'•»i ,0»», »••" ';**6* '^^-tff .o"«, ^. <» ♦»io' ^ . •" ^f .. ^ ••'° -vT *?t. *^^* a9 "*« •» o , '^ A> ^ia^a(0 ^^aii2« SCENfifSY AMERICAN. No \ the wild bliss of Nature needs alloj', And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! Pleasures of Hope. NEW-YORK : PUBLISHED BY THOMAS J. CROWEN, AT THE LYCEUM BOOK STORE, 567 BROADWAY. 1838. ^'^^'^ Kntered according to Act of Congress. CONTENTS. Dedication • , . 5 Invocation 7 Part I. C HILDHOOD. Canto I. — The Village . , . . . . U Canto IL— The Festival . . . . . . 25 Canto IlL— The Alarum 37 Part 11. PASSION. Canto I. — The Resolve 51 Captto II. — The Encounter 69 Canto III.— The Billet-doux 83 Part III. TH E CHRISTI A N. Canto I.— The Traveler 99 Canto II. — The Re-Encounter 113 Canto IIL— The Bower ...... 129 Notes . . . .145 I TO THE YOUTH OF THE AGE THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED, BY ONE OP THEIR NUMBER, THE AUTHOR. INVOCATION Genius of Joy ! bright daughter of the skies ! To whom the spirit's purest off'rings rise; Whose potent sway the wise man longs to know ; Around whose shrine the poet's raptures flow ; To feel whose kindling, deep-absorbhig fires Each human soul with ardent zeal aspires ; — O, where is thine unknown, celestial seat ? Where wilt thou deign wild fancy's gaze to greet ? What are thy offspring ? what the fairy fruits Thy hand to cheer life's thorny pathway suits ? How near, O Spirit, to thy lovely bower May mortals come, and freely taste thy power ? The face of Nature, varied, bright, and fair, May touch the heart, and reign unrivalled there ; Music's raptures, the tale's recorded sigh. The pencilled landscape, ' beauty's matchless eye,' Thrill through the soul whose cords are strung on high ; Yet these are transient — where again, O where. Is that unwav'ring light, so pure, so fair, That tempers bliss, that mitigates each care ? I 8 INVOCATION. O thou Guardian Spirit of true delight ! Whose gifts are ever holy, ever bright ; Who, joined to Truth by union's strongest tie, Shalt alway live if Truth can never die ; On whom, if e'en before heaven's court thou stood. The word of God would say, ^ 'Tis very good ;' — Thee I invoke, O purest child of heaven ! From thee each aid, each sentiment be given ! And while my rude, untutored hand would try To tune the sacred Lyre of Poesy; While first aloud I lift my voice in song. And first w^ould dare the Muse's note prolong ; And while mine eye would fain with eagle gaze Survey, and gather from, life's chequered maze ; O may thine own and Virtue's kindly ray Shine forth in peerless lustre o'er my lay ! And since the skill is rude, and years are few. The more, Seraph, let thy power prove true 1 0, if thou wouldst but hear my earnest prayer. If I the world might show thy glories rare. Then gladly would I feel thee leave my heart, Then gladly would I know pain's bitter smart. For my heart's ambition, and my lay's employ. Is not to yield the mind a glitt'ring toy. But point the diamond coronet of Hallowed Joy ! PART I. CHILDHOOD For gentle was their love, * Nor e'er did earth behold a sight So meekly beautiful as they. Sweet harmonists ! and beautiful as sweet ! And young as beautiful! and soft as young! And gay as soft ! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good ! Mjoie Young CANTO i. THE VILLAGE. Behold yon giant of the wood, That towers aloft sublimely still ! And waves as if, in haughty mood, To give forth mandates of its will ! And sweeps its powerful arms around. As instruments of its command, And by its circling bulwarks bound, It strikes the sky, and spurns the land ! Sweet songsters its protection crave And gently falls its soothing shade ; Yet loftily its branches wave, Regardless of the weal they made ! The sun his scorching beams may pour, The tempest boom along the gale, It stands, within itself secure, And lifts its head above the wail ! Yet, though it thus be proudly throned O'er woodland scenes and beasts that roam, 12 CHILDHOOD. The sylvan monarch once has owned The hidden nook its humble home, Once grew unnoticed in the shade, And bowed beneath the moistening shower ; Once owned its equal in the blade, And bloomed beside the lowly flower ! II. The rushing waters of the stream, That sweep with reckless speed along. And girt with majesty would seem Above all nature's barriers strong, Now whirling on in sullen roar. And lashing with their angry spray. Now rolling in their curbless power Along the deep unrufled way, Or as in one wild phalanx thrown, They leap adown the frowning rock, And bid the mountain forests moan, And earth to tremble 'neath the shock, — Say, ask ye whence the torrent's might, And where the river's youthful home ? Behold it far from vulgar sight, Where man and beast but seldom roam : There, in that still and lonely place. Whose beauties only Nature knows, Where lilies droop with queenly grace, And the lovely wild flower purely glows. There first begins the streamlet's race. Just ripples forth, and onward flows ! 1 THE VILLAGE. 13 III. Behold thine emblems, lordly man ! And lo, the pictured course of life, thou who boastest thou canst scan Creation's rounds, with myst'ries rife ! For when we lift our searching gaze From breathless forms to deathless names, And enter that mysterious maze From whence the soul's bright sparkle flames ; Where dwells that great yet unseen Power Which makes all nature feel its wand. To which Creation brings her dower From heaven and earth, from sea and land ; Where, too, there ebbs and flows the tide Of Fancy flamed by Passion's fan, That spurs to action grand and wide Each throbbing sinew of the man ; Here, too, we can but own that law Which to its fountain traces glory, And read in all man's proud eclat The river's and the arbor's story. And on each frontlet sits this mark, Which Retrospection there hath reared, ' I once was happy as the lark, And once delight my footsteps cheered.' IV. For there's a season on life's way Pregnant with peace, and richly calm, B i 14 CHILDHOOB. That brings sweet pastimes for to-day^ And for the morrow soothing balm. Perchance it was in childhood^s time. And smiled on boyhood's darling schemes. Or passed in manhood's op'ning prime. Charmed by the future's dazzling gleams. Whate'er may be that happy hour When softly steals delight's bright ray, Its gentle voice speaks forth in power. Each tender feeling owns its sway. The lowly man, the weary worn. The great, the mighty, and the brave, May meditate, and sigh, and mourn, O'er dreams that found an early grave. And there are scenes which alway cheer, When all beside seem dark and drear ; Though every other may have flown, The heart still fondly clings to one ; And the whole soul's intense emotion May for one spot for ever last. As 'twere an islet in the ocean, As 'twere an oasis in the waste. And often from the lowliest bowers. The quietest and most serene, There issue forth earth's highest powers. Or deeds that wear the darkest mien : And when we view the weal or woe, That yields its blessing, or its curse, ■ THE VILLAGE. 15 Ah, little do we guess they flow From such an unassuming source ; Just as we trace to fountains low The tree's vast height, the torrent's force. VI. Thus, who that ever viewed thy scene, O loveliest Village of the land ! And looked upon thy living green, Depicted as with magic wand ; That ever marked thy graceful modesty, Serenely smiling in the glade. Where softly meet the well pleased eye The mingled tints of light and shade ; And who that ever viewed the peace That sat upon thy neighborhood, And marked upon each cheerful face The signet of love's hallowed mot)d5 Would e'er have thought that from thy breast. Where love and comfort seemed to reign, A single evil could have past, Or aught that whispered of design ? Who could conceive that passion's night Would ever to thy bosom glide. And that experience e'er would light Upon a warning for a guide ? And least of all who could have guessed That malice would have sprung from thee. And that deep cunning would infest The upright actions of the free ? 16 CHILDHOOD, VII. Yet wherefore mar our present ease By such prophetic mutterings — By such unwelcome, harsh ideas. Which may, heav'n grant, wear falsehood's wings ? Why conjure up such gross alloy. Such ghostly forms, as from the dead, To fright us from our present joy, By the surrounding gladness fed ? Say, is it not enough that when The serpent enters pleasure's bower. And in its track come woe and pain. And dread despair begins to lower, — Is 't not enough that then we taste Of mis'ry's bitter, loathsome cup. And not in that foul cup to waste The present hour's pure, sparkling drop ? VIII. Therefore away, each dreary thought That would all quiet overwhelm, And ne'er again obtrude unsought On chaste delight's selected realm. But come, each gentle spirit fair That rulest o'er earth's loveliness ; And come, Protectress of whate'er Is true to innocence and bliss ; And hail, thou heaven-descended Power, Who cuU'st delight from JVature's ways, THE VILLAGE. 17 And causest all her works to shower Upon the soul joy's purest rays ! O come, and guide the trembling hand That would depict a gentle theme. And pour forth all thy charms so bland Upon my fancy's wand'ring dream ! And 0, portray with tints most rare That calm and lovely woodland spot— A spot all worthy of your care, A spot that merits deathless note ; A spot so sweet and so serene, So free from fault, so free from crime, A spot of such a pleasant mien, It might not seem the gift of time : A spot whose name looked back to age, And seemed on ancient notes to rise ; For 'twas not deemed a sacrilege To call it even Paradise ! (1) IX. Embosomed in the wood it lay, A garden blooming amid groves ; And shone with a superior ray. Like some choice one 'mong all our loves. No proudly swelling domes were there, No mighty monuments of art. But Nature, and her train most fair. Who best can touch the feeling heart. Green was the turf, and soft the lawn. That bloomed the tidy walks beside ; 18 CHILDHOOD. And shrubs, and plants, and flowers were strown Around the scenery near and wide. And there seemed naught that did not own Delightful Nature's gentle sway. Naught save the humble homes alone, That ranged along the platform lay And even these were so enshrined la Nature's brightest ornaments, And were with creeping vines entwined With such a graceful elegance. That, in a more fantastic gear. And with more gorgeous robes arrayed, Ev'n these did scarcely but appear Things, too, by Nature's hand displayed. X. Upon one side there rose the hill, That in the distance reached its height ; And from its sloping side so still Now waved the forests on the sight ; From which the distant trickling waters. And the far echoing cascade, The mountain's sweet melodious daughters. Came whisp'ring through the darksome shade ; And mingled with their thrilling strain The feathered warblers sang their song ; As if upon earth's lowly plain The airy sprites their notes prolong. While on the other side, between The rustling branches of a wood THE VILLAGE. 19 That stood the outskirt of the scene, The waters of a stream were viewed : A stream that issued from the North, (2) *Mid regions oft with mountains piled, And over rocks and glens poured forth Its sparkling waters free and wild : As if they did from their wild source The spirit of romance onward waft, And had in their free highland course Drank deep of freedom's cooling drauglit, And now were bearing to the plain The treasures in their bosom hid. Imparting to man's proud domain The spirit by the mountains bred. XI. And if to join with this loved spot A prophecy, seem so profane, surely not the least sad thought Will dare the present page to stain ; For truly sorrow's lightest moans Were never known to that fair twain. To those dear forms, to those dear ones. That grace with their loved charms my strain I They were so in each other bound, The social joy was so uncloyed. They seemed to sport youth's field around Of all uneasiness devoid I 20 CHILDHOOD. XII. Marked you, as backward from the scene You wander toward the silent wood. There marked you, on the farthest green, A steeple and a dwelling stood ? There rose the temple's modest dome. And all seemed calmly sacred there ; For this the people called their home — That still and hallowed place of prayer ! And there, from bustle thus removed. There dwelt the shepherd of the flock — He, by all the Village loved. He, their pillar and their rock : And ! if peace, and joy, and love. E'er from domestic circles shone. Here were they in perfection wove — And Miron was the only son ! XIII, Beheld ye too that stately man, Whose head with care was silvered o'er, That man who seemed so sad and wan, Yet kindness on his forehead bore, Whose counsels were so largely sought, Who gave them with so free an air. And yet to whom no kindness brought A soothing respite from his care ? He mourned o'er joys for ever flown, And thought upon their transient stay ; THE VILLAGE. 21 He mourned his bosom partner gone— The loved companion of his way. And yet one solace had not fled — That loved companion's lovely dow^er, And oft and gladly in her stead Florilla cheered his lonely hour. That name a name most fitting seemed ; She was a flower of choicest ray, Not only by her father deemed, But by each tongue's heart-echoing lay. The Village loved that name to greet, That with a touching music came. And if it ever seemed more sweet, 'Twas when 'twas joined with Miron's name ! XIV. And Miron and Florilla were Such as mankind but seldom see. And angels might have viewed that pair With eyes of even sympathy. What though they were of tender youth ^ Nor ev'n had passed from Childhood's day, 'Twould be a powerful bait, forsooth, Could lure them from their loves away ! Their friendship was a flower that grew From sportive childhood's bustling toys, And had been watered by the dew Of playful hours and social joys. It was a love that knew no cloud. And scarce could nurture sentiment, 22 CHILDHOOD. A love by like pursuits endowed, By bright and chastened merriment. And now they might no more the bowl Of artless, thoughtless friendship fill, Mysterious in their inmost soul They felt that new that deeper thrill ! XV. And while in converse, mirth, and song, His happy hours unnumbered flew, The youth wist not that in the thronof Of men there loved another too ; And she knew not ; she only knew There was one sharer of her lot. And while from his loved words she drew Her life, the world was all forgot ! XVI. O smile not with an: air too light Upon their humble, simple ways. But kindly, aye and with delight, Look forth upon love's purest rays. For since to their bright dreams there came No visions of a future hour, And since they never spake love's name^ And scarcely knew they felt its power, And since anxiety's fitful gleams Did never o'er joy's radiance move. To tell them of its steady beams. Because of this, 'twas purely love ; 1 THE VILLAGE. 