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PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 

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 CASTALIA. 
 
 ISAAC FITZGERALD SHEPARD 
 
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 BOSTON: 
 WHIPPLE AND DAMRELL, 9 CORNHILL. 
 
 MD C CC XL. 
 
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 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, 
 
 By WHIPPLE AND DAMRELL, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
 ^f \ ^ 
 
 POWER PKE33 OF WM. 3. DAMFELL, 
 
 No. 11 Cornhill, Boston. 
 
REV. HUBBARD WINSLOW, 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S PASTOR AND FRIEND, 
 
 THAN WHOM ANOTHER HOLDS NOT A HIGHER PLACE 
 IN HIS ESTEEM, 
 
 THESE POEMS 
 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Should the writer of the Poems now presented 
 to the public offer them without an apology, 
 he would be chargeable with too much as- 
 surance ; and should he plead the solicitation 
 of friends alone, as expiation for the sin of his 
 authorship, all would know he bore false 
 witness. While, therefore, he cannot but be 
 sensible of defects, he will have the honesty to 
 confess he believes the book worth reading: 
 did he not, he would never be fool enough to 
 put it into the hands of his publishers. More 
 than this he dare not say; less he cannot, 
 without hypocrisy. 
 
yiii PREFACE. 
 
 From critics he expects no favor. If there 
 is any true poetry in the volume, they will find 
 it out. If there is none, or so little that it may 
 not be separated from its accompanying defile- 
 ment, let oblivion be its portion. Better that 
 condemnation rest upon the author now, than 
 when more may be interested in his success ; 
 and better, far better, that the effusions of 
 moments redeemed from the severer duties of 
 college life find an early grave, than that the 
 rising literary reputation of his country should 
 suffer through his instrumentality. 
 
 Harvard Universitt, April, 1840. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 SPEI.L3 OF THE PaST, 13 
 
 MISCELLANJIOas POEMS. 
 
 The Tear of Sympathy, i 53 
 
 Night-Storm at Sea, 57 
 
 The Last Prayer, 59 
 
 TheDead! I love them still ! 64 
 
 The Will of God, 67 
 
 Bunker Hill Monument, 76 
 
 The Pearl of great Price, 80 
 
 An Indian Lament, 83 
 
 The Voice of Death, 85 
 
 Sonnet to , 88 
 
 A Tribute to Maria, 89 
 
 There's Something left, 93 
 
 The Midnight Snow-Storm, 97 
 
 Songofthe Winter King, 102 
 
 I'll think of Thee, 105 
 
 The Withered Rose, 107 
 
 The Spirit's Rest, 109 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Description from Nature, 113 
 
 Stanzas, 116 
 
 Touch nottlie Tempting Bowl, 119 
 
 Ambition. — A Fragment, 121 
 
 The Battle of Bunker Hill, 126 
 
 A Dream of Life, 131 
 
 They tell me Thou 'It Forget, 138 
 
 To a Lock of Hair, 140 
 
 The Ministering Spirit, 142 
 
 A Mother's Love, 146 
 
 Immortality, 150 
 
 Sabbath Morning, 154 
 
 Sabbath Noon, 155 
 
 Sabbath Evening, 156 
 
 Notes, 157 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST 
 
PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 SPELLS OF THE PAST. 
 
 ' Ov datdav riargaTtTS oilag dalafii]n6lov kvvrjv- 
 ^ Ovdh Ttolvaxugdfia Tig aneofHiQTi]OS xoQsi''ri, 
 ' Ov/ v^svauov ueiae naxr^q, xal noma fir^zriq- 
 ^AlXa ^B^oq aTogeaaaa Telsaoiyicfioiaiv iv wgaig 
 Siyri naaxov em-j^ev, ivvftcpotcoin-qas d' ofilx^rj- 
 Kal ydixog -fiv Cun&vevdev dsido/uivcov if^svalojv. 
 
 MUSJEUS. 
 
 Awake, O harp ! Roll out your echoing notes 
 While yet Castalia's gushing fountains well; 
 
 While Thought upon her rapid pinion floats, 
 
 And bears me through sweet Memory's shadowy dell ;- 
 
 There meet I once again departed years, 
 
 As each uprising from its shroud appears. 
 2 
 
14 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Those transient hours, that light the buried past, 
 Wake up a gladness in my heart as then, 
 
 And o'er my saddened soul a shadow cast 
 Of joys that were, yet may not be again. 
 
 Wake, wake, my lyre ! and let thy numbers sound 
 
 To theme like this, as seraph's lyre unbound. 
 
