far-off strand. Or, through the still and dewy atmosphere. The pipe's soft tones, waked by some gentle hand, From fronting shore and woody island near In echoes quick returned more mellow and more clear. And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams. In the pine grove, when low the full moon, fair. Shot under lofty tops her level beams. Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare. In stripes drawn parallel with order rare. As of some temple vast or colonnade. While on green turf, made smooth without his care. He wandered o'er its stripes of light and shade. And heard the dying day-breeze all the boughs pervade. CHEEVER's poets of AMERICA. 63 'Twa3 thus, in nature's bloom and solitude. He nursed his grief till nothing could assuage ; 'Twas thus his tender spirit was subdued, Till in life's toils it could no more encrasce : And his had been a useless pilgrimage, Had he been gifted with no sacred power, To send his thoughts to every future age ; But he is gone where grief will not devour, Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower. To that bright world where things of earth appear Stripped of false charms, my fancy often flies. To ask him there what life is happiest here ; And, as he points around him, and replies With glowing lips, my heart within me dies, And conscience whispers of a dreadful bar, When, in some scene where every beauty lies, A soft, sweet pensiveness begins to mar The joys of social life, and with its claims to war. To the Dead. — Brainard. Hovf^ many now are dead to me That live to others yet ! How many are alive to me Who crumble in their graves, nor see That sickening, sinking look which we Till dead can ne'er forget. Beyond the blue seas, far away, Most wretchedly alone. One died in prison, far away. Where stone on stone shut out the day. And never hope or comfort's ray In his lone dungeon shone. Dead to the world, alive to me ; Though months and years have passed, In a lone hour, his sigh to me Comes like the hum of some wild bee. And then his form and face I see As when I saw him last. 6i cheever's poets of americx. And one, with a bright lip, and cheek, And eye, is dead to me. How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek! His lip was cold — it would not speak ; His heart was dead, for it did not break ; And his eye, for it did not see. Then for the living be the tomb, And for the dead the smile ; Engrave oblivion on the tomb Of pulseless life and deadly bloom — Dim is such glare ; but bright the gloom Around the funeral pile. 27ie Deep. — Brainard. There's beauty in tlie deep : — The wave is bluer than the sky ; And, though the light shine bright on high, More softly do the sea-gems glow That sparkle in the depths below ; The rainbow's tints are only made When on the waters they are laid. And sun and moon most sweetly shine Upon the ocean's level brine. There's beauty in the deep. There's music in the deep :— It is not in the surf's rough roar, Nor in the whispering, shelly shore — They are but earthly sounds, that tell How little of the sea-nymph's shell. That sends its loud, clear note abroad, Or winds its softness through the flood, Echoes through groves with coral gay. And dies, on spongy banks, away. There's music in the deep. There's quiet in the deep : — Above, let tides and tempests rave. And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave ; Above, let care and fear contend. With sin and sorrow to the end : CHEEVEr's poets of AMERICA. Here, far beneath the tainted foam. That frets above our peaceful home, We dream in joy, and wake in love. Nor know the rage that yells above. There's quiet in the deep. Scene after a Summer Shower. — Professor Norton, The rain is o'er. How dense and bright Yon pearly clouds reposing lie ! Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight, Contrasting |with the dark blue sky! 3 In grateful silence, earth receives The general blessing ; fresh and fair. Each flower expands its little leaves, As glad the common joy to share. The softened sunbeams pour around A fairy light, uncertain, pale ; The wind flows cool; the scented ground Is breathing odors on the gale. Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, Methinks some spirit of the air Might rest, to gaze below awhile. Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth ; from off the scene Its floating veil of mist is flung ; And all the wilderness of green With ti'embling drops of light is hung. Now gaze on Nature — yet the same — Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, Luxuriant, lovely, as she came. Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. Hear the rich music of that voice. Which sounds from all below, above ; She calls her children to rejoice. And round them throws her arms of lore. 6* E 66 cheever's poets of America. Drink in her influence ; low-born care. And all the train of mean desire, Refuse to breathe this holy air, And 'mid this living light expire. ^ The Child's Wish in June. — Mrs. Oilman. Mother, mother, the winds are at play. Prithee, let me be idle to-day. Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie Languidly under the bright blue sky. See, how slowly the streamlet glides; Look, how the violet roguishll hides ; Even the butterfly rests on tha rose. And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes. Poor Tray is asleep in the noon-day sun, And the flies go about him one by one ; And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace, Without ever thinking of washing her face. There flies a bird to a neighboring tree. But very lazily flieth he. And he sits and twitters a gentle note, That scarcely ruffles his little throat. You bid me be busy ; but, mother, hear How the hum-drum grasshopper soundeth near. And the soft west wind is so light in its play. It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. I wish, oh, I wish, I was j^onder cloud, That sails aboiit with its misty shroud ; Books and work I no more should see. And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee. From ^'■Tlie Minstrel Girl'* — James G. Whittier. She leaned against her favorite tree, The golden sunlight melting through The twined branches, as the tVee And easy-pinioned breezes flew CHEEVER S POETS OF AMERICA. 