23 A love that is that glorious sun Round which joy's halo ever glows, Toward which the spirit's visions run With zeal that no abatement know^s ! A love that rarely finds its birth Save in those visions of the soul ; And even when it visits earth, As moonbeams kiss the outspread dearth, Ah, soon the clouds athwart it roll ! CANTO IL THE FESTIVAL. I. The dazzling sun hath darksome motes, The beanteous earth her desert spots. To mark them incomplete ; The bud hath oft a worm at core. The lightsome heart an aching sore, That mar their bloom so sweet : Go, traverse up and down along Earth's varied scenes and busy throng. You note these emblems then ; For if in aught beneath the sky Ye would perfection seek to spy. Ye seek, alas ! in vain. II. The Muse in her wild strain hath said, *No proudly swelling domes were there,' Yet if her soaring flight were staid, A sob'rer verdict might appear ; For if it could assume the name. The title of a lofty pile, c 26 CHILDHOOD. There was one structure there might claim Suprem'cy o'er the rest the while. Ensconced within the scene it stood, And reared its proud aspiring head ; And whether viewed in angry mood Or pleasant, heedless there it stayed. Til. But not more strangely would ye scan The contrast formed by this lone dome. Than ye would view that haughty man Who proudly called it his proud home ; But I may not attempt to look Too closely 'mong his mysteries. For Arnold was not one would brook Inspection of his secrecies. His wealth was his unwearied vaunt. And yet how largely this would flow, And where his riches' hidden fount, None knew, and none dared seek to know. And he, forsooth, bethought him too All worth did to himself belong. And stiff and haughtily he drew His worthy self above the throng ! IV. He had a son — a son whose ire — Yet wherefore dwell upon the son ? For with such wealth, with such a sire. His portrait is too clearly drawn. THE FESTIVAL. 27 Yet wouldst thou trace the dang'rous path In which the youth unheeding walks ? Go, view yon city's scenes of wrath, Where foul debauch unblushing stalks. And wouldst thou view the awful chains That bind that youth, his hopes, his all ? Mark how of sin's polluting stains Each forms its link, each adds its thrall I V. 'Tis true the quiet village-band Liked neither father nor the son, And would prefer the ill placed stand Were with its tenants rooted, gone ; And yet no open, jarring breach Could find an easy entrance there — Each party knew its sphere, and each Would not with other interfere. And though sometimes a dire event Might yield discordant notes, and wild, The concord by the scenery lent Was still harmonious and mild. VI, And thus arrayed in modest worth. The beauteous garden of the earth. Where only one exception taught That this, too, was with frailty fraught, Reposed that village so serene, New-England's fairest, choicest scene, 28 CHILDHOOD. Ere yet upon the slumb'ring soil The war-drum pealed the battle-toil ; Ere yet the Spirit of Freedom, crushed By haughty power, to vengeance jrushed ; Ere yet Resistance' sleeping form Was roused to grapple with the storm. VI r. And I05 upon the country's might. Reposing as the lion doth. The Autumn's rich and mellow light. Her golden fruits of Summer-growth, Her beautifully sad campaign, Her moaning woods, so sweetly drear, And all the gorgeous domain That decks the portal of the year. Ruled then with such a lovely reign. To solemnize, to bless, to cheer. That where is he that would not then Raise high the song, to Godhead dear ? VIII, New-England felt and owned the boon Descending from the courts of heaven, And raised to heaven's all-bounteous One Thanks for the gifts so largely given. And at this seas'n, with riches fraught. Upon some cherished, longed for day, As by their fathers they were taught, The people raised their grateful lay. THE FESTIVAL. 29 And how more pleasing would that lay Ascend before th' eternal throne. Than when, as undenied they may. They freely use the gifts poured down And so, with chaste enjoyments bland, The Autumn's beauteous scenes behold. Throughout the fertile, smiling land, The Festival's delights unrolled, (3) ? IX. And on that ever welcome day, Arrayed in all her choicest guise, The Festival has found its way Within the beauteous Paradise ! What though there were not there displayed Those dainties delicate and light, Nor yet those draughts of poison dread. Which spring beneath Art's magic might ? The richest fruits, the healthiest fare. And Nature's bev'rage there abound ; Go, wander far and wide, and where Will choicer bounties e'er be found ? X, And while throughout that lovely place. Upon that bright Autumnal day. The people, with their modest grace, Observed the feast so chastely gay. The sun, enamored of the view, Drew near to gaze upon the scene. 30 CHILDHOOD. And poured upon the spot anew His rays of genial warmth serene ; As if the Summer's bright'ning beams, And all the beauty Summer brings, Had come again in matchless streams To grace sad Autumn's golden wings 1 XI. And why should not, when such a scene Calls forth t' enjoy what it imparts, When in God's hallowed house hath been Devotion sent from grateful hearts, And when the Festival's choice fare, With its enjoyments, hath passed o'er, Say, why should not the bracing air Impart its fresh and strength'ning power ? Why should not youth and childhood gay Enjoy those sweet, those sportive toys Which youth and childhood's happy day Alone desires, alone enjoys ? And^ 'mong the gayest, they were there,^ That simple, lovely, chosen pair, That unexampled couple who Are always surely meant if e'er You speak of two supremely fair. For there of such there were but two ! XII. And while upon that lovely lawn, Now blooming 'neath heaven's bounteous smile, THE FESTIVAL. 31 The joys of life's refulgent dawn The waning of the day beguile, O^ where has gay Florilla gone. With all her childlike witchery ? Why hath the bird all-flutt'ring flown Within the wood so quietly. But that she might in mischief view Uneasiness encircling round The brow of him she full well knew Would seek her till he found ? And as in some enchanting place She sat her down, so matchless fair, And laid her full-orbed morning face On that fair hand that held it there, Where have her soul's bright visions flown ? And what the vision yields that glow ? What but the thought of th' absent one, Whose ways with hers harmonious flow ? She asked, too, as her dreams flit o'er, Why thus to him her thoughts revert, The question, never asked before, Was answered by a flutt'ring heart ! XIII. A footstep rang upon the air From Autumn's leaves around her strewn ; That artful smile again was there, But quick as lightning it has gone ; She turned, and lo, upon her view Young Arnold sprang, of haughty mien^ 32 CHILDHOOD. And from his eyes' dark orbs there flew A look she ne'er before had seen. The maiden shrank in wild affright, And cast a timid glance around, As when a dove so chastely white Starts from beneath the thmider's sound ! ^ 0, fear not me,' he warmly said, And smiled, forsooth, yes, even smiled, ' 0, if thou knew, unrivaled maid. The burning love, the deep, the wild' — He drew a step or two more nigh. Toward her form so pure as snow ; The maid in terror turned to fly. And bounded like the mountain roe ! Touched to the quick he saw her fly. And angry flashings o'er him glare. And as she flies so swiftly by. His form, his form again is there ; A scream of fear, again she flew ; A scream of joy as quickly rings, ' 'Tis Miron, 'tis Miron !' she bounds anew. And lo, V his form she wildly clings ! Her troubles fled at that dear word. Secure may now the maiden rest. No harm can e'er betide the bird That's lodged within its slender nest i XIV. Proud of the trust upon him cast, And proud of her he held so light, THE FESTIVAL. 33 With form erect, and dauntless breast. That showed the embryo man of might. With spirit free as mountain-wind. And fearless as the rolling flood. That spake a mighty soul, designed For high emprise, the stripling stood. One hand was round the drooping waist That clung so fondly to his own. And one as in command was raised, To bid all harm forthwith be gone. Didst ever see fair Innocence Mailed in her own invinc'ble might ? Ah, there methinks Malevolence Could ne'er obtrude, ne'er seek to blight. XV. The baffled madman turned in ire, While wounded pride, and piqued desire Roused every demon passion dire That's lit from hell's exhaustless fire, Which burned upon his tortured brain. And strung each nerve, and ruled the man, As in a dark, unearthly strain. His mutt'rings dire he thus began : — ■ ' And shall I — I whose every will Hath been sure prelude to delight, I whose charmed glance, where'er it fell. Young hearts hath conquered but to blight — Shall I by this young fair so light 34 CHILDHOOD. Behold me shorn of my great might ? Shall baffled plans e'er greet my sight, My very self, my power despite ? 'And shall I see those charms so dear To that young boy, that infant go ? And shall their lives from year to year Together all-harmonious flow, While they with scoffing finger show My grov'ling path down, down so low, And pour the bans of vengeful woe Upon my head ? — No, never, no !' XVI. He turned in his wrath, and his eyes flamed with fire, And his limbs were convulsed by the might of his ire ; ' What ho !' cried the madman, ' ye simpletons dear. Ye so spruce, ye so sweet, ye so lovingly near. Do ye think, since with bliss your life's cup ye now fill, That it always will flow so unruffled and still ? Hark, while by the charm of an injured man's curse. By the power of the demons that revengefulness nurse, By the freedom to speak, by the freedom to do, I swear so determinedly, recklessly true. That though ye may live, ye may meet, ye may love, Yet ne'er shall joy's radiance shine forth from above ; May the blight of my curse, may the blight of the lost, Throw their glare o'er your fortunes by agony tost !' THE FESTIVAL. 35 XVII. I Nor man nor beast have heard him rave ; | The dwellers of the wood have gone ; And all is silent as the grave, All but the shrill wind's fitful moan ; The sun has left the world in gloom. And ah, the stillness of that hour ! Fit hour for spirits of the tomb Their threats, their bans, their woes to pour ! And shall the fiendish fire that flows From this excited idiot's brain Flame on unquenched, and burn in woes Of hell the victims it would gain ? > That lofty and eternal Might, Who rules above heaven, earth, and hell. That Fountain of all holy light, Th' omniscient God, alone can tell ! ri'1 CANTO III. THE ALARUM. I. Long had it strode upon the sky — The darkened thunder-cloud of war ; And mortals long, with quailing eye. Had marked it booming from afar ; Had marked it when first, small and light. The mist portentous left the flood. And curled aloft in airy flight. Like spirits to the heavens wooed ; Had marked it far more darkly lower. And clothe the mountains in its pall; Had heard the distant rumbling roar From pole to pole in terror fall. In vain the nation's deepened moan Had sought to deprecate its wrath. It still rolled on, it fast rolled on. Upon its broad, its sweeping path. !; II. And lo, far stretched, above, around) It hangs upon a fated world ! D 38 CUlLDUOOD, All nature, by its shadows bound, Deep feels its horrors o'er her hurled. Already flames the lurid glare. Already pealing thunders roll, The mighty floods have left their lair, To blot a nation from earth's scroll ; ' To blot a nation ?' Never, no, In vain ye seek to chain the free ; The tempest svreeps the air and lo, A world is circling Freedom's tree ! The scowl the darkened sky casts down Strikes on the front of bearded men. And wakens there a darker frown, That threats the forgers of their chain f The vivid flame that streams on high Bids intellectual flashes roll, Lights up a nation^s mental eye, And quickens well the mighty soul ; A soul that in the name of right Lifts high young Freedom's matchless sword, And in her great primeval might Proclaims heaven's King her only Lord ! III. Ev'n when a single gifted mind Doth feel the promptings of its might, And over earth's dark powers combined Lifts forth the standard of man's right, When deepened glow, and heavenly trust, And brow 'neath which stern thoughts revolve^ 1 THE ALARUM. 39 And gaze upturned to Him on high. Proclaim the spirit's firm resolve, Ev'n then may tyrants learn to crouch, And own the dignity of worth ; May start from their uneasy couch, And ask if still thev be of earth ; Ev'n then may darkness' woful powers Mark well the places of their might, And as the strong man's dread arm towers. May tremble 'neath th' expected blight* IV. But when the deep, excited glow. The knitted brow, and heavenly trust. High on the fronts of armies show Their souls by one great motive flushed. When roused by oppression's haughty deed. When stung by scorn upon her thrown, A nation bids oppression bleed^ And cries her own will shall be done. Then well may every sordid power That on the wreck of others' right, The wreck of Nature's sacred dower. Would build its own despotic might, — • Then well may all the fiends that sweep The world from darkest realms below, Rave round domains they may not keep, And wail the parting dirge of woe ; Like the last sad howl the tempest yields When o'er its boistVous greatness sweep 40 CHILDHOOD. The glories of a sun that gilds With splendor, and that pierceth deep f Already Freedom's daring sons Had proved their birthright sure and good ;. Had drawn forth tyr'ny's first-born moans, And 'gainst oppression boldly stood : The blood of Lexington had told The spirit of resistance there ; And Bunker's mighty exploits hold To tyrany a warning fair. The councils of the nation, too. Imbibed the spirit from afar, Had formed the mighty plan- — and lo, A Washington will lead the war ! Then was there gath'ring to the field Of dang'rous war in eager haste ; Then all th' extended land beheld The freemen's standard proudly raised 1 The husbandman's well cultured soil. The beauteous scenes around him ranged, Must for the camps, the noise, the toil. The murd'rous tools of war be changed. Then kindred ties are broken too, And hearts must feel the parting blight, And all the land yield notes of woe O'er absence' long and dreary night ! ITHE ALARtrM. 41 VI. And it hath entered Eden's bower— The war-spir't dwells in Paradise ! Ev'n there is felt a mightier power Than from domestic joys doth rise. And it must even need molest The closest ties the village knew ; That youth, their hope, their fairest, best^ That dearest to Florilla, too, With haste, at Liberty's behest. To fight her glorious battles flew ! VII. In vain a father's earnest care Had trained him for a diff'rent aim> Had taught him lore, and bade prepare T' obey his own cajl's sacred claim. The youth, indeed, had ever been One who feared not the classic lore, Had studied well, been taught to glean , From learning's mines the richest ore ; But youth is not the time when thought Can bear attention's steady sway, And mental jOys are seldom sought Save in the man's maturer day. But things more palpable and plain Yield to the mind its young delight, And love for enterprise doth reign With firm and all-§ubduing might. 