 III. 
 
 Home of my youth ! my own New England home ! 
 
 Of tliee — thee, and thy hallowed scenes, I sing; 
 O how doth memory through the vista roam, 
 
 And each loved moment to my greeting bring ! 
 A thrilling rapture wakes with scenes gone by, 
 Though born, like rainbow tints, to glow and die. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I love thee, my young home, for with thy name 
 Come back the loved ones of my boyhood's days ; 
 
 I hear their tread — the shout, tlie laugh, the same 
 As when the welkin rang "n-ith gladsome plays ; 
 
 'T is sounding now, the merry-voiced hurrah. 
 
 That sent its echoes up the mount afar. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 15 
 
 Oft I in fancy join the fearless band 
 
 Who mounted rocks, and climbed the distant hill ; 
 Again by mounds which marked the Indian land, 
 
 I rouse the legend of each mount and rill ; 
 But the glad throng, that once was happy there, 
 Has passed away, and memory asks me, where ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 By some the joys of virtue have been found; 
 
 By some the woes of vice ; and others sleep 
 In caves, where wakes the tempest's sullen sound 
 
 When angry billows lash the stormy deep ; 
 With countless hosts, beneath the dark deep waves. 
 Long shall they rest within their cavern graves. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O'er some the tombstone tells the silent tale 
 Of life, of death, perchance of stainless worth ; 
 
 The hollow winds will chant their requiem wail 
 While earth shall moulder back to earth : 
 
 The rocks, the hills, the mounds unchanged remain. 
 
 But they shall never tread those haunts again. 
 
16 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I care not for old Britain's storied fame, 
 
 Proud of her learning' and her temples' spires ; 
 
 Nor yet for sweet Italia' s classic name, 
 
 Nor Greece, where first the muses strung their lyres ; 
 
 Not Egypt, Gaui-, nor any land on eartli. 
 
 Surpasses that which gave to freedom birtli. 
 
 IX. 
 
 She hath her mountains and her torrent streams. 
 Her cataracts, caves, and scenes of honored fight; 
 
 When first Aurora sheds her orient beams, 
 
 The smiles of morning dwell on Bunker's height, 
 
 And, resting where the noble Warren fell. 
 
 Bid nations look where rang oppression's knell. 
 
 X. 
 
 New England, too, with proper pride, may boast 
 Her seats of learning, and her village scliools ; 
 
 For not a saUor leaves her rock-bound coast 
 But gets his bread by scientific rules ; 
 
 Through all her borders Knowledge sheds her rays, 
 
 And Science beams with full, unclouded blaze. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 17 
 
 XL 
 
 ' 'T is Education forms the common mind,' — 
 The corner-stone of freedom's sacred fane ; 
 
 And if in slavery's chain you 'd freemen bind, 
 Let education's light be on the wane ; 
 
 For, in the dark, our eagle's wings would soon 
 
 Be clipped, and Liberty go out at noon. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But what is dearer far than all beside. 
 
 Is shadowed forth by many a cloud-topped spire, 
 White as the virgin snow, in lofty pride 
 
 Itself uprearing to the tempest's ire. 
 And standing firm amidst the storm's rude shock, 
 So all may know its base is on a rock. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And in this firmness there appears to me 
 
 A fitting type of what religion is, — 
 A chart and compass both, on life's dark sea. 
 
 Knowing no shade of metamorphosis ; 
 And all unscathed, when storms of passion rise, 
 It points, like sacred steeples, to the skies. 
 2* 
 
18 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I count the influence of the village church 
 The purest that our fallen world hath known ; 
 
 And though the universe were put in search, 
 A better one would never virtue own : 
 
 And though sometimes its rites have been abused, 
 
 So have divinest gifts by mortals used. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The solemn tolling of the Sabbath bell 
 Hath something in it holier than of earth. 
 
 And when loud anthems to Jehovah swell, 
 The spirit longeth for a heavenly birth ; 
 
 And, catching impulse from the good man's prayer, 
 
 The heart is softened to contrition there. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 From earliest childhood's hour, in scenes like these, 
 New England's youth are reared to manhood's prime ; 
 
 They hail each morning's light on bended knees. 
 Remembering Him who guides the course of time ; 
 
 And, like pure streams which through the landscape flow. 
 