67 Around the bloom and greenness there, Awaking all to life and motion, Like unseen spirits sent to bear Earth's perfume to the barren ocean That ocean lay before her then Like a broad lustre, to send back The scattered beams of day again To burn along its sunset track ! And broad and beautiful it shone ; As quickened by some spiritual breath. Its very wavey ■o'^iTied dancing on To music whispeicJ underneath. And there she leaned, — that minstrel girl ! The breeze's kiss was soft and meek Where coral melted into pearl On parted lip and glowing cheek ; Her dark and lifted eye had caught Its lustre from the spirit's gem ; And round her brow the light of thought Was like an angel's diadem ; For genius, as a living coal, Had touched her lip and heart with flame. And on the altar of her soul The fire of inspiration came. And early she had learned to love Each holy charm to Nature given, — The changing earth, the skies above, V/ere prompters to her dreams of Heaven She loved the earth — the streams that wind Like music from its hills of green — The stirring boughs above them twined — The shifting light and shade between ; — The fall of waves — the fountain gush — The sigh of winds — the music heard At even-tide, from air and bush — The minstrelsy of leaf and bird. But chief she loved the sunset sky — Its golden clouds, like curtains drawn To form the gorgeous canopy Of monarchs to their slumbers gone I The sun went down, — and, broad and red One moment, on the burning wave, 68 cheever's poets of america ■ Rested his front of fire, to shed A glory round his ocean-grave : And sunset — far and gorgeous hung A banner from the wall of heaven — A wave of living glory, flung Along the shadowy verge of even. Description of a sultry Surnmer's J\'oo?i.* — Carlos Wilcox. A SULTRY jvooN", not in the summer's prime, When all is fresh with life, and youth, and bloom. But near its close, when vegetation stop.-, And fruits mature stand ripening in the sun, Soothes and enervates with its thousand charms. Its images of silence and of rest, The melancholy mind. The fields are still ; The husbandman has gone to his repast, And, that partaken, on the coolest side O^his abode, reclines, in sweet repose. Deep in the shaded stream the cattle stanu. The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone, And panting quick. The fields, for harvest ripe, No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves, While witli their motion, dim and bright by turns, The sunshine seems to move ; nor e'en a breath Brushes along the surface with a shade Fleeting and thin, like that of flying smoke. The slender stalks their heavy bended heads Support as motionless as oaks their tops. O'er all the woods the. topmost leaves are still; E'en the wild poplar leaves, that, pendent hung By stems elastic, quiver at a breath, Rest in the general calm. The thistle down, Seen high and thick, by gazing up beside * How perfect is this description of the hot noon of a summer's day in the country ; and yet how simple and xmstudied ! Several of its most expressive images ai'e entirely new, and the whole graphic combination is original — a quality very difficult to attain after Thomson and Cowper. The thistle alighting sleepily on the grass, the yellow-hammer mutely picking the seeds, the grasshopper snapping his wings, and the low sing- ing of the locust — all the images, indeed, make up a pictm-e inimiiably beautiful and true to natm-e. Ed. CHEEVER'S rOETS OF AMERICA Some shading object, in a silver shower Plumb down, and slower than the slowest snow. Through all the sleepy atmosphei-e descends ; And where it lights, though on the steepest roof. Or smallest spire of grass, remains unmoved. White as a fleece, as dense and as distinct From the resplendent sky, a single cloud On the soft bosom of the air becalmed. Drops a lone ^-hadow as distinct and still. On the Dare plain, or sunny mountain's side • Or in the polished mirror of the lake. In which the deep reflected sky appears A calm, sublime immensity below. No sound nor motion of a living thing The stillness breaks, but such as serve to soothe. Or cause the soul to feel the stillness more. The yellow-hammer by the way-side picks, Mutely, the thistle's seed ; but in her flight. So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread To rise a little, closed to fall as far, Moving like sea-fowl o'er the heaving waves, With each new impulse chimes a feeble note. The russet grasshopper at times is heard. Snapping his many wings, as half he flies. Half hovers in the air. Where strikes the suii. With sultriest beams, upon the sandy plain. Or stony mount, or in the close, deep vale, The harmless locust of this western clime. At intervals, amid the leaves unseen, Is heard to sing with one unbroken sound. As with a long-drawn breath, beginning low. And rising to the midst with shriller swell, Then in low cadence dying all away. Beside the stream, collected in a flock, The noiseless butterflies, though on the ground. Continue still to wave their open fans Powdered with gold ; while on the jutting twigs The spindling insects that frequent the banks Rest, with their thin transparent wings outspread As when they fly. Ofttimes, though seldom seen, The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves, Is heard tc moan, as if at every breath Panting aloud. The hawk, in mid- air high. 70 CHECVEr's poets of AMERICA. On his broad pinions sailing; round and round, V.'iih not a flutter, or but now and then, As if his trembling balance to reijain, Utters a single scream, but faintly