" f '% 
 
 1 \ 
 
 ^^. 
 
 
 .^ 
 
 
 .\^^' ^-^. 
 
 >^, 
 
 o^' 
 
 
 \ I B 
 
\' C' V , '^ 
 
 A'. " '^^' ,V - -^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 r = ^0 o . A -7'. * \ 5 
 
 
 
 
 
 
BY S. LOUISA P. SMITH. 
 
 sJ 
 
 PROVIDENCE : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY A. S. BECKWITH. 
 
 1839. 
 
 
 1683 
 
 ^^WASHlH' 
 
 fS 
 
<g-1^ 
 
 
 Smith &. Parmenter, PriiUtrs. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Inez, 7 
 
 The Hunter's bride, - \ I4 
 
 The last sleep of the beautiful, 18 
 
 A flower from Mount Vernon, 22 
 
 The mountain child, -.- «)4 
 
 To N. P. Willis, 27 
 
 Last interview of VVaverly and Flora Mclvor 29 
 
 Rome, 33 
 
 JVIoonlight Lnys, 35 
 
 A Father's Farewell, 42 
 
 The Worshippers of Isis 47 
 
 Song, 50 
 
 To my Sister, 59 
 
 Meeting of Ellen and Avondale, 55 
 
 Spring's Offerings, 59 
 
 The Soldier's Last Sleep, 5I 
 
 TheGift, . 63 
 
 Coriolanus, gg 
 
 The Huma, .-- gg 
 
 The Mourner, __ r^j 
 
 I would never kneel, 7g 
 
 Natures \\'orks, - 77 
 
 Cupid's Wanderings, 79 
 
 Christina of Sweden, - 82 
 
 Geraldine, .__ 84 
 
 To my Young Friends, 90 
 
 The Harper's Lament, 93 
 
 Song, 95 
 
 The Lay of a Zephyr, 97 
 
 The Avalanche 101 
 
 The Heart's Treasurrs, 104 
 
 The Island Girl, 107 
 
lY CONTENTS. 
 
 Dirg-e, 113 
 
 The Crewless Bark, IIG 
 
 The Mother's Monument, 119 
 
 Sketches. 123 
 
 The Last Bird of Summer, 128 
 
 Recollections of , 130 
 
 Indian's Lament, 134 
 
 The Harp of the Desert, 137 
 
 A Sketch, - • 139 
 
 The Human Heart, _ . . . 143 
 
 The Spell Broken, • 144 
 
 Memories, M8 
 
 It is not the hi\y, 150 
 
 Grecian Isles, 152 
 
 The Exile's Dream, 155 
 
 The Son, 157 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Channing, IGl 
 
 English Burial Ground, - 1(54 
 
 The Departed, 1G8 
 
 Fancy's Realms, 171 
 
 Scene from Hope Leslie, 174 
 
 The Forest Fairies' Fount, 177 
 
 Scripture Versej, - IGl 
 
 A Poet's Dream,' 1S3 
 
 The Orphan's SmiJe, . - - - 191 
 
 Music of the Past, - - - 194 
 
 The Greek Girl, 197 
 
 Farewells, -------- 201 
 
 Conway, _._ 207 
 
 Adelaide El Fontre, 2JI 
 
 To a Child, 215 
 
 Theresa, _.-..2lS 
 
 On seeing two beautiful locks of Children's Hair, ----- 221 
 
 Musings, ---_ _-..--.- 224 
 
 The Flowers' Farewell, 227 
 
 Death, - - 230 
 
 Thanksgiving, ------ 234 
 
 Ellen's Bridal, 238 
 
 Farewell to the year, - - - . - - 243 
 
 Recollections, -.-- _.-- 24G 
 
 Alethe, - 24S 
 
POEMS. 
 
INEZ. 
 
 " I 'ark hours wring forth the hidden night 
 Which hath la;n bedded in the silent soul, 
 A treasure all undreamt of." 
 
 Morn o'er the glorious blue hills of Spain ! 
 Lighting dark waves of the slumbering main, 
 Gilding fair leaves of the citron and vine, 
 With devr-drops, like gems of an eastern mine ; 
 The vallies are lighted, the hills shining clear, 
 Oh, can the storm-cloud be gathering here ? 
 What does morn meet, mid the clustering bowers T 
 Soft clouds of fragrance from rich summer flowers, 
 
8 
 
 INEZ. 
 
 Incense that earth sends in gladness to hail 
 Her glorious rising o'er mountain and vale. 
 
 Morn on the battlements ! what meets it there ? 
 Glancing of sabres, and steel's flashing glare ! 
 Hurrying steps over terrace and tower, 
 As if gathering might for a fearful hour, 
 Dark'ning brows, over eyes glancing clear. 
 Like the flash from a cloud when the tempest is near, 
 Princes are gathering their strength from afar, 
 And the land is alive to the echoes of war. 
 
 There's a brow whereon sleep hath not been,~since the 
 
 the sun 
 Went down o'er the waters, his bright errand done, 
 V»^hich the morn rose above, as she lent her fair hands. 
 Which had train'd the young olive, to clasp the steel bands 
 And arm the proud hero, as onward he rush'd, 
 .His cheek, with the promise of victory flush' d ; 
 
POEMS, 9 
 
 The fair brow of woman ! yet lighted and high, 
 
 With such rays as flash out from her own southern sky, 
 
 She has nerv'd the soldier, with words that told 
 
 Of proud deeds done in the days of old, 
 
 With promise of victory and looks of pride, 
 
 That had well shone out from a hero's bride. 
 
 Father, brother and kindred went on, 
 
 She is left amid banners, unseeii and alone ; 
 
 She would not that one strong arm should stay, 
 
 From the field of war and fame away. 
 
 Lonely she paces the high, clear rooms, 
 
 Whence the heroes pass'd with their flashing plumes ; 
 
 Shadows are spread o'er her young heart now, 
 
 But the lofty light hath not left her brow, 
 
 She had done what the arm of woman might. 
 
 And her spirit was wound to its loftiest height, 
 
10 INEZ. 
 
 She had nerv'd it still to bear her on, 
 Till her father's halls were lost or won. 
 
 Sunliorht was fadinor o'er far hill and wood, 
 
 When her form on the highest battlement stood, 
 
 She had seen her father, her kinsmen die ; 
 
 The sons of Spain must or fall or fly ! 
 
 The foe sweep on like a fiery flood. 
 
 Their way is track' d thro' a waste of blood ; 
 
 She knew that at even the banner would fall. 
 
 And the conqueror feast in her father's hall, 
 
 And inly vow'd that it should not be, 
 
 While the arm and spirit of woman were free. 
 
 The last sad gleam of day is fled, 
 
 The sun is veil'd o'er the fall'n dead, 
 
 And the shout of victory, loud and shrill. 
 
 The foe send out o'er plain and hill ; 
 
 They are rushing on to the spoil that's won 
 
 By the bloody deeds their hands have done. 
 
 What is it comes on the darken'd air. 
 With a rushing might and bright red glare ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 11 
 
 Billows of flame sent far and free, 
 
 O'er the distant wood and sounding sea ; 
 
 Fragments of turrets that years on years 
 
 Have frown'd o'er the trees, the dim smoke sears ; 
 
 Towers whose rude strength were the pride and boast 
 
 Of the princely ones, to the earth now lost, 
 
 They are falling all, and hark to the strains, 
 
 That are rising clear amid smoke and flames, 
 
 'Tis the voice of woman ! what does she there, 
 
 In the hour of dread and the flame's red glare ? 
 
 Father look ! the deed is done. 
 And our princely halls are won. 
 From the conqueror's crimsoned hand. 
 Rescued by the flaming brand. 
 
 Fair and free the flames arise. 
 Lighting up the midnight skies. 
 Lighting up the sleeping wave, 
 Fldshingr o'er the fall'n brave. 
 
12 INEZ. 
 
 Thou wilt smile upon the deed, 
 On thy halls and banner freed 
 From the haughty tyrant's tread, 
 Him who hath thy life-blood shed. 
 
 Farewell Spain ! it is the last 
 Look, o'er thy fair vallies cast. 
 From the turret's mountain height, 
 My freed spirit seeks its flight. 
 
 Bowers ! where I have wak'd the lays 
 Of light and song in other days. 
 Where I lov'd the wreath to twine ^ 
 Woven by the clust'ring vine ; 
 
 I can see thee lighted now, 
 From the burning castle's brow ! 
 But I ne'er may wake again 
 Thy light sounds to music's strain. 
 
INEZ. 13 
 
 Bower and hill and wood, farewell ! 
 Ye are left the tale to tell, 
 Of the castle fir'd and freed. 
 Where the fall'n heroes bleed ! 
 And the chieftain's daughter went to share 
 The rest of the proud ones sleeping there. 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 THE HUNTER'S BRIDE, 
 
 INDIAN TRADITION. 
 
 The Indian Hunter left his cot, 
 
 When the morning,sun rode high, 
 With springing step, for the distant spot 
 
 Where the fleet wild deer must die. 
 And his bride, by the low-roof d cabin door. 
 
 Singing some joyous lay. 
 That softly floated the blue hills o'er. 
 
 As his footstep died away. 
 
 Pokhawa — pride of the red-men's race, 
 
 Flower of her warlike tribe ; 
 She had come, his mountain hearth to grace, 
 
 A soft-eyed, dusky bride ; 
 
THE hunter's bride. 15 
 
 With robe in scarlet berries prest, 
 
 And feathers gaily green ; 
 They had robb'd the wild bird of his crest 
 
 To deck their dark-ey'd queen. 
 
 Away — away, his shout is heard, 
 
 Far over the distant plain, 
 But at even-fall, like the mountain bird. 
 
 He sought his home again. 
 The quick, light step thro' the forest green 
 
 Scarce echoed in the glen. 
 And when evening's last gray light was seen, 
 
 He stood where his home had been. 
 
 But, alas for the hunter ! the white man's hand 
 
 Had fearfully mark'd the spot, 
 And left the blacken'd and smokinop brand. 
 
 In place of the flower-edged cot. 
 And where is the ' Bird' of the Indian's nest? 
 
 They have borne her far away ! 
 And the hopes, that the morning hour saw blest, 
 
 Closed, with the closing day. 
 
16 POEMS. 
 
 Darkness is on his brow : 
 
 Deep darkness in his soul 
 As he sternly breath' d the vengeful vow, 
 
 And the words in terror roll ; 
 The night-wind heard and sigh'd — 
 
 The forest branches bow'd, 
 And 'twas echoed back by the mountain tide. 
 
 In murmurs hoarse and loud. 
 The moon went up — and pearly light 
 
 Was shed o'er hill and tree, 
 Darkness should still have veil'd a night 
 
 That such darken'd deeds must see. 
 
 A fair, young mother lull'd a child 
 
 To its gentle evening rest. 
 On its last dim waking-look she smil'd. 
 
 And its lip of beauty prest ; 
 Then watch'd for the sound of a well-known 
 tread, 
 
 As the still hours glided by : 
 But she never met that sound again, 
 
 Or the glance of that love-lit eye^ 
 
THE hunter's bride. 17 
 
 The Indian Chief from his mountain home 
 
 Had cross'd the moonlit plain, 
 And the might of that deep revenge had come, 
 
 That was never vow'd in vain. 
 
13 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THE LAST SLEEP OF THE BEAUTIFUL, 
 
 Gone, as a dew-drop is swept from the bough— 
 Oh ! for the world where thy home is nowl 
 How may we love but in doubt and fear, 
 How may w» anchor out fond hearts here, 
 How should e'en joy but a trembler be, 
 Beautiful dust! when we look on thee ? 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 They led me to a dark'ned room, with noiseless step, where 
 
 lay 
 The last of what had shone on earth, like some bright thing 
 
 of day ; 
 There were quiet mourners o'er the dust, that still was pass- 
 
 ing fair. 
 
 Though the wreathing, rose-like smiles were gone, that had 
 shone brightly there. 
 
*rHE LAST SLEEP OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 19 
 
 There was one, who o'er the sleeper bent, and breath'd a 
 
 sadd'ning lay, 
 A brow from which the light of joy, had faded long away, 
 A dewy cheek, and long dark hair, above a neck of snow. 
 That told, not age had brought to her, this bitterness of woe. 
 
 I listen'd to her words, and there was something in the 
 
 strain 
 Which woke a fountain in my heart, I cannot still again ; 
 I'll breathe them in my song, and they may catch some 
 
 feeling eye, 
 And young light hearts, that know riot grief, may pass them 
 
 idly by. 
 
 ' A last, a dreamless, dreary sleep, is thine, thou faded flow- 
 er ! 
 
 A sleep that knows no sunrise fair — no joyful waking hour, 
 
 Not such as oft-times I have seen, steal o'er thine eye of 
 blue, 
 
 As fleecy clouds enshroud the moon, that shines in glory 
 thro'. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 I've walk'd the world, thro' lonely years of sunshine, shade 
 and gloom, 
 
 And seen the fairest blossoms fade, in the morning of their 
 bloom ; 
 
 I've seen the wreck of all that's good and bright and glo- 
 rious here, 
 
 My weary days are number'd, and the closing hour draws 
 near. 
 
 I've seen the sun of joy go down on many a human brow, 
 But I never saw the Spoiler seize so fair a thing as thou ! 
 Spring wreaths are round thee ! dewy flowers, to fade with 
 
 thee, my child ! 
 Just such as in the past, bright hours, amid thy tresses 
 
 smil'd. 
 
 These faded cheeks are stain'd with tears, from many a 
 
 trial past. 
 But the bitterest drops are shed for thee, the bitterest and; 
 
 the last ; 
 
THE LAST SLEEP OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 21 
 
 For something tells me I shall sleep thy silent sleep ere 
 
 long, 
 And we shall meet again my flower, all freed from worldly 
 
 wrong.' 
 
 Unknown — unnumbered are His ways who sends the grave 
 
 its prey — 
 And human love must still weep on to find its treasure clay, 
 And learn to loose its clinging hold and strong affections 
 
 here, 
 For hopes that have a resting place, with nothing earthly 
 
 near. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 A FLOWER FROM MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 Bright blossom ! that hast breath'd the air 
 
 Around the hero's tomb : 
 What do the night winds murmur there 
 
 When skies are wrapt in gloom ? 
 A dirge above the sleeping one 
 
 Of giant heart and arm ? 
 Above a race of glory done 
 
 Whose memory has a charm 
 To thrill young hearts and lift them up, 
 
 To thirst for glory's gilded cup 1 
 
 Sheds not the moon in glory there 
 
 A brighter, holier light ? 
 Look not the stars, with ray more fair, 
 
 From off the brow of night 1 
 
A FLOWER FROM MOUNT VERNON. 23 
 
 Send not the dews, that bathe that steep, 
 
 A fragrant incense round ? 
 As they were sacred tears to weep 
 O'er fame by death uncrown'd ? 
 D d'st thou not bow thy head, bright gem 
 
 Of nature's peerless diadem. 
 O'er him who sleeps in glory there. 
 Beneath a nation's grateful prayer ? 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN CHILD. 
 
 Simple and wild 
 Is the tale I tell of a mountain child, 
 Who left her home where the wild flowers grew, 
 Which the summer sun look'd brightly thro', 
 And the stream that flows from the green hill side, 
 Where the lilies float on the gentle tide ; 
 
 And the nameless things that make home so fair. 
 
 That will never charm in a stranger air ; 
 
 No after scenes are viewed like those 
 
 That first to the eye of childhood rose, 
 
 Let their hues be ever so gay and fair, 
 
 The spell that can chain us is not there. 
 
 Where is the heart, hath not some warm tears. 
 For the faded feelings of earlier years, 
 
POEMS» 25 
 
 When wandering far on life's wide sea, 
 With a spirit that longs to be lighten'd and free, 
 And the light of lost joys shines still more clear, 
 Thro' the misty air ever hovering here 1 
 
 She left the hearts that were lov'd and tried, 
 
 And the flower-wreath' d home on the mountain side ; 
 
 Strangers had mark'd her beauty there, 
 
 The clear white brow and flowing hair, 
 
 And thought it wrong that so fair a thing, 
 
 Should be left to grow where the wild-flow'rs spring. 
 
 They had kindly hearts — that lov'd her well. 
 And softly wip'd the tears that fell. 
 When she left the home she had lov'd so long ; 
 To mingle her step with a stranger throng, 
 But it would not do — the bud still sigh'd 
 For the sister-flowers on the mountain side. 
 
 The rich brown curls that had lov'd to deck 
 In graceful wildness, the snowy neck, 
 3 
 
^^ THE MOUNTAIN CHILD. 
 
 Were bound with pearls of the fairest hue. 
 That e'er slept 'neath Araby's waters blue— 
 She sigh'd for the wreath of Jasmine flow'rs, 
 Her hands once twin'd 'mid the forest bow'rs. 
 
 There were kind young friends who sought to cheer 
 The plant that was drooping for skies more clear, 
 They could not gather the feeling deep, 
 That could not love and that would not sleep, 
 Her heart was chain'd to the sunny glade. 
 Where her infant sisters lightly play'd. 
 
 She was led to pleasure's crowded hall 
 Where light ones' smiles like sunbeams fall, 
 Jewels shone on her bosom fair. 
 As if they might lessen its weight of care, 
 'Twas trying to clasp a broken chain, 
 Her smiles were never so bright affain. 
 
POEMS. 27 
 
 TO N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 I LOVE to lose myself in thy ' 
 
 Rich harmonies of thought, 
 Spread out, like some unshadow'd sky. 
 
 With stars of beauty fraught ; 
 Where feelings deep and pure and strong 
 
 Are clothed in bright array, 
 And they come, like some celestial throng 
 
 To steal the heart away — 
 And wrap it in those dreams of light. 
 That may not beam thro' earth's dark night. 
 
 The light of genius o'er each page 
 
 Is beaming fair and free, 
 And the flower-wreath'd poet, and musing sage 
 
 Are met, by turns, in thee ; 
 
28 TO N. p. WILLIS. 
 
 There^s not a thought that lightly strays 
 But thine own impress brings. 
 
 Unlike the strain of modern lays, 
 As that bird's note, who sings 
 
 When starry night is o'er the earth. 
 
 To duller sounds, that day gives birth. 
 
 I'm but an humble worshipper 
 
 At genius' lighted shrine, 
 Who love to wander in the rays 
 
 That from her temple shine ; 
 And when they beam brightly, as those 
 
 From out thy radiant song, 
 I long to catch the light that glows. 
 
 And join the gifted throng. 
 But woman's lot was ne'er to rise,_ 
 Her gift of mind neglected lies. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 S9 
 
 LAST INTERVIEW OF WAVERLY AND FLORA 
 MAC-IVOR. 
 
 He enter'd the dim curtain'd room, 
 
 Which scarce the daylight knew; 
 For sorrow loves a place of gloom — 
 
 To live its lone hours thro'; 
 The light, from lattic'd window sent, 
 
 Fell on a faded form, 
 Almost with the dim twilight blent, 
 
 Pale shadow of the storm ! 
 
 The young cheek had the deathly white,. 
 
 That sorrow leaves, to tell 
 Of with'ring chill — and all the blight 
 
 Of the high heart's crush'd swell; 
 
 The bright, black curls above the brow 
 
 In their soft wave-like sleep, 
 3* 
 
so WAVERLY AND FLORA MAC-IVOR. 
 
 And the black mantle's midnight flow, 
 But made that hue more deep. 
 
 And she — the rose of highland hills, 
 
 Pride of the mountain sons ! 
 Once sparkling as their own bright rills. 
 
 And thus life's channel runs ! 
 The stream along its sunny course, 
 
 Wander'd a flow'ry way, 
 Till fell the mountain-torrent's force, 
 
 And scatter'd all to spray ! 
 
 The daughter of an ancient race 
 Of Scotland's high-soul'd sons, 
 
 Of bower and hall and court, the grace. 
 The pride of princely ones I 
 
 Whose voice sent music's sweetest strains 
 Through proud Mac-Ivor's halls. 
 
 Whose step was lightest on the plains 
 
 \ Around that Castle's walls. 
 