42 CHILDHOOD* Young Miron fett his spirit strong, Feared naught, and on himself relied^ And wakened by his country's wrong, Longed in her cause for action wide. What though of years he numbered few, And scarce his country claimed his aid ? The youth at once to manhood grew. And eager drew th' unwonted blade, And panted for the glorious deed. As the young wild-horse quits the vale. And scours the prairie in his speed. And streams upon the sweeping gale ! VIII. In vain, too, were a mother's tears; Yet ah, those tears ! they pierce his soul : That mother who through hopes and fears Had watched his op'ning powers unroll : That mother whose warm heart had poured Its tender gushings o'er her son, And taught that son's young heart t' afford Affections warm as were her own ! And lo, her tears, and sighs, and sobs. Employ the doleful parting hour ; But mingled with her heart-felt throbs. Her blessings on his loved head shower. For if he must, alas ! depart. Must leave his mother and his home^ Then freely shall a mother's heart Forbid its grief too far to roam : tHE ALARUM* 43 Then shall a mother's hands prepare Their last sad offices of good, Shall fit him well, yield comforts rare. Ere yet his path is on life's flood. And he may go, his mother says ; And with his parents' free consent, And with their blessing on his ways The youth to glory boldly went. IX. And there was too that other tie— ^ A tie that fain would bind him there ; A tie round which there quickly fly The warmest joys the heart can bear. In vain their friends had seen them grow. Like plants, together, side by side. And thought misfortune's heavy blow Would ne'er their dear loved ones betide i Had poured in warmth upon their head Wishes for bliss without alloy ; Had to Joy's Guardian Spirit prayed For pure, unmixed, unceasing joy. The Spirit looked in kindness down^ Yet shook her fairy locks of gold. Forbade to grant the prayed for boon, And thus her will aloud was told : ^ Shall those bright joys within my shrine, Those joys that purity bespeak, 44 CIllLDliOOi). In their all-holy splendor shine On th' inexperienced and the weak, Where no foretaste of trouble's blight, Which blasts life's joys, hath yet been known, Where ceaseless and unchanged delight Leads not the soul to heaven's great throne ? Their path through shining meads, forsooth, Of flow'ry toys and sports might wind, But list to one with whom dwells truth™ Not such the joys for man designed. But chequered is the field of life ; Each sweet must have its sour ; The heart grows pure 'neath sorrow's strife ; Heaven o'er it doth its soothings shower ! ' The Goddess closed her dazzling screen, Withdrew her heavenly beaming smile. Yet wept a tear, as were foreseen The bitter woes the youths must feel the while XI. The evening shadows gathered fast O'er his last day of peaceful rest ; Oft had he viewed them flitting past, And thoughts swell high his Jab'ring breast. The night-breeze waved upon the air ; So often, while a gentle boy^ He'd felt it cool his forehead bare. His young soul glowed with mournful joy. The moonbeams gild the floating clouds, And shadows trace th' alternate light ; 1 THE ALARUM. 45 Their oft repeated splendor crowds Upon his deep-toned spirit^s sight. XII. They sadly gazed— he and his love, And drank the evening glories in ; They breathed the fragrance of the grove, And walked upon the carpet-green. He spake of his young spirit's aim, He scanned the future's dizzy height, And talked of glory, worth, and ftime, Upborne on gorgeous fancy's flight. ^ But you will not forget me then ? And you will write me from the war ? And when sweet peace once more doth reign, You'll come, no more to roam afar ^ ' Slie spake in earnest eloquence, A tear-drop glistened in the moonbeams ! And through her form's soft elegance A spirit of tend'rest feeling streams ! That sparkling tear, through seasons' roll. Through sorrow's night, through glory's day, Shall glow uncloyed within his soul, A living pearl of loveliest ray ! XIII, They sang, and noiselessly the wood, The heavens' spangled orbs above, And the meand'ring river's flood, Were list'ning to their song of love ! 46 CHILDHOOD. The whip-poor-will kept concord sweet. The gurgling streams, the woods among, In murm'ring strains the music greet, And mingle with the sad night-song : ' Ah ! why should life's more rugged call, Ah ! why should glory's promptings all, O'er hearts' warm ties Like mildew rise ? ' Why may not all the heart holds dear Be kept a treasure ever near Through all the strife Of varied life ? ' may the Power that rules men's right. And may the Guardian of Delight, In concert meet, The world to greet ! ' Then shall all tears forget to flow. Then banished every grief and woe That love and right Now seek to blight. o' ' Then shall two hearts of well tried truth Bloom on in ever during youth, And heavenward raise The song of praise ! ' THE ALARUM. 47 XIV. They sang 'neath Hope's refulgent beams. And scanned the future's unknown way ; But when, ah when, shall their bright dreams Immerge in Reality's glorious day ? END OF PART U PART 11. PASSION Alas ! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert ; whence aiise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, Flowers whose wild odors breathe but agonies, And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. Childe Harold. CANTO I. THE RESOLVE. I. June's gorgeousness illumes the sky. The world lies decked like fairy dreams. Among the floating clouds on high Sport joyfully the sunny beams. Earth springs anew in splsndor's guise. And robed in new and rich attire, Gives back her tribute to the skies, Wafts incense with a glowing fire. Nature feels young, spreads soft delights. And, sweet as soothing zephyrs are, Yields warbling sounds, and beauteous sights, And fragrance breathing from afar. II. Spectator of the thrilling scene, A warrior reined his prancing steed ; And on his front a manly mien Was stamped — ^just Nature's noble meed ! But blended with the signs of thought, Of dignity, of lofty truth, 52 PASSION* Another stamp was boldly wrought. And 'twas the stamp of ripened youth. He might have known long hardy toil. Have counted many an anxious hour. Have felt disappointment's bitter foil^ And sunk while foes and recreants tower y Yet still the flashing of his eye Burned brightly with unconquered flame ; His soul seemed fastened on the sky With steady and unwav'ring aim. The open toils of camps, forsooth. And marches 'neath the noonday sun The features of the active youth Might chanced t' have tinged with shady dun It could not for one moment hide The glowing richness of his blood, Nor obliterate one stamp of pride That on his lofty forehead stood ! III. Long and severe had been the strife Which freemen waged in Freedom's name. The torch of war, with danger rife, Had burned full long with murd'rous flame. At length success has crowned the war, At length the mighty blow is given Which breaks Oppression's wanton power. And adds a star t' the hosts of heaven. It spread like wildfire through the land, ' Our arms have won, and we are free ; THE RESOLVE. Long may we our own command, And nurse the plant of Liberty ! ' That youth had urged his country's cause. Had fought the battles of the brave, And honored by his heart's applause. Had bade the patriot- standard wave. And when was struck the last great blow. He turned him to his distant home — What was his home, alas ! but now All mournful turns the Muse therefrom, IV. Sad was the lustre of his eye, Deep feeling marked its intense glow. As entered 'neath his native sky. The woodland breezes fanned his brow. He hied him on with eager strides. His gaze drank in each well known spot. Till sudden in the glade he rides. And sees — alas, his heart tells what ! 'And it is even so,' cried he, 'The gale bore true the sad report — Here lie my joys, my all, ah me ! Of vengeful blasts the yielding sport ! I heard, indeed, the woful tale, My ears did hear, my mind heard not ; I thought of some portentous wail. But indistinct the vision sought. But now I feel the awful truth Burst o'er my spirit dank and drear ! 53 54 PASSION. Banished all hope, banished all rut l. And banished all that makes life dear ! ' His soul had been bound up in avight Save what to tenderness belong, The mighty deeds of war had brought Thoughts hardy, manly, great, and strong And now rush back affection's ties, Yet freeze beneath misfortune's blight ^ As stern December's storm-gusts rise Around an infant's form so slight ! V. ^ Ah, youth,' he cried to one that passed, Sad havoc here the war hath made ? ' ' Yes, stranger ; months have flitted fast Since bloomed in beauty this sad glade.' ' Thou call'st me stranger — dost not know The youth so fond of sportive game, Whose ways from peaceful scenes did flow ? 1 know thee^ Bradley is thy name.' ' What, Miron ? can it surely be ? Art thou that sprightly, fav'rite lad ? Ah, thou art changed, thy tones all glee Are tuned to sounds so deep, so sad ! ' VI. His restless eye the ruin viewed. Yet toward the distance eager ranged. Lo, yonder, in their solitude, Unscathed by sword, by fire unchanged, TH£^ RESOLVE. 55 Still rose the churchy his home near by. Still stood the grave-yard's brier-grown tomb. ^ Ah, woe is me ! how did they die ? How did they meet the parting doom ?' His steed is left to paw the green, His manly form in statliness went, Yet low and pensive is his mien. Like towering oak by fierce winds bent. His father's cares, by strength long left. Long since have brought him to his grave* His mother thus of all was reft, And lo, o'er both the willows wave ! vir. He stood beside their graves in grief. Plain and expressive was the stone, A thousand ties in bold relief Crowd on his vision sad and lone* His mind rolled back to former days. And culled mementoes of the past ; He thought of all their gentle ways, And by-gone scenes flit o'er him fast. ^ O my father ! thou of sterling worth, Of judgment strong, of heart so kind! Too slightly did my soul, all mirth, Repose in thy dear counsels find. And O my mother ! that thou Wert for one moment with thy son. That thy son's heart might thank thee now For all the cares for me thou e'er hast known ! ^ 56 PASSION. He bowed beneath the bitter blight, He mourned, he wept^ the warrior wept ; Stern manhood yields to sorrow's might. As streams from Horeb's rock once swept ! VIII, Young Bradley says, as wanes the hour, ' Ah, trebly blasted are thy ties ! Thou lovedst, I ween, the village flower ?' ^ Ah, what of her, my love ? ' he cries. ' Amid the raging of the war. Amid the ruin's fun ral pyre. They bore away the hapless fair, Yet, yet, she saw her sire expire.' ' And what of him, the good old man } ' ' He would have kept his daughter there, To save her eagerly he ran. But met the dire steel cold and bare !' IX. His head reposed upon his breast. His eye assumed a pensive gaze. The glories of the distant West Cast o'er his thoughtful brow their rays. Long and intent his thoughts seemed placed Upon a sweet yet mournful theme. Now sad reproach his features traced, Now tend'rest feelings softly beam. She had, indeed, it would appear, Forgotten all their former love, THE RESOLVE. 57 His letters and love-gifts ne'er Had answer brought, her faith to prove Thus thought he, but he wronged her ; O ! He knew not what the maid had borne ; His frank soul knew not that a foe Could play deceit, deep and forlorn. Thus thought he, but yet o'er his soul Crept sweetly many a well known scene, As mournfully he feels the whole Of what they once had known and been ! At length his eye caught sudden fire, And burned, dilated, strong and keen; Aloft his form rose, as in ire. And high resolve stamped then his mien. ' And so 'tis thou hast wrought this woe. Thou Arnold, of the traitor's name ! 'Tis thou hast at one stroke laid low This beauteous spot, to swell thy shame. (4) As sure as in yon city's domes Still lie my country's bitter foes, (5) As sure as there in deathlike foams Thy life all vile and bloody flows, I '11 hie me there, and there will prove' — His tongue spake not his soul's resolve ; Firm set his teeth, no muscles move, And deep his inward thoughts revolve ; ' And then — and then' — he cried ; once more Deep sank the lustre of his eye. 58 PASSION. And long his thoughts the future pore, Till evening's dusky shades draw nigh ; ^ Then will I to my country yield My little all of mental worth ; She's free, but still needs minds that wield And fit her for the great of earth.' XI. Then calmness sat upon his brow : ^ Come^ Bradley, come away with me.' ' I would,' he said, ' in gladness go, But in yon vacant dome hid treasures be.' ' A curse upon the treasures' den ! Come, view fierce spirits' awful clang !' He came ; alas ! young Miron then Took to his breast a viper's fang ! Xil, His back is upon all he held most dear, He gave one look, then pierced the dark wood drear ! XIII. The whisp'ring hum of busy life. The thoroughpaths, with action rife, Boomed strongly on the ear and eye ; The walls, the domes, the towers, the spires, Rose loftily, like thick-strown pyres Ere yet ascend the flames on high. THE RESOLVE. 