 They inigate and bless where'er they go. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 19 
 
 XVIL 
 
 If this wide earth hath ever known one scene 
 Of bliss, akin to that which seraphs know, — 
 
 If one pure hour of perfect joy, — I ween 
 It must be when a father bowed him low, 
 
 With wife and children round, and converse held 
 
 With God, while thoughts of holy rapture swelled. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 There have been days, when I have longed to break 
 From the dear throng that knelt before the throne 
 
 At daily sacrifice, and so forsake 
 
 Each holiest earthly tie, to call mine own 
 
 The precious hours that God had kindly given 
 
 To nurse the soul, and plume its Avings for heaven. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But now, with far intenser wish, I would 
 That I might mingle heart with them again ; 
 
 For oft I rove in dreary solitude, 
 
 Remote from gazing eyes of worldly men, 
 
 And look adown the vista of tlie past. 
 
 And weep that far from home my lot is cast. 
 
20 PEBBLES PROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XX. 
 
 I hear my father's manly voice : the smile 
 That graced my mother's placid lip I see : 
 
 My sisters' mirth, my brothers' shouts beguile 
 My thoughts to haunts of happy infancy ! 
 
 And forms that long have made the grave their bed, 
 
 I know as though they had not met the dead ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Her voice I hear, who in sweet childhood's hour 
 Oft taught my lips the name of Him whose praise 
 
 Went forth from every grove and shady bower, 
 Loud echoing round witli featliered Avarblers' lays ; 
 
 On angels' wings she passed to worlds above, 
 
 Where burns, like quenchless fire, that sister's love. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And still one other form is lingering yet, 
 
 As 't were a thing of light ! Some halo dwells 
 
 Around her brow ! I see, as when we met, 
 Amid the gathered crowd, the gaze that tells 
 
 The soul within, and once again the bliss 
 
 I feel, which thrills with pure affection's kiss. 
 
SPELLS OP THE PAST. 21 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But hush, my muse ! I dare not longer sound 
 Thy notes to memory of departed friends ! 
 
 The spot whereon I tread is holy ground, 
 And softly should he walk whose pathway bends 
 
 Along the tomb : — I '11 drop one parting tear 
 
 O'er those who loved me while they tarried here. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But yet I may not well forget the place 
 Where first I felt the love of sacred song, , 
 
 When, pausing in my playful spaniel's chase, 
 I heard the wind's wild music wake along 
 
 The woods, and troubled roarings from the sea 
 
 Came swelling on in full-toned symphony. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I gazed upon each waving tree, each leaf 
 That quivered on its parting stem ; then, through 
 
 Heaven's wide expanse, and in the rapture brief 
 Of that calm hour, from out the ethereal blue, 
 
 My soul of those rich beauties drank its fill. 
 
 That shed their soothing influence round me still. 
 
22 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 XXVI. 
 
 I knew not of the poet's godlike art 
 Of catching music from the whirlwind's roar ; 
 
 Or gazing, when the vault of heaven is torn apart, 
 And crashing thunders rock earth's farthest shore, 
 
 To read, where red-Avinged lightnings course the air, 
 
 The dread sublimity engraven there. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I had not heard of poesy the name. 
 
 Or dreamed of one of all the charms that dwell 
 Where rapture thrills from words that bear a flame: 
 
 I only heard pure nature's anthems swell ; 
 I felt the beauty of the gorgeous west 
 And kneAv a spirit's birth witliin my breast. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 How many a time a willing path I led 
 To the dear spot, when evening's sun went out, 
 
 And on some mound, above the red man's dead. 
 Sat tracing where the river waked a shout 
 
 Of Avaves, till in the distance dim was seen 
 
 A vine-clothed cot, the home of Halloween. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 23 
 
 I see it now ! the blue smoke curls and winds 
 In all fantastic forms the clouds among ; 
 
 The windows hide beneath the dark green blinds, 
 And woodbines o'er the lattice- work have hung 
 
 Their emerald dress, and honey-suckles creep 
 
 Far up the roof, and fragrant odors weep. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Before the gate a faithful watch-dog lies, 
 To guard the pass from each aggressive tread ; 
 
 The timid bird around her dove-cote flies, 
 Afraid to soar, and mindful of the dread 
 
 The swift- winged hawk inspired, when filled with hate 
 
 He spoiled that home, and robbed her of her mate. 
 
 XXXI, 
 
 The old elms wave above the hedge-bound path. 
 Leading where sleeps a heaven-reflecting lake 
 
 That never knew the storm- wind's direful wrath : 
 So sure a shield surrounding mountains make, 
 
 That deeper troublings never break its rest. 
 