 Whose heart a soldier's spirit felt. 
 Blent with a gentler tide, 
 
WAVERLY AND FLORA MAC-IVOR. 31 
 
 Where the blood of Highland heroes dwelt, 
 
 In all its mountain pride ; 
 And now how chang'd ! the heart's warm springs 
 
 Fetter'd by icy chains, 
 Oh — why is it — time's music rings 
 
 Such sadly changing strains ! 
 
 Ev'n the proud soldier's spirit fell 
 
 To view the whirlwind's force, 
 And tears burst from his heart's deep cell^ 
 
 That seldom left their source ; 
 For soldier's tears are like the gems 
 
 Beneath the billows green. 
 So deep within his stormy breast, 
 
 Their trace is seldom seen 
 
 He sought to cheer the wounded one. 
 
 But words of comfort fell — 
 He dar'd not trust his falt'ring tongue, 
 
 A tale of hope to tell ; 
 He spoke of her young friend — and then. 
 
 A ray of something came, 
 
32 WAVERLY AND FLORA MAC-IVOR, 
 
 Something like light — but faint as when 
 From a lamp's dying flame. 
 
 " Give these to Rose" — she held a chain 
 Of diamonds sparkling fair, 
 
 Which ne'er would lend their light again 
 To her own glossy hair ; 
 
 "Tell her that they are Flora's all, 
 
 And with to-morrow's sun, 
 
 She seeks the cloister'd convent wall — 
 A broken hearted one." 
 
POEMS. 33 
 
 ROME. 
 
 Great city of the mighty 
 
 How are thy triumphs fled ! 
 And the light thy glory shed around 
 
 Is with thy princely dead ! 
 
 Sceptre and sword are gone 
 
 And many a kingly brow, 
 And the dust of many a regal form 
 
 Sleep 'mid thy ruins now \ 
 
 Never more to rise 
 
 At the thrilling trumpet's blast. 
 Which has proudly swell' d to thy lofty skies 
 
 In the days of splendour past. 
 
 Banners that brightly wav'd 
 O'er dome and lofty tower. 
 
34 ROME. 
 
 On the shores by the rolling Tiber lav'd 
 Furl'd in thy dying hour ! 
 
 Time passes with a hand 
 Of strong, resistless might, 
 
 And he gathers many a joyous band 
 Away from earth's glad light. 
 
 He levels many a wall 
 
 By mortal strength uprear'd. 
 
 And the brow whereon his glances fall 
 Smiles not affain unsear'd. 
 
 "IS^ 
 
 Thou hast sunk beneath his touch, 
 City of strength and pride ! 
 
 Not all the might of thy kingly ones 
 Could stay the sweeping tide. 
 
 There are wreaths of ivy thrown 
 O'er many a fall'n fane. 
 
ROME. 35 
 
 And its leaves, in their changeless green live on, 
 While all thy strength is vain. 
 
 Many a dirge is sung 
 
 Fall'n one o'er thee ! 
 For the faded track of thy sunken sun 
 
 Is a mournful thing to see. 
 
36 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 MOONLIGHT LAYS. 
 
 The blue eve came, and the captive knight 
 
 Bewail' d his darken' d lot, 
 He sigh'd at the thought of the banish'd light, 
 
 And the joys that now were not. 
 
 The night wind sigh'd round the high dark towers 
 
 And he listen'd to its lay, 
 'Twas fitfully wild and the dim night hours 
 
 More sadly stole away. 
 
 It died at last— -and the clear night air 
 
 Woke to another sound, 
 'Twas a maiden's voice and passing fair. 
 
 As it sent light echoes round. 
 
POEMS. 37 
 
 He tried to catch the words that stole 
 
 So gently on his ear, 
 And they sent warm hope to his drooping soul, 
 
 For the words were glad to hear. 
 
 Now the wind has died 
 
 O'er turret and tower — 
 And the moon looks in pride, 
 O'er still wood and bower ; 
 The chain shall be brok'n, 
 That fetters the brave ; 
 For the word has been spok'n 
 By one who can save. 
 
 When the stars rise again 
 O'er the forest of pines, 
 And the beam of the moon 
 On the battlement shines ; 
 All lonely and silent 
 The prison shall stand, 
 But the captive shall fly 
 To his own sunny land. 
 
38 MOONLIGHT LAYS. 
 
 Now the song has ceas'd and the air is still, 
 And the moon has set o'er the eastern hill, 
 But the captive's bosom is light again 
 For the hope that breath' d in the mystic strain. 
 
 He sank on his couch, and sleep once more 
 Came stealing softly his eyelids o'er, 
 But the same sweet voice in his sleep he heard. 
 And it warbled many a cheering word. 
 
 The morning came — the noon went by, 
 And the sun went down in the sleeping sky. 
 And the stars look'd out o'er the forest trees, 
 Then music came on the whisp'ring breeze. 
 
 Wake stranger ! wake ! 
 
 The soft night gale 
 
 And the wandering stars — 
 
 Tell not the tale 
 
 Of the captive fled 
 
 From the walls, that would hold 
 The heart that is brave, 
 And the spirit that's bold. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 The war-steed is waiting 
 To aid thy quick flight, 
 The warders are sleeping 
 On watch-tow'r and height ; 
 The mist of the evening 
 Is over the fell, 
 From those that would follow 
 'Twill shelter thee well. 
 
 Again it ceas'd, and a step as light 
 As a fairy's tread on the mystic night. 
 Stole thro' the gloom, and before him stood 
 The fairest thing he had ever view'd. 
 
 I cannot tell of her flitting form, 
 'Tis time that I and my lay were gone ; 
 And her looks were such as many have met 
 In a speaking glance from an eye of jet. 
 
 But she gave a hand that was small and white 
 To guide the step of the favour'd knight, 
 Thro' many a strangely winding way, 
 'Till they came where the path to the forest lay ; 
 
 39 
 
40 MOONLIGHT LAYS. 
 
 And ere the stranger could bow his head 
 To thank his guide, she had softly fled, 
 And her distant form in the dim starlight 
 Was fading fast to a speck of white. 
 
 When the day-beam dawned — her voice again 
 Was heard to sing in her own wild strain — 
 
 I have loos'd the knight, and the lady fair 
 
 Will brightly smile again, 
 And the knight on his haughty neck will wear 
 
 No other now than a flowery chain. 
 
 Mine is the deed and mine the power, 
 I ever cherish the fading flower, 
 I ever watch o'er the prison'd brave, 
 And the mystic art is mine to save. 
 
 Away — away, I wander now 
 
 On the wing of the morning gale, 
 
 Where a cloister'd abbess seeks to bow 
 A maiden fair to the hood and veil. 
 
POEMS. 41 
 
 But I can enter the convent wall, 
 And stop the vow and the dark words all, 
 And far from the monk and dismal air, 
 Will bear the form of the lady fair. 
 
 4* 
 
42 A father's farewell. 
 
 A FATHER'S FAREWELL. 
 
 " Commune with nature — on her breast 
 In fullest confidence repose, 
 By the still voice of conscience blest, 
 Break from the chaui of human woe»." 
 
 Farewell my boy — the hour has come 
 That calls thee from a blissful home, 
 To meet a world, Avhose ready frown. 
 Sinks many a manly spirit down ; 
 As yet unlearned to rise above 
 Its fickle hate and fickle love, 
 To doubt its seeming smile and wear 
 An armour in its tainted air. 
 And stormy hours that come to all 
 May on thy untried spirit fall, 
 
POEMS. 43 
 
 But there's a nobleness of mind, 
 That sorrow's chain can never bind ; 
 And there's a strength in virtue's spell, 
 Trust it my boy ! — 'twill guard thee welt. 
 
 Thou hast the gift — the brightest — best, 
 And highest here by man possest, 
 The gift of genius — that strong fire, 
 Which will live on — tho' stars expire. 
 And still will raise her votaries high, 
 With names too hallow'd e'er to die ; 
 But never let that gift mislead, 
 Or teach thee the vain sophist's creed; 
 The pride of talent ne'er should swell 
 A human bosom — It should dwell 
 And still grow on — but never let 
 It lead thy spirit to forget 
 Who gave the gift of hidden fire, 
 And as He gave, will much require. 
 
 The world has syren voices — they 
 Will strive to lure thee far away, 
 
44 A father's farewell. 
 
 In their own track — pleasure will 'call, 
 
 And she has many a silken thrall 
 
 And flow'ry fetters — but a thorn 
 
 Is in them, that must too be borne — 
 
 Aye when the flowers have left the chain, 
 
 Still living on — thy spirit's bane. 
 
 And would' St thou know, but how to shun 
 
 The spoiler, ere his work 's begun. 
 
 And keep thy heart in its pure way, 
 
 Oh, let thy spirit homeward stray 
 
 To those who hold thee dearer far. 
 
 Than all this wide earth's treasures are ; 
 
 And let thy youthful feelings rise, 
 
 In all their freshness — when the skies 
 
 Were blue in childhood's summer — when 
 
 Thou knew'st not of the cares of men ; 
 
 And if there fall one simple tear — 
 
 Oh check it not ! — but hold it dear, 
 
 As a pure feeling in a heart 
 
 Which still must shew its sterner part 
 
 To the cold world — who know but ill. 
 
 The gen'rous blossoms that they chill. 
 
POEMS. 45 
 
 And there's a light will lead thee on 
 The path that daring ones have gone ; 
 The light of fame, and fast and well, 
 Will thy heart's young aspirings swell, 
 And thou wilt dream of those bright things, 
 That come on glory's shadowy wings ; 
 For these are feelings that will come 
 And make the young high heart their home ; 
 And thou wilt have strange, restless dreams. 
 Of fame's far summit and the beams 
 That from Ambition's turret glow, 
 A light to catch thine eye will throw ; 
 Ambition has a meteor light. 
 Too often quench'd in clouds and blight, 
 For those who see hut that light shine, 
 And bow too humbly at her shrine. 
 
 Farewell my boy ! and now pass on. 
 The world has many a cloud and storm, 
 And it has many a chilling dart. 
 With which to pierce the gen'rous heart ; 
 
46 A father's farewell. 
 
 T know thy spirit will not quail, 
 
 Nor thy young heart's deep courage fail ; 
 
 And may a father's blessing shed, 
 
 A light around thy youthful head. 
 
POEMS. 47 
 
 THE WORSHIPPERS OF ISIS. 
 
 The rising of the Moon, slow and majestic, as if conscious of the honours thai ^waited her upon earth, 
 was welcomed with a loud acclaim fiom every eminence, where muliiiudeg stood watching for her first 
 l^bt, — Epicurean. 
 
 She is rising in her glory — see, 
 The waves have silver crests, 
 
 And her light is streaming far and free, 
 Where the mountain shadow rests. 
 
 And a worshipper for every smile 
 
 From her brow of glory sent, 
 On the flowery banks of the mighty Nile, 
 
 Has watch'd — since daylight went. 
 
48 THE WORSHIPPERS OF ISIS. 
 
 The rays beam softly now — where stands 
 A flower-wreath'd temple fair — 
 
 To her gJory rais'd by mortal hands, 
 Amid perfum'd incense-air. 
 
 For the human heart, that with human love 
 
 Still to some idol clings, 
 If it does not know of the God above 
 
 Will bow to forbidden things. 
 
 Music is floating on the air, 
 
 To hail that rising bright — 
 And a thousand lamps o'er the shining wave, 
 
 Send show'rs of silvery light. 
 
 Bright bands of Egypt's fair, young girls 
 
 To the lighted temple go, 
 With those lilies wreath'd in their glossy curls, 
 
 By the Nile's dark waves that grow. 
 
POEMS. 40 
 
 She has no such worshippers now to throng, 
 
 And the hour of her rising meet, 
 And the only light, is the light of song 
 
 Her silvery smile to greet. 
 
50 SONG. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Bring roses ! bring wreaths, 
 For the brow that is fair, 
 
 For the eyes that shine brightly, 
 Unclouded by care ! 
 
 Bring evergreens, lightly 
 
 Around her to twine, 
 And jewels, that brightly 
 
 In sunlight shall shine. 
 
 There's many a step 
 
 That is light in the dance, 
 
 There's many an eye 
 With a sparkling glance ; 
 
POEMS. 51 
 
 But few shine like her 
 In this sad scene of care, 
 
 Bring roses to twine 
 With her light waving hair. 
 
52 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 TO MY SISTER. 
 
 " We have play'd 
 
 Through many a taony hour.' 
 
 My sister ! there are thoughts of thee, in every hour of 
 
 mine, 
 Of joys that long have ceas'd to be, or now but dimly shine, 
 And there are spells that cling to thee, which nought of after 
 
 years, 
 Has had the power to chase away, or darken o'er with 
 
 tears. 
 
 I see thee, when the morning comes, in dewy brightness 
 
 drest, 
 I see thee when the sunbeam goes, to seek its golden rest. 
 
I»0EMS. 53 
 
 And the strong love I had for thee, but gathers still more 
 
 strong, 
 Now I am sever'd from the path, wherein we wander'd 
 
 long. 
 
 That path was strew'd with many flowers, and hours of 
 
 gloom it knew. 
 But the light of our enduring love, the clouds would glimmer 
 
 throuofh — 
 For sorrows shar'd, are not like those, that dwell within 
 
 the breast. 
 And in secrecy and silent gloom, must ever be supprest. 
 
 Together we have wander'd o'er the hills around our home, 
 Together watch'd the parting light, o'er tree and fountain 
 
 thrown, 
 And listed to the same kind voice around our hearth at eve, 
 And this has past and left the trace — all earthly joys may 
 
 leave. 
 
 A light to break on after years, whence other lights are 
 
 gone, 
 A beam that struggles to dispel the darkness of the storra ; 
 5* 
 
Sit TO MY SISTER. 
 
 Our love has had its summer skies, and they were fair to 
 
 view, 
 But there never yet were hearts or skies, clouds might not 
 
 wander through. 
 
 Farewell, dear sister ! in my heart, some lines of sunshine 
 
 stray, 
 Though it has lost the rainbow hues, that made those hours 
 
 so gay— 
 But the heart that loved thee, loves thee still, and treasures 
 
 up thy name — 
 The brightest gem that fate has left, to gild a brok'n chain. 
 
POEMS. 5£» 
 
 MEETING OF ELLEN AND AVONDALE, 
 
 [de lisle.] 
 
 They met — and what was on her cheek ? 
 
 The trace of many tears — 
 The tale the wither'd heart can speak, 
 
 Of blighted summer years. 
 And what has grief to do with things 
 
 Of such fair hue and form ? 
 Alas they are the ones, his wings 
 
 But colour for the storm. 
 
 His brow was dark, where jealous fear 
 Had spread its with'ring curse, 
 
 Than all the heart's dim shadows here 
 And blighted feelings, worse. 
 
 He look'd upon the thin, white brow, 
 And some dark tear-drops fell. 
 
56 MEETING OF ELLEN AND AVONDALE. 
 
 Tears — such as madness might have wept 
 From out his wither'd celh 
 
 The heart, in trusting freshness, pure, 
 
 Its hopes to him had given, 
 And the chain that ever should endure, 
 
 His hand had lightly riven ; 
 He sold, for fortune's toys — the faith 
 
 Pledged at the altar stone. 
 And left the heart that trusted so. 
 
 To meet its griefs alone. 
 
 Hers was a woman's heart, but not 
 
 A heart to droop and pine, 
 In sickly silence o'er a lot. 
 
 Where joy had ceas'd to shine ; 
 There was an inner-fountain — wher« 
 
 The plant of Faith was rear'd, 
 And made itself a lighted air. 
 
 When the outer bloom was sear'd. 
 
POEMS. 57 
 
 She had a spirit — strong and high, 
 
 Which nerv'd itself to bear, 
 And keep from every worldly eye 
 
 Its wilderness of care. 
 And now they met — long years had pass'd, 
 
 Since that dark marriage hour. 
 And the love, then all too frail to last, 
 
 With him, resum'd its power. 
 
 He had bound himself with other chains, 
 
 And could not claim her now, 
 But his jealous spirit, fear'd her heart 
 
 Might to another bow ; 
 Oh — where will stormy passions stop. 
 
 When once they have found way, 
 Thou art wearing out the only prop, " 
 
 That might thy torn heart stay. 
 
 And thus man lives, and thus wears out 
 
 A fond, enduring heart. 
 Then murmurs that the shrouded sun 
 
 Can no bright rays impart. 
 
58 MEETING OF ELLEN AND AVONDALE. 
 
 To cheer him, when his other joys 
 Have lost their transient hold, 
 
 When the light if cherish'd — had liv'd on. 
 Till the heart itself grew cold. 
 
 She rais'd her tearful eyes and met 
 
 The dark look on his brow, 
 Which ask'd if she held sacred yet — 
 
 That sadly brok'n vow. 
 " Believe the wither'd form of her 
 
 Whose heart you cannot see. 
 An angel's silver tones no more. 
 
 Can wake that love with me." 
 
POEMS. 59 
 
 SPRING'S OFFERINGS. 
 
 I HAVE soft, Still hours for the hearts that mourn, 
 When a dewy breath on my wing is borne, 
 When the soothing sound of my waterfalls, 
 Like the voice of love on the weeper calls ; 
 And the scented breath of the south wind throws 
 A calm on the hcp^rt as it lightly goes. 
 
 I have wreaths for the brows that are lighted up 
 With the promise of bliss from joy's full cup, 
 With hearts and hopes and wishes high. 
 That like my own innocent buds must die ; 
 For beauty's hair, when she goes to bloom 
 In the glittering light of the festal room. 
 
60 spring's offerings. 
 
 For the scholar's rest, I have many a cell, 
 
 In the deep wild-wood, by the sparkling well, 
 
 Whose waves can lessen the feverish glow, 
 
 Which the midnight-lamp on the brow will throw ; 
 
 Oh come to my cool and calm retreat, 
 
 And the things that are bright and beautiful meet ! 
 
 I have streams — where the children's tiny boat 
 On the smooth, small waves may safely float, 
 With nor rock, nor reef on my flow'ry brink. 
 The freight of its infant hopes to sink ; 
 And I've pleasant places, where they may play 
 Thro' the joyous hours of my long clear day. 
 
 I have gifts for all, if they will but come 
 Away from the gloom of a wintry home, 
 And gather my flowers, and taste my dew, 
 As the fresh young leaves it sparkles through ; 
 My shining treasures shall all be theirs. 
 If they'll fly to me from life's dull cares. 
 
POEMS. 61 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S LAST SLEEP. 
 
 Thy dreams of fame — they are gone — all gone, 
 
 Thy proud plume fall'n and banner torn, 
 
 Thou art resting now in a sleep that lies 
 
 Too deep to be brok'n by war's shrill cries, 
 
 The cries that call'd thee at morn to yield 
 
 Thy life and hopes, on a blood-wet field. 
 
 Hush — be still ! 'twas a spirit's cry 
 
 Floating softly and sweetly by ! 
 
 It said the sleep of the brave was blest, 
 
 A nobly won — and a joyous rest ; 
 
 It said that glory should hover round 
 
 The name by a strife for freedom, crown'd ; 
 
 It said there were laurels all green and fair, 
 
 For the brows of the brave ones, resting there ; 
 
 6 
 
62 THE soldier's last sleep. 
 
 Whose hue was changeless, fadeless and bright, 
 Nursed by a sunbeam from fame's proud height. 
 
 Then swept by a voice of sadder tone, 
 And it told of a widow's cheerless moan ; 
 It told of weepers for him, whose name 
 Was giv'n, a gem for the wreath of Fame ; 
 The light of whose coronal could not dry 
 The drops of grief from affection's eye. 
 To the stricken heart 'tis an empty sound, 
 To tell of a brow with laurels crowned ; 
 Can it wake those unstrung chords again 
 To the sound of a former joyous strain ? 
 
POEMS. 63 
 
 THE GIFT. 
 
 *TwAs a simple gift, but richly fraught 
 With the beautiful treasure of buried thought, 
 Waking it up, from fountains deep, 
 Calling the heart of the loved, to weep 
 O'er memories faded on life's worn tracks 
 Broughl in their brightest freshness back. 
 
 Like visions, they rise, in sunniest hues, 
 And sprinkled o'er with affection's dews, 
 With a light around them softly shed 
 As the morning rays on the violet's head, 
 Or the lustre sent from a gem asleep 
 Alone in a cave of the trackless deep. 
 