59 A mighty army thronged the way. And glittered 'neath the solar ray, And shrilly blew the warlike blast ; But Miron with a careless eye Looked forth upon the pageantry Of armies, as in pomp they passed. XIV. Two forms of an aerial mould Were compassed by the strong and bold. Like lilies 'mid the towering wood. The one, all slight, and frail, and fair, Trembled as would a leaf in air. As 'mid the crowd she frightened stood. The other, with her dark bright eye, And locks that floated carelessly. And form where graces marked each curve, Stood mailed in dignity's true charm. All fearless of the rushing swarm : Yet discontent sat on each nerve. XV. He saw^ and 'twas but courtesy That urged the youth in haste to fty And aid them to their wish's goal. Delightful sped the transient hour, Strange music thrilled with wak'ning power. And found an echo in his soul. 60 PASSION. ^ Ah, maidens, this tumultuous scene, By pomp and bustle ushered in, But ill befit the frail and fair ! ' * Ah yes ! ' a tone all richness streams From that bright face where loftiness beams, That showed a heart, a heart was there ! XVI. Long shall the brightness of that mien, That airy form with rapture seen, The music of that silv'ry voice, The splendor of that piercing eye, Live like a dream all heavenly, His heart's new care, his spirit's choice ! His was a soul that loved to soar In search of Fancy's hidden store. And revel freely round her throne ; His mind, creative and sublime. Lacked not delight in any clime. But culled enjoyment from her own. But now concentred were his all. Now Fancy's drooping pinions fall, Yet hover o'er a single shrine. Naught else could dwell within that soul Where, sweet and lucid, bright and whole, Those orbs of spotless radiance shine : Those searching orbs ! what though might be Their firm expression proud and free ? Yet gentleness reposed there too. THE RESOLVE. gj Or it might be his manliness Imposed a confidential grace. And sweetness in her glances threw. XVII. Arf s every bright and glitt'ring boon Decked that magnificent saloon. Where in false pleasure's luring robe, That dazzles and enslaves the globe, Were gathered what the world calls joys, Whate'er its time, its hopes employs ; Were gathered what in pleasure's name Men make their gods, their hearts' great aim. XVIII, There were bright smiles, in sweetest guise, 'Neath which perchance a heart-blight lies ; There was the beauty of the earth, AH gay, all bright, all love, all mirth ; But like a young crowned queen of May, With look, and form, and tuneful lay That drew the envy of the fair. That seized men's hearts, and chained them there, Cecilia sat, a matchless maid, And Love's enchanting sceptre swayed : Cecilia called, but at the name She startled like a flick'ring flame, F 62 PA^sforf. XIX. True as the magnet to the steel, Th' attraction Miron's heartstrings feel. Though he had naught to hide or fear, Yet scenes he 'd acted far and near Forbade his proper name. That hour's short Shall lengthened be an endless age. She sat like queen bestowing favors, All hues, all values, and all flavors : Some drew a smile, some scorn, some naught, But none obtained the favor sought. But his is not the eye that draws Aught but respect and heart's applause. Not his the soul would e'er have deigned To love a maid, her love ungained. Swift sped, deep sank Love's arrowy glance, Swift sped the soul-enchaining dance. The wine passed freely 'mong the throng. Exciting, whirling, oft and long. Not this contaminates their blood. Yet inward, like a boiling flood, They feel it whirling mightier, higher. Absorbing every mental fire, And planting on their cheek the glow That marks the Passion's burning flow. page XX. Late waned the hour ; forgot the hour When hearts feel Love's luxurious power. ^HE RESOLVE. 63 All in a fever's scorching flame, ^ All with a trembling, quickened frame, He entered 'neath th' o'erarching sky, Spread like a lovely scroll on high. He felt upon his burning brow The evening breezes gently blow ; But could it cool that torrid flame That burns intense, unchanged, the same. Within the heart of feeling made, And fed by roving Fancy's aid ? 'Tis not in outward circumstance To trifle with the heart's deep trance. XXI. He restless tossed upon the down. And called on Sleep his cares to drown. Sleep binds the heedless in his chain, But tries his mightiest spells in vain Upon that heart where glisten long The marks of Passion deep and strong. Can ye from yon rock's surface sweep The print there once engraven deep ? Or quench the mountain's wildfire's flame ? Or blot yon star's celestial fame ? Nor can ye quench Affection's blaze, Nor obliterate deep Passion's rays From off* that noble heart where lives Fpr aye the impress love once gives ! 64 PASSION^ XXII. When morning tints the Eastern mount With beams afresh from light's great fount, Then broken is the awful spell ; Then may he sleep, sleep long and well ; Then may he sleep, nor heed the throng That rushes turbulent along ; And swift as has the lifeblood flowed, It now may roll a leaden load ; As long may roll dire Lethe's flood, As swept the stream its torrent road : Sleep till he wakes in deathlike pain. Awakes to live all o'er again ! xxni. High o'er the city's ample scene Joyous the moonbeams brightly smiled, And gayly cast their splendors wild Upon that beauteous spot of green, That slept with such a placid mien. Surrounded by the glitt'ring domes, From which the light all dazzling comes, With force to reach the enshrined heart, With force its wak'ning power t' impart ; Surrounded by the splashing foams That glisten through the nights sweet glooms From off* the far extended waters, THE RESOLVE. 65 From whose clear depths the starlight loomSj Like Ocean's own bright pearly daughters! XXIV. Love was the deep-exciting cause, Blind Fortune was the careless guide, As 'neath heaven's canopy so wide, Embracing earth fair as a bride. Two forms upon the scenery glide, And walk while tumult makes a pause. And Love the while his arrow draws. ' Then Miron felt her flutt'ring form. And could -have clasped her to his heart ; He read those glances sweet and warm Her downcast eyelids oft impart ! XXV. "^ The brook that bubbles bright and clear Once saw the earth's dark vaults so drear; The ray that paints yon rainbow hue Hath passed the cold and sordid dew ; Thus mortals woe and pain once knew ; But thou, Cecilia, seemest ne'er T' have known the weight of keen despair ? ' ^ Thou dost mistake, ah, who can tell' — And words too big for utt'rance swell. ^ Ah, who can tell— I see it well ; Well, be it so, misfortune's blot Hath added beauty to thy lot, Refined thy soul, ^nd made thee what 66 PASSION, Thou art — a prize near whom all love to dwell, A prize who teachest man his pride to quell ! But now my heart may freely dote. For now dread visions threat thee not ?' Cheered by his words, she too began The picture's brighter side to scan ; Her limpid eye looked bright again ; Her heart grew fluttered ; and her cheek Bloomed with a crimson tell-tale glow ; Her breast heaved ; her form pure as snow Looked forth all passionate and meek ! XXVI. That look ! O for one moment more ! All would be well, all trouble o'er ! Again she looked, and had a ghost Sprang up before her stark and thin. Not startled more had been her mien ! He too gazed, and his eye seemed lost For one short transient moment, then Was with a fearful lustre glossed ! ' So ho !' the phantom cried, and lo, Fierce Arnold's is the dreadful voice ! ' I guessed it well, 'tis even so, What ho, attendants, seize her now ; She 's mine, not yours, mine was the choice ; And seize that hothead — stay, hold, no ! * Then distant Bradley, at the noise, Turned him th' intruding cause to know ; ' No,' Arnold cried, ^ for mightier woe THE RESOLVE. 67 Reserve that man, my mortal foe ; But hold him there by force or blade, And seize that stripling in his stead.' His every word the men obeyed. Then in her almost spousal charm, But senseless of impending harm, They bore away the hapless maid ! XXVII. Then Miron, like a stag at bay, Was taken only when his arm Had strown with armed men the way. Then caught, he raved with dreadful sway. Like lion caged with loud alarm. ^ Ha, fiend,' cries he, ^ this only leads Another warning from thy deeds. Which, sure as it mine ire now feeds. Thou soon shalt rue, when thy form bleeds Down prostrate mong earth's vilest weeds ! ' CANTO 11. THE ENCOUNTER, I. Ah, the cursed love of gain ! Ah, that proneness that would fain Love's and Friendship's sweetness drain. And mix with waters vile ! Ah, that favored men should deign E'er to yield a single pain, E'er to wrong a single man, Or trusting hearts beguile. Earn a traitor's shameful ban. Suffer demons to remain Round the heart with licensed rein, Because gold smiles the while ! II. Satan binds more human hearts. And gives them o'er to mis'ry's smarts, By off'ring what vile trash imparts, Than every other snare ; 70 PASSION, Stalks lordlike 'mong these favored ones,'' And spreads his gifts to his bright sons ; Those gifts are woes, and murd'rous groans. And burning hearts' despair ! III. Alas, the cursed love of gold ! Once treasured, it ne'er quits its hold, And arms the sinews of the bold. But arms them 'gainst their friends ! Alas, the cursed love of gold I It loosens all the ties unrolled The feelings of the heart to mould. While blighted hope attends ! IV. Hours sped ; down sank the moon's bright ray ; And awful was the darkness then ; Not one sweet beam proclaims the day. Or streaks the stilly haunts of men ! Young Miron's is a fitful dream, As there he sits, a care-worn man. And wanders 'twixt his fancy's theme And anger's sway all dread and wan. ' Not even,' cried he in his grief. And stifled words deep inward rolled, ^ Not even heard, a sweet relief. The story of her troubles tcld : Just when the heart's dear cords grew tight,- And would have bound her ever mine ; THE ENCOUNTER. 7l Just when love's hallowed delight Two hearts for ever would entwine ; Then, then uprose the wily ghost r Alas, I 'm doomed but to be tost The sport of hell's vindictive host ! Ah, all is lost ! ah, all is lost ! 'All is lost ! what means that word ? All is lost! ha, say'st thou so ? Must then the wicked's direful sword The virtuous conquer ? Never, no ! Just Heaven shall yet attonement make, And cross that rebel's guilty path ; Just Heaven's avenging arm shall wake, And shield the spotless from hell's wrath. And I shall be the instrument ; I feel mine arm grow wondrous strong ; The knotty oak shall yet be bent. And fall with echo loud and long. And then I '11 hie me to my bride, Defiance bid to all beside. But then, ' She 's mine, not yours,' he cried ; Believe it not, he basely lied.' VI, His full eye glistened, and his brow Stood like a shield, firm, high, and grand ; His arm menaced the frequent blow, And freely waved in dread command ! 72 PASSION. ' How 's this ? what ! Bradley ? is it thou ? How earnest thou here ? what aided thee ? Hast any news to utter ? how Cecilia ? where, O where, is she ? ' VIT. He seemed so haggard, and he spake In such subdued and mournful sound. His lips with such a tremor quake, He looked so breathlessly around, That Bradley's calm and sedate eye Grew troubled, shrank with quailing glance His heart misgave the conjured lie ; Hell all but lost that glorious chance. ' Speak,' cried Miron, as he thought The look bespoke portending woe, ' Speak, I bid thee ; hide it not ; Or weal or woe, the truth I '11 know.' The stripling's eye that moment fell Upon the glitter of the gold — The golden ring — the pledge of hell — And thus his wily tale he told : VIII, ' Long was the path, and drear, and lone, And far from city's dusky walls, The cunning Arnold led us on. Beneath the night's now moonless palls, Till yonder, where, all bleak and drear, A prison-seeming mansion towers : i THE ENCOUNTER. 73 There, wrapt in darkness' sable gear, Cecilia counts the leaden hours. They bound me not, I 'scaped the wall, The darkness aided, and I fled. The countersign I heard one call, Be quick, we yet may free the maid.' IX. ^ She then is well ? then by my sword — * What ho ! for action ! haste ! arouse ! ' Then artful Bradley caught the word, ^ But shalt thou go ? she 's not thy spouse.' The thought with woe o'ercast his eye, A trouble crossed his forehead too. He pondered well but transiently. And mournful then his aspect grew. ' It must not be, I 've not the right Should Arnold's words prove truth indeed ; It must not be, urge then thy flight. My message guard, hot be thy speed ! But hold, the signal of the night ? ' ' The countersign ? thou 'It have no need.' ' The countersign, without delay ! ' Quick answer then he made, I trow. And gave the word, then urged his way. ' Thy course,' says Miron, ' I must know.' X. That message — 'twas a noble one ! In Honor's spotless accents flowed, G 74 PAssioic. And spake in Passion's purest tone ! His heart therein all open glowed ! It craved his burning love's requite, ' It swore protection sure and free, It begged t' accept him as her knight, And from the base intruder flee. Poor, noble youth ! he gave his all ; His name attends the scroll ; his freed Heart bounds in rapture at the call, ^ My message guard, hot be thy speed ! ' XI. The youth looked forth upon the night. Thick gloom o'erspeads the world below. 'Twas such a darkness as it might Almost curdle the lifeblood's flow. He turned him from the cheerless earth. And bared his visage to the stars. It bore the stamp of conscious worth. Not one sore thought its radiance mars. XII. ' Now may ye shine, ye peerless orbs. Ye sweetest charmers of the mind ! Now my glad heart your gifts absorbs. And joyful bounds, free as the wind. For now no more Misfortune's blight Shall nip my heart's hopes in their bud. But through my wounded soul Delight Shall pour once more her balmy flood I THE ENCOUNTER. 75 O thou watchest for men's weal ! Now, now shall I thy offerings clasp, ISTow shall my raptured spirit feel Her highest wish within her grasp ! ' XIII. Once more evoked from lofty heaven, By mortal's prayerjufor mortal's need, O list ye to the answer given By her from whom all joys proceed ! Lucid as crystal is her throne, Within the halo of yon star ! The Goddess clothed in light looks down Upon the nether dark afar ! XIV. ^ Ask'st thou of me, in boldness tone, My pure, and bright, and simple joys, While mounted on thy heart's dear throne Revenge fulness thy life employs, And while thy spirit feeds its flame. And thirsts for blood, for human blood, Then turns, and to rewards lays claim Due to the virtuous and the good ? Ask'st thou of me, who ne'er yield aught But Love, a sanction of that heart , Where Passion burns, with anguish fraught, And bids each other joy depart, — Within the vortex of whose flame Sinks every other faculty, 76 PASSION. Sinks ev'n Religion's power and name, Which makes life flow so happily ? Know, then, of such are not my gifts, My gifts are pure from all alloy, And are of heaven ; their influence lifts The soul above all sordid joy ! Go, if thy heart must writhe and boil In Passion's whirling, ^padJ^ning foam, Then go, and meet its d?^ad recoil. And bitterness that flows therefrom ! For Passion's power for ever stings ; Its road by Misery is trod ; Then learn by what Experience brings The path to Virtue and to God ! ' XV. The Goddess in her anger glowed As bright as was her own fair star, Then in her heavenly chariot rode To greet fair Morning's golden car ! XVI. A yellow tinge began to streak The clouds that lowly in the East Outspread their snowy, fleece-like breast. The hidden sun's white beams slow break Upon the darkness that still lay On earth, to change its hue to grey. THE ENCOUNTER. 