 Than such soft sighs as swell a maiden's breast 
 
24 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Here, on some summer's eve, would Halloween 
 Be found, with her whose youthful heart 
 
 He had unwitting won, by courteous mein, 
 And tender acts, that happiness impart 
 
 To him who gives, and who tlie gift may share — 
 
 So multiform the joys of friendship are. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He loved her first, because he saAv the gi-ace 
 Of nature's perfect workmanship, combined 
 
 With angel tracings, in her lovelyface, 
 
 Showing a soul within that breast enshrined, 
 
 Formed but to light his path, his life to bless. 
 
 Who won her heart, and prized such happiness. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 If we may trust what airy poets say, 
 
 Time was, when love indwelt the human soul ; — 
 Celestial love ! — pure flame, that found its way 
 
 Through untold space, where myriad planets roll, 
 From tlie full blaze that lights the Eternal's throne,- 
 Inspiring joy through every boundless zone. 
 
SPELLS OP THE PAST. 25 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Of heaven's ethereal life quintessence true, 
 This was the charm of Milton's Paradise, 
 
 There kindled first, when Adam wondering knew 
 The beauteous Eve with modest charms uprise, 
 
 As dewy slumber waved her wings above. 
 
 And left within his heart the fire of love ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Resembling minds, by pure affection swayed, 
 Would once each other's joys reciprocate ; 
 
 And thus a firm and moveless base was laid 
 For friendship sweet, divine, immaculate : 
 
 But now so rare a happy match we see, 
 
 It scarce were rash to doubt its entity. 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 If men have daughters whom they wish to wed, 
 The first grand object is to cut a dash 
 
 At Saratoga, folly's fountain-head. 
 Or some such place, and spend a little cash 
 
 To lure some moneyed, bed-rid son of gout 
 
 Whose game is up, whose life-lease nearly out 
 3 
 
26 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 And if perchance he makes a virgin trade, 
 And wayward nature takes too slow a course, 
 
 Why then a lawyer's bill is quickly paid. 
 And councilled sages grant a free divorce : 
 
 What death refused, the pliant law will do, 
 
 And so the chase may be pursued anew. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 They say, 'variety's the spice of life,' 
 
 And modern men have learned tlie maxim well; 
 
 So well, I fear, that should each injured wife 
 Disclose the wrongs that help her woes to swell, 
 
 We should reverse what preached the holy Paul, 
 
 And say, to wed disgraceful is in all. 
 
 XL. 
 
 If men will marry where they do not love. 
 
 They '11 love where not the rite of marriage is ; 
 
 So Btron writes ; and though his faults above 
 His virtues rise, for once, at least, 't was his 
 
 To tell a truth which none unwilling owns, 
 
 Though oft for its contempt remorse atones. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. %( 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Marriage is made a game of chance, and scores 
 
 Win worthless blanks where one a prize can claim ; 
 
 Then jealousies uprise, and scandal pours 
 Her hellish draught, which drank, wild passions flame, 
 
 The soul is seaj-ed, and Hymen weeps to see 
 
 By stealth approach the fiend Inconstancy ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The guilt alike to wife and husband each, 
 The social home becomes the haunt of wo. 
 
 Where parents to their hated offspring teach 
 The scenes that from polluted wedlock flow, 
 
 So they in turn come on the stage to lend 
 
 Their cursed aid to hasten virtue's end. 
 
 Anon, as darkness follows waning day. 
 
 Must yield the reign of purity and truth, 
 And in its stead foul passions bear their sway. 
 
 And vice and crime devour the bud of youth ; 
 And prison- walls resound with shrieks and cries 
 That faintly type immortal agonies. 
 
28 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 But I have wandered far away, and tuned 
 My wayward harp to quite a foreign strain : 
 
 Yet each young fruit-tree must be freely pruned, 
 And so I turn me to my tlieme again ; 
 
 And if once more I shall be found to stray, 
 
 I'll try to cull some flowers along the way. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 On Halloween had nature placed her seal 
 
 Of high nobility : his very tread 
 Bespoke the man, and told the nerve of steel 
 
 That fitted best to stand where duty led, 
 TJnawed, tliough opposition leagued its might, 
 So he was sure his cause espoused was right. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Deep in his nature dwelt ennobling thought, 
 
 That lighted up an intellectual glow 
 From out the portals of the soul, full fraught 
 
 With that which deference claimed, while yet no show 
 Of conscious worth a haughty air begot. 
 Engendering hate from those in humble lot. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 29 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 His voice had tones of eloquence, that thrilled 
 With pleasure keen each chord Avithin the soul, 
 
 While from his lips the dew of love distilled, 
 That every passion of the listener stole ; — 
 
 Then flashed the kindling eye, the cheek grew flushed. 
 