 It was not of shining gems, they're things 
 Wafted on fortune's changing wings, 
 
64 THE GIFT. 
 
 They may not wake in the heart a glow. 
 Nor the springs of hidden fountains know, 
 For affection's offering all too gay — 
 The deep waves never in sunbeams play. 
 
 'Twas not of flowers — their short lives done. 
 Tell not of the heart's unsetting sun, 
 
 They fade and fall, when the north wind blows. 
 
 But affection's bud no withering knows, 
 
 Tho' the urn that holds the blossom fair, 
 
 May be swept by many a chilling air. 
 
 It was not the page, all richly stored. 
 
 With thoughts from learning's treasured hoard. 
 
 With gifts of science and wisdom fill'd. 
 
 Or dew from the poet's mind distill'd, 
 
 They speak to the heart in a voice their own, 
 
 But a voice that knows not love's sweet tone. 
 
 'Twas not of things, where artists know 
 The light of heaven's own hues to throw. 
 Where beautiful tints are softly spread, 
 As flowers spring up, 'neath a fairy's tread. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 And yet are but lifeless things of art, 
 No fitting gift for the feeling heart. 
 
 'Twas a soft, sweet lock of shining hair. 
 
 From the brow, where it slept, like a sunbeam fair, 
 
 It brought rich feelings, the heart to hold, 
 
 A thought of the past, in each wave-like fold, 
 
 It came, with a spell by affection given. 
 
 To tell of links, that should ne'er be riven, 
 
 Ye may search the earth and the shoreless deep 
 
 For the fairest things in their cells they keep, 
 
 Ye may gather the light of an eastern mine, 
 
 And offer it up on affection's shrine, 
 
 But ye'll never find it cherish'd there, 
 
 Like a simple gift, with the heart's pure prayer. 
 
 05 
 
m 
 
 CORIOLANUSo 
 
 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 The Exile's arm has terror spread 
 O'er hill and smiling plain ; 
 
 And where his conq'ring banner led, 
 Smil'd not the land again. 
 
 On — to the queen of cities, now, 
 Whence, his proud step is driv'n, 
 
 The ties of home — each youthful vow, 
 To thoughts of vengeance giv'n. 
 
 Rome has sent forth her men of migh 
 To meet the conquering one, 
 
 And cali Gijain to the fair ligh 
 Of home, her exiled son. 
 
POEMS. 67 
 
 But how met he their soothing words ? 
 
 With looks of dark disdain — 
 He had drawn conquering armies forth, 
 
 To break his exile chain. 
 
 Her priestly ones, Rome summons noWj 
 
 In mournful sadness bow'd, 
 To scatter from the darkened brow. 
 
 Destruction's gathering cloud. 
 
 But the soul from its strong purpose 
 Their counsels cannot keep ; 
 
 In silent sadness their dark robes 
 Back to the city sweep. 
 
 Who next advance? slowly, a band 
 
 Of females, sadly fair ; 
 Will the heart of the hero firmly stand 
 
 Against tlielr gentle prayer 1 
 
(58 CORIOLANUS. 
 
 No — for the strong voice falters now — 
 The heart's deep purpose shaken, 
 
 A hidden spell hath affection's voice 
 His inner soul to waken. 
 
 They have met the soldier in his pride, 
 With looks that reach the heart, 
 
 And touch'd the spring of a chainless tide. 
 With affection's mystic art. 
 
 They have swept the shadow from the brow 
 
 Of him, the haughty one, 
 They have saved their land from a purple flow, 
 
 Brought back her wander'd son. 
 
 Mother and wife ! ye're sacred names, 
 
 Ye trouble fountains deep, 
 And hearts that bow to your sacred claims 
 
 Their strong, pure feelings keep. 
 
PO£MS. 
 
 THE HUMA. 
 
 '^A bird peculiar to th« easL It i< luppoted to fly constantly in the air, and nerer toach tlie {rowit. 
 
 Fly on ! nor touch thy wing, bright bird, 
 
 Too near our shaded earth, 
 Or the warbling, now so sweetly heard 
 
 May lose its note of mirth. 
 Fly on — nor seek a place of rest, 
 
 In the home of " care-worn things," 
 'Twould dim the light of thy shining crest 
 
 And thy brightly burnish'd wings, 
 To dip them where the waters glide 
 That flow from a troubled earthly tide. 
 
 The fields of upper air are thine. 
 Thy place where stars shine free, 
 
70 THE HUMA. 
 
 I would tliy home, bright one, were mine, 
 
 Above life's stormy sea. 
 I would never wander — bird, like thee, 
 
 So near this place again. 
 With wing and spirit once light and free — 
 
 They should wear no more, the chain 
 With which they are bound and fetter'd here. 
 Forever struggling for skies more clear. 
 
 There are many things like thee, bright bird, 
 
 Hopes as thy plumage gay, 
 Our air is with them forever stirr'd, 
 
 But still in air they stay. 
 And happiness, like thee, fair one ! 
 
 Is ever hovering o'er, 
 But rests in a land of brighter sun, 
 
 On a waveless, peaceful shore. 
 And stoops to lave her weary wings, 
 Where the fount of" living waters" springs. 
 
roEMS. 71 
 
 THE MOURNER. 
 
 " Oh, were it not for lUal sad voice, 
 
 Stealing amid our mirth to say, 
 
 That all, in which we most rejoice, 
 
 JC're night may be the «artliworm'»prey.'' 
 
 He had known neither care nor years 
 Nor worldly strife, that oft-time sears 
 The young heart's summer — blighting all 
 The forms of fancy's starlit hall ; 
 His dreams had all been high and proud, 
 Nor ever veil'd by fortune's cloud, 
 Her sunshine she had freely sent, 
 And life's hues in one rainbow blent. 
 Alas — the heart but gathers here 
 Treasures, and makes them deeply dear — 
 
72 THE MOURNER. 
 
 Wreaths the soul round them with a hold, 
 Too strong for hearts that must grow cold, 
 Then comes death, like the Samiel's wing- 
 And all is coldly withering. 
 
 The voice that rous'd him from his trust 
 Was that which whispers " dust to dust''— 
 What call'd it to earth's cold embrace ? 
 A thing of beauty and of grace ; 
 A fair, young creature from his side, 
 Whose fate and hopes with his allied — 
 Had been a star to guide and cheer 
 And light each step he journey'd here — 
 Strewing fair flowers of hope and love, 
 Like lighted sunbeams from above. 
 And chaining those strong feelings fast 
 To what was all too frail to last ; 
 Oh ever thus — when the heart holds 
 Its earthly things most dear. 
 The bud it wrapp'd in its inmost folds, 
 Is firsttfor death to sear. 
 
POEMS. 73 
 
 She faded as flowers fade in June, 
 
 Beneath the suhry breath of noon ; 
 
 And the young husband mark'd each breath, 
 
 Each flitting pulse, that told of death, 
 
 While something whisper'd to his heart, 
 
 'Twas time for joy and him to part. 
 
 I will not tell how he watch' d all 
 
 The changes, that so surely call 
 
 The wanderers home — changes so still 
 
 The cheated heart scarce dreams of ill ; 
 
 How night went by and morning came 
 
 And found him with the lamp's dim flame 
 
 By the young sufferer — few there are. 
 
 Who have not watched life's waning star 
 
 Above some deeply treasured thing 
 
 Beautiful in its perishing ; 
 
 And felt the heart's dread, sinking weight. 
 
 When first left lone and desolate, 
 
 When rous'd from dreams of hope to feel 
 
 Forever set — the eternal seal. 
 
74 THE MOURNER. 
 
 For this is still the rending close 
 Of joys that here all brightly rose, 
 The close that summons back to Him 
 The heart, whose heavenly love grew dim. 
 
 She died, when flowers were on the earth, 
 And summer's glorious things had birth, 
 When nature's beauty mocks the grief. 
 Of human hopes and loves so brief — 
 Perishing while her frail leaves live, 
 And their soft fragrant freshness give. 
 The youthful mourner's spirit bow'd 
 In manly grief — beneath the shroud 
 Which had shut out life's joys from him, 
 And made this world of beauty dim. 
 His heart shrank from the vacant home 
 Whence all the light of love was gone ; 
 The smile that there had sweetly shone, 
 The voice that said he was not lone, 
 The fairy step that flew to meet 
 With words of welcome, soft and sweet 
 
POEMS. 75 
 
 His comincr hour — all, all came back 
 Like flowers upon a faded track, 
 And never more to joy he woke, 
 Life's strongest, dearest chord was broke. 
 
76 I WOULD NEVER KNEEL. 
 
 I WOULD NEVER KNEEL. 
 
 I WOULD never kneel at a gilded shrine 
 
 To worship the idol-gold, 
 I would never fetter this heart of mine 
 
 As a thing for fortune sold. 
 
 There are haughty steps, that would walk the globe 
 
 O'er necks of humbler ones, 
 I would scorn to bow to their jewell'd robe, 
 
 Or the beam of their coin-lit suns. 
 
 But I'd bow to the light that God has given. 
 
 The nobler light of /»mc?, 
 The only light, save that of Heav'n 
 
 That should free-will homage find. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 77 
 
 NATURE'S WORKS. 
 
 The starry fires in yonder skies 
 
 Fulfil the view of Him, 
 Who bade them in their glory rise, 
 
 When night o'er earth grew dim. 
 The same bright sunbeams glitter there 
 
 As ages wander by, 
 Col'ring the earth with glories fair, 
 
 And clouds with golden dye. 
 
 And nature, with her gems and flowers 
 
 And all her shining things, 
 Goes on the same thro' endless hours, 
 
 With fleet, unwearied wings. 
 The airs of heaven are fresh and light. 
 
 And the same course sweep on, 
 7* 
 
7S nature's works. 
 
 As when creation woke from night, 
 And earth's bright things were born. 
 
 The ocean o'er his coral bed 
 
 Rolls on the same dark flow, 
 As when the word of wisdom said 
 
 " Thus far thy proud waves go." 
 And man alone sees all go by 
 
 On bright, untiring wings. 
 And to the one great harmony, 
 
 A note of discord brings. 
 
POEMS. 79 
 
 CUPID'S WANDERINGS. 
 
 Tke Itodiaat feiga that Capid was first seen &oatiug d*«rn the Ganges on the Nynpba Kdusabo. 
 
 Why didst thou not o'er the waves still float 
 Alone and unsought, in thy flowery boat 
 Sad boy? the day that thy landing knew, 
 Was a darken'd one for earth to view, 
 Her laws of order all set at nought 
 By thee, with thy joy-tipt arrows fraught — 
 
 And her fairest things, 
 
 As thou touched their strings. 
 Lost all the light of their echoings. 
 
 Thou hast shak'n thy wreath o'er the monarch's throne, 
 And his dreams of glory and fame were flown 
 
80 cupid's wanderings. 
 
 For flashing thoughts of beaming eyes, 
 And the shadowy spell, that in them lies. 
 While thou wert laughing in reckless glee. 
 The work of thy saucy smile to see 
 
 And searching still, 
 
 More hearts to fill 
 With dreams and hopes thou would'st ne'er fulfil. 
 
 Thou hast made for thyself a place apart, 
 A home in the hero's fiery heart, 
 Luring his thoughts and dreams to rove 
 From the tented field, to the moonlight grove ; 
 And even the Statesman's haughty head 
 Has been by thy spell of witch'ry led 
 
 From the chair of State, 
 
 And dreamings great. 
 To dreams that on shadowy glances wait. 
 
 Thou hast sadly rov'd o'er land and sea. 
 Till there's nothing here, from thy mischief free. 
 Thou hast caus'd in this world of ours, strange things, 
 Thou hast shaken war from thy lighted wings ; 
 
POEMS. 81 
 
 When will this empire of thine be done? 
 
 Not while the skies have stars or sun 
 While the fair earth lies 
 'Neath beautiful skies, 
 
 Or there's light and beauty in sparkling eyes. 
 
 'Tis said, those waters cleanse from sin, 
 Where thou wert floating thy bark within, 
 'Tis well, they may scatter some good on earth. 
 After giving thy mischevious spirit birth. 
 We will frame thee a bark of shining gems. 
 Of fairest blossoms and fragrant stems. 
 If thou'lt go again. 
 With thy wreath and chain, 
 And float away to the boundless main. 
 
82 CHRISTINA OP SWEDEN. 
 
 CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN. 
 
 She has flung aside her royal robes 
 
 For learning's holier light, 
 She has doff'd a queenly diadem 
 
 For gems more purely bright. 
 There were lofty thoughts, that might not bow 
 
 Ev'n to a regal chain. 
 And free and far may they wander now, 
 
 Nor their strong thirst restrain. 
 
 The mighty care of a nation's weal, 
 
 A people's power and pride, 
 Left not her thoughts in soul-lit zeal 
 
 To wander their own bright tide. 
 She left them all, for the quiet home 
 
 And the lofty light of mind — 
 
POEMS. 83 
 
 And the spirit, now, in its path may roam — 
 Chainless and unconfined. 
 
 'Tis a light that has lured many an eye 
 
 From gilded things to stray. 
 It has traced a path in the starry sky, 
 
 And shed on earth new day — 
 It has found its way thro' ages fled 
 
 And still is sweeping on — 
 The same soul-beaming light that led 
 
 Christina from her throne. 
 
84 GERALDINE. 
 
 GERALDINE, 
 
 In a vale of France where the sunbeam throws 
 
 Its loveliest smile on the provence rose, 
 
 A convent stands by a silver lake, 
 
 Whose morning mists into sunshine break ; 
 
 Its ruin'd walls with wreaths o'erofrown. 
 
 Of evergreen ivy, round mouldering stone — 
 
 Garlands by nature flung carelessly there — 
 
 Beauty and death, in the same still air ! 
 
 Lonely it stands, with the clear still smile 
 
 Of the summer sun in its grassy isle, 
 
 A valley of quiet on earth's troubled breast, 
 
 A place for the weary to wander and rest. 
 
 One fair, white shaft is left to shew 
 
 The spot where some flower of earth lies low, 
 
POEMS. ba 
 
 And a small white rose beneath it blooms, 
 A living thing, 'mid death and tombs ; 
 Pure as the being shelter'd there 
 From troubled storms of the outer air. 
 
 She was an orphan child of France 
 Whence fortune's smile had strayed, 
 And early drooped her joyous glance 
 Beneath a cloistered shade ; 
 She seem'd a fair and fragile thing, 
 Even as a drooping bud of spring. 
 But there are founts of hidden might, 
 That sorrow loves to bring to light, 
 In things that seem by nature drest, 
 For summer's softest hours of rest. 
 There was an aged abbot there, 
 Who loved the gentle girl. 
 And watch'd ^Vith a fond father's care 
 Above each shining curl 
 Of her young brow, atid smoothing on 
 The shaded path whence love had gone, 
 
86 GERALDINE. 
 
 And left her like some lonely star 
 Whence other lights had wander'd far. 
 Life's field was still all fair before her, 
 But it had lost affection's sun, 
 And never smiles would lincrer o'er her. 
 As those soft smiles the grave had won. 
 But the old abbot's kindly care, 
 In the young heart soon found 
 Feelings, that wanted but the air 
 Of kindness shed around — 
 And they would turn and fondly cling, 
 As flowers beneath the sunbeam spring. 
 
 He had known a daughter's gentle love, 
 
 Then lost its beautiful light, 
 
 Had held in his bosom a wandering dove 
 
 And mourn'd o'er its early flight. 
 
 But Geraldine went to the long-chill'd springs, 
 
 And gather'd affection's broken strings ; 
 
 As a lute, that has long, in stillness slept, 
 
 Awakes, when its chords are gently swept 
 
POEMS. 87 
 
 By a hand, like that which loved of old. 
 To sather the sounds that in sweetness roll'd. 
 She brought him thoughts of the buried love, 
 The beautiful treasure, that went above. 
 The heart hath a second waking hour, 
 And affection's voice, a stronger power. 
 Where the bitter waters of grief have pass'd. 
 And left it soften'd and stilled at last. 
 
 He knew her father — her friends of old, 
 And many a tale of their deeds he told, 
 'Till the gather'd grief from her soft eye fell. 
 For the buried hearts she had loved so well. 
 'Twas sweet to see them at even hour. 
 Wind up the hill by that fall'n tower. 
 The small white hand on the aged arm — 
 A spirit of beauty his path to charm ; 
 And her young eye fix'd on the furrow'd cheek, 
 For the kind, accustomed smile to seek, 
 The smile that was ever meekly shed, 
 Like dew at eve on the young flower's head. 
 
^8j GERALD:iNE. 
 
 Or 'twas sweet to see at the vesper prayer 
 The glossy curls by tlie silver hair, 
 When the still voice rose to the courts above, 
 For light on the things of its earthly love. 
 But these hours of peace were doom'd to go 
 Like things swept off in a torrent's flow ; 
 There were cries of war o'er the mountain heard 
 And the land awoke like a startled bird, 
 
 'Twas evening, when the sun had set 
 
 In beauty o'er the wave. 
 
 That, in its shining course had met 
 
 The warm blood of the brave — 
 
 Beneath the convent wall there stood . 
 
 A savage soldier band. 
 
 Who had left fearful stains of blood 
 
 O'er all the wasted land — 
 
 The aged father met them there, 
 
 With words of christian greeting fair, 
 
 His snowy locks in the moonbeam shone, 
 
 And his low, mejek voice had a troubled toxie,. 
 
POEMS. 8§ 
 
 As he sought to sheher from blood and flame 
 The peaceful walls, by their sacred name. 
 But with scorn and jesting was met his word, 
 No gentle feeling might there be stirr'd, 
 And deadly weapons were raised in wrath 
 To him, who would stand in their daring path ; 
 They were raised — and fell — but not on him, 
 A fairer cheek hath in death grown dim. 
 Even the child of the old man's care. 
 There are fearful stains on her brow and hair — 
 She saw the dark points fearfully raised, 
 And one short moment in terror gazed — 
 Then rush'd to his bosom, and met the blow, 
 The tree was saved, but the flower laid low. 
 'Twas affection's deed in its hour of might, 
 Beaming intensely thro' terror's night. 
 
 The proud men stood in their melted wrath, 
 As an angel weapon had check'd their path, 
 Then passed on quickly in silence bound 
 Banner and plume, from the sacred ground. 
 8* 
 
90 TO MY YOUNG FRIENBK,, 
 
 TO MY YOUNG FRIENDS, 
 
 After making them wreatbi for a dance. 
 
 Go forth ! ye're lovely now, fair girls, 
 
 In the light of youthful grace. 
 And the pleasant glow of flowers and pearls 
 
 O'er each unshadow'd face. 
 
 And not the smallest cloud of care 
 
 E'er darken'd either form, 
 Ye're like twin stars, that glimmer fair 
 
 Before the coming storm. 
 
 Ye'll lightly tread in the festive dance, 
 
 And lightly wake the song, 
 And your pleasant laugh and joyous glance^ 
 
 Will thrill ^he gazer long. 
 
POEMS 91 
 
 My hands have gather'd the dewy flowers 
 And wreath'd your tresses bright, 
 
 I would that around your coming hours 
 They might scatter gems of light. 
 
 I would some fairy spell were mine 
 
 To circle the far-off days, 
 That the sun o'er life might ever shine 
 
 With its present cheering rays. 
 
 'Tis little time since my step with you 
 The same bright flow'rets press'd, 
 
 The step that is passing quickly now 
 To a deep and final rest. 
 
 I would gladly shield you from the ills 
 
 It has been mine to know, 
 The bitterness of thought that fills 
 
 Life's jewell'd cup with woe. 
 
92 TO MY YOUNG FRIENDS. 
 
 Away with dreams — I would not cloud 
 The light of your brilliant smiles, 
 
 They will find too soon a shadowy shroud, 
 As ye tread life's gloomy aisles. 
 
 I hate these darken'd thoughts o'er things 
 
 All radiant with joy, 
 But 'tis suffering deep, and still, that wringis 
 
 Reflection's dark alloy. 
 
 I love you well, and I inly pray 
 
 They may be but idle fears, 
 That the light spread over the present day 
 
 May forever gild your years. 
 
POEMS. 93 
 
 THE HARPER'S LAMENT. 
 