77 XVII. Nor sleep, nor rest, nor peaceful dreams Have aught to do with him whose eye Long glows with thought's intensest gleams. With glow that marked the fever high. With brow whence thought's strong radiance beams. Young Miron walked in anger by, And left the city's dusky lanes. And bounded toward the wide campaigns. XVIII. ' Must it be so ? must all the wrong I 've borne so frequent and so long From that vile wretch's guilty hand Revenge in common method know, And by fair Honor's high command ? And must the rebel's lifeblood flow The lifeblood of a challenged foe ? He is not worthy of such death ; A man so vile should yield his breath In keenest agony and woe. But 'tis the only honored way That 's open to an injured man By which his mortal foe to lay Where he can injure not again. XIX. ^ Then be it so — the mighty wreck That, spectre-like, above the spoi 78 PASSION. Where joy and beauty cast their lot Now stands so drear, like robes to deck The dwellers of gaunt Death's dark grot,- Their guiltless blood that stains with red The pale white ashes of the dead, — The injury done to that young maid Who was the primrose of the glade. With whom my early boyhood strayed, — Cecilia, too, thy victim made, Whose charms within thy prison lie,— All rise up vivid 'fore rny eye. And by each dear dissevered tie Demand thy death, and thou must die ! ' XX. His step grew quick, while his flushed face The flashings of dread anger told. An anger such as it might chace The soul from body to behold ! Thus walks he while morn hies apace. And clearer beams the scenery trace. Till yonder, where, in gloom arrayed, Those dreary-looking walls arise, Surrounded by the wood's dark shade. ' And there is my heart's all,' he cries^ * And there the scene of action lies ! ' XXI. He pierced the darkness of the wood, He pierced a deep recess which stood THE ENCOUNTER. Encompassed by th' o'erarching trees, Encompassed by the thick green leaves, 'Mong which the vine its tendrils weaves. A figure in his front he sees, Another's glimpse just caught his view, And branches waved as by the breeze. (He broke up council then, but knew It not, nor guessed what was too true.) XXII. ^ Who enters there ?' then met his ear. ^ Thy mortal foe,' w^as answer meet, ' Ha, ha, well met — nay, why so fleet ?' He trembled with a coward's fear — ^ Then down, vile man, and hide thee there Amid the grass ! ' but Arnold then Stood firm and of collected mien . ^Nay, think not thus/ he says, ' to scare The man who never feared a foe. Hath sworn upon thy head such woe As hell's supreme art can prepare. I could have wished thy life to spare To feel still more my bitter hate. But if thou wilt, then meet thy fate' XXIII. Fierce Miron says, ' Thou doest well To claim relationship with hell : 'Tis plain thy talent to torment The beauteous, virtuous, and the good, 79 80 PASSION. And stain thy cursed hands with blood, And froth and foam in fiend-like mood. Was from the lower regions sent. 'Tis plain thy power thus to show A bold man's front before thy foe Was given thee from thy home below. But dost thou wish more sure to know .The secrets of that home ? then go- Then draw thy blade, and learn to feel The keenness of avenging steel ! ' XXIV. Like bloodhound leaping on his way, Like eagle from the craggy rock, Like lightning's all-destructive shock, Fierce Miron bounds upon his prey. His sword hung threat'ning from above, Like thunderbolt of mighty Jove ; Down sped the blow in deaf 'ning clang, As steel on steel tremendous rang ! 'Tis Arnold's then to try his force To turn the weapon from its course. At length the blade aside he flings. Then turns and like an adder stings. XXV. Then Miron backward hies a space. He keenly feels the bitter foiL Hot anger glows upon his face, Yet cautiously he marks his pace> THE ENCOUNTER^ 81 And turns him to renew the toil. Still Arnold wards away each blow, Still frequent draws the crimson flow. Unheeding slighter wounds, his foe Dealt blows that made his frame recoil,^ And closed in awful, deadly strife. His blade, with death each instant rife, Played dang'rous round the seat of life. Hard 'twas to live in such alarm, Hard to ward off th' impending harm. His burning eye in anger flashed, His strength grew dreadful, and his arm Down with tremendous echo crashed ; In twain the blade of Arnold broke, And made free passage for the stroke ; Deep sank the gash within his side, And fitful gushed the blackened tide! XXVI. Prone fell the man upon the green. A ray from yon sun's rising flood Pierced through the deeply shaded scene. And streamed upon the welling blood ! *Lie there, vile wretch, of rav'nous beasts the prey '/ He spurned him with his foot, then turned away. CANTO III. THE BILLET-DOUX. I. Too late, too late, alas ! alas ! Too late th' avenging death-blow fell ; The blood that 's spilt can ne'er erase The pains that with the virtuous dwell. It had been well his life had flown Another's victim from the field. Could it have saved one bitter groan The innocent were made to yield. The snare is woven for the feet Of those that in the pathway walk. They kill the weaver of the net. But on to certain ruin stalk. The pois'nous serpent winding by In death's keen agonies hath writhed, But left the fatal fang to lie Deep in th' avenging victim sheathed. The evil spirit that hath roamed, Destroying all in fiercest rage, Long on his dire intent hath foamed. Hath done his work, and left the stage. 84 PASSION* II. It likewise pierced — that ray of light That streamed from yon exulting ball, Dispersed the shadows of the night. And pierced the death-scene's gloomy pall- It likewise pierced that casement high That stood upon the towering wall, So lone and gloomy to the eye ; It pierced \vithin that spacious hall Where sat a solitary fair, So beautiful, so full of love, You would have asked how came she there, And thought her home were high above ! III. A pensiveness o'ercasts her face, A fairy hand supports it there. Her form was of a matchless grace, Marked by the sun's refulgent glare. Her eye was bright and looked away ; Intenseness marked its fervent gaze ; A glow upon her cheek would play ; Her lip thus oft her heart betrays : ' He will not leave me here to pine, The victim of a wretch's aim ? He will not here my heart consign To burn with disappointed flame ? He will not leave me ? noble youth ! His eye seemed kind ; I don't mistake ; THE BILLET-DOUX. 85 His look bespake a soul all truth ; He will not leave my heart to break ! ' IV. A message came, as in that dome She gazed upon the glorious morn. Purporting from her love t' have come, And by his faithful servant borne. Not 'Miron' is the word that came, Like to a guardian spirit's spell — A sovereign charm had been that name, All doubt t' expell, all fear to quell. He never could have sent it : no, How diff 'rent from the one he sent ! Its purport was of darker flow, Unhallowed seemed the thing it meant. V. Quick to her forehead mounts the blood, Insulted dignity's strong mail ! Then backward to her heart it flowed. And left her cheek like marble pale ! Long was the struggle in her heart, And seemed to rend its every tie, Between her blighted love's keen smart. And wounded pride, that mounted high The former told her hopeless woe. And almost bade her life stand still ; The latter seemed alone to show The anger of a lofty will ! H 86 PASSION. VI. ' Ah,' says the hapless maid, ^ I thought My heart at last had found its home ; Many of earth's cold hearts had sought To drown my life in guilty foam, But he, ah he, was one my heart All joyful told me I could trust ; I guessed not that a tempter's art His fang in such a form could thrust I VII. ^ Enough, enough, know, all the world, The firmness of a woman's mind ! Not all thy poisoned arrows hurled An entrance to my heart can find. How false was Nature to her care To give that youth such heavenly grace ! Ah, my poor heart ! where now, O where. Wilt thou find rest, and joy, and peace ? Away ! the world is full of woe ! Hath not wherein my heart can dwell ! Away, away, go, quickly go. To die in some secluded cell ! ' VIII. list ye to the plaintive song That comes from yon lone, humble roof, Dark, solemn shades and rocks among, From social joys far, far aloof! THE BILLET-DOUX. 87 Its notes fall sweetly on the ear, In full, and rich, yet mournful sound ! The woods its swelling echo bear In clear yet feeble strains around ! IX. ^ Throb on, thou hearty that beatest still, In feebler echo flowing ! Flame on, thou fire, that burnest still. In fainter ardor glowing ! I love to behold life's ebb. And look on its weakened web ! * The world is cold—the world is hct — It freezes and it burns ! Ah, hapless is the woman's lot That in its whirling mazes turns ! How cold is the world's false smile ! How hot its deceptive guile ! ' Ah, feeble is the vital flow. Soon will its throbs be o'er ; The pulse of life is fluttering low, Oh, would that it were lower ! I love to behold life's wane. And look on the vital drain ! Oh, sweetly in this lone spot glide The rays of evening hue ! 88 PASSION. I 've bid adieu to all beside. And soon shall leave this too ! Oh, sweet is this spot to me, The last I shall ever see ! ' When shall I die ? when shall I die ? I long to be away ! When shall I die ? O why, why, Do I so long delay ? Oh, when shall I yield my breath ? Oh, when wilt thou come, sweet death ? ^All needlessly thine offer came. Thine epithets but illy sound, Give not him ^ base intruder's' name To me by honored tie firm bound,' Such answer Miron's message fetched, To bid the heart-blight o'er him come ; It came from where his note had reached. That note reached not its destined home. 'Twas signed ' Cecilia ; ' well was played The game the tempter had essayed.' XI. The blade yet in his clenched hand stood That still reeked with her lover's blood ! THE BILLET-DOUX. 89 As if a thunderbolt had broke Upon his head with stunning stone. As if his frame at once had grown A statue chiseled from the stone. So bursts upon his heart the shock, So stood he moveless as the rock ! XII. Not from his firm-set lip is heard The utt'rance of a single word. Not his the loud alarm of pain That writhes, and straight is cool again. No working of a muscle showed That life within the body flowed. Hard was th' expression of the face, And furrows o'er the forehead trace. Dread might have been the heart-blood's flow. No sign thereof the features show. Nor tell the heavy, migbty pain That settles o'er the lab'ring brain ! XIII. It was the combat that is known To manhood in his pride alone. Between a strong mind's high command And iron grasp of Passion's hand ! For thrice he thought to sink and die, And thrice he roused his soul on high. Thrice o'er his brain thick darkness lowers, And all but breaks his reason's powers, 90 PASSION. But thrice the might of stubborn will Rules conqueror, and cries be still. Thrice that red blade he fiercely clenched Was all but in his heart's blood drenched, But thrice his mother's prayer and sigh And lesson rose before his eye. And thrice he spurned the murd'rous plan, And towered aloft a godlike man ! XIV. O ye upon whose honored head Is placed the guidance of life's way, Ye who the road man 's doomed to tread Point out with an unerring sway, ye whose power upon man's lot Is founded in affection's ties. Who in his infancy fail not To lead the course his pathway lies, — Ye mothers, and ye guides ! Ye more to man than all besides ! O take good heed and guide your tender care Where virtue, happiness, and safety are ! Thou mother of the helpless ! mould Thy tender trust with earnest care ; And even should thy counsel hold No weight upon the listless ear, Should the attention seem but cold To all thou doest, yet ne'er despair ; I ^1 THE BILLET-DOUX. 91 Thou^^h on life's ocean tost. Thy charge shall not be lost. But dwell unqaenched a spark within his soul, Which shall be kindled, sure as time shall roll. Should 'mid the quicksands that attend The sea of life his bark be cast. Or should he feel the tempter rend His soul as with a freezing blast. Then, then, shall thy dear counsels blend Their sweetness in his heart at last ; He '11 to those counsels fly, And live, and shall not die. Then shalt thou reap the blessing of thy son — Reward for all the pains thou e'er hast known. XV. Thus conquered he the dreadful strife That all but cut the thread of life. Thus was the boiling heat that raged Within his lab'ring breast assuaged, Freed from the awful mental pain, Then Miron is himself again. XVI. But not thus passeth from his mind The sting remembrance leaves behind. Not thus is passed the sickened spell That o'er his heart dark-boding fell. 92 PASSION. Where'er he looks, where'er he goes. The melancholy darkly rose. All things that o'er his vision stream Filled with the mournful spirit seem. He walks all lonely 'mid the crowd. And feels his lofty spirit bowed. XVII. For if in restlessness of soul He should again o'er those scenes stroll Where with Cecilia he had walked, And in delicious converse talked, An agony was o'er him thrown, Like scorchings of the hot Simoon. Then came the thought she was not his. But he had poisoned all her bliss ! The thought seemed more than he could bear, He turns away, unheeding where. XVIII, His mental rovings to bring down, His all-pervading cares to drown, Should he excitement seek among The giddy, pleasure-seeking throng, And whirl amid the reckless gay, And while away the quick sped day, And deeply drink the pois'nous bowl, That maddens and imbrutes the soul, He might awhile forget the truth That was designed to teach his youth, THE BILLET-DOUX. 93 But when the hours their influence bring, Deeper has sunk the poisoned sting, Lower has fallen his self-respect, In viewing thus his spirit wrecked. XIX. Then wouldst thou view him when away, Secluded from the eye of day ? Go mark him when night spreads her palls. And silence o'er creation falls. His mind seems lost as in a dream Upon a bright, a distant theme. And then a sudden thought w^ould bring A gloom, as of a darksome wing. His thoughts are in deep mazes lost. His blood is in a fever tost. He turns and looks upon the night, A cooling breeze, a lovely sight. Earth robed in Beauty's garb the while Glows cheerful 'neath the Moon's bright smile. Like gath'ring mists before his eyes, Thick gloomy feelings o'er him rise. All seems so innocent he turns To look upon a heart that burns ! XX. A storm perchance o'ercasts the sky, And thunders mightily on high. Whence floods in sweeping torrents roll, ♦Vhile darkness settles o'er the pole : 94 PASSION. Then joyously he views the storm, And feels all gladsome 'mid th' alarm ! Once more he looks ; the sky is clear. And once more Nature seemeth fair ; The wet drops on earth's surface lie, Yon Moon hangs lower in the sky, As if, in sympathetic grace, To kiss the tears from Nature's face ! His soul then weeps — I would not say The tears upon his cheek found way — But his soul mourns because there were None, none who would his sorrows share ! Tired nature calls him to repose, If such thou nam'st his sleeping throes; For fitful dreams and visions deep Disturb the quiet of his sleep ! XXI. And thus the dismal days flow on. As by an evil spirit drawn. Forgotten was the high Resolve That seemed his future life t' involve ; Forgot the good he had designed, All but the one care of his mind ! XXII. But 'twas not all he 's doomed to bear — One other woe is left beside — - Cecilia, beautiful and fair, Hath like a blighted flow'ret died ! THE BILLET-DOUX. 95 Kis faithful servant brought the word. That o'er his wasted spirit fell As when by the bereaved is heard The tolling of the sad death-knell ! XXIII. ^ I can no longer curb my heart, I can no longer bear the smart My own stained hands have wrought ; 1 seem an outcast in the land— An instrument of hell's command. And by its votaries sought ! ^ 1 11 haste away, and wander far. Where others' bliss I may not mar. An outcast thus I '11 roam. Bound bravely on, my noble steed. Let not the wind surpass thy speed— The world is now my home ! ' END OF PART II. PART III. TH E CHRISTIAN, Yet if the germ of virtue live, Let constant faith her sufferings brave ; Goodness is powerful to forgive, And Heaven omnipotent to save ! Cvpid and Psyche. Still looking to that goal sublime Whose light remote but sure they see. Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, Whose home is in Eternity ! Moore. GANTO 1. THE TRAVELER. I. Above those cultivated plains Where man hath placed his frequent haunt. And decked them with his beaten lanes, And cities full of wealth and want, — How beauteous is the emerald flow Of Hudson rolling in its might ! How like a seraph come below To cheer earth with unwonted light ! While from the sparkling waters glance The quivering of the heavenly beam, And dark rich foliage-shadows dance Within the deep and clear blue stream ! And while along the verdant plain, The pearly isles, the laughing meads, Borne briskly onward toward the main, Its winding path it gayly leads ! II. Upon its gently winding dales Gazing with an admiring eye, 100 PASSION. A stranger's breast its glories hails, As quietly he wanders by. Composure sat upon his face, Yet there was something in his mien From which the mind a proof would trace His path 'neath trouble's sky had been. But bitter as might be the woe The youth in early prime had drank, And if he e'er had learned to know The vale of error dread and dank, Yet now a mildness mantles o'er The brow, and sits upon the cheek ; A calm like that of Him of yore Who was the meekest of the meek ! III. And in that Meekest of the meek His heart at last had found in joy There was a refuge for the weak And for the strong which cannot cloy. For he had found that Man of grief. That Man who from experience knows The thorns of life, could yield relief From all our guilt and all our woes ! IV. And on his forehead's high expanse Stood intellect's sublimest stamp ; And from his eye shone forth the glance Of mental fire's Heaven-kindled lamp ; THE TRAVELER. 10 1 And he who ever gazed upon The mind that o'er the features ran, And marked the great expression thrown Around the bearing of the man. Had guessed that mind in life had known A training of a loftier kind, And fuller, richer, than hath shone But seldom o'er an earthly mind ! V. He 'd passed the ordeal of the heart, And through the maze of Passion whirled ; Prepared by what all these impart, His eyes are opened on the world. And he had wandered, too, among The widespread countries of the earth, And culled, as thus he roamed among The nations, gems of highest worth. The varied suns of many climes Had poured their off 'rings at his feet, And records of departed times Rise up his spirit's gaze to greet. VI. He 'd trod beneath that glowing sky Where Eastern splendor lies unfurled. And where in storied grandeur lie The I'elics of an ancient world ; Where man in burning zeal had planned The mightiest, proudest works entwined 102 PASSION. In pomp that power and high command E'er gave to an aspiring mind ! Where loftiest fabrics of the globe And mightiest cities now lie ranged In ruin, clothed in Nature's robe, Nature alone untouched, unchanged. VII. And he had viewed those relics too Which round that favored land are stored Where 'neath Heaven's rich, protecting dew Once lived the People of the Lord ! Where He he served, in lowly guise. First placed his foot on earthly dross^ And felt his life's keen agonies, And died his death upon the cross 1 VIII. That other land ; that land of lands To him whose eye looks o'er The ancient world, and the^re demands The height, the depth, of classic lore ; That land where lie the proud remains Of works of a primeval taste ; Upon the stillness of whose plains Are proudest monuments in waste ; Greece ! mighty Greece ! she with her urns Of mighty dead, her trophies wide, Shows him her glories as he turns To look upon her fallen pride ! k THE TRAVKLER. 103 IX. He had beheld tlie mined works She spreads as gifts of other times, Round which each bright remembrance lurks In joy, like music's choicest chimes ; Had drank those intellectual streams That from her gifted ones had sprung ; Imbibed those broad and kxstrous gleams Of mental day her sons had flung Upon the gaze of favored man, And mingling them with that bright shower Of light that from new sources ran. He felt the charm of mental power ! X. And thou, too, thou mighty Rome ! Thou, if the wand'rer's mind would scan Thy pomp, rich lessons bringest home To mental and to moral man. Those glowing scenes around thee cast. Where in harmonious numbers flung Upon thy harp, in ages past, Thine own immortal poets sung ; And those proud monuments thy breast Still nurses with enduring care. That have withstood Time's mighty test, And gifts of thy great heroes are ; The pomp that once all dazzling shone Upon thy mightiest ones, who rolled 104 PASSION. In power upon thy throne. Decked with the purple and the gold ; Still live and glow amid the wrecks That Time hath wrought to deck thy brow ; Still live, and their high influence breaks Upon his soul who wand'reth now ; Still live, and shall for ever live A region where his mind shall long Cull richest thoughts, and joyous give Its powers to dwell its scenes among ! XI. And he had gazed on Nature's mien, And ofTered up, a pleasing duty, His heart's warm feelings o'er the scene That decks Italia's modern beauty ! And he had wandered 'mong the high And haughty walls that on earth's plain Rear their proud frontlets to the sky. The relics of a Feudal reign ! And he had read those footprints deep Which Time had on the nations wrought, And culled whate'er their histories keep To mould the mind, to train the thought. XII. Thus scattered was the mazy gloom That over Miron's spirit came ; He found there still on earth was room For action, joy, and honored name. THE TRAVELER. 105 And thus he wakes ; as break the clouds Before the glories of the morn. So fall from Miron's mind its shrouds Beneath the light that Time hath borne. He wakes and finds the past hath been Like to a fitful vision's sway ; That of his life each varied scene Hath been a torch to light his way. XIII. And he hath learned the lofty might Belonging to man's favored soul — That spark from the great Fount of Light, That part of the great Spiritual Whole ! Imbued with the sublimity -^ Of intellectual command. That springs from contact full and free With olden time^ and foreign land, He turns him to his native sky. With joy he views its scenes once more, Ere yet from his bright brow and eye Have passed the marks of youthhood o'er. XIV. Returns and seems to have attained The height of dignity and worth ; He feels his lofty spirit reined For high emprise 'mid sons of earth. j Not that he raised himself on high ^ In pomp of outward circumstance. 106 PASSION. Not that ever from his eye Shot forth a proud superior glance ; But 'twas the native dignity Spread like a garment o'er his brow, That marked him kind, that marked him free From all things haughty, base, and low. He knows full well to use his powers For his own good and others' bliss. And o'er his head are copious showers Of thanks and kind remembrances. His mind, too, wandereth sublime Amid creations of its own, Creations with which joyous chime His pantings toward the heavenly throne ! But still, with all his spirit's might. There was a lacking at his heart, A longing for some one to light His path with ever cheering art — One who was worthy to be known The partner of his every hour, That all that it e'er calls its own His heart might o'er her loved head shower. And this the only care that falls Upon his heart a leaden load ; Its mighty, grievous weight appals His proud advance up Reason's road. THE TRAVELER. 107 XVI. Upon those times when he had seen Such deepened woe he rnay not look. Like dreams of things which ne'er had been. To think on which he cannot brook. But toward those scenes of early life Where passed the hours of soft delight He often, from deep mental strife, Directs his retrospective sight. He finds a freshness in the view Of childhood's innocence and joy^ Which takes away, like falling dew Upon the waste, each dead alloy ! XVII. He passeth now amid the worth That crowds upon thy wide spread land. Child of the West — of glorious birth — O bright Colombia, fair and grand ! Thou with thy thousand lovely hills, Thy picturesque and broad campaigns, Thy mighty rivers and thy rills, The new-bom cities of thy plains. Thy fame extended on each blast, Of the whole world the rising hope, Yieldest thy gifts, a rich repast. To him who toward thy skies looks up ! 108 PASSION xvni. And lo, he wand'reth by that stream, : That mighty river of the North, Which like the charms that deck a dream Poureth its sparkling waters forth ! He eager wand'reth there to see Its mighty rushings fitly chime With charms that deck so beauteously A cool but lovely Northern clime ! He wand'reth there beneath that sky Where lingers still the warlike story, From whose inspiring scenery rise Remembrances of warlike glory ! XIX. He passeth o'cr that hallowed spot On which few transient days ago Provid Freedom's daring sons had fought And won the conquest of the foe ; O'er that spot, too-> where he of pride, (6) Who went forth full of hope and power, Found Fortune was a fickle guide, And bowed his head while war-blasts lower. He lingers here to roam abroad O'er scenes by martial glory crowned, To tread the dust by heroes trod, The Hudson's lovely banks around — That river and the circling hills The only monuments which show THE TRAVELER. 109 The place of that triumph which fills Each human breast with martial glow ! XX. A mansion rears its stately walls Amid the scenery of the stream. And opens wide its spacious halls, And giveth welcome cheer to him Who through the spot a stranger goes : The stranger's name hath gone before, ^ And he is known as one of those Who planted Freedom's youthful power. And his bright intellectual grace. And bearing dignified and true, Prepare for him a welcome place And part among the social few. XXT. He finds a joy in ling'ring there Partaker of the friendly cheer, Enjoying converse rich and rare On scenes of many a by-gone year. On many wonders of the past, On deeds of many heroes too. On present prospects flitting fast Before the moralizer's view. XXII. Not these alone the charms that bind Him to the spot so well and strong, K 110 THE CHRISTIAN. But she, to whom each grace of mind. Each grace of form and eye, belong, She who with maiden dignity. And soul that riseth free and fair, Unites such soft humility And mildness free from troubled care, She with the brow like marble fair, The eye of feeling, cheek of snow. She, the daughter, binds him there With ten^d'rest cords but strongest too ! XXIII. Florilla was the daughter's name — A name that he had known before. A sudden start came o'er her frame, A stifled sound almost broke o'er The startled ear, when first her eye Fell on the look of Miron's mien ; And then a soft tin^^e mantling high The pallor of her cheek was seen ; And then all calm and undisturbed She sat in dignity and grace. Every uneasy feeling curbed, Each lovely trait upon her face. XXIV. He, as in thoughtful mood he viewed His new employ for fancy's gaze, When far away4n solitude, Thus ruminates in wand'ring maze : THE TRAVELER. Ill ^ And so, Florilla is the name — A nanne of beauty, and the last To bid my mind adieu— the same That lives 'mid memVies of the past. But why my mind so prone to roam Upon that other, hapless one ? Why o'er my spirit doleful come These thoughts of that dark scene so lone ? But why that start, and stifled sound. And crimson blush that followed then ? ' For one short moment he seems bound In chains of woe and thoughts of pain : ' But 'tis not so ; he said she died ; She 's dead, if he but spake the truth ; ^ I '11 probe him to the quick, and glide ll Within the secrets of the youth. But no, 'tis vain, why should one thought Mar his fair character and soul ? I always faith have in him sought, And found it pure and bright and whole.' XXV. But listen to the mournful word That springs from lone Florilla's mind, As round her spirit seem to gird The present with the past entwined : i ' He knows me not ; he doth not know ( In me the one with whom, a child, j He used abroad well pleased to go. j Nor is it strange ; 1 ne'er in wild ■ 112 THE CHP.ISTIAN. Conjecture from his looks could scan In him who now walks forth with powers Of highest stamp, a gifted man- Ne'er scan the form of childhood's hours. But why did I in weakness let That foolish signal from me 'scape. As if the dire suspicion met My mind in truth, of frightful shape ? I njight have known a mind so low. And full of dread deceit and strong. Doth not belong to that man — no. Nor ever did nor could belong To that man from whose brow and eye Shine forth those beams so mild and rare— That man whose soul is cast in high x\nd honored mould, and pure, and fair ! ' XXVI. Time rapid speeds ; unheeded speeds. The hours on their swift pinions flew, And bore amid departed deeds The joys of these delighted two ! For she was worthy to be known • The equal of the gifted youth ; With soul, like his, from which there shone Each nobler trait, and love of truth ; A soul whose light all purely came In streams from bright devotion's fire, THE TRAVELER. 113 And joined with feeling's gentler flame. And thoughts that noblest thrills inspire ! He found her one who breathed a bright And cheering influence o'er his head. One who filled up with richest light The dark that o'er his heart was shed. XXVII. 