heard, And all a£:ain is still. The Dying Child. — Christiajv Examijs-es 'Tis dying ! life is yielding place To that mysterious charm, Which spreads upon the troubled face A fixed, unchanging calm. That deepens as the parting breath Is gently sinking into death. A thoughtful beauty rests the while Upon its snowy brow ; But those pale lips could never smile More radiantly than now ; And sure some heavenly dreams begiD To dawn upon the soul within! O that those mildly conscious lips Were parted to reply — To tell how death's severe eclipse Is passing from thine eye ; For living eye can never see The change that death hath wrought in tbeo. Perhaps thy sight is wandering far Throughout the kindled sky, Id tracing every infant star Amid the flames on high ; — Souls of the just, whose path is bent Around the glorious firmament. Perhaps thine eye is gazing down Upon the earth below, Rejoicing to have gained thy crown, And hurried from its wo To dwell beneath the throne of Him, Before whose glory heaven is dim. CHEEVERS POETS OF AMERICA. 71 Thy life ! Low cold it might have been, If days had grown to years ! How dark, how deeply stained with sin, With weariness and tears ! How happy thus to sink to rest, bo early numbered with the blest ' 'Tis well, then, that the smile should lie Upon thy marble cheek : It tells to our inquiring eye What words could nevfer speak — A revelation sweetly given Of all that man can learn of heaven. Looking unto Jesus. — Christiajv Examiner. Thou, who didst stoop below. To drain the cup of wo. Wearing the form of frail mortality, — Thy blessed labors done. Thy crown of victory won, Hast passed from earth — passed to thy home on high. Man may no longer trace, In thy celestial face, The image of the bright, the viewless One ; Nor may thy servants hear. Save with faith's raptured ear. Thy voice of tenderness, God's holy Son ! Our eyes behold thee not. Yet hast thou not forgot Those who have placed their hope, their trust in thee \ Before thy Father's face Thou hast prepared a place. That where thou art, there they may also be. It was no path of flowers, Through this dark world of ours. Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread ; And shall we, in dismay. Shrink from the narrow way, When clouds and darkness are around it spread ' T- "/^ CIIEEVER's POHTS of AMERICA. O thou, who art our lite. Be with us through the strife I Was not thy head by earth's tierce tempests bowed .'' Raise thou our eyes above, To see a Father's love Beam, like the bow of promise, through tlie cloud. Even through the nwful gloom, Which hovers o'er the tomb. That light of love our guiding star shall be ; Our spirit^ shall not dread The shadowy waj' to tread, Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to thee. Scene from Hadad. — Hillhoitse. The garden of Absalom's house on Mount Zion, near tJie palace, ovei^ looking the city. Tamar siiiing by a fountiiin. Tamar. How aromatic evening grows ! The flowers And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha; Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets. Blest hour ! which He, who fashioned it so fair. So softly glowing, so contemplative. Hath set, and sanctified to look on man. And, lo ! the smoke of evening sacritice Ascends from out the tabernacle. Heaven Accept the expiation, and forgive This day's otfences ! — Ha I the wonted str^n, Precursor of his coming ! — Whence can this — it seems to flow from some uneadJily hand — Enter Hadad. Hadad. Does beauteous Taiuar view, in this clear fount. Herself, or heaven .' Tarn. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence Those sad, mysterious sounds. Had. What sounds, dear princess ? Tarn. Surely, thou know'st ; and now I almost think Some spiritual creature waits on tliee. Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends Up from the citj' to these quiet shades ; A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, And voices fi*om the hills. CHEEVEIIS POETS OF AMERICA. 73 Tarn. The sounds I mean Floated like mournful music round my head. From unseen fingers. Had. When? Tarn ISow, as thou camest. Had. 'Tis but thy fancy, wrought To ecstasy ; or else thy grandsire's harp Resounding from his tower at eventide. 1%'e lingered to enjoy its solemn tones, Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet, Stood listening in the zenith ; yea, have deemed Viols and heavenly voices answered him. Tarn. But these — Had. AVere we in Sj'ria, I might say The naiad of the fount, or some sweet nymph, The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee, And gave thee salutations ; but I fear Judah would call me infidel to Moses. Tarn. How like my fancy ! When these strains precede Thy steps, as oft they do, I iove to think ^ Some gentle being, who delights in us. Is hovering near, and warns me of thy coming; But they are dirge-like. Had. Youthful fantas}"". Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady. So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever, As signs of rest and peace ; — the watchman's call. The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump Announcing the returning moon, the pipe Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell, Send melancholy to a diooping sou!. Tarn. But how delicious are the pensive dream^s That steal upon the fancy at their call ! Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest. Meek Labor wipes his brow, and intermits The curse, to clasp the younglings of hi^ cot; Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks — and, hark ' What merry strains they send from Olivet ! The jar of life is still ; the city speaks In gentle murmurs; voices chinie v.ith lutes Waked in the stieets and gardens ; loving pairs Ej'e the red west in one another's arms ; And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields A glimpse of happiness, which He, vvho formed b.rirth and the stars, had power to u)a'