 Fall'n is the pride of the House of Glen-Ray, 
 
 Faded its glory-like morn mists away ! 
 
 Once its turrets with mirth and wild revelry rang, 
 
 And the voices of minstrels, its praises that sang, 
 
 And the step of the Hero, as proudly he heard, 
 
 When his spirit to fame and to freedom was stirr'd, 
 
 And the laugh of the maiden, as ligh.tly it rung 
 
 Thro' the halls of the brave — where the festive and young 
 
 Were met in the dance, as the mountain-bird free — 
 
 Oh those were bright days — House of Glen-Ray for thee ! 
 
 The fairest and bravest of many fair climes, 
 Were mingling there, in those far-faded times ; 
 But alas ! for the pride and the glory that's gone ! 
 And alas for the Harper, who saw the dark storm 
 
94 THE harper's lament. 
 
 As it gather'd and brooded o'er heads now laid low, 
 In the might of the tempest, that swept in its flow 
 All those of whose deeds and whose daring he sung, 
 In the days of whose summer this wild harp was strung. 
 
 They are gone — they are gone, and these dim eyes of mine, 
 Havegaz'd on the last of that proud ancient line, 
 Like a reed of the wilderness — left when the shock 
 Of the tempest has pass'd, and has level'd the rock- 
 When the flowers are all faded, like stars from the sky, 
 And the light airy footsteps, that once pass'd me by 
 In fairy like gladness — are sunk to the grave. 
 By the sorrows that fell on the house of the brave. 
 
 I wander alone, 'mid the desolate piles, 
 To tell of the days, that once wreath'd them in smiles, 
 But they're few that will list to the old Harper's tale, 
 And my song floats unheeded along the wild gale. 
 
POEMS. 9^ 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The starlight is falling 
 O'er valley and lake, 
 
 Soft voices are calling 
 And beauty's awake. 
 
 The night air is laden 
 With soft sweets of June, 
 
 I sing to thee maiden 
 Beneath the bright moon 
 
 Here's a chain that is bright 
 As thine own pearly brow, 
 
 Here's a heart that is light 
 Tho' it droops for thee now ! 
 
96 SONG. 
 
 Here's a wreath, I have braided 
 Of flowers in their bloom, 
 
 Then come ! ere they're faded. 
 And midnight illume. 
 
 There's a bark on the billows 
 
 Shall waft us afar 
 To oiir own " isle of willows" 
 
 Beneath its pale star. 
 
 I've waited and watch'd for thee, 
 
 Dearest, till day, 
 O'er the far western waters 
 
 Has faded away ; 
 
 Then come — while the night an 
 
 Is fanning the deep, 
 While heaven is beaming. 
 
 And earth is asleep. 
 
roEMs. 97 
 
 THE tAY OF A ZEPHYR. 
 
 List to my lay ! I've been floating o'er 
 The perfumed woods of an Indian shore, 
 Where the southern sun in splendour lies, 
 And you trace no cloud in the burning skies. 
 The spicy leaves with a murmur bow'd, 
 And the hidden flowers sent up a cloud 
 Of fragrant breath, to my passing wing, 
 Like dew of the earliest bud of spring. 
 I swept o'er Araby's beautiful plains. 
 And sigh'd as I look'd on her fall'n fanes ; 
 'Twas evening hour^ and the sound of prayer 
 I caught, as it rose on the still, clear air, 
 And mosque and minaret brightly shonej 
 In the farewell light, on the altar thrown,. 
 9 
 
THE LAY OF A ZEPHYft. 
 
 'Twas a sight of glory, the sun to view, 
 
 Go down, o'er the waves of sleeping blue 
 
 Of that Indian sea, that brightly smiles 
 
 O'er pearly beds, 'neath flow'r-crowned isles. 
 
 'Twas a lovely scene — but I might not stay. 
 
 And I wander'd far and fast away, 
 
 Where night was veiling her dusky lids 
 
 O'er Egypt's mighty pyramids — 
 
 And their frown made darkness still more dread, 
 
 O'er the silent homes of the mouldering dead, 
 
 For a thing like me, 'twas a fearful sight, 
 
 And I wandered on to scenes more bright. 
 
 A bark was floating along the Nile, 
 
 I lent the breath of my wing, the while. 
 
 And bore it safely the waters o'er, 
 
 'Till it found a rest by the flowery shore ; 
 
 Still, on I went o'er land and sea, 
 
 From earth and the things of its forming free ; 
 
 Stooping at times to fan a brow, 
 
 By pain and weariness forced to bow ; 
 
POEMS. 99 
 
 Or stealing thro' groves, where the sun all day 
 Had sent the force of his burning ray ; 
 And the evening hour no freshness brought — 
 Gladly, my passing breath they caught. 
 
 When the clear full moon in the midnight sky 
 Rode, amid starry splendour high, 
 I caught the fragrance of myrtle groves. 
 That tell of a land the zephyr loves ; 
 I pass'd by a temple's walls o'erthrown, 
 That, fair 'mid ruin, by moonlight shone — 
 Gently the garlands of ivy waved, 
 And their glossy leaves in my freshness laved. 
 I sighed through the desolate place awhile, 
 Then left it still, in the moon's lone smile. 
 I ruffled the wavts of beautiful springs, 
 That lie 'mid olives, and all fair things 
 That smile in the Yinht of Italian skies. 
 Catching their hue from its glorious dyes.. 
 
 O'er the Grecian woods I softly swept 
 Nor their sleeping stillness broke, 
 
100 THE LAY OF A ZEPHYR 
 
 And still on my path of beauty kept 
 'Till, in smiles the morning woke. 
 Then I softly slept, in a Spanish grove. 
 My hour for roving done, 
 But as:ain, thro' the beautiful fields above, 
 ril go, with the setting sun. 
 
POEMS. 101 
 
 THE AVALANCHE, 
 
 From its mountain home, with ruin fraught, 
 
 It swept in terror by, 
 And the sweeping breeze that pass'd it, caught 
 A fearful human- cry. 
 Oh, many; a living bosom 
 With sorrow has it filled, 
 And many a worn heart's agony, 
 Its mighty crush has stilled. 
 
 And pleasant thoughts of childhood 
 In bosoms light and gay, 
 That were never dreaming aught of ill, 
 Its voice has swept away. 
 
 9* 
 
102 THE AVALANCHE.- 
 
 A peasant-home in the vale below 
 
 Was gay at eventime, 
 In the pleasant light of the hearth's red glow, 
 And happy laughter's chime ; 
 And bosoms there were glowinff 
 Beneath its humble wall, 
 Light with the thought of labour done, 
 
 And rest at even-fall. 
 They reck'd not of the coming 
 
 Of sorrow o'er their mirth, 
 That smiles so sweetly shed around 
 Were all for them on earth. 
 
 The tempest comes to all. 
 And o'er them was its wrath. 
 But it did not sweep them one by one 
 From off their earthly path, 
 Leaving some hearts to sorrow 
 O'er dust in silence bound ; 
 They have gone in strength and beauty all;^ 
 And one dim rest haye found. 
 
POEMS. 103 
 
 No links of love were sever'd, 
 No bitter tear-drops shed, 
 Oh 'twere lovelier thus to meet thee, death, 
 Than live and mourn the dead. 
 The light that softly cheer'd, 
 The smiles that round us shone. 
 To watch them going as dew-drops go— 
 Then feel on earth alone ; 
 
 'Tis this that wrings out sorrow 
 And bitterness of woe — 
 Which makes the earth and blue sky dim, 
 Our hopes had lighted so ; 
 This ye were spared, ye lost ones, 
 Together resting now. 
 With a mighty voice death gather'd all 
 At his pale shrine to bow. 
 
104 THE heart's treasures. 
 
 THE HEART'S TREASURES. 
 
 Know ye what things the heart holds dear 
 
 In its hidden cells? 
 'Tis never the beam of careless smiles,. 
 Nor riches wafted from far-off isles, 
 The light that cheers it is never shed 
 From the Jewell' d pomp of a regal head. 
 
 Not there it dwells. 
 
 Gay things, the loved of worldly eyes, 
 
 Enchain it not, 
 It suns its blossoms in fairer skies. 
 The dewy beam of affection's eyes. 
 The speir is there that can hold it fast, 
 When earthly pride in its pomp is past^. 
 
 And all forgot. 
 
POEMS. 105 
 
 Thoughts that come from their far, dim rest, 
 
 Woke by a smile. 
 The memory sweet of a youthful hour, 
 The faded hue of a cherished flower, 
 Or parting tones of a far-off friend. 
 It loves in melody soft to blend 
 
 With him the while. 
 
 Know ye what things the heart holds dear ? 
 
 Its buried loves ! 
 Those that have wrung from it many a tear, 
 Gone where the leaves never fall or sear. 
 Gone to the land that is sought in prayer, 
 The trace of whose step is fairest, where 
 
 Fond memory roves. 
 
 The sound of music at even-fall. 
 
 Filling its springs 
 With a flow of thought, and feeling sweet 
 As summer winds, when at eve they meet, 
 And lips that are loved, breathe forth the song,^ 
 '^yhen day with its troubled sounds is gone — 
 
 To these it clings. 
 
10^ THE heart's treasures. 
 
 And nature's pleasant murmurings 
 
 So sweet to hear, 
 Her bowers of beauty, and soft-shed gleams 
 Of light and shadow on forest streams, 
 Her mossy rocks and places rude. 
 The charm of her breathing solitude ; 
 
 These it holds dear. 
 
1»0EMS, 107 
 
 THE ISLAND GIRL. 
 
 A LONELY isle, 'mid the dim ocean waste, 
 
 Which but the birds and the green leaves had known^ 
 Was made the home of one who well had grac'd 
 
 In her young beauty's hour, the proudest throne. 
 And yet she pined not, 'mid the lonely bowers 
 
 Of her far island-dwelling — even there 
 She found life was not all without its flowers, 
 
 And cherish'd its few buds with watchful care. 
 She had tam'd birds of beauteous plume and song, 
 
 And they were her co:npanions — and they came 
 With their rich glancing wings the air along, 
 
 When she would call by some accustom'd name ; 
 As if they would compassionate her lot, 
 
 Lonely and desolate, and far from all 
 Whose love had once made life a sunny spot, 
 
 When she shone brightly in the festive hall : 
 
108 Tfllfe ISLAND GIRL. 
 
 Aye brightest, amid many that were fair, 
 
 A flower among the spring-buds — she had dwelt \ 
 Love had thrown 'round her his rich summer air, 
 
 And the clear kindling of her smile had felt. 
 And now all deem'd her, where the proud ship went 
 
 'Mid the dark waves of ocean — when their foam 
 Was raging — and the wind's wild fury sent 
 
 Earth's treasures to seek rest in ocean's home. 
 Dark tears were shed — such as grief still must give, 
 
 Sadly to lost affection — when the hold 
 Of life's strong chords are brok'n and we live 
 
 To sorrow over hearts and hopes, grown cold. 
 Few summers had pass'd o'er the plant, whose sun 
 
 Losing the lustre of its morning beams. 
 Could never smile, as it had brightly done, 
 
 'Mid joys that were not, and in far-off scenes. 
 The hair still cluster'd richly, but the cheek 
 
 Had lost the pearl-like whiteness of its glow, 
 For the bright sun had sent a warmer streak. 
 
 Such as he sends o'er banks of pure white snow-. 
 ■Still she was a fair creature. — There was light 
 
 And love among her glances yet, 
 
POEMS. .109 
 
 Though she had known so fearfully the blight 
 
 Of sorrow, and the young heart met 
 So deep a chill — sever'd from every scene, 
 
 That had been lov'd — with none to cheer, 
 And not one human bosom — where to lean, 
 
 And the soft words of love and kindness hear. 
 Hers was a lonely pilgrimage — which they 
 
 Know nought of, who lose not the beam 
 Of warm affection, or the sound of happy voices — day 
 
 Is in their path, and hers had no such gleam. 
 Yet heaven watch'd o'er the plant and sent a strength 
 
 That in the sunny hours was all unknown. 
 To cheer the pilgrimage of such lone length. 
 
 And sun the plant, life's wind had roughly blown. 
 The hand that sent the blow, was one that ne'er 
 
 Forgets the sufferer— tho' the fearful storm, 
 And the bright path all shaded, make us fear 
 
 That He has veil'd in many clouds his form. 
 Life hath its darken'd moments — when strong grief 
 
 Breaks every spell of gladness, and we are 
 Toss'd as the winds toss autumn's wither'd leaf^ 
 10 
 
110 , THE ISLAND GIRL. 
 
 Without one hope, or single guiding star ; 
 But she had not such moments, and her form 
 
 Sunk down to rest, beneath the starry sky. 
 And dreams as bright as those of moments gone. 
 
 In slumber floated by the fast-shut eye. 
 I say not she'd no griefs — for many tears 
 
 Flow'd for the blissful moments all gone by, 
 And the dim light that shone from vanish'd years 
 
 Woke sadd'ning tears, and many an aching sigh ; 
 And oft her blue eye, o'er the distant wave 
 
 Of the dim ocean, sent its glances clear, 
 As if with that one wide and eager gaze. 
 
 She could see aid — but there was no aid near — 
 And she liv'd on in solitude, and lost, 
 
 At last, all hope to leave it. — Then the chill 
 Fell on her spirit — for when hope is past. 
 
 Life hath no sun its gloomy skies to fill. 
 But then all unexpected — there can^c aid — 
 
 Light for the lone one ! and the sunken heart 
 Broke out from the dim mist of sorrow's shade, 
 
 Once more with human things to have a part. 
 
POEMS. Ill 
 
 A ship came darkening o'er the billowy breast, 
 
 Seeking new lands for man to build a home, 
 From the bright region of the distant west — 
 
 And found the Island in its grandeur lone 
 Like some proud queen of ocean ! with its trees 
 
 And bowers, that were of sunset's golden hue. 
 Where the warm whisp'ring of the southern breeze, 
 
 Had wander'd all unknown— for ages through. 
 And she — that fair thing of the desert — she 
 
 Has found her home and all its smiles again, 
 And yet once more the sound of mirthful glee, 
 
 Was in that childhood's home — a joyful strain ! 
 Joy for the lost one ! — ev'n so above, 
 
 There is the sound of more rejoicing made 
 O'er the poor wanderer who has ceas'd to rove, 
 
 Than for the many who have never stray'd. 
 The aged father's brow is light once more — 
 
 Peace he had ceas'd to hope for had come back, 
 A soft, clear light along his path to pour. 
 
 And gather flowers around the downward track 
 
112 THE ISLAND GIRL. 
 
 Of aged footsteps. — But her mother^ s voice 
 
 May ne'er make music in her heart again, 
 No sound from her still grave rose to rejoice 
 
 Above the child she deem'd the far-off main 
 Held in its icy bosom — she went down 
 
 In sorrow for the lost one ! thus a shade 
 Hangs over earth's rejoicings — some dark frown- 
 
 This earth was ne'er hx perfect sunlight made 
 
r«EM& 113 
 
 DIRGE, 
 
 " I beard a aoan, a dirge of the wind?, as 
 
 I wandered by the blue wave, and I knewlhou 
 
 VVould"st never more cross it to meet me '' 
 
 O'er the dark wave 
 There went a sighing sound, 
 To me it spoke of the cheerless grave, 
 
 And treasures death had found. 
 I had trusted yet to meet 
 Thy look of love again, 
 But that strain was far too sadly sweet 
 To murmur so in vain. 
 10* 
 
114 DIRGE.- 
 
 It told thee gone 
 
 Bright blossom ! from the earth ; 
 Another chord from the bosom torn 
 
 That never woke to mirth ; 
 For this I murmur not, 
 
 But that affection's hand 
 Might shed no flowers on the fun'ral spot, 
 
 In a dim and distant land. 
 
 None had'st thou, 
 
 Thy parting hour to cheer ! 
 A drooping floweret called to bow, 
 
 No sister blossom near. 
 Oh I would call thee not 
 
 To earth's low cares again, 
 I would gladly rest in the quiet spot 
 
 Where thou wert coldly lain. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Might I have been 
 
 By thy pale, fevered brow, 
 And watched the light as it faded, then 
 
 'Twere easier far to bow. 
 Might I have crossed the wave 
 
 To kneel beside thy bier — 
 Affection's voice has no power to save, 
 
 But it has a light to cheer. 
 
 Ever thus, earth 
 
 Clings fondly to its own. 
 And the joyous music morn gives birth, 
 
 At eve is sorrow's tone. 
 The fairest bird has wings. 
 
 The sweetest flower meets death, 
 And the loveliest lay, the swan e'er sings 
 
 Is with his parting breath. 
 
116" THE CREWLESS BARE. 
 
 " THE CREWLESS BARK," 
 
 " About sixty yrari since the attention of the inhabitants pf He'^port, B. 1. was attracted by the ap-, 
 pearance of a vetsel, under full sail, coming in from fea, with the apparent intention of patting into War 
 ragaiisrtt Bay. She came, und^r full sail, directly on shore.' No persoai were seen on derk, nor had any 
 from ths time the vessel came in sight, been seen to leave her — none of the crew were e\*r after 
 heard of." 
 
 With sails and banner proudly spread, 
 
 O'er ocean's bosom borne, 
 The small waves from her pathway fled 
 
 Like mists from coming morn. 
 Sunshine around her ! breezes mild, 
 
 Her streamers gaily waved, 
 -And her colour'd sides in beauty smiled 
 
 By sunny waters laved.. 
 
POEMS. 11:7 
 
 The morning sky was bathed in lighty 
 
 The shore in sunshine drest, 
 For weary souls a joyous sight, 
 
 Long tossed on ocean's breast. 
 Gladly they'll hail a scene so fair, 
 
 The beauty of man's home — 
 Were there not gay sounds on the sweeping air 
 
 Sent o'er the billow's foam ? 
 
 No — silently and sadly, 
 
 That " crewless bark" swept by. 
 No sight of living beauty, met 
 
 The gazer's straining eye. 
 No sound of human voices 
 
 In joyousness or woe, 
 'Twas a fearful thing to see her thus. 
 
 O'er the still waters go. 
 
118 THE CREWLESS BARK. 
 
 Proud bark ! where were they, who with thee 
 
 Left home and home's fair things ? 
 Have they found a rest in the far-off sea, 
 
 Where the wind their wild dirge sings 1 
 Did ocean-tempests meet thee 
 
 When the sky with clouds was dark ? 
 And take thy brave ones to their home 
 
 Thou lone and silent bark ? 
 
 No — for the sails were fairly spread, 
 
 They told not of the storm, 
 Of treasures to the ocean's dead — 
 
 And ruin's fearful form. 
 But the cabin walls stood desolate, 
 
 In solemn silence found. 
 There was nothing left to tell the fate 
 
 In fearful mystery bound. 
 
POEMS 1 19 
 
 THE MOTHER'S MONUMENT. 
 
 It was of pure white marble ! 
 
 Beautiful it rose 
 
 Where moonlight lay in waves around. 
 
 Trees o'erhung it, and flowers were lying 
 
 On its sculptured beauty. Their fresh hue 
 
 Told, those who strew'd them, were but lately gone 
 
 From her, whose days and sorrows numbered, 
 
 Slept in quietness below. 
 
 A fairer thing, 
 Than flowers or marble, held me moveless : 
 A spring of human beauty shaded fearfully. 
 A young, fair child lay on the dewy grass 
 And bound in seeming slumber — such 
 As falls on weary lids when day is o'er 
 
120 THE mother's monument. 
 
 Evening airs blew her soft ringlets 
 
 O'er the lighted marble, where enshrined 
 
 Lay all her young heart's treasure. 
 
 Some large tears stood on the infant cheek — 
 
 Tears, the dim eye had shed at closing. 
 
 Poor innocent ! she had wander' d there 
 
 Seeking the spot, where they had lain her mother. 
 
 She could not feel, the sleep they told her of 
 
 Was not for waking — and gently sought 
 
 To watch the waking hour. 
 
 Oh, but little 
 Knows the young, sweet bud, of death 
 That takes the blossom from its weariness. 
 Little dreams how gladly aching hearts 
 Worn out with sorrow — griefs unseen, unknown 
 Can lay their cares in that dim resting place. 
 With hope of waking where the stars shine free. 
 The light of childhood's dreams were sadly dimm'd 
 Knew it of future hours, 
 
POEMS. 121 
 
 And griefs that sear the heart 
 Gifted with years of knowledge. 
 