'Twas not that tasteless, joyless cup That 's drained in one short passing hour, Nor yet that fire that swalloweth up Each other joy within its power,— But 'twas the high companionship That 's meet for an immortal soul, Where favored man may gladly sip Of purest streams, which heavenward roll ; Communion whose enjoyments go As wide as mental might extends, As deep as is the joyous flow Of feeling, such as purity lends. As high as is that unseen throne Round which bloom joys in endless youth, Which pours in sparkling beauty down Fresh rivers of revealed truth ! CANTO II. THE RE-E^COUNTER. Gray twilight 'gan to spread her wing, And soft to fall the gentle dew ; But still their bright influence they fling On rural roofs but thin and few. Where men their habitations knew. But on the native scenes are thrown Whate'ersad twilight calls her own. Its gloomy pall hangs o'er the hill That stood like watchtower for the scene. For that vale whence the eye might glean The beauties of that stream so still. Winding along with placid mien ! II. But indistinctly might be viewed Two forms of men, as on they rove Upon the hill in solitude And gloom that 's heightened by a grove. The one, who stood in mien above The other, seemed in thoughtful mood. 116 THE CHTISTIAN. ^ And has it come to this ? I dread To break the trust we've known so long, But cannot bear suspicion strong, That hangs like millstone o'er my head. ^Then forth it must.' Aloud he said : ' Long have we roamed togetjier free, And viewed together many lands, And great the trust I 've given thee ; But thou rememberest, ere we Had moored our bark on foreign strands. And yet in yonder city stayed, Rememberest a certain maid, And that thou told me she was dead, But tell me, Bradley, did she die ?' • Yes' was the hasty word he said. He spake too quick, his voice was high And bold when first he spake, but lo. It faltered ere the word was through. IV. * Hark, Bradley, and thou hear'st no sound ; Silent as death is afl around ; A darkened gloominess hath bound The spot ; these tell thee of that world Where every truth shall be unfurled ; And tell me, Bradley, did she die ?' Abashed he stood^ nor made reply. THE RE-ENCOUNTER. 117 ' An honest soul alone is free ; Deceive me not, nor bring on thee The charge of a dishonored lie ; And tell me, Bradley, did she die ? ' He faltered low and tremblingly, ' 1 11 tell thee all' — a sudden crack Rang on the air, and Bradley fell. And mutely bade the world farewell ; A streaming blaze from yonder dell Shone transiently upon the back Of a retreating foe, as well He may pursue his rapid track. V. Now Miron every nerve may strain The direful murderer to gain. Try all his speed, in vain, in vain, Back to the servants of the law, Its written edict bid them draw, And urge in hot pursuit the path, Just ministers of vengeful wrath. VI. He walked with his betrothed ; fair eve Poured forth her choicest treasures there, And did her brightest chaplets weave, To give them cheer whose only care Is to behold, t'-enjoy her fair 118 THE CHRISTIAN. And lovely face. How rich and rare Are beauties that adorn the earth To those that can enjoy their worth ! Things that meet not the common gaze, Things that touch not the common heart, Are pregnant with the brilliant rays Of rich delight to those whose ways Are blessed by what high thoughts impart. VII. They walked beside the flowing stream. The one seemed free from sordid dust, And one in whom 'twas safe to trust ; The other did most fitting seem, Like moonlight to the sunny beam. Precisely meet to trust in him. Upon an open space they stood, Hard by the margin of a wood, Upon the river's bank of green, Within whose crystal depths they viewed Yon full-orbed moon, who cast her sheen Of gentle splendor o'er the flood ! VIII. Their converse on high subject ran. As well it might to those whese thought Was trained by' what Experience taught. He spake of happy life to man. That earthly sorrows give their aid To human weal ; ' Each one,' he said, - THE RE-ENCOUi\TER, ll9 * Each human mind must learn its own Of moral good from what is thrown Upon its path by its own lot ; What others know and say is not The only guide ; but she alone. Or chiefly she, Experience, flings Her lessons forth, and oft tliey 're stings That pierce us to the quick, and mar The music of the heart w^ith strife Of harsh vibrations, whose dread jar Takes fast hold on the seat of life ! ' IX. Florilla's falt'ring voice was heard : ' My heart bears witness to thy word ; I ne'er had known the weight of bliss, Or what of joy in life there is, But for the sorrows I 've endured. A firebrand came upon my heart. And pierced it as a burning dart. And left it palsied 'neath the smart. I sickened, and I thought t 'have died^ But Heaven in my anguish smiled, I found the flame had purified From earthliness and pantings wild. But time was, ere this burning tide, When all was innocent and mild ! ' 120 THE CHRISTIAN. X • ' Yes, scenes of childhood, ere are known How full our days of trouble are, Ere aught of bitterness hath thrown Its iron weight, its burning care. Ere yet the pois'nous plants are known Along the path of error strown. Are of as fair a light and pure. But of a softer hue, as flows Upon th' experienced heads of those Who 've known the pains life hath t' endure. When o'er my head there went and came The joys of childhood's gentle flame, I knew a part'ner of thy name ? ' XI. The maiden blushed, and faintly spake— Not 'mong these scenes were passed away, Nor 'mong these friends, my childhood's day ; They call me daughter for my sake.' ' 'Twas 'mong New-England's lovely fields We felt the joys that childhood yields } ' ^'Twas toward New-England's sunny sky I first cast up my youthful eye.' And deeper grew her cheek's soft die. ' Can it be so ? rry vision flies ; Art thou the flower of Paradise } ' ^ ' Florilla I,' she meekly said. * Then more abundant on my head THE RE-ENCOUNTER. 121 Have joys been poured forth from on high ; Then stronger is the double tie That binds thee to my heart so true. So doubly true. Away thine eye — The moon alone such scene should view ! XII. ^ I have a charge to lay to thee : When first 1 turned to roam afar, Thou bad'st me write thee from the war ; I 'beyed thee well aiid faithfully. But thou receiv'dst with cold neglect. Nor gave one tribute of respect ! ' ' The charge falls harmless on my head ; I throw it back in full on thee, And bid thee stand and answer me, And tell me why, in honor's name. And by thy word, and by thy fame. And by thy dread of perjured shame. Thou ne'er fulfiU'dst the vow thou made !' ' Didst ne'er receive message from me ?' ' 1 ne'er received one word from thee.' ' Then 1 do quit thee from my charge, And ask to quit me from thy charge, A myst'ry seems to be involved I fear me ne'er can be resolved. 'Tis done by some unknown, unseen. Some direful machination fell. What can it mean ? what can it mean ? Who 's he can tell ? who 's he can tell ? ' L 122 THE CIlRlSTIAf^. XIII. ^ Here 's he can tell,' a fierce voice cried ; A form with hideous gesture bound Forth from the wood, the scene beside, And leaped upon the verdam ground. The startled maiden shrieked and hied Her closer to her lover's side. But Miron looked, and cried, ' Thank God ! It haunted me in former time — I am not guilty of his blood — A murd'rer's guilt is not my crime ! ^ jl XIV. ' Who 's he can tell ? ^ he thus in ire Began his gross, unhallowed speech, ' Who 's he can tell ? ye must enquire. Attend, and hearken while I teach Ye here, upon this favVing spot Your histories, that ye know not. Know, then, that in my vengeful wrath I 've woven round about your path Thick snares to catch your wayward feet. Thanks to the stars, ye 're not 'scaped yet. Know, then, 'twas I who played my part So well, and with such glorious art, To pour upon your heads the smart. ' Twas I who caused it to be so That while ye both wrote oft and long, THE RE-ENCOUNTER. 123 Yc neither wrote, and each would throw Upon the other all the wrong. I brought upon your glade the war, I plucked and bore its flower afar. XV. ^ Nor is this all ; again ye met, And knew it not. Then well I played My game, and by a glorious threat. As she can testify, I made Florilla's name Cecilia. Then I made thy servant mine own slave. (He's out of trouble now, the knave.) I stopped thy message to the maid, I sent my message in its stead, I sent an ansiwer of my own. Aye, start ye may, 'tis even so, And ve were in keen anguish thrown, And glorious was the mischief done. And now ye're met again, but know It not, and I have come to show It ye. But thou, sir, came well nigh My beauteous fabric to o'erthrow ; I should have lain me there to die, But that thy blow was not so strong. Perhaps thy strength hath grown by long Sweet rest ; mine now to bid thee ' feel The keenness of avenging steel ! ' And yon moon hanging in the sky. And this maiden, may be alone 124 THE CHR)lSTIAr^. The spurs that raise thy sword on high ; Of these two weapons choose thine own/ XVI. Then Miron turned, and reached his hand, He took the weapon, and he gave A smile of pity, cool but bland, Then tossed the blade upon the wave. ^Weapons of blood, for murder steeled, Are not the swords the righteous wield.* XVII. But Arnold cries, * Thou ^scap'st not so.' He fiercely waved his sworJ on high. Then wildly broke a fearful cry — Florilla's form there fronts the foe. He onward stalked, his blade was raised. Its glitter in the moonbeams blazed,. And in his eye reflected stood The proof of direful, fiendlike mood. Its snake-like gaze fell on the broad, The bright, the piercing, noble look That Miron gave ; he could not brook Its mighty spell, his soul was awed. The youth had wrenched from him his blade, His mad career was sudden stayed. XVIII. ^ Know thou,' said Miron, ^ if the good Ne'er fight the battles of the world, THE RE-ENCOUNTER. 125 They can defend from onsets rude. When at their heads by madmen hurled. And know thou, too, 'tis not for thee, Nor such as thou, who madly rush Abroad each beauteous thing to crush, Heedless of what your deeds might be, 'Tis not for thee to hurt one hair Those renovated mortals wear Who free from hell's protection are, But dwell beneath Heaven's guardian care. ^ Twas given thee to vent thy rage Against the worldling devotee To Passion, from all limit free. To whom reproof was well and sage ; But know, that time is past ; no more Canst thou thy woful malice pour. XIX. ' Down, and bethink thee of thy sin. Down, and if still there lives within Thy soul a sing'e moral spark. Scan o'er the foul, and dread, and dark. And awful deeds that thou hast done. Down, down, and as thou look'st them o'er, If yet is left to thee the power, Remember with them Heaven's throne, And view the boldness thou hast shown Against the great Supreme above, And hear aloft his thunders move, Down on thy head in vengeance drove ! 126 THE CHRfSflAl^* And if thou hast not power to ope Thine eye upon a single hope, Yet from thy naked waste of heart Show that thy will would fain upraise To Heaven thine eye ; perchance the blaze Of hot displeasure may depart ; Perchance the burst will be less dread Of vengeful wrath upon thy dead 1 ' XX. Each word sank deeper in his soul, And brighter grew the intense light That from his eye shot forth its mighty And stronger did the magic roll Upon his heart, and lower fell His frame beneath the mighty spell, Till there a conquered man he lay — Conquered in soul and body too — Beneath great mind's resistless sway, And which the sword can never do ! XXT. They heard a heavy trampling sound, And closer Arnold pressed the ground, And seemed to wish to sink and hide Him low as earth's deep bowels are. But on they came. The foremost cried, ' Ha, ha, we 've traced him to his lair, 'Twas here the reptile then did glide ; Arise, thou art our prisoner. tiiE RE-ENC0UNTER4 1^7 Then, Miron, thou 'rt his conqueror ? ' Then bursts upon the startled youth, Like lightning's flash, the sudden truth : Arnold is Bradley's murderer ! The spell was gone, the curtain raised, tie stood in grief, and sadly gazed. XXII. ^ O, spare me,' cried the prostrate one^ I cannot die, I cannot die. Spare, and I 'U heap thy coffers high With gold from mines exhaustless drawn/ ^ Offer thy gold to such as ye. Show not hell's wages unto me. The hand would rot that touched thy gold* The eye would yield a vacant stare That looked on its infernal glare. The soul, in hottest torments rolled, Mis'ry's eternal chains would wear That ever thought upon thy gold. Whence comes thy gold ? or from whence flow Its mines ? thou and thy master know. Offer thy gold to such as ye, Show not hell's wages unto me. Arise, our errand calls for thee.* xxni. * But he repents, and may he live ?' The voice of mercy cries, ' O give The power his honor to retrieve ! * 128 THE CHRISTIAN* When purified from worldly dross. The soul, through the all-glorious Cross, Reclaims the imaoce of heaven's Kinff, And as in first unsinning days, Stands pure before the holy rays, How quick the transit that doth bring The voice of mercy from the great All-One to the pure part create ! The prayer for mercy cornes in streams Of beauty from Florilla's soul — She so much injured by the foul Base man for whom her pity beams ! XXIV. Not thus the servants of the law — Not thus with those who from its slow And stern precepts their lessons draw. For these repentance never know, But raise the sword of injured right. And just it is it should be so. Away, away, no more so blight. He's |)ast death's final, fatal door— The wicked there shall vex no more ! CANTO III. THE BOWER. I. The breath of morning kissed the air, ^ And did upon its bosom bear Fragrance of richest worth. The gently brisk and strength'ning breeze Sang merrily among the trees, And flowers that deck the earth. The sun poured forth his crimson beams, And gave the world in kindly streams His gentle matin dower. And pierced the cloud that just had poured Upon the land its plenteous horde, A lovely summer showier ! II. That sun uj)on the fairy scene That skirts in harmony serene Thy gently winding vale, O fair Connecticut's sweet stream — That sun pours down his glorious beam. Thine ofrerin2:s to hail ! 130 THE CHRISTIAN. That hill, too, rising from the stream, Where once, ere burned the warlike gleam, ' Waved forests on the sight,' Now, clothed in all the beauteous guise That Art can add to Nature, lies Beneath the sun's bright light. He the concert joyous lead?, Plays dalliance with the laughing beads Of wat'ry diamonds fair, That glisten brightly from the leaves Of viny tendril, as it weaves A verdant vesture round the eaves Of a lone mansion there ! Ill* And who are they — yon matchless three ! Who walk forth so celestially. And bound in chains of love ? Are they two angels from on high. And a young cherub of the sky. Descended from above To sip for once the air that's given From bounties that descend from heaven ? Or are they lovely dreams Of Eden's happy, sinless pair, Cheered by a heavenly guest, who there Like to a fair boy seems ? THE BOWER. 131 IV. Whoe'er they be, they seem t' have come Forth from those walls, their own sweet home, T' enjoy the morning air. To view the day start on its road, Mark how the shower had poured abroad Its bright enchantments there I They walked upon the od'rous hill, They entered there, so fair and still, A shady arbor green ; Where Flora scattered all her sweets. And where a splendid prospect greets The eye, a matchless scene 1 V. Not they alone beheld that view. For still warbled the birds, and flew About those bright ' cascades,' Which sang as merrily as when Their notes came dingling to the plain Disporting 'mong the shades ! They still sang cheering on the air, But showed their foaming whiteness there, Reflected from the sun ! These, with yon mansion decked in green, Enraptured hovered o'er the scene, And on the vale looked down ! 