 And every breath, save his, was willing hushed. 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 For those who wept he had a tear to shed, 
 A balm to pour within the aching breast : 
 
 Did footsteps linger round the lonely dead, 
 He tarried there, and spoke of holy rest 
 
 Beyond the vale of death, where sighs and tears 
 
 Come not, nor bliss is stayed by flight of years. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 He had a smile of gladness, too, for hours 
 Of joy ; a laugh of mirth and sounding glee, 
 
 That sent its echoes through the listening bowers, 
 When light steps bounded through the forest free, 
 
 As buoyant youth, with many a change of play. 
 
 Rang out their shouts through many a happy day. 
 3* 
 
30 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Nor yet the charm in outward acts alone 
 That won all hearts ; within his bosom dwelt 
 
 A principle of right ; Religion's throne 
 Was there, and all that knew his influence felt 
 
 His soul the temple of the Holt One, 
 
 For every action told His will was done. 
 
 u. 
 
 No Pharisaic pride with whited walls 
 Adorned a fair outside with pious name : 
 
 He sooner heard some helpless orphan's calls. 
 Or sought out penury, and guilt, and shame, — 
 
 The wretched, aid to give, — tlie starving, food, — 
 
 Than craved the praises of the multitude. 
 
 LII. 
 
 The old men blessed him when their doors he passed, 
 And wished him length of years and happy days ; 
 
 For him each matron spread her rich repast, 
 Nor knew a prouder hour than won his praise ; 
 
 And blushing maidens at his glance would sigh, 
 
 While scarce themselves could tell tlie reason why. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 31 
 
 LIII. 
 
 No wonder, then, that lovely Caroline, 
 
 The village pride, with matchless beauty crowned, 
 
 And good as beautiful, should joy to win 
 His priceless, changeless love, when all around 
 
 Had deemed above the common boon of heaven 
 
 Her lot, to whom such bliss should e'er be given. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 She was a thing of light — an angel germ ; — 
 Bounding as buoyant as a young gazelle, — 
 
 Though still with purposes like mountains firm: 
 Her life had been all poetry ; the swell 
 
 Of evening zephyr waked a harsher tone 
 
 Than e'er a chord within her breast had known. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Not more unheeded was the passing wind 
 That kissed the ringlets on her fair young brow. 
 
 Nor left a vestige of itself behind. 
 
 Than were life's ills by her : enough that now 
 
 Her heaven was bright ; when darkening clouds might rise, 
 
 'T were time enough to mourn with useless sighs. 
 
32 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 LVI. 
 
 Philosophy like this she acted out, 
 
 Although perhaps she never reasoned so ; 
 
 And acting thus, some hallowed spell about 
 Her presence dwelt, whose captivating glow 
 
 Entranced all hearts, and made the gazer feel 
 
 Her soul an impress showed of Heaven's own seal. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 She daily sought the dwellings of the poor, 
 And wide the happiness her visits gave, 
 
 For 'neath each cottage-roof a welcome sure 
 She found : her voice the victim of the grave 
 
 Could cheer ; and frequent by the dying bed 
 
 She sat, and from the Book of Promise read. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Like angel whispers seemed her soothing tones, 
 As oft she strove to calm some mother's fear 
 
 For orphan babes, revealed by heart-wrung moans, 
 While burning fever drank each starting tear : 
 
 ' Jehovah heeds,' she said, ' the raven's cry ; 
 
 And shall He pass the homeless orphan by ? ' 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 33 
 
 LIX. 
 
 Better than life itself she loved to stand 
 With Halloween beside the couch of death, 
 
 While passed a vision of the spirit-land, 
 
 And hear, as lingered yet the parting breath. 
 
 From lips that linked their cherished names as one, 
 
 The prayer ascend to Spirit, Father, Son. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Affection deep had twined its silken chain 
 Around these souls ; but yet of love had each 
 
 To other never breathed : coquetry vain, 
 A fiendish art, had not been used to reach 
 
 An honest heart, nor yet a deep-laid plot 
 
 To gain a hoard of gold, in hell begot 
 
 LXI. 
 
 They met because according sympathies 
 Marked out to each the path the other trod ; 
 
 They loved because their hidden destinies 
 Were writ in heaven as one ; for nature's God 
 
 Had lighted in their souls a kindred flame, 
 
 That, bursting forth, no power on earth might tame. 
 