 The young sleeper, 
 Bent as a lily o'er the place of death, 
 So light, so delicate that slumber lay — 
 A spell was o'er her that I fear'd to break. 
 She had call'd on the dear name, so cherished, 
 Had watched thro' weary hours her waking. 
 Then bowed her infant head in bitterness, 
 And death from sleep had gently taken her ; 
 Yes death it was that found her 
 'Mid the wreaths around the mother's tomb, 
 In his own silent place. 
 
 Holy were the moonbeams round thee. 
 Beautiful treasure for the far-off world ! 
 
 The bright stars smiled 
 On the pure off'ring for their sinless home. 
 
 11 
 
122 THE mother's monument. 
 
 The dews of heaven in fragrance bath'd it ; 
 Grief was deep in human bosoms 
 When they saw thee thus, fair one ! 
 But thou wert saved its thousand pangs. 
 
POEMS. 123 
 
 SKETCHES. 
 
 — Thou hast rich aflections, which have been 
 Held lightly and flung back to thee, like mine. 
 
 WiUit. 
 
 I've wander'd o'er those far blue hills, 
 When the last stars were in the sky, 
 
 And faintly glimmering o'er the rills, 
 Ere morning found its way on high. 
 
 Ere nature's many sounds awoke, 
 When dew was on the silent leaves ; 
 
 And not a breath the stillness broke, 
 The lone heart loves whene'er it grieves. 
 
 And morning's dewy breath has sent 
 A calm upon the aching brow, 
 
 Wearied with days in sorrow spent, 
 
 Ere the young heart had learn'd to bow- 
 
124 SKETCHES. 
 
 And sorrow for its birth-right own, 
 The withering of affection's flowers, 
 
 And learn'd to tread the path alone, 
 
 That had been cheer'd in happier hours. 
 
 And then I had strange waking dreams, 
 Such as to restless spirits cling, 
 
 Whene'er the light of feeling gleams 
 From out a warm but troubled spring. 
 
 The morning hours are calm and fair, 
 If hearts could take their beauties in, 
 
 And free them from the misty air, 
 
 That shrouds a world of strife and sin. 
 
 For e'en to me they lend a ray, 
 
 More pleasing than when noon goes by 
 
 In all her glory, and the day 
 Is glowing in a summer sky. 
 
POEMS. 125 
 
 I have been out at midnight, when 
 The heavens were all with glory sown, 
 
 And on a world of sleeping men, 
 
 The rays of thousand stars were thrown. 
 
 And watch'd the leaves and waving things, 
 The moonlight loves to wander thro**, 
 
 When the bright waves of many springs 
 Reflected Heaven's far field of blue. 
 
 These are the hours for feelings deep, 
 To break the chain by daylight worn, 
 
 When weary souls may wake and weep. 
 Far from earth's idle, listening throng. 
 
 The heart whose hopes are few and faint, 
 
 Whose sunny hours have glided by ; 
 Yet scorns the voice of loud complaint. 
 
 May weep beneath the midnight sky. 
 
 11* 
 
126 SKETCHES. 
 
 They say beyond the burning stars 
 
 The world is very fair, 
 That there no cheek the tear-drop mars. 
 
 The brow is free from care ; 
 
 And that the creatures, purified 
 
 From every earthly stain. 
 Who have been chasten'd here and tried, 
 
 Smile there in light again. 
 
 My sister tells me many things 
 Of that same dwelling fair — 
 
 I wish I had an angel's wings ' 
 
 To waft me safely there. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There was a fair young friend of mine, 
 Whose smile was light below, 
 
 But she's gone away from life and me, 
 As all my lov'd ones go. 
 
roEMs. 127 
 
 She's faded now — and where the flowers 
 
 Of the last year are sleeping, 
 Yet in these lonely midnight hours, 
 
 When stars their watch are keeping — 
 
 I think she comes on their bright beams. 
 
 And whispers of the past, 
 And beautiful the vision seems, 
 
 So fair it cannot last. 
 
 I plac'd a wreath of flowers upon 
 
 The spot where she is laid, 
 Their light is lost — their freshness gone. 
 
 And fast, like them, I fade. 
 
128 THE LAST BIRD OP SUMMER. 
 
 THE LAST BIRD OF SUMMER. 
 
 I HEARD his note — it was wild and sweet, 
 As words of love, when the parted meet, 
 Like the sound of a rill, that softly plays, 
 And music wakes in the sunny rays ; 
 And as I listened it made me mourn 
 The glory and beauty of summer gone. 
 
 I sigh'd o'er the flowers that were leaving fast, 
 
 The hills to the sweep of the coming blast, 
 
 The trees, all losing their leafy pride, 
 
 The icy chains for the sparkling tide, 
 
 I mourn'd for the hopes, that had faded fast, 
 
 Since the breath of spring o'er the green earth pzm'i. 
 
POEMS. 129 
 
 But thou art passing thou bright wing'd one, 
 To meet the smile of a warmer sun ; 
 Thy song will float o'er a distant plain, 
 That is shut from us by the bounding main ; 
 Thy wing will flash over moor and fell, 
 We may not keep thee, bright one farewell ! 
 
130 RECOLLECTIONS* 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 Nature has left it wildly fair 
 
 With hill and leafy grove, 
 Around it but the fragrant air 
 
 And the lighted sky above. 
 A place where summer hours go bj 
 
 As sunny waters glide, 
 In a kind of quiet melody 
 
 Along their shadeless tide — 
 And often stoops the wild bird there 
 To linger in a scene so fair. 
 
 Beautiful hills o'erhang it, 
 
 With moss and wild flowers spread, 
 And violets in rich clusters 
 
 A fairy's perfumed bed. 
 
POEMS. 131 
 
 It has clear waters, bright and calm 
 
 As those the poets tell — 
 And lingers in its air a charm 
 
 Like sound in ocean's shell ; 
 A charm that on the heart may throw 
 A mingled shade of joy and woe. 
 
 In waves of pearl the moonlight 
 
 Falls on its spreading plain, 
 Then flickers thro' the forest trees 
 
 As o'er a troubled main— 
 Oh, then like fairy land, it lies 
 
 So still, so clear and bright. 
 The stars ne'er look'd from midnight skies 
 
 Upon a lovelier sight. 
 Nor ever sent they rays more fair 
 From their high place in upper air. 
 
 These are the hours to wake and rove 
 
 Its leafy paths among, 
 And listen to a lay you love 
 
 By lips of beauty sung : 
 
132 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 For there's a charm in such a scene 
 
 That in the heart will stay, 
 And where weary years of care have been, 
 
 Will light a darken'd way. 
 Making the cup of sorrow less, 
 With thoughts of vanished loveliness. 
 
 'Tis often gay with festal sounds. 
 
 And often sweetly still, 
 Save summer's gentle melody 
 
 O'er plain and leafy hill. 
 It has fair fruits and pleasant flowers 
 
 And fountains glad to see, 
 And it has the light of vanished hours 
 
 That's lovelier far to me — 
 A light that's treasured in the heart 
 Dearer as hopes and loves depart. 
 
 For there have lingered voices 
 
 'T was melody to hear, 
 Whose music ne'er may come again 
 
 To light a wanderer here. 
 
POEMS. 133 
 
 They've left a halo round the spot 
 
 That may not pass away, 
 A light that care and years dim not 
 
 With aught of earth's decay. 
 For every tree and flower is twined 
 With memories deeply, dearly shrined. 
 
 12 
 
134 Indian's lament. 
 
 INDIAN'S LAMENT. 
 
 These aged eyes of mine are dim, these hairs are thin 
 
 and grey, 
 I am passing fast from life's fair things to the spirit's land 
 
 away ; 
 And my last dim look is one of grief, my latest breath a 
 
 sigh, 
 For the fallen tribe that follow'd me, of the eagle heart and 
 
 eye. 
 
 The cabin-fire is quench'd in gloom, the dim smoke curls 
 
 no more. 
 No joyous faces light the wood, around the fall'n door ; 
 
FOEMS. 135 
 
 I had brave sons, who fell beneath the white man's iron 
 
 hand, 
 Which has pass'd with scourge of fear and death, o'er all 
 
 the Indian land. 
 
 The mighty war-whoop sounds no more, around these moun- 
 tains lone, 
 
 It has pass'd away with our bravest ones, for another, sad- 
 der tone ; 
 
 The Indian's death song, and the wail of the great spirit 
 there, 
 
 "Who ne'er again will hover o'er our council-fire's red glare. 
 
 The Indian-hunter's brok'n bow, is on these smiling plains, 
 Who once fill'd all their echoes, with his rudely joyoui 
 
 strains, 
 He sits in sadness and alone, o'er other days to grieve, 
 The hunted deer hath left no trace, nor will his footstepf 
 
 leave. 
 
136 Indian's lament. 
 
 He sadly marks the sun sink down along the mighty west, 
 As his warlike race are seeking fast, a place of lonely rest, 
 Not like that orb , with brighter beams, again in light to 
 
 rise. 
 Their sun has set to glow no more, along the faded skies. 
 
 There were some red men, around the chief, his words of 
 
 farewell heard, 
 In sadness and in silent gloom, but not one heart was 
 
 stirr'd. 
 For heart and strength and courage fell, beneath the sad 
 
 decree, 
 The storm went on, and swept the race from their blue 
 
 hills fair and free. 
 
poiMs. 137 
 
 THE HARP OF THE DESERT. 
 
 'TwAS left by passing pilgrim's hands, 
 
 All lonely and ungrac'd, 
 Where one tall tree in the desert stands, 
 
 Pride of the dreary waste ! 
 And there awoke strange sounds at eve, 
 
 Like a spirit's whisperings, 
 When it passes on and may not leave 
 
 A trace with worldly things. 
 
 What was that hidden melody like 
 
 As it met the weary ear ? 
 The harps above, the angels strike 
 
 The earth-worn soul to cheer ? 
 
13S THE HARP OP THE DESERT:„ 
 
 No — for they tell of a journey done, 
 
 A quiet rest at last, 
 A weary strife that is fought and won. 
 
 And waves of trouble past. 
 
 But thou art where the wanderer's feet 
 
 Have number'd half the sands, 
 He must still toil on, in hope to meet 
 
 The air of other lands. 
 Thou'rt like the sound of the far-off sea,. 
 
 'Tis often sadly sweet. 
 But the mariner stays not on the wave, 
 
 \i^ fairest sound to meet. 
 
POEMS. 13^ 
 
 A SKETCH* 
 
 It was a face where you would seek in vain for thoughts of 
 
 rest, 
 For something said that many hopes had been thro' life 
 
 unblest ; 
 Yet lingered beauty's brilliancy around her youthful form — 
 As rainbows linger brightly o'er, at close of summer's 
 
 storm. 
 
 There was repose, deep, still repose, like that when day is 
 
 o'er. 
 And the sun sends down his last lone look upon a sleeping 
 
 shore — 
 Yet there was nothing calm to still the breast of him who 
 
 gazed. 
 Whose troubled feelings by that look of quiet grief were 
 
 raised. 
 
140 A SKETCH. 
 
 The spirit's beauty met you there, in every line and shade, 
 
 The light that sorrow touches not when the rosier blos- 
 som's fade ; 
 
 But there dwelt not with her, sparkling looks, such as the 
 careless know, 
 
 The very smiles in their sweetness told, life's cup had been 
 of woe. 
 
 Clouds pass the moon, nor leave their trace upon her eilvery 
 
 brow, 
 And stars that have been veiled in storms, shine on at 
 
 brightly now ; 
 The ocean leaves no shade of wrath upon the peaceful 
 
 shore, 
 But the fragile reed of human joy, once broken, blooms no 
 
 more. 
 
 You knew that suffering had been there, too oft it leaTet 
 
 its trace. 
 To dim the glorious brightness breathed around the human 
 
 face J 
 
POEMS. 141 
 
 But there it left, what lovelier made the face whereon it 
 
 shone, 
 And if hearts might worship aught of earth, that were an 
 
 altar-stone. 
 
 There's something holy in a heart so beautifully lone. 
 That wanders on its shadow'd path, nor asks one soothing 
 
 tone. 
 And only tells in Icolis, that shade has been its outline 
 
 here, 
 That one by one the blossoms went, it had been joy to rear. 
 
 She was a stranger — homiC, with all its pleasant lights was 
 far, 
 
 The deep, dark waters roli'd between her and that "guid- 
 ing star ;" 
 
 Wild flowers were lying en the grave of one wha held 
 her dear, 
 
 And little thought to leave her thus, a lonely ** pilgrim 
 here." 
 
142 A SKETCH. 
 
 PvE heard her sing of a far home, and seen the tear-drops 
 
 fall, 
 At thousand images of love, memory would fain recall, 
 In all their loveliness of hue, but to plant a deeper thorn 
 In a bosom, which a fearful weight of worldly ill had 
 
 borne. 
 
 'Tis a lonely sight to view the things in heaven's ov/n im- 
 age made. 
 
 Fading thus early 'neaLh the blight of sorrow's earthly 
 shade, 
 
 To see the brightness and the bloom of the human brow 
 o'ercast, 
 
 And know that such things still must be, till love and death 
 are past. 
 
POEMS. 143 
 
 THE HUMAN HEART. 
 
 The human heart ! 'tis a thing that lives 
 In the light of many a shrine ; 
 
 And the gem of its own pure feeling gives 
 
 Too oft on brows that are false to shine. 
 
 It has many a cloud of care and woe 
 
 To shadow o'er its springs, 
 And there's One above who alone may know 
 
 The changing tune of its thousand strings. 
 
 As foam that floats on the billow's breast, 
 
 Or leaves in the summer air, 
 It is moving on and never at rest, 
 
 And the light of its dreams is false as fair. 
 
144 THE SPELL BROKEN. 
 
 THE SPELL BROKEN. 
 
 I ONCE knew a young dreamer, 
 
 One of nature's wrapt enthusiasts 
 
 Who was wont to feel 
 
 A spirit, breathing still of light and melody. 
 
 In all her hidden glances. 
 
 His thoughts were beautiful, 
 
 For far and free they stray' d 
 
 From homes and haunts of common things. 
 
 A spirit — 
 One of those who live in their own dreamings, 
 Till their chords are all unstrung 
 For life's cold fingers. There are 
 Many such, whose hearts and hopes 
 Sink on reality's dark waters. 
 
FOEMS. 145 
 
 After they've floated brightly, o'er 
 The pleasant waves, of their own forming. 
 He told me once of a spell brok'n, 
 And to thee, I'll tell the tale. 
 
 Sky and earth were still 
 In the calm beauty of an eve 
 Of bright-ey'd summer — there were dews 
 Upon the flowers, drawing their incense forth ; 
 
 A night 
 When spirits sail on every cloud. 
 And every star looks a pure paradise ; 
 When the soft soul-pervading light 
 Seems as it beam'd, in beautiful freshness. 
 Even from the glory of the inner throne, 
 All lit by angel eyes. 
 
 I went out. 
 For, beside lamps, and things of man's creation, 
 I could no longer stay — too much beauty 
 Fell on earth's fair vallies. 
 For one of all her million eyes to lose. 
 13 
 
146 THE SPELL BROKEN. 
 
 I gain'd the summit of a lonely hill, 
 
 Where leaves made music in the night air ; 
 
 A stream went from its side, 
 
 And in it lay another starry sky. 
 
 Nature's sounds woke to their lightest harmony — > 
 
 A lake lay quietly below. 
 
 Beautiful in heaven-caught loveliness, 
 
 Calm, as it ne'er knew wind or wave, or storm ; 
 
 Its banks were fring'd with willows, bending o'er 
 
 Spirits to guard it from the passing eye : 
 
 Where the moon look'd thio' them, stood 
 
 A fairy form of woman — sylph-like and radiant, 
 
 And my all-creating eye saw her 
 
 As something of another world, 
 
 Fall'n from her throne of stars. 
 
 She came near. I saw not that she waWd^ 
 
 I thought she came upon the moonbeam — 
 
 Near and still nearer — yet I might not move — 
 
 A spell of beauty tranced me, and my eye 
 
 Refused to see aught of an earthly cast. 
 
 Then a laugh, joyous and light, burst forth, 
 
POEMS. J 47 
 
 And two white arms were round me — 
 It was my fair young sister. 
 
 Sweet innocent ! 
 Thou didst o'erthrow my dreams, 
 And call me back to life and love and thee. 
 
148 MEMORIES. 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 That fragile wreath, rememberest thou, 
 
 Placed on this brow of mine? 
 When light was on the autumn bough 
 
 At day's serene decline? 
 When stillness reigned — the melody 
 
 Of founts alone was heard. 
 And sometimes woke the farewell lay 
 
 Of autumn's wandering bird. 
 
 The moonlight songs, rememberest thou ? 
 
 That floated through the vale ? 
 And the music of a murmur'd vow 
 
 Upon the evening gale ? 
 
roEMs. 149 
 
 The bark upon the waters 
 
 That bore us oft at eve ? 
 And the tale of witch and water sprite, 
 
 That thou wert wont to weave ? 
 
 To me they come like pleasant dreams, 
 
 That vanished as they shone, 
 As fairy barks on fairy streams, 
 
 Or flowers whose hue is flown ; 
 But whose fragrance still is floating round, 
 
 To tell of other days. 
 And waken hearts to the melody 
 
 Of their departed lays. 
 
 13^ 
 
150 IT IS NOT THE LAY. 
 
 IT IS NOT THE LAY, 
 
 It is not the lay so lightly breathed, 
 
 The bright spring flowers in thy tresses wreathed 
 
 The starry gems that around thee glow, 
 
 Nor the sun-like smiles that cluster so ; 
 
 But a radiance shed from the inner shrine, 
 
 That makes the heart of the gazer thine. 
 
 Thy form is one where the graces play. 
 Each lending light from its fairest ray, 
 To frame a thing, where the gazer's eye 
 May rest, as it would on the evening sky, 
 Where the feelings woke are pure and light 
 As a thought of rest in that far blue height. 
 
POEMS. 151 
 
 But the mind's high beaming round thee thrown, 
 Like the holy torch by the altar-stone, 
 Shedding a ray so pure and clear, 
 So high no shadows may dim it here, 
 'Tis this has given the spell such might — 
 Oh what is beauty without that light ? 
 
152 THE GRECIAN ISLES. 
 
 THE GRECIAN ISLES. 
 
 The sons of glory, where are they 1 
 
 The arms of fearful might. 
 That proudly swept on many a day, 
 Thro' gath'ring ranks of armed array. 
 First in the field and fight ? 
 
 Who stood upon her glorious plains, 
 
 Xhe fairest of earth's lands? 
 *Mid tnimpet notes, and warlike strains, 
 That not a link of stranger chains 
 Should fetter freemen's hands. 
 
P0E3IS. 153 
 
 Where are they ? — ask the plains that caught 
 
 The streams of noble blood — 
 Where are they ? — ask the blue waves fraught 
 With purple drops, all dearly bought, 
 
 A dark and fearful flood. 
 
 The lofty ones — and where are they, 
 
 That woke such strains of old ? 
 Past with the lio-ht of lore aA\'ay, 
 A light whose lustre could not stay 
 Earth's all-endurinof hold. 
 
 There are holy places where they sleep, 
 
 They of the sword and song ; 
 Their names are carved on glory's steep, 
 And still as years above them sweep — 
 They live, a hallow'd throng ! 
 
154 THE GRECIAN ISLES. 
 
 The lonely Isles in sunshine lay, 
 
 The citron's breath goes by, 
 The scented myrtle's blossoms fade, 
 Where gifted ones to rest arc laid, 
 Beneath their brilliant sky. 
 
 But the spirit 's past — the mantle tied. 
 
 That shrouded them of old. 
 And such a dazzling lustre shed, 
 O'er Poet and Hero's gifted head, 
 
 From every beaming fold. 
 
1>0EMS 155 
 
 THE EXILE'S DREA.If. 
 
 I dream'd of my home, o'er the waters blue, 
 I saw the sunbeam sliining through 
 The bower, where I sat in the olive shade. 
 And listed murmurs the wild wind made. 
 