132 THE CHRISTIAN. VI. And lo, outspread beneath their feet, A village beautiful and neat Was by them joyous viewed. Enchanting village, and serene ! Half rural was the matchless scene. 'Twas ' Paradise' renewed ! (7) The chacing sunbeams lightly bore The curling mist that glided o'er The clear, bright, glassy sheet Of limpid blue, that rolled along, Fit subject of a heavenly song. In grandeur at their feet ! Vlf. Along its shores, as far as eye Can reach, and yonder toward the sky, Bright verdure crowns the meads. And over dingle, hill, and plain, Perchance a lonely, wand'ring swain His morning labor leads. While o'er the whole, bright shining down. As of the earth a glorious crown Depending from on high. Wherein the sunbeams do diffuse Their glories in the varied hues, Fair Iris girts the sky ! THE BOWER. VIII. 133 All these, each in its diffVenl sphere, Sang their loud anthems high and clear, Which joyous climed the skies ! Not these alone sang from the plains ; Not theirs the only voice whence strains Of praise to heaven arise ; For while the cherub infant sees The butterfly and sportive bees, And with a nosegay played, The joyful parents loudly sang, And hark, their music sweetly rang Through bower, and dell, and shade ! IX. ^ Once in a mournful hour we sung ; The strains were full of hope, and given In joyous Childhood's accents flung In harmony aloft to^heaven ! That song was a garland of flowers. Sweet, such as Childhood only showers ; We deemed 'twas all there was of joy, Because we knew no other toy ! ' Again we sung ; but for each then The separate notes all mournful flow ; The burden of the aching strain Was heartfelt pain and burning woe. M l34 THE CHRISTIAN. The wreath was then of poisoned weeds ; It binds our brow, it stings, it bleeds, Because we know no heavenly sheaf, And scorn sweet Childhood's simple leaf! ^ Once more our song ascends on high ; But 'tis no local, partial strain, It floats aloft o'er earth and sky. And views experienced joy and pain. We cull from earth her richest flowers, Bind in one wreath, and in the showers Of immortality imbue. To deck our brow for ever new ! ' X. The child, who sporting on the green Had 'mong the flowers like diamond glistened. Caught by the echo of the strain, Began to gaze, and eager listened ! XI. ^ As streams upon the fertile earth The bright and gentle light of Spring, Producing gems of richest worth, Enrobing with each beauteous thing ; So o'er our minds, untaught as yet, Our Childhood's love poured forth its sweet ; It was the hour of simple joy, Not lofty, but free from alloy ! THE BOWER. 13 ^ As withers every flower earth has. As dry up all her running streams, Beneath the fervid, scorching blaze Of Summer-sun's relentless gleams ; So withers every grace of soul. So cease sweet feeling's streams to roll, Beneath the never pitying blight Of Passion's deeply piercing might ! ^ As Spring's strong germinating might And fervid Summer's ripening blaze Spread neath the Autumn's golden light Fruits rich to taste, fair to the gaze ; So have sweet Childhood's budding power And Passion's vision-op'ning dower Spread out before the Christian's eye Knowledge and joy, pure, bright, and high ! ^ Nor will there ever on the height Of bliss that decks the joyous field Fall Winter's frost, to nip and blight, Fall Winters snow, the wreck to gild ; Our frames may fee the with'ring truth. Our souls shall bloom in during youth. And eat of fruits, a heavenly dower. Through ages 'bove conception's power !' 136 THE CHRISTIAN* XII. Upstarting from its grassy coucli. Where it had heard the thrilling touch Of music pierce the sky. The child drew near, and stood, and gazed. And upward to its mother raised Its heavenly beaming eye ! XIII. 'As sport the waters brisk along, Near by their loved, enchanting source, Bright fields and fairy shades among, Nor heed the charms that cheer their course ; So do the joys of Childhood fleet Seem doubly fair and doubly sweet Because these joys, that seem so plain, Do not the fixed attention gain. ^ As over crag and frowning steep Rush recklessly of .every thing The blindly driven wat'ry deep. Its angry splashings forth to fling ; Thus blindly do th' affections rush When Passion strives their sweets to crush ; Thus are the foams the heart must feel When Passion doth her poisons deal ! ^ Those waters, when they 've reached the plain^ Augmented by a thousand rills. '^■;'- k THE BOWER. 137 Sweep in deep current to the main, And every gem its bosom fills ; 3o in a smooth, unruffled flow rh' affections, taught by former woe. Pass onward bright and tranquilly Toward th' ocean of Eternity ! ^ Nor will that ocean be a vast Unmeaning mass, by tempest tost. But waters of cerulean cast, Gemmed with a countless pearly host, Glitt'ring in every country's guise. Come from all climes beneath the skies. And 'bove ihe skies ; from every world Creation's mighty wheel hath whirled ! XIV. ' The splendid prospect calls for praise ; Praise boundless as the prospect is ; Praise bright as are the lustrous rays Of a pure Christian's heavenly bliss ! The ecstasy our spirit yields, The hope that our high prospect gilds. Burn on our tongues, and bid us cry, To God be raised the Paean high ! * Sing all ye plains, and all ye hills, Sing all ye shades, and solemn woods, Sing all ye rivers, and ye rills. Sing O thou Earth, with all thy floods, 138 THE CHRISTIAN. Sing mortals, with a holy fire, Like strains of an Archangel choir, sing, and let it pierce the sky, To God be raised the Pasari high ! ' XV. The infant heard the strain, and gazed, And did the purport catch amazed Borne on the holy song ! Its eye with childhood's sweetness glazed, Its voice it joyous upward raised. And with a lisping tongue. And tone that would with angel's vie, ' To God be raised the Paean high ! ' XVI. Across the vale the chorus ran, The mountains caught the hymn from man, And sang it o'er again ! The oft reverberated song. In echo full, and clear, and long, Arising from the plain. Passed on its heavenward passage by, ' To God be raised the Paean high ! ' XVII. But hark ! what voice sweeps on the air ? No earthly sound were half so rare, Or of such speechless worth ! THE BOVVER. 139 A Seraph flew along the sky. And as her chariot glittered by. Sent back the strain to earth, Sweet as the breath of zephyr's sigh, ' To God be raised the Paean high ! ' XVIII, It was the Guardian Spirit of Joy ! The airy breathings lightly buoy The chariot and its Guest ! Her golden voice floats on the breeze. That ought to reach th' antipodes. And pierce each human breast ! She sang the anthem from the sky, ' To God be raised the Paean high ! ' Yes, hear, O Earth ! and hearken, every clime ! List to the strains upon whose swellings chime Bliss for earth's favored ones, food for the weak ! O list, and hear each lovely virtue speak ! It comes from those who claim the right to teach. For 'tis Experience doth her torch outreach ! Nor lacks a witness, for the cherub boy Joins in the strain, the progeny of joy — Of holy joy — ^joy where, in streams combined. Love, virtue, bliss, are in one spirit joined ! Then hear, Earth ! and hearken, every clime ! List to their strains, that shall survive all time ! 140 THE CHRISTIAN, XIX. ' There be two seasons of man's favored life That are with soul-enchanting rapture rife. The first is sweet, but of a transient date ; The first is sweet, but of no mighty weight ; Its light is fair, but of a narrow sphere ; It pleases, but no piercing beams are here. Man is not born in full and dazzling light, But 'neath the peaceful glimmerings of night ; Yon heavenly Crescent streams upon his head, And starlight keeps abashed the gloomy shade. And thus he passes through the flitting years, And knows nor rapture nor hot, scalding tears ! XX. ^Down sinks the Light God made to ^rule the night." Gladness is hushed — shut up each sweet delight — And Stygian is the vapor from the ground, That withers every beauteous flower around, But careful nurses in its foul caress Each gross, hot-breathing plant of bitterness ; That 's watered by the tears man's forced to yield, And well if heart-blood sprinkle not the field! Ah ! who would wish to breathe the poisoned gale. And taste the noxious fruit, and send the wail ? Ah ! who would dwell forever in the dark, Through blackness steer his mis'ry-freighted bark ? THE BOWER. 141 What though a light stream from yon glimm'ring star ? It only points his woe, and flames despair ! What though the beam light on a single cord That lingers in the likeness of its Lord ? Its whetted feeling only shows to man In deeper glow the darkly brooding pain ! XXI. ^ But hail, yon beam, that streaks the ruddy East— «• The harbinger of an eternal feast ! Go, dip thy pencil in the crimson glare. And light, and life, and endless day declare ! Plant on the growing light the eye of faith. With steady ardor spurn the shades of death ! (Say, wouldst thou know where shines the bright relief ? Go, view it on thy Bible's golden leaf ! ) leave behind thy gross and mortal frame, Its every furniture, its every claim ; But feast thy soul upon the heavenly dower, And promise it a more abundant shower. Then, when the last remain of night hath gone, When twilight on her shady wing hath flown. When upward bursts yon woe-dispelling sun. Whence streams of holiness for ever run, — Then mount upon the beams and fly away. Where not one cloud bedims the blaze of day ! Go, join the legionary choirs above, And drink in life and knowledge, joy and love ! i 142 THE CHRISTIAN. Go, and become an angel of the sky, And on the errands of heaven's Sovereign fly ! Go, sport along the fields of endless space, And learn each joy, each heaven-created grace, And skim the paths by seraph-legions trod. And bask in beams from Universal God, And gaze on awful Spirit's great Abode ! END OF PART III. NOTES. AH ^-^ntui 1 ■W, ' ''■^^■ ■:j- 1 1 f r \m NOTES, NOTE 1.— Pace 17. *To call it even Paradise.' , There are several towns, it is believed, situated in different parts of the United States, at the present day, which claim the name of * Paradise.' But if the reader should be curious to ascer- tain to which of these the Muse refers in her present roundelay, and should enquire, if neither of thena be meant, whether it be a spot unknown as yet to cosmographers, and if so how situate, &c., the answer would probably be, that neither of these suppo- sitions contains the truth, but that it is a place whose situation, beauties, and virtues, are known only to the Muse herself; but that she will endeavor, presently, to locate it in some region where the fancy of her listeners can follow, and adorn it with such graces as their hearts shall approve. Or if the reader choose, he can very readily understand the Muse's description to have a distant allusion to ancient Paradise, in her beauty and innocence, and wait the result. The design of the Muse appears to be, not the description of some event unknown to the world, adorned with the enchant- ments of Romance, and acquiring its zest from being enclosed in the curtains of Mystery, but rather the exhibition of the smooth current of common life, and of those colors that are very apt to mingle their hues upon every picture of human existence- Nevertheless, she has seen fit to connect the burden of her song with an event which transpired during the American Revolution, as will be seen anon. N 146 NOTES. NOTE 2.— Pagk 19. * A stream that issued from the North.' Should any one happen to be so very destitute of employment in this busy age and country as to direct his attentiQn to the examination of the villages strown along the Connecticut ^ with a view of finding Paradise, he would indeed fail ofdiscovering it in name, and enveloped in its described minutiae, but would un- doubtedly be attracted by many a place which, by changing the ideal his fancy has formed of the 'Village,' be might easily coii» sider to be the spot designed. NOTE 3.— Page 29. * The Festival's delights unrolled.' The practice of solemnizing, by the annual festival of Thanks, giving, the crowning of the varied blessings of the year, by the gatherings of Autumn, has been observed in New-England from time immemorial, and has recently been introduced into other States. The chaste luxuries, social pleasures, juvenile sports, &c., attendant upon the festival, are of a highly cheering character. NOTE 4.— Page 57. It will be recollected that at the close of the year 1781, while Gen. Washington was engaged in executing that grand scheme which closed the drama of the Revolution — the taking of ¥ork- lown, an expedition by the British in New- York was performed against New-London, Conn., for the purpose of attracting the attention and part uf the forces of the American army; that it was signalized by the most barbarous cruelty, in every form, by NOTES. 147 fire and sword, a considerable portion, of the town being burned ; and that it was led by the traitor Arnold— a circumstance whose enormity is heightened by the consideration that the scene of the deed was * in his native State-' The Muse has connected this incident with her story, transferring the scene of oction a short distance to a place of her own creation. The person, also, whom she represents as hero of the infamous deed is of the name of Arnold, but is f^overned in his actions, in part at least, by the motive oC revenge, 'I'his is the only incident in which the histories of both Arnolds will be found to coincide, though their several characters may possibly lorm a more exact resemblance. NOTE 5.— Page 57. New- York was held in possession of the royal army for two years and more after the closing event of the war ; and as this occurred in the fall of the year 1781, the time of action in Part II may be placed in the subsequent Summer. NOTE 6.--PAGE 108. * And that spot, too, where he of pride.* The appearance and scenery of the Hudson through that region where lie the two separate scenes of Gen. Burgoyne's battle and surrender, are of a degree of beauty equaled upon but few rivers in the United States, or even, perhaps, in the world. NOTE 7.--PAGE 132. * 'Twas * Paradist' renewed.' Should the reader have adopted the suggestion contained in Note 1, viz., to unite the Paradise of this poem with the Paradise ^148 NOTES. of the Scriptures, he will here, probably, discover a still stronger resemblance between them, in the circumstances of the two loveliest occupants of each being subjected to misfortune and woe through the envy of an evil one, and after enduring banish- ment, sorrow, and the fruits of error, through the lapse of a reason, being restored at last with increased joys to ' Paradise Regained,' THE END. C 32 89 4B "t^ \ {• -40*. .. >*% --IK- /\ © i»o^ *^ e»^*< '• HO' Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. t * -6^ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide _ ,** X?" 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