34 PEBBLES PROM CASTALIA. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 When first beneath some humble cot he saw 
 
 Her seraph form, that sleeping flame flashed out, 
 
 And as their glances met, to nature's law 
 Obedient quick, it blazed intense throughout 
 
 Her soul, and from that hour a shade came o'er 
 
 The heaven of each they had not known before. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 In either breast an image ever dwelt 
 
 That mingled in each dream of future bliss ; 
 
 Nor either knew what rapturous thrill was felt 
 By each, as pressed their lips the parting kiss, 
 
 When hying home, as dimmed the sun's red light, 
 
 With mutual sigh they spoke a last ' good night ! ' 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Thus lived they on, till one sweet eve it chanced, 
 Beyond the common hour their steps delayed, 
 
 On love's sweet errand bent : the willows danced 
 The stream's bright verge upon, and lilies played 
 
 With their long stems upon the eddying wave, 
 
 That now and then their petals pure would lave. 
 
iPELLS OF THE PAST. 35 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Twilight from off the blushing west had passed, 
 Night's sable robe was flung o'er sea and earth, 
 
 The moonbeams on the mountains wide were cast. 
 And brilliant stars shone forth, as when their birth 
 
 Was hailed, amid the countless worlds of light 
 
 That gemmed the diadem of pristine night. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 It was an hour that seemed of holier clime : 
 
 The light winds chanted vespers through the trees 
 
 All bright with tears of stilly eventime, 
 And insect melody came on the breeze. 
 
 Lulling each ruder thought with gentle power. 
 
 Till seemed of paradise each echoing bower. 
 
 Earth is a holy place ! Frail, erring man 
 Alone is vile ! Go, on some silent eve. 
 
 Unseen, far up the hill's green brow, and scan 
 Heaven's canopy : forget the world, and leave 
 
 Its vanities behind, and thou shalt feel 
 
 Strange thoughts of passing beauty o'er thee steal. 
 
36 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 And thou shalt know new joys within tlaee burn, 
 Of dull mortality unborn : the charm 
 
 That erst hath lured thee shalt thou tliere unlearn, 
 As o'er thy spirit falls mysterious calm, 
 
 That makes thee deem thyself a breathing part 
 
 Of the pure life which tlirills creation's heart 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 The Deitt hath fixed upon thy soul 
 An image of himself — his living seal ; 
 
 But thou hast suffered passion's flood to roll 
 Its selfish wave, till scarcely canst thou feel 
 
 Upon the altar of thy deathless being glow 
 
 One spark of flame that endless life may know. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Go, then, alone, — when, in the hush of night. 
 On tlie rapt soul no thoughts of earth intrude : 
 
 Commune with spirits from the realms of light. 
 And in the stillness of the solitude 
 
 Some tongueless voice shall bid tliee wiser be. 
 
 And shape thy purpose for eternity. 
 
SPELLS OP THE PAST. 37 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Such holy influence felt young Halloween, 
 
 As on his arm his being's idol hung, 
 Witli fancies like some shining lake serene : 
 
 But yet a cloud of sadness o'er him flung 
 Its darkening shade, and silently they trode 
 Along their way, with glittering night-gems strewed. 
 
 Slowly their footsteps fell, for painful thought 
 Came o'er his soul, and waked a troubled dream. 
 
 Whose power he could not quell, so deeply fraught 
 With shadowy ills at hand : at length the stream. 
 
 That swept the vale, before them rolled its wave. 
 
 And stayed their steps beside heaven's liquid grave. 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 An eloquence of beauty lingered round : 
 Along the beetling marge the forest-shade 
 
 Was thrown adown the pearly depths, all crowned 
 With 'jewels dropped undimmed from heaven,' that made 
 
 That waveless river's starlit breast appear 
 
 As one vast mirror for each rolling sphere. 
 4 
 
38 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 They stood with simultaneous pause to look 
 Upon that scene, and not a zephyr woke 
 
 The hallowed stillness there, nor, passing-, shook 
 A falling leaf: then on a storm-rent oak 
 
 They sat, while Halloween broke up the spell. 
 