 My step was again in my father's hall. 
 My brow was the gayest and gladdest of all, 
 There were many voices, 'twas sweet to hear, 
 That, like music stole on my cheated ear. 
 
 My mother's look — it haunts me yet, 
 The smile was sweet, but her cheek was wet. 
 As tho' sorrow's tears had there found way, 
 Since I saw her last, on that fatal day. 
 
156 ' THE exile's d:?eam. 
 
 But I thought she sprang to meet me so, 
 In my blissful dream — how could it go 
 And let me wake and my poor heart mourn ? 
 Its weight of sorrow must still be borne. 
 
 And my fair young sister's sunny cheek 
 
 Was dress'd in smiles, with which light hearts speak 
 
 Of hope and joy — and could this all be — 
 
 A dream in its fleeting brilliancy ! 
 
 Could I sleep, fair visions, again will ye cone. 
 And bring me light from my far-off home ? 
 The silver voice in its greeting sweet, 
 The exile's bosom longs to meet ? 
 
 Oh the hours are sweet and doubly blest, 
 When the wretched sink to their weary rest, 
 When in dreams the spirit still lives on 
 In the light of joys, forever gone. 
 
POEMS. IS7 
 
 THE SON. 
 
 Where hast thou been roaming boy, 
 
 Through the sunny day ? 
 Where with that smiling look of joy, 
 
 Did'st thou wander far away ? 
 
 ' Oh, I've been chasing the bright-winged bee, 
 As from flower to flower he wandered free, 
 I've brought thee buds and garlands green. 
 And fairest things in the meadow seen. 
 
 I went o'er the grassy hill to play, 
 Where birds are singing and sunbeams stray, 
 But I sought my home and my mother's side, 
 Like a dove, I saw, when the day-light died.' 
 14 
 
158 THE SON. 
 
 The young hours went, like a dream away, 
 
 The world looked very fair, 
 And lured the boy, by its light so gay. 
 
 To breathe its witching air. 
 
 He went where fashion's votaries go, 
 
 To the light and crowded hall. 
 But, oft a voice that was sweet and low, 
 
 To thoughts of that youthful home would call. 
 
 And he sought the spot he loved, again 
 
 A well known voice he heard, 
 Like the sound of a well-remembered strain, 
 
 That his youthful feelings stirr'd. 
 
 ' Oh, mother I have wandered far. 
 Where the light of many pleasures are. 
 But there whispered oft a voice, that said, 
 The loveliest sunshine here was shed. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 159 
 
 I've been where fortune's smiles were strewn 
 And many a glance on me there shone, 
 I lived in fashion's festive glare, 
 But something said there was falsehood there 
 
 And I've come to the hearts I know are true, 
 The love that has darkened hours shone through, 
 I found no rest in the giddy place, 
 'Mid smiles that beamed from a thoughtless race.' 
 
 Years pass'd away and changes came. 
 
 Changes they love to bring. 
 The boy had earned him the crown of fame, 
 
 But peace had fled from the gilded thing. 
 
 With aching brow, and wearied breast. 
 
 By many passions torn. 
 He sought again for the place of rest, 
 
 Whence the light of youthful hours had gone. 
 
160 THE SON, 
 
 ' I have come to lay a weary head 
 Where the tall, fair trees their blossoms shed, 
 'Neath whose spreading limbs I idly roved, 
 When the world look'd fair, and its light I loved. 
 
 Past are its hopes and joys for me, 
 I knelt at its shrines with a spirit free. 
 But they bound it o'er with many chains, 
 And it woke no more to joyous strains,* 
 
POEMS. 
 
 161 
 
 THE REV. DR. CHANNING. 
 
 Are rays from Heaven's own altar thrown 
 To lend those thoughts their light? 
 
 And beam around thee, gifted one, 
 To pierce earth's bigot night ; 
 
 And lift the heart to fountains pure, 
 
 With words that ever shall endure 1* 
 
 The prophet tongues that brought of old 
 
 The mission from on high, 
 With lustre in the mantle's fold, 
 
 And Inspiration's eye — 
 They lifted souls in awe above, 
 But thine the words, good will and love.f 
 
 *" But the word of the Lord endureth forever. And this is the word which ky tht gotpcl if prceckcd 
 
 •to you." 
 I" Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will towaid meu." 
 
 14* 
 
1^^2 REV. DR. CHANNING. 
 
 And thine the doctrine Jesus loved. 
 To cheer the broken one, 
 
 Nor point to wrathful clouds above 
 But to an heavenly sun ; 
 
 And whisper to the humbled heart 
 
 Redeemed by Faith, in peace depart, 
 
 » 
 
 The home of faith, beyond the sky 
 Where spirits wander free, 
 
 Though glorious to mortal eye, 
 Is lovelier, when from thee 
 
 The promise comes, the lone to cheer, 
 
 That we've no lasting city here, "j" 
 
 To him who lent the mind its power 
 
 Its glory hath been given, 
 And will there not in the great hour 
 
 Go forth for thee in Heaven ; 
 
 *• " And he said to the woman, thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.' 
 f " Tor here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." 
 
POEMS. ]6^ 
 
 T he words of praise the "faithful" earned, 
 Much there was given — more returned.* 
 
 Above this stormy world of ours 
 
 The spirit rest hath found, 
 Yet wanders here to gather flowers 
 
 Meet for that holy ground. 
 For love is in that peaceful air. 
 The wicked cease from troubling there."!" 
 
 * " And be that had received five talents came and brought other five talenti, Ac."' 
 f " There the witked cease ficmtrcubling, and there the weary are at reiU" 
 
164 ENGLISH BURIAL GROUND. 
 
 ENGLISH BURIAL GROUND, 
 
 NEAR NAPLES. 
 
 There u something peculiarly melancholy in the reflectioni excited by Kn Eoglith burial jfund ia 
 • reign land. Matilii*. 
 
 The last light of a brilliant sun 
 
 Was falling o'er the ground, 
 Where slumbers many a wandering one 
 
 Beneath a foreign mound. 
 Not there the loved of one fond band 
 
 Are resting side by side, 
 The father sleeps in a distant land, 
 
 And the child alone hath died. 
 
POEMS. 165 
 
 Bright flowers and endless summer winds 
 
 Are sighing o'er them there, 
 But love's low murmur lingers not 
 
 Upon the scented air ; 
 For strangers wander round the spot, 
 
 Who have no tears to shed, 
 That dust in thiir hearts was treasured not — 
 
 Lone slumber England's dead. 
 
 And flowers that sigh along the gale 
 
 And shed their odours round, 
 Their hue is very beautiful 
 
 Upon that lonely ground ; 
 But they are not those the sleepers loved, 
 
 By the pleasant home tliat grew 
 Where the careless step of childhood roved 
 
 The field and forest through. 
 
KMJ ENGLISH BURIAL ©ROUND. 
 
 A band of gathered wanderers, 
 
 Far from their native skies, 
 Who have left lone ones to sorrow o'er 
 
 Lost hopes and broken ties. 
 Hearts that have left their hopes and loves 
 
 Upon a distant shore. 
 And here, like wearied wandering doves 
 
 Rested to roam no more. 
 
 Proud ones of many an ancient Ime 
 
 Where noble blood floM^ed through, 
 Yet woke no pageantry to shine. 
 
 Nor plume nor banner flew — 
 When the titled dust was borne along 
 
 To its last, unbroken sleep. 
 There was nought to mourn save the vesper »ong, 
 
 And the evening dews to weep. 
 
POEMS. 167 
 
 A myrtle shed its blossoms where 
 
 An English maiden slept, 
 For she had found in a foreign air 
 
 Love, that still o'er her wept. 
 A well-worn path to the lonely place 
 
 And wild flowers' early blight. 
 They told you more of the heart's lost love, 
 
 Than the storied marble might. 
 
 Beautiful is their rest ! the skies 
 
 Of Italy o'ersprcad, 
 With their deep rich light and glorious dyes 
 
 As from thousand sapphires shed. 
 The olive and the ivy shade 
 
 That gently o'er them lie, 
 But a sweeter rest wore the mountain glade, 
 
 And with the loved to die. 
 
168 tHE DEPAIITED. 
 
 THE DEPARTED. 
 
 " Their love halh been no (ummer floww, 
 For joy** bright ch&plet braided." 
 
 A PLANT of beauty, feared in shade, 
 Whose brightest tints were flown. 
 
 Where if one wandering sunbeam strayed 
 It lost its light in hearts so lone, 
 It was a strange but earthly fate. 
 That linked, then left us desolate ; 
 And such a radiant lustre shed. 
 To leave deep darkness as it fled. 
 
P0EM3. 169 
 
 Oft linked by fashion's coldest forms, 
 
 In mockery of a severed doom, 
 Our morning hour had many storms. 
 
 And after days were full of gloom. 
 
 'Tis over now — there's nothinar left 
 
 To tell how I have been bereft; 
 
 And not one flower in li;^ht to shine, 
 
 Of all the wreath I loved to twine. 
 
 There was deep poetry in our love, 
 
 Wild music in its tone; 
 But she went as sunbeams jjo — above. 
 And I am left alone ! 
 Alone ! what is there in that sound, 
 That hath the heart's deep fountain found t 
 And such a troubled murmurino" woke. 
 Like a harp's whose sweetest strings are broke. 
 15 
 
170 THE DEPARTED. 
 
 I watched her fading day by day, 
 As you've seen young flowers go; 
 
 I saw the rose-tint pass away 
 That there was wont to glow. 
 And this for love to gaze upon, 
 This withering of a cherish'd on6, 
 This shrouding of its dearest trust, 
 Amid the common thin^xs of dust ! 
 
POEMS. 171 
 
 FANCY'S REALMS, 
 
 Did you ever mark as daylight pass'd 
 And evening shadows came, 
 
 Like tiny sparks from the star-fires cast 
 The fire-flies' meteor flame ? 
 
 As through the plain and leafy wood 
 They wandered brightly on, 
 
 Or where a stream in music flowed 
 O'er its calm bosom shone. 
 
172 fancy's realms. 
 
 Those fairy, flashing lights of theirs 
 
 Now here, now far away, 
 Are like the falsely color' d airs 
 
 That lead the soul astray. 
 
 They're like the lights that fancy holds 
 
 To lead the cheated eye, 
 Through airy clouds of brilliant folds. 
 
 And flowers of sunny dye. 
 
 And paths such as earth never knew. 
 
 Upon her rugged breast ; 
 Where every thing hath its own bright hue,. 
 
 And every hope is blest. 
 
 Where the sky is all a rainbow. 
 And the air is light and clear, 
 
 And over all is a sunny glow 
 And never falls a tear. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 But the airy rest is never met 
 
 Save in the poet's dream, 
 The stars too oft in darkness set 
 
 O'er fancy's magic streaoiv 
 
 One wave of life's cold waters 
 
 May wreck the castles all, 
 And leave nor wreath nor gem nor flower 
 
 Upon the shining wall. 
 
 Oh, never follow the " fire-fly light," 
 
 That fancy loves to hold ; 
 *Twill set at last in a rayless night, 
 
 And leave your pathway cold. 
 
 15« 
 
 173 
 
174 SCENE FROM HOPE LESLIB. 
 
 SCENE FROM HOPE LESLIE. 
 
 MEETING WITH THE PAGE. 
 
 ■ Ves, Lady, I have lost my way." 
 
 Yes, lady, I have lost my way, 
 
 And wandered fast and far, 
 There shines for me no love-lit ray, 
 
 From any guiding star. 
 There is no kindly voice to hear, 
 No hope to soothe, no sun to cheer,. 
 The path is very dark and lone, 
 Where I must sadly wander on. 
 
POEMS. 175 
 
 Yes lady, I have lost my way, and never more for me 
 
 May sparkle lights that guide your bark across life's trou- 
 bled sea; 
 
 Yet once, as thine, my path was clear and as many roses 
 lay, 
 
 And I never thought anight would come to the fairest sum-- 
 nier's day. 
 
 But the night came, a starless one,. 
 
 It gathered round my path ; 
 For me the storm its work hath done, 
 
 But o'er thee is its wrath ; 
 And lady, I would save thee ! know 
 The glittering flower no stain may show, 
 But a poison in its leaves may lie, 
 And the brow its wreaths but blooms to die. 
 
 \.^ 
 
17^ SCENE FROM HOPE LESLIE. 
 
 My master, lady, trust him not, there's light upon the brow, 
 But the heart beneath ! there dwells the trace of many a 
 
 broken vow ; 
 Oh love him not ! too dark his heart for a pearl so pure as 
 
 thine, 
 J(^ beaming angel ne'er should bend to such an earthly shrine. 
 
POEMS. 177 
 
 THE FOREST FAIRIES' FOUNT. 
 
 SCOTTISH LEGEND. 
 
 A FAIRY fount in the forest lay, 
 Where mortal footstep ne'er dared stray, 
 For with charm and sign and mystic spell 
 Was fraught each leaf of the lonely dell. 
 Sweet voices there were heard to sing, 
 But the eye met never a living thing. 
 Save on Halloween a shadowy form,* 
 Like floating mist-of the vanished storm. 
 
 •■ Ilalloweve is thought to be a nifbl when witches, and all mischiel-makin » spirits are abroad o» 
 Ihiir banel'ul midnight errands ; particularly the Fairies are said ou that night to hold a grand /'luiver" 
 »ai>. -Burm. 
 
178 THE FOREST FAIRIEs' FOUNT. 
 
 On Halloween it was often seen 
 That fairy thing of the forest green ; 
 That eve of ill to mortal men, 
 For every spirit is roving then, 
 And every bower of Scotland's wood 
 Is peopled thick with an elfin brood ; 
 And many a tale of witch and sprite, 
 Hold hearts in fear on that mystic night.. 
 
 Wo for the wanderer then who met 
 
 That forest one ere the stars were set, 
 
 It told of death or trouble by, 
 
 Or the shrouded light of a beaming eye ; 
 
 Never those mystic forms appeared 
 
 But a cherished hope of the heart lay seared,. 
 
 And if there ventured footstep by 
 
 The fairy fount, when the moon was high, 
 
 On Halloween, 'twas said that ne'er 
 
 Might mortal more behold them herCv 
 
POEMS. I7g 
 
 That eve there wander'd spirits there 
 On every breath of the lighted air, 
 And revels light and song went round 
 And mystic sounds thro' the forest wound. 
 
 Light were their gambols, light and gay, 
 For all unrufflad the green-sward lay, 
 VThen daylight came o'er the purple hill, 
 Her urn with night's bright dews to fill. 
 'Twas said the wild-bird never flew 
 To lave his wing in those waters blue. 
 But fled from the mystic fountain's air 
 As he knew a spell lay lu .king there. 
 
 'Twas said that flowers there sprang and bloomed 
 And the forest air with sweets perfumed, 
 When snow thro' many a long clear day 
 On Scotland's rugged mountains lay ; 
 And never chains of icy force 
 Fetter'd the fairy fountain's course ; 
 
189 THE FOREST FAlRIEs' FOUNT. 
 
 It brightly flowed in summer's sun, 
 
 As bright when summer hours were done, 
 
 Sunshine was ever reigning there. 
 
 Like fancy's regions still and fair ; 
 
 A fancied region this may be, 
 
 Bat I tell the tale as they told it me. 
 
 Should you ever rove thro' Scottish glades, 
 Go not to the fairy fountain's shades, 
 Where the leafy trees are ever green, 
 And the spirits rove on Halloween. 
 
POEMS. 181 
 
 SCRIPTURE V£RS 
 
 For He hath said, I will never leave thee nor rorsak«ihee.' 
 
 Yes, He hath said, whose word hath power, 
 
 Nor may His children fear 
 The clouds that on their pathway lower, 
 
 With this high promise near. 
 
 When He whose arm sends o'er the deep, 
 
 The shades of falling night, 
 And calls the morning sun to steep 
 
 The Isles of earth in light, 
 
 16 
 
182 SCRIPTURE VERSES. 
 
 Is o'er their path and guarding still, 
 Those whom He knows are frail ; 
 
 When gath'ring clouds of worldly ill, 
 Cause human strength to fail. 
 
 The spirit hath a chord that clings 
 To lights that must grow dim, 
 
 And places trust in fragile things, 
 That should be plac'd with Him ; 
 
 But when that hold is sever'd,then, 
 
 In sorrow's hour of might ; 
 When the plant has lost its earthly stem 
 
 He sends His own clear light. 
 
 And in those words of truth and power. 
 Is the sacred promise given ; 
 
 Which has lifted many a drooping flower 
 To the still clear air of Heaven. 
 
POEMS. 183 
 
 A POET'S DREAM. 
 
 Her home was where the sunshine lay 
 In light around that southern bay, 
 Whose clear still waters steal the hue, 
 Of skies that there have deepest blue ; 
 Where every breeze its fragrance showers. 
 Brought from some shining myrtle bowers, 
 And perfumes steal along the air, 
 Richer than shrines of Persia bear. 
 
 Some painting where the artist's skill 
 Strove every line with grace to fill ; 
 And free the flowers of fancy threw, 
 Till his strain'd eye no more could do ; 
 
184 A poet's dream. 
 
 Arous'd from its entrancing sleep, 
 Like her who rose from ocean's deep ; 
 Like such Florinna might have been, 
 A thing to tame the hearts of men. 
 And bind them with a starry chain ; 
 And yet, for once her might was vain : 
 And with the only one, of all 
 The proud crests in her father's hall. 
 To whom a passing thought she gave. 
 His home was o'er the western wave ; 
 He had a restless soul to view 
 The skies of Italy's fam'd blue ; 
 To tread the land where burn'd of old 
 The light of genius, now so cold. 
 
 He had seen all its beauties — all 
 That can the eye or heart enthrall, 
 Had wander'd o'er its glowing plains. 
 Listed its soul-entrancing strains ; 
 Aye, and beneath a moonlight sky 
 Had met the beam of its dark eye ; 
 
roEMs. 185 
 
 Gazed on the fairest things that tell 
 The sculptor's art, there known so well ; 
 And its best and brightest living eye, 
 He had passM by all carelessly. 
 How he could in her sunshine dwell, 
 And love her not, is hard to tell ; 
 Love never flings his rosy chain 
 Just where he should, 'tis very plain, 
 How can the child, when he is blind 
 Find just the hearts he ought to bind ? 
 Florinna knew that soon he sought 
 His home, and form'd the daring thought 
 To follow, even to that far land, 
 To seek with him a foreign strand, 
 Far from her home, its founts and groves, 
 And hidden things that memory loves 
 To weave a spell with — which lives on, 
 A light, when other lights are gone. 
 In robes that Spanish pages wear. 
 Disguised — and bound her flowing hair. 
 J6* 
 
186 A poet's dream. 
 
 She sought the youth, and ask'd to go 
 With him where western waters flow. 
 Pleased with the aspect of the boy, 
 His fair flush'd cheek, and seeming joy 
 To serve him, gladly he complied. 
 And soon upon the swelling tide 
 The proud ship bore them, but a lay 
 She woke at parting 
 
 ^ A long and last farewell to thee, thou land of brightest 
 
 skies ! 
 Beneath whose arch of starry blue, my home in beauty 
 
 lies ; 
 I love thy temples, fairy vales, and all thy shining things, 
 To which the heart that's losing them, in fond affection 
 
 clings. 
 
 Night rests in beauty o'er the grove, where the bright foun- 
 tain throws 
 
 Its spray — that, like a diamond shower, amid the moonlight 
 glows, 
 
POEMS. 187 
 
 Glittering o'er the glossy leaves of the bright young myr- 
 tles there, 
 That I have lov'd to nurture so, in their own scented air. 
 
 I leave thee, for a stranger land, with none to love and 
 
 cheer, 
 And with but one to guide me, one to whom I am not dear ; 
 But he will love me, when he knows who by his side has 
 
 stood. 
 And all I've left to follow him, o'er mountain, field and 
 
 flood. 
 
 Yes, he will love me, will he not, ye stars that light the sky, 
 
 And from your lofty places read of mortal destiny ? 
 
 Tell me from out your burning beams, tell of my future 
 
 doom. 
 Must it all be days of weariness, that nothing can illume ? 
 