 As thus from off his lips the winged words fell. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 ' Gaze out upon yon sweeping stream ! We stand 
 Within earth's temple walls ; the ground we tread 
 
 Is but its moveless base, by mighty hand 
 
 Firm set ; each lofty mountain's cloud-topped head 
 
 Its architrave ; its dome the firmament, 
 
 With fretted gold and gems in splendor blent. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 ' Rocks, woodlands, flowers, are decorations, all, 
 Of this stupendous fane ; the swelling wind, 
 
 The cataract's voice, tlie thunder's echoing call, 
 Far heard from mount to mount, each in its kind 
 
 Combines to form one anthem-choir, with chime 
 
 To sound the birth, the life, the death of Time. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 39 
 
 LXXVIL 
 
 ' The sun, the moon, the myriad stars are given 
 To radiate what else had been but gloom ; 
 
 The mist, that soars with morning light to heaven, 
 Is smoke of incense due ; and ocean's womb 
 
 Is the baptismal font ; and fields, and brooks. 
 
 Are the Eternal One's unwritten books. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 ' Gaze out upon that sweeping tide, and keep 
 
 What thou canst learn ! each drop cormningled there, 
 
 Hath lost its individual self; the deep 
 To deep calls forth, and waveless currents bear. 
 
 With ever-swelling flow, the waters past. 
 
 Till ocean's briny depths they find at last. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 ' And this is human life ! a passing stream, 
 Or tiniest drop of this existence-tide ! — 
 
 Men tempt the sea of strife ; like midnight dream 
 Their barks fly on, far o'er the waters wide ; 
 
 The current sweeps ; they struggle, buffet, die. 
 
 And o'er them rolls a dark eternity ! ' 
 
40 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 His voice was hushed : then flashed his brilliant eye ; 
 
 His quivering lip mysterious token showed 
 Of some strange wo within ; one heart- wrung sigh 
 
 Escaped the loved one by his side, and flowed 
 The willing tear ; his solemn words had thrilled 
 Her listening soul, and with strange passion filled. 
 
 He saw her weep, but choking grief forbade 
 That he should mingle tears with hers ; again 
 
 Broke forth his mellow voice : ' Nay, be not sad ! 
 What matters, though to-morrow mount and glen, 
 
 Through all these haunts, shall know my tread no more, 
 
 While Avinds shall waft me to some desert shore ? 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 ' What matters, though before tlie year be gone 
 By those I love the most I 'm quite forgot ? 
 
 'T was writ of old, that man of woman born 
 Was born to trouble, change, and wo's sad lot ; 
 
 And I can neiTO my spirit to the test, 
 
 And brave each ill till death shall give me rest' 
 
SPELLS OP THE PAST. 41 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 
 The love of woman is a tender thing, 
 And delicate as is the opening flower 
 
 Whose breath perfumes the passing zephyr's wing, 
 As sighs it through some dewy, weeping bower : 
 
 So this insinuates its sweets unseen, 
 
 And leaves some thrill of joy where it hath been. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 Let but a storm befal, the flower will bend. 
 
 Cling to the earth, and wait the tempest past, — 
 
 Then rise again, and fragrant breathings send 
 Around once more : so disappointment's blast 
 
 Will bow confiding, gentle woman's love. 
 
 But never crush that flower of heaven above. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 The love of man is formed of sterner mould : 
 Like mountain rivulet, its first soft gush 
 
 Will scarce a being speak ; yet onward rolled. 
 Each tribute stream will aid to swell its rush. 
 
 Till, finding in the vale a pathway deep. 
 
 It moves its tide with stayless, ceaseless sweep. 
 4* 
 
42 PEBBLES FROiM CASTALIA. 
 
 LXXXVI. 
 
 And when its swelling waves with fury lash 
 Opposing rocks, they cast their briny spray 
 
 Far up the sky, with every angry dash : 
 
 Thus man's deep love, unchecked, will wind its way 
 
 Within the soul, gathering a mighty force. 
 
 Yet all so calm, we scarce can trace its course. 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 
 But let one troublous thought come up its flow 
 To check, or hawk-eyed jealousy, neglect, 
 
 Or angry parting, — waves of burning wo 
 
 Shall sweep that soul, till, reason's moorings wrecked, 
 
 Despair's swift lightnings flash, and chaos form 
 
 Begins to brood where raves that spirit-storm. 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 
 Man knoweth not how fast his soul is bound, 
 Till what he loves hath left him desolate ; 
 
 Affection's proof in loneliness is found. 
 
 And cheerless hearts a matchless charm create. 
 
 That lingers round the loved in memory's dream. 
 
 And wakes all holy thoughts by its pure beam. 
 