188 A poet's dream. 
 
 Or shall I live in that clear smile ? — that brow of beauty 
 
 see, 
 All lighted up with rays of love, and know they are for me ? 
 Shall I sing to him sweet songs, that I beneath your beams 
 
 have sung ? 
 When to lays of joyousness and light, this drooping harp 
 
 was strung.' 
 
 A cloud pass'd over the brow of night, 
 And the stars were veil'd from mortal sight. 
 
 Day follow'd day, then the tempest's wrath 
 O'erswept the ship, in her ocean path, 
 Clouds were abroad in the stormy sky, 
 And the troubled waves rose wild and high — 
 The spirits of ocean seem'd gathering there, 
 And wild shrieks rang 'mid the lightning's glare. 
 Still on the groaning deck, and alone, 
 Seymour listed the sea's wild moan ; 
 
POEMS. 189 
 
 He thought of rest in the ocean's caves, 
 
 With nothing near but the foaming waves; 
 
 Alone and unwept on the deep to die, 
 
 Was a thought to wring out agony 
 
 From man's proud heart — but what gentle hold 
 
 Is on his arm, with a touch so cold ? 
 
 He turns, and that fair young creature — she 
 
 W^hom he left in the bowers of Italy, 
 
 Stood in her shining beauty there — 
 
 * Art thou a thing of the shadowy air ? 
 Sent from the home of the heavenly ones 
 To claim the spirits of earth's lost sons, 
 In fury driv'n these waters o'er ? 
 
 I've seen the light of that eye before.' 
 
 * I am one who have come to die with thee, 
 If it must be so, on this raging sea, 
 Wliatever thy fate is, mine shall be. 
 Thou didst not love in the sunny hours. 
 And wilt not now, when the tempest lowers, 
 
'c! 
 
 190 A POET S DREAM. 
 
 But the chain that fetter'd this heart to thee, 
 Was not to be riven by mount or sea. 
 — Look ! look on the ocean ! the wild waves rise, 
 Like stars in thousands, the white foam flies — 
 'Tis a stormy death ! but 'tis sweet to know 
 
 I die with thee' 
 
 The voice of the speaker the waves have hush'd. 
 That in mighty strength o'er the vessel rush'd. 
 Roll on, proud ocean ! thy work is done, 
 The fair and brave to thy halls are won ! 
 
POEMS. 191 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S S3IILE. 
 
 One smile passed over her sunken cheek, 
 It told far more than the lip may speak ; 
 'Twas griefs own poetry, touching chords, 
 That had never woke to the sound of words, 
 And glimmer'd there with a light as lone. 
 As the moon's pale ray on a marble stone. 
 
 Love from the green earth for her had gone, 
 And left her lone as a star at morn. 
 Whose sister lights had waned and set. 
 As dawning smiles night's shadows met ; 
 There was nothing left to shine for her. 
 And make the wide waste lovelier. 
 
192 THE orphan's smile. 
 
 Have you ever dreamed of an icy isle, 
 On which summer sunbeams never smile ? 
 Lonely and far in the northern seas, 
 And rudely swept by the chilling breeze ? 
 'Twas thus life's waters moved her on, 
 A chill'd, a sad and a stricken one. 
 
 She was beautiful, for beauty's flowers 
 Bloom not alone in the sunniest bowers. 
 They love to gather round those who grieve. 
 And a delicate lustre there to weave. 
 They dazzle the eye in the festal hall. 
 But there, the lovliest tints ne'er fall. 
 
 But that soft, sad smile, it told you so, 
 Hoto the light of your love on earth must go — 
 How the human heart must fill its springs. 
 With tears for the loss of its dearest things. 
 You could not gaze and turn away 
 To the light of pleasure's careless ray. 
 
POEMS. 193 
 
 The sunny months went swiftly by, 
 The time for flowers to spring and die, 
 Earth's silver sounds were heard in glee. 
 And the swell of joyous minstrelsy, 
 And her fairest things to light awoke, 
 Save the orphan girl whose heart was broke. 
 
 17 
 
194 MUSIC OF THE PAST. 
 
 MUSIC OF THE PAST, 
 
 " Though many a year hath o'er ui past. 
 
 And none from bitter change was free, 
 Yet lived one thought, 'twill die the last, 
 Sweet Anna, 'twa* the thought of thee !" 
 
 I TURNED to a page I read with thee, 
 
 In an hour that wandered lightly by, 
 And memory came o'er the past's still sea. 
 
 To colour all Avith her fairest dye. 
 I heard the music as then it flowed 
 From a lip where youthful freshness glowed, 
 I caught a glance of an eye more bright 
 Than the fairest star on the brow of night. 
 
POEMS. 195 
 
 It led me back to a summer hour, 
 
 When winds were sighing and skies were clear^ 
 And there lay on every glistening flower, 
 
 The pearly dew, like a seraph's tear. 
 When music's sound went floating by, 
 And woke the heart to its holiest sigh ; 
 And every feeling stole a charm 
 From the summer sky's deep, cloudless calm. 
 
 The woodbine hung its glossy leaves 
 
 In many a garland there ; 
 And the clustering wreath, the wild rose weaves 
 
 Sent fragrance on the air ; 
 Spells ever linger round such scenes, 
 To which the heart in its sadness leans ; 
 Treasured gems that flash forth rays 
 From the buried hopes of other days. 
 
196 MUSIC OF THE PAST, 
 
 Oh, how memory loves to rove, 
 
 And light the field of the past again. 
 And bring back thoughts of perished love. 
 To shine like stars on her magic chain. 
 Like the wandering dove she floats away, 
 To hours that ever in sunshine lay. 
 Bringing the blossoms that then were dear, 
 And wrung from the bosom with many a tear. 
 
POEMS. 197 
 
 THE GREEK GIRL. 
 
 By the dark, clear brow, I knew 'twas she, 
 By the locks that waved in the night-air free, 
 By the haughty step and fearless look, 
 That a band of warrior hearts had shook ; 
 She for whom hundred torches played. 
 For whom went forth many a fearless blade: 
 For whom, that night, from a princely hall. 
 Were fled the song, and the gay sounds all : 
 
 Whom waits she there in that lonely delW 
 Ask of the forest tree, 'twill tell 
 Of a dark-eyed youth, with noble mien. 
 Who came in a hunter's garb of gr^en ,* 
 17* 
 
198 THE GREEK GIRL. 
 
 Oft at the hour when stars were bright, 
 To form a scheme for the captive's flight ; 
 And bear her far from the tyrant's wrath, 
 And the prison wall, by that lonely path. 
 The moon shed light on their winding way. 
 As through leafy arches stole her ray ; 
 The quick, hushed step, the night wind heard, 
 And a lightlier breath in the branches stirr'd, 
 And wreaths of forest ivy waved. 
 As lilies bow, by a streamlet laved. 
 
 Softly clear the moonlight lay 
 O'ti 1 smiling Grecian bay ; 
 Flowers along its margin bent. 
 To the de> -drops night had sent, 
 And glittered like some fairy wreath 
 Where a bark lay moored beneath. 
 They have gained the lonely place,^ 
 And the forest has no trace 
 Of their path along its green, 
 Not a bended leaf is seen — 
 
POEMS. 
 
 The sails are up and floating gay, 
 The bark is o'er the smiling bay ! 
 
 They told the tyrant the captive had fled, 
 Stern were the words in his wrath he said. 
 ' Let an hundred men go forth to-night, 
 The bravest hearts in the crimson fight ; 
 And fleetest steeds — o'er hill and brake, 
 Nor stay for forest or spreading lake. 
 Nor mountain pathway dark and lone. 
 But on for the captive — on, still on ; 
 And when the rays of daylight fall. 
 Stands she not in this pillar'd hall, 
 An hundred heads in death laid low, 
 The might of a conqueror's wrath shall show/ 
 
 Thus it went forth — with sullen brow. 
 Dark rebel looks and mutter'd vow, 
 The warriors bowed — a ti/rant's word 
 Ever in sullen fear is heard. 
 
 199 
 
200 THE GREEK GIRL. 
 
 Few moments pass'd, they were armed and gont,, 
 Far thro' the valley their shouts were borne, 
 Far over moor and mount and hill 
 The echoed njotes went loud and shrill ; 
 Through maay a flood and lonely place, 
 'J'hrough every forest a path they trace, 
 But vain the search, and vain their speed. 
 The Grecian girl is nobly freed ! 
 
POEMS. -01 
 
 FAREM'ELLS. 
 
 Who hath not breathed a farewell 
 
 In a sad and sinking tone, 
 When something dear was passing on 
 
 To leave the heart alone ? 
 
 When words in sadness lingered 
 
 Upon the faltering tongue, 
 And every chord of feeling 
 
 To sorrow's touch was strung. 
 
 When the heart's clear sky was clouded 
 
 And hope had not a star — 
 To point to something brighter, 'mid 
 
 The hidden things afar. 
 
202 FAREWELLS. 
 
 And who hath not breathed a farewell 
 In a gay and careless tone, 
 
 When the music and the mirth were o'er 
 In the lighted hall that shone ? 
 
 When the heart hath not a shadow, 
 Nor the eye a trace of tears, 
 
 When joy is smiling o'er them now, 
 And hope o'er coming years. 
 
 When lightly recks the speaker 
 Of him who lists the word, 
 
 And as lightly is he answered. 
 And no deep thought is stirr'd. 
 
 Life hath as many farewells 
 
 As it hath sunny hours, 
 And over some are scatter'd thorns, 
 
 Aad over others, flowers.. 
 
POEMS. 203 
 
 And I would breathe a light one 
 
 O'er these, my ended lays, 
 To cheer me should they never meet, 
 
 One smiling look of praise. 
 
 They have little light of fancy, 
 
 Still less of common sense, 
 And they mai/ sigh in sadness 
 
 That they ever wandered hence. 
 
 Into a coldly-judging world 
 
 Before its critic-ieyes — 
 If a look the Critics deign to cast 
 
 Upon such butterflies. 
 
 I know e'en by a passing eye, 
 
 Their errors may be seen, 
 But then we seek noi jinished thoughts 
 
 From careless seventeen. 
 
204 FAREWELLS. 
 
 There are those I knoio will con them 
 With a kind and gentle eye, 
 
 And with the heart's sweet charity 
 "Will pass their errors by. 
 
 For the sake of one whose love hath been 
 For them a treasured thing, 
 
 In the heart's unseen recesses 
 An ever-flowing spring. 
 
The following poems have been recently published in 
 several of the periodicals of the day. — Autuor. 
 
POEMS. 207 
 
 CONWAY. 
 
 The wave 
 
 That gives the bier no flowers, 
 Makes moan above thy grave. 
 
 Forca Sanctuary. 
 
 The dark green sea is rolling on, above its coral caves, 
 And little recks that human hopes have sunk beneath its 
 
 waves ; 
 That tears are flowing for the lost, the dead, who in their 
 
 prime. 
 Are gather'd to its heaving breast from every age and clime. 
 
 And thou ! had life for thee no flowers ? no sunlight and 
 no joy. 
 
 That thou could'st thus, in one dark hour, heaven's bright- 
 est gift destroy ? 
 
208 CONWAY. 
 
 Was there no shrine, no altar here, at which thy soul might 
 
 bend. 
 And feel a kindly influence on the lonely heart descend ? 
 
 No — o'er thee now, in thy vast tomb, is wreathing the white 
 
 foam. 
 But not so drear that lone abode, so sad that chilling home, 
 Not e'en so cold and dark are these, as fate's hard wearying 
 
 chain. 
 That weigh'd thy spirit to this earth, thro' years of gloom 
 
 and pain. 
 
 Thou wert a lonely wand'rer from that distant, sea-girt 
 
 shore. 
 Where thy lov'd childhood's happy home, greets not thy 
 
 footstep more ; 
 Who left with sorrowing heart and brow, the land that gave 
 
 thee birth, 
 And since that day hast wander'd o'er a waste of stranger 
 
 earth. 
 
POEMS. 209 
 
 Was there no friend ? no cherish'd one, the lov'd of ear- 
 lier years, 
 
 To lend the last sad offring of affection's mourning tears. 
 
 When a brooding spell of silence o'er the mighty wave was 
 spread. 
 
 And the depths took to their bosom, the lov'd ! the lost ! 
 the dead ! 
 
 No — thou wert on the deep alone — friends, home and kin- 
 dred far. 
 
 And o'er thee weeping but the dews of eve's pale western 
 star — 
 
 Wildly th' Atlantic billows roll, thy manly form above, 
 
 Thou hear'st them not — nor yet is heard the softer voice of 
 love. 
 
 That voice is rais'd on England's isle — a mother looks in 
 
 vain 
 For but onefondy returning smile, worth years of grief and 
 
 pain ; 
 
 18* 
 
210 CONWAY. 
 
 And there a father waits for tliee, his lov'd and only son^ 
 Nor deems the darkly rolling sea, so fair a prize has won. 
 
 " 'Tis ever thus," on this dark earth, that love must wait 
 
 and weep, 
 And thro' long days of weariness, the lonely vigil keep ; 
 'Tis ever thus that sorrow comes, where hope and joy 
 
 should be, 
 And why ? — 'tis that we may not know, as here, ''we darkly 
 
 see." 
 
 The star has set — that brightly rose above the tragic 
 scene, 
 
 The Drama mourns the early woes, that quench'd its radi- 
 ant beam ; 
 
 Oh, I could weep in bitterness the wreck of such a mind ; 
 
 O'er talents, worth and beauty to so dark a doom consigned 
 
POEMS. 211 
 
 ADELAIDE EL FONTRE. 
 
 There's many an ill that clings to love, 
 But this is one all ills above; 
 For love to bow before the name 
 Of this world's treasure — shame — oh shame I 
 L. E. U 
 
 Go — thou hast left a faithful heart, 
 For the glitter of worldly show, 
 
 Thou hast acted a false and cruel part — 
 In thy youth and frailty — go. 
 
 Thy tresses with eastern pearls are bound. 
 But they heavily press thy brow ; 
 
 And there's diamond lustre shed around, 
 But all fail to charm thee now. 
 
212 ADELAIDE EL FONTRE. 
 
 There are slaves to come at thy queenly call, 
 
 And flatterers throng the way, 
 But they cannot hold thy heart in thrall, 
 
 From its youthful loves away. 
 
 Thou hast lost the love of a faithful heart, 
 
 And the light of a faithful eye, 
 Things whose deep worth we value not 
 
 Till they're past forever by. 
 
 Thy castle is proud, and its turrets high, 
 
 With glittering lights are fair, 
 But I pass'd to a lonely balcony. 
 
 And thou wert weeping there. 
 
 In the glancing light of a crowded hall, 
 
 A figure met thy gaze. 
 And what thousand thoughts did that look recal. 
 
 Of thy early, happy days. 
 
POEMS. 213 
 
 Perchance thou had'st thouorht the love orrown dim 
 
 o O 
 
 And cold within thy breast ; 
 Which was fondly cherish'd once for him, 
 And for fortune's sunshine left ; 
 
 But the thrilling sound of that once lov'd voice, 
 
 Like the charm of music's strain, 
 A single glance of the flashing eye 
 
 Have waken'd all again, 
 
 And led thee back to the green hill side, 
 
 And the bending olive-shade, 
 Where the hours went by, as the fairy tide, 
 
 Sweet, silvery music made. 
 
 Oh, when the poor, strick'n heart looks back 
 
 To the scenes of former years, 
 O'er a lonely waste of faded flowers 
 
 Its path is trac'd in tears. 
 
214 ADELAIDE EL FONTRE. 
 
 There was crimson light on that beautiful cheek, 
 Bright wreaths were in her hair, 
 
 But the heart within, the perjur'd heart, 
 Was false as the form was fair. 
 
 And there she stood in the moonbeam pale, 
 
 An image of pride, to show 
 How little might outward pomp avail 
 
 The heart's deep, inward woe. 
 
POEMS. 215 
 
 TO A CHILD, 
 
 TWINING BLUE VIOLETS IN HER HAIR. 
 
 Yes, wreath those violets round thee, 
 
 Thou fair and playful child. 
 
 Thou art all life and melody, 
 
 And as the flow'rets wild ; 
 
 The bloom is on thy tender cheek, 
 
 A freshness on thy brow, 
 
 And there are sounds that to thee speak 
 
 Of joys — an endless now. 
 
 So like some fairy vision, 
 Thou glidest by my sight, 
 Some spirit of Elysian, 
 For this sad world, too bright ; 
 
216 TO A CHILD. 
 
 Or like some graceful Peri 
 From Cashmere's land of rose, 
 Where on Chenar's bright island 
 The moonlight loves repose. 
 
 But no — these are vain fancies, 
 Thou art too truly mortal, 
 Though now thy bright eye glances 
 At life, but thro' its portal ; 
 And thou wilt know of sorrow 
 As mortals all must know, 
 And thou may'st on the morrow 
 Awake to scenes of woe. 
 
 I wish I could have known thee, 
 A spirit passing fair 
 And could have seen thee float away 
 Upon the summer air. 
 
POEMS. 2J7 
 
 I do not wish to think thee 
 A dweller of our sphere, 
 I know that fate will link thee 
 With all that's saddest here. 
 
 That years will come and with them bring 
 
 To thee the cup of woe, 
 
 And check, even in its early spring, 
 
 Thy pure young spirit's flow. 
 
 But fare thee well — bright one, 
 
 No more I'll sing to thee 
 
 Of miseries to come, 
 
 While yet thou art so free. 
 
 Thou hast waked me to strange dreaming 
 Of mingled licrht and shade, 
 That with the farewell beaming. 
 Of thy bright blue eyes will fade. 
 
 19 
 
218 THERESA. 
 
 THERESA. 
 
 It is customary at Venice, for a female, at the moment she pronounces the religious vows, to throw 
 behind her, a nosegay of flowers, emblematical of her renouncing the woilA Corinna. 
 
 
 The summer-sun was glowing high above a princely 
 dome, 
 
 The morn that saw Theresa leave her early childhood's 
 home ; 
 
 Whose every fount and every flower was in her heart en- 
 shrined 
 
 With cherished thoughts of long-gone hours, and early 
 entwined. 
 
roEMs. 219 
 
 And she had shone the fairest one, of all the dark eyed 
 
 band, 
 Who dance at even-tide beneath the skies of that fair land. 
 She had glittered in the festal throng, and sung amid the 
 
 bowers, 
 And roved through Italy's fair groves at silent moonlit 
 
 hours. 
 
 And then she wore a careless brow, and an ever-varying 
 
 smile. 
 That spaikled like the sun's last ray upon some icy isle. 
 A smile too bright to linger long with any mortal one, 
 A smile fortelling sorrow's work, ere long must be begun. 
 
 But now the radiant look had fled, and that deep calm was 
 there. 
 
 Which you may sometimes trace upon the brow of cold de- 
 spair ; 
 
 But oft'ner on the brow of one, by earthly trials bowed, 
 
 O'er which affliction's storm has past, yet has not left a 
 cloud. 
 
220 THERESA. 
 
 Slowly she passed to a slight bark, that bore her o'er the 
 
 waves, 
 To yon old convent, which the sea on either side now laves , 
 One last, and linoerinor look was cast toward the distant 
 
 towers, 
 Then from her trembling hand was thrown the wreath of 
 
 rosy flowers. 
 
 Then there was something beaming from that dark, expres- 
 sive eye, 
 
 Which said the soqI had found its rest amid the things on 
 high ; 
 
 And such a saintly purity was spread o'er the fair brow, 
 
 As shew'dthat soul was ne'er again at earthly shrines to bow. 
 
 Yes fair Theresa ! thou didst throw the flowers of life away, 
 While yet its morning sunbeams were rising o'er thy way ; 
 But with the flowers, were given the thorns of care and 
 
 grief, 
 Which ever lie concealed beneath the brightest, rosiest leaf. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 221 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON SEEING TWO BF.AUTIFUL LOCKS OF CHILDREN'S HAIR, OCTOBER 12, 1827. 
 
 " How oft some trifling thing, 
 
 A song, & flower, H locl^ ofsliiniDg hair, 
 
 Strikes on a cliord of memor}." 
 
 I SAW two children, with sunny brows, 
 
 And hearts a? pure as mountain snows, 
 
 Lovely and bright as a summer's morn, 
 
 As blossoms the wind has left untorn, 
 
 Or aught that is fair to look upon. 
 
 There were lighted looks of love and mirth, 
 
 Nor seem'd they things of this sad earth. 
 
 There was one fair girl — her glossy hair 
 
 Fell over a brow undimm'd by care ; 
 19* 
 
222 LINES. 
 
 A slight rose tinge was on her cheek — 
 And that in her eye, so soft and meek, 
 She seem'd to shrink, like the timid dove, 
 Though the voice that spoke was one of love. 
 Sweet one ! O, may thy footsteps move 
 Ever lightly as now they rove ; 
 May earth to thee whisper words of joy, 
 With nothing dark the dream to destroy. 
 'Tis an idle wish — fears are for thee : 
 A few more years, and thou wilt be 
 As pure perhaps, as at this young hour, 
 But no more free from sorrow's power — 
 Ever for her is the fairest flower ; 
 A noble boy was by thy side, 
 With a flashing eye, and step of pride ; 
 A tiny step, but a stately one, 
 Thouo;h scarce had risen his morninor sun : 
 A brow, where fancy might read a story 
 Of future greatness, and future glory. 
 In beauty's mould that face was wrought. 
 
 Each smile with winning sweetness fraught. 
 
POEMS. 223 
 
 Those fair things pass'd from my sight away, 
 Through other scenes their footsteps stray, 
 I've seen them not, since that summer's day ; 
 But I saw two locks of beautiful hair, 
 Preserv'd by di father's sacred care. 
 The silken threads I gaz'd on that night. 
 Brought those fair beings back to my sight, 
 With their infant smiles — all love and light ; 
 They waken'd, too, this simple song, 
 For when the tide of thought is strong 
 'Twill flow — though it be in an idle strain, 
 Till the stream return to its course again. 
 
224 MUSINGS 
 
 MUSINGS, 
 
 " I would holj converse with those clouds.' 
 
 There's a silver cloud in the wint'ry. sky, 
 
 I've watched as the mist went floating by ; 
 
 'Tis a pure bright thing — each shadowy fold 
 
 The sun has edged with a tint of gold. 
 
 Above the storms and above the airs 
 
 Of this troubled world — with its thousand cares — 
 
 Where the lark mounts not — where the bright-eyed sun 
 
 Smiles — when the storm on earth is begun : 
 
 Where starry fires, when night comes on, 
 
 Are burning around it — far off and alone — 
 
POEMS. 225 
 
 Oh, " for the wings of a dove" — I would fly 
 
 To thee, beautiful sunset-cloud ! and lie 
 
 On thy bosom, all lost in dreams, 
 
 Which this earth has chill'd — like its own cold streams. 
 
 Ye fanciful thoughts — away — away — 
 There are lov'd ones here — and my heart would stay, 
 Were the cloud my home — with things of earth, 
 For this human love is of mortal birth. 
 
 But my sunny cloud with its dreams is gone, 
 Vainly I look for its fair fleecy form — 
 Where hath it passed with its bright golden dye ? 
 W^here is its pathway along the clear sky ? 
 
 Perhaps it will rest o'er my own sunny home, 
 And smile on the pathway my footstep hath known, 
 And shed on the tall trees a mellower gleam, 
 And cast a warm look on the ice-fettered stream. 
 
226 MUSINGS. 
 
 My sister is there — and her blue eye will rest 
 Where mine has been ling'ring, upon its pure breast; 
 For she gazes at eve on the heavens' deep blue, 
 And clouds — as they're silently wandering through. 
 She loves the pure things of the bright upper air, 
 For the spirit within hath its resting place there. 
 My sister ! her love is a bright star for me — 
 Farewell to thee — dear one — my heart is with thee ! 
 
POEMS. 227 
 
 THE FLOWERS' FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell, farewell, we have graced the plains, 
 
 In light and beauty drestj 
 We leave them now, ere winter reigns 
 O'er hill and fount, with icy chains, 
 
 We seek our place of rest. 
 
 We have given fresh garlands for beauty's hair, 
 
 We have shone in the lighted hall, 
 And a fragrance sent on the summer air, 
 And made each fount and hill side fair, 
 With a fairy coronal. 
 
228 THE flowers' farewell. 
 
 Pale wreaths for brows that earth has lost, 
 
 We've mournfully supplied ; 
 The young bright cheek, no cloud has cross'd. 
 And those, on the changing billows tossed^ 
 
 Of life's uncertain tide. y"^ 
 
 We're nature's gems, we've lov'd each wild 
 
 And lonely wood and glade ; 
 We've soothed the heart of sorrow's child, 
 Who came when summer's breath was mild, 
 
 To their quiet, soothing shade 
 
 Our errand is done, we are fading away, 
 
 To rise with another year ; 
 Will the same bright voices and footsteps stay ? 
 Shall we meet them all on the next spring day, 
 
 As we leave them shining here ? 
 
POEMS. 229 
 
 We cannot tell — bright ones were here, 
 
 When we left the sunny earth ; 
 We came again with the coming year, 
 We came again — but they were not near 
 With their look and voice of mirth. 
 
 20 
 
230 DEATH. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 ' Oeatli has set the teal of eternity, and the beautiful bu been made permaneatt.* 
 
 Fair one, I have often gazed on thee, when life was fresh 
 and springing. 
 
 And pleasure, in thy willing ear, her syren song was sing- 
 ing, 
 
 When all that hung around thy path, was in radiant beau- 
 ty glowing, 
 
 And the stream of life by flowery banks, o'er sparkling 
 sands was flowinsr. 
 
POEMS. 231 
 
 1 mark'd thee well, in that sunny hour, when thy star was 
 brightly shining, 
 
 And fairy wreaths, around thy head, kind fortune was en- 
 twining, 
 
 And I knew that thou wert kind and true, and thy heart 
 was pure and bland, 
 
 That 'mid pleasure's bowers, were cuU'd those flowers, 
 which oft need sorrow's hand. 
 
 I saw thee then when sorrow's tears had robb'd thine eye 
 
 of brightness. 
 When care and grief, in the spring of life, had 'reft thy 
 
 heart of lightness, 
 But the soul within, was the same pure thing, I had early 
 
 known and cherish'd, 
 Though the joyous rays, that round it shone, in darker 
 
 hours had perish' d. 
 
 >m.'/ 
 
232 DEATH. 
 
 Again, by the dying bed of him, thy youthful heart held 
 
 dear, 
 I saw thee watch full many a day, and his drooping spirit 
 
 cheer ; 
 Till life's last spark had glimmer'd, and thou wert left 
 
 alone. 
 On this wild waste of waters — a solitary one ! 
 
 And, now, I bend my last long gaze, on the cold and life- 
 less brow ; 
 
 And though lovely as light, in days gone by — it seems still 
 lovelier now ; 
 
 Earthly feelings, earthly woes, and earthly trials past. 
 
 And the heart, that lov'd, and trusted so in calmness rests 
 at last. 
 
 Thy chain of woes was a length'ned one, but the links were 
 
 forged above. 
 And He, who bade the tears to fall, is one, whose "name is 
 
 love." 
 
POEMS. 233 
 
 And thou, sweet flow'ret, though 'mid gloom in his earthly 
 
 garden reared, 
 Art gone where flow'rets fade not, and the heart is never 
 
 sear'd. 
 
 20< 
 
334 THANKSGIVING, 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 There's a quiet spell o'er nature spread, 
 
 As the noisy ones of earth were fled, 
 
 A solemn stillness reiorninff around. 
 
 And earth is in Sabbath stillness bound ; 
 
 The city is hush'd from the hum of men. 
 
 Still as the depths of the wild-wood glen — 
 
 Till the silver sounds of the church-bell come, 
 
 Calling the heart to its heavenly home — 
 
 From the cares and pleasures of earth awhile. 
 
 To Him who hath bless'd with his bounteous smile. 
 
POEMS. 235 
 
 And now in his temple they mingling stand, 
 The fairest and best of a smiling land — 
 Silvery heads are bending there — 
 In the holy place — at the voice of prayer, 
 And the young high heart in notes of praise 
 Is lifted — to him vv^ho has crowned their days 
 With joy and gladness — and brought them here. 
 To meet in joy with the closing year. 
 
 Then evening comes with mirth and cheer, 
 When far-off ones are gather' d near, 
 And the parent-hearth is cheer'd the while, 
 With the light of many a joyous smile ; 
 The scatter'd group, whose footsteps roam 
 Far from the light of their own glad home^ 
 From eyes that watch'd their infant years, 
 The smiles that dried their falling tears — 
 They are spread o'er earth — and sorrow's power 
 Has faded many a once fair flower ; 
 
236 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 But this joyous evening brings them all 
 With cheerful brows to the festal hall, 
 There are childhood's frolic lip and eye, 
 Ever dreaming of pleasure nigh — 
 And the aged brow, serene from care 
 As it smiles on the spring-buds gather'd there ; 
 Kindred and friends meet hand in hand. 
 The grateful ones of a favor'd land. 
 
 I would not dim with a sadd'ning tear 
 One cheerful eye that may wander here. 
 To rest awhile on my simple lay. 
 And a passing moment wile away ; 
 But the heart lo'dl swell at thought of things 
 That are gone on time's grief-laden wings ; 
 When memory brings them all to view, 
 And present joys have a fading hue. 
 Such scenes once were in a pleasant home. 
 Where all is changed and they are gone. 
 
POEMS. 237 
 
 Whose aged hearts were wont to share 
 The smile of youth, and its passing care 
 And some have pass'd to another shore, 
 And gladden their childhood's home no more ; 
 ^Ve are sever'd all by mount and wave. 
 And some by the cold and darksome grave, 
 Who were wont to meet in gladness here, 
 On the joyous eve of the closing year. 
 
S3d ell£n''s bridal. 
 
 ELLEN'S BRIDAL. 
 
 Hark ! to the ringing of festal notes, 
 The joyous strain that lightly floats — 
 There is mirth in the halls of princely ones, 
 And lamps shine forth like a thousand suns, 
 And faii-y wreaths from each high room 
 Send forth rich odours and starry bloom. 
 The marble pillars with flowers are twined, 
 Like the mighty one,* by his veil enshrined ; 
 And gems look out to the gazer's eye, 
 As stars from the depth of a midnight sky. 
 
 •Mokanna. 
 
POEMS. 230 
 
 Beauty was there with her snowy plumes, 
 The lip that smiles and the cheek that blooms 
 Richer than roses from Cashmere's vale, 
 Or the flower-crown 'd banks of a fairy tale ; 
 And eyes that were telling their tale of mirth, 
 As nothing but love ever shone on earth. 
 'Tis lovely thus for the fair and young. 
 With voice and thought to melody strung, 
 And feelings pure as the fleecy cloud 
 That weaves for the moon a gossamer shroud, 
 Lovely and fresh as the first white rose 
 That to summer winds its fragrance throws — 
 To meet amid flowers and pearls and light. 
 On a bridal eve — 'tis a lovely sight. 
 The moon look'd down fro.Ti her pearly thron 
 Tears from the midst of her brightness shone, 
 And fell in dews o'er the mirthful place ; 
 She siffhed that morn would find no trace 
 Of the lighted smiles so blithely met 
 That like her own waning beams would set. 
 
240 Ellen's bridal. 
 
 I caught a glimpse of a brow so white 
 You had thought it all transparent light, 
 But the pearly coronal o'er it glowing, 
 The vestal robes in the night-air flowing, 
 And the band of maidens gather'd round, 
 Told that the brow for the bridal crowned. 
 That brow ! — that deathly brow and cheek, 
 Can that the bosom's gladness speak? 
 It seemed the damp still hue of fear, 
 As a spirit whispered bodings drear. 
 Still mingled smiles of the joyous crowd, 
 And the music rose to a strain more loud ; 
 There were thoughts of gloom in my fever'd brain 
 That answered not to the swellinor strain, 
 And M'hispered something dark was near 
 To dim the smiles of the careless here. 
 
 I wandered out in the citron shade. 
 Through the dark foliage moonbeams played 
 And the chequered lustre, faint and sweet. 
 Shewed here, how shade and sunlight meet. 
 
POEMS. 241 
 
 I gather'd a wreath of blossoms pale, 
 A gift to bloom o'er the bridal veil, 
 And sought again the path that led 
 To the rays from the lighted mansion shed. 
 Still they shone with as gay a glare. 
 But the sound of gladness was not there ; 
 Stillness reigned, save a mournful lay 
 Like the wind's low wail when it dies away 
 
 The lighted halls were still and lone ! 
 Where were the steps of the beautiful flown T 
 Gone as the forms of a fairy land, 
 When the Genii wave a perfumed wand ! 
 And where is she of the pale brow, where 
 With the pearly wreath in her long dark hair, 
 Where is she for whose bridal hour, 
 Were wreathed the buds of an eastern bower T 
 Oh for the fragile hope of earth ! 
 Perishing soon as its light has birth — 
 21 
 
242 Ellen's bridal. 
 
 Gone at the hour when the fond heart's trust 
 Is closest twined to the thing of dust ! 
 There's never a place death may not come, 
 And call the loved and beautiful home — 
 Here he had frowned o'er the lighted hour, 
 Like a tall tree's shade in a blooming bower. 
 Gone is the song for the sound of woe — 
 A mournful moaning wild and low. 
 
POEMS. 243 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 
 
 "It is good to have a Ihoughl for the seasons as thej" pass away." 
 
 Farewell to thee, departed one, 
 Thy smiles have wander'd by, 
 
 In the light of many a brilliant sun. 
 Of summer's glowing sky. 
 
 Thou 'rt number'd with a throng 
 
 Mighty and moveless now ! 
 But the trace of thy step will linger long 
 
 On many a human brow. 
 
244 FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 
 
 In the deep and silent heart 
 
 Thy memory will stay, 
 There are clouds that in darkness hover o'er 
 
 Whose storms have pass'd away. 
 
 Thou hast had lighted rays, 
 But who would live thee o'er, 
 
 In the clear blue sky of thy sunniest days, 
 To meet thy sorrows more ? 
 
 Go ! tell the vanish'd years 
 
 The changes thou hast met. 
 Of the ceaseless flow of human tears, 
 
 Since their waning sunbeams set ; 
 
 The many flowers laid low — 
 
 Of human hope and pride. 
 Of the blossoms borne from a world of woe. 
 
 On thy ever changing tide. 
 
POEMS. 245 
 
 Thy ling' ring sun is bright, 
 
 And thy last look a smile, 
 As thy shadowy step had been free and light, 
 
 O'er human hearts the while. 
 
 Smiles for the coming year ! 
 
 Smiles for her rising morn ! 
 *Tis well — we should lend no gloomy tear. 
 
 To sorrows yet unborn. 
 
 She may bring us love and light 
 
 On her fresh and radiant wing. 
 And her smiles may render the pathway bright,. 
 
 Whose flowers were withering. 
 
 But she brings no more the glow 
 Of the hearts whereon we lean'd — 
 
 The buried dust that was treasured so,, 
 The smiles that death has glean'd,. 
 21* 
 
246 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 I've pleasant thoughts that memory brings, in moments free 
 from care, 
 
 Of a fairy-like and laughing girl, with roses in her hair ; 
 
 Her smile was like the star-light of summer's softest skies, 
 
 And worlds of joyousness there shone, from out her witch- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 Her looks were looks of melody, her voice was like the 
 
 swell, 
 Of sudden music, notes of mirth, that of wild gladness tell ; 
 She came like spring, withpleasant sounds of sweetness and 
 
 of mirth, 
 
 And her thoughts were those wild, floweiy ones, that linger 
 not on earth. 
 
POEMS. 247 
 
 A quiet goodness beam'd amid the beauty of her face, 
 And all she said and did, was with its own instinctive grace ; 
 She seem'd as if she thought the world a good and pleasant 
 
 one, 
 And her light spirit saw no ill, in all beneath the sun. 
 
 I've dreamed of just such creatures, but they never met mj 
 
 view, 
 'Mid the sober, dull reality, in their earthly form and hue, 
 And her smile came gently over me, like spring's first 
 
 scented airs, 
 And made me think life was not all a wilderness of cares. 
 
 I know not of her destiny, or where her smile now strays, 
 
 But the thought of her comes o'er me, with my own lost 
 sunny days. 
 
 With moonlight hours, and far-off friends, and many plea- 
 sant things, 
 
 That have gone the way of all the earth on time's resistless 
 winfifs. 
 
248 AL£THE. 
 
 ALETHE. 
 
 Alfethr at thr monumental chapel, whf re lier mothei lay.—EjricurfH. 
 
 Midnight ! Still, solemn midnight ! 
 
 O'er the '' City of the Dead"— 
 Where the wrecks of human hope and pridc' 
 
 So fearfully are spread. 
 
 The moon and stars are burning on 
 
 Above the silent wails — 
 But there's not a living eye to mark 
 
 Where their lonely lustre falls. 
 
POEMS. 249 
 
 And now, o'er shrine and massive tomb, 
 
 There steals a gentle glow, 
 But another light dispels the gloom 
 
 Of the secret vault below. 
 
 From a silver lamp, in the Chapel aisle 
 
 Soft rays of light are stealing, 
 O'er the saintly relics of the dead, 
 
 And a female figure kneeling. 
 
 All that to Earth of Earth remains 
 
 When the solemn seal is set — 
 When the mourner's eye is raised above, 
 
 And the cheek is wan and wet. 
 
 On that hidden Chapel-altar lay — 
 
 In its human frailty fair, 
 With the broken flower and fleeting bird,* 
 
 The spoiler's emblems there. 
 
 * ".\m0n5 the emblems of death, on the front of the altar, were a slender lotus-branch, broken in two, 
 and a bird,just winging its flight from the spray.'' 
 
250 ALETHE. 
 
 Alethe o'er the dead has bent 
 
 Her fearful, fragile form — 
 As seraphs view, when winds are spent, 
 
 The ruin of the storm. 
 
 In a lone and fearful place ye're met — 
 
 Beauty and shadowy death ! 
 Where the stars look not, nor the sun-light comes- 
 
 Nor a zephyr's dewy breath ! 
 
 She rais'd the cross — with a mystic sign — 
 
 From her mother's chilly grasp — 
 To lips, as the blessed emblem pure, 
 
 And the saintly vision passed. 
 
 
. o 3 
 
 ^ "^^ ... . •> 
 
 
 % 
 
 ^ 
 
 ./■ 
 
 
 
 
 %. 
 
 
 -i. 
 
 " 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 <" 
 
 
 " '- H 
 
 /■ 
 
 ^ '>- - ^ ^ , \ .1 «... . 
 
o"^' 
 
 
 
 
 •^^ # > 9^ , c°- 
 
 ' u 
 
 \ 
 
 
 
 
 
 "i. 
 
 .# 
 
 -*. 
 
 ^■v 
 
 ".c^ 
 
 ^li'i 
 
 %. 
 
 /^ '^ -S 
 
 f 
 
 V 
 
 > 
 
 
 
 
 
 - ' ^ 
 
 V 
 
 
 •"O 
 
 0^ 
 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 f' 
 
 
 
 'f 
 
 X- 
 
 . . -^ 
 
 
 
 "o 
 
 0' 
 
 
 
 .^^ 
 
 ^*. 
 
 .^^ 
 
 y ^ 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 1 1 
 
 ,'^^ . 
 
 <?/,*.. o ^ 
 
 -^^ 
 
 ■^ 
 V - 
 
 xO^r. 
 
 
 'O 0> 
 
 
 ' /^. \ 
 
 
 
 
 y '^ 
 
 a 
 
 ©•^ 
 
 - .^^ 
 
 ^^. 
 
 .Oo 
 
 <-^ 
 
 
 
 -•^>. .<r 
 
 X' * 
 
 viV 
 
 
 
 cf- 
 
 .-0' ,"- 
 
 
 C .^ ^. ^^^.^ 
 
 \ 
 
 Oo, 
 
 .'^' 
 
 
 # 
 
 
 '., '^o 
 
 
 
 
 "^/>.<v^' : 
 
 '^' .^^ 
 
 \.o^ 
 
 V^ 
 
 %r^> 
 
 s (; ^■^^ ' * * ^