SPELLS OP THE PAST. 43 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 The words that faltered on his quivering tongue 
 Revealed what troubled Halloween's fond heart, 
 
 And o'er his brow a veil of sadness flung ; 
 The mournful hour had come when they must part ! — 
 
 And, dwelling on the past, all pure and bright, 
 
 It made the future seem a darker night 
 
 xc. 
 
 A moment's pause, and answered Caroline ; — 
 ' Nay, speak not thus ! Thou wilt not be forgot ! 
 
 To win each heart thy happy lot has been, 
 A monument that falls nor crumbles not ; 
 
 And though all else shall wither and grow sere. 
 
 Thy name shall flourish green and fragrant here ! ' 
 
 xci. 
 
 With hand upon her throbbing heart close pressed 
 She ceased, and in a moment's space sweet tears 
 
 They wept, enlocked in fond embrace ; the test 
 Of mutual love had come, delayed for years; 
 
 And while the starlight kissed the rolling tide. 
 
 He claimed the loved as his affianced bride. 
 
44 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XCII. 
 
 Swiftly the moments flew — too swiftly flew 
 For those who revelled with luxuriant bliss 
 
 In fond endearments Eden's lovers knew. 
 Yet softly, my fond harp ! To theme like this 
 
 A seraph might not dare his numbers sound, 
 
 To lure unhallowed feet on holy ground. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 Night's sable chariot hasted on apace, 
 
 And left the evening star, bright star of love, 
 
 Undimmed, still smiling o'er the enchanted place : 
 Sweet music whispered through tlie elms above ; 
 
 The nightingale to listening night- winds sang ; 
 
 Around, the cricket's song shrill echoes rang. 
 
 xciv. 
 
 The lovers looked upon the brilliant star, 
 
 Murmuring some parting words, then knelt in prayer ; 
 Uprising, vowed they each that when afar 
 
 His footsteps roved, still on that planet fair 
 Their eyes should nightly gaze, so each might tell 
 The thought that in the other's breast would dwell. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST, 45 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Beautiful scene, and sad ! Love's flowers were torn 
 From out their grasp ere they were fairly held ! 
 
 Death craved them all ! If angel host might mourn, 
 Voices of wo through highest heaven had swelled, 
 
 As from their seats of bliss they bowed to weep 
 
 For those soon slumbering in the dreamless sleep. 
 
 xcvi. 
 
 The morrow came, and Halloween was out 
 Upon old ocean's waste ; not lighter danced 
 
 The foaming waves the good ship's prow about, 
 As sunlight through the crested surges glanced, 
 
 Than visions of sweet rapture o'er his soul. 
 
 While Hope spread out the future's love-writ scroll. 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 At night he sought the star, but angry clouds 
 Were there, and some strange gloom besieged his soul ; 
 
 He slept, and sleeping dreamed of palls and shrouds, 
 And stifled wails, and death-bells' mufiied toll ; — 
 
 The morning came ; and all day long the dream 
 
 Rang in his ear some horrid death- waked scream. 
 
46 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 Five days went by : the sixth with storms came in, 
 And the fierce lightning gleamed across the heaven ; 
 
 Loud bellowing waves half drowned the tliunder's din, 
 And madly leaped the ship, all wildly driven, 
 
 As Terror rode the deep in dreadful ire : — 
 
 List ! List those shrieks ! the ship is all on fire ! 
 
 xcix. 
 
 Ah ! there were yells of agony and wo, 
 
 As the forked flames en-\vi-apped each mast and shroud. 
 And there were rapid hurryings to and fro 
 
 As filled the lifeboats by the pale-lipped crowd ; 
 And there were death-groans on the angry wave, 
 As one by one they found a watery grave. 
 
 Oh ! who could tell the havoc Death made there, 
 O'ermastering sineAvy youth and manhood's prime ! 
 
 He heeded not the lover's wail, nor father's prayer, 
 But revelled free as 't were his festal time ; 
 
 And when their cries came round him shrill and wild. 
 
 He eat upon the meteor-ship and smiled. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 47 
 
 CL 
 
 But one escaped upon some broken spar, 
 To tell the end of fated Halloween ; 
 
 With rapid wing the rumor spread afar, 
 And quickly reached the ear of Caroline : 
 
 It found her kneeling in the starlit bower, 
 
 As when he blessed her at the parting hour. 
 
 cil. 
 
 With maniac gaze and one wild shriek she fell, 
 A senseless form, upon the dewy ground ; 
 
 The hidden archer aimed his shaft too well. 
 As witnessed true that shriek's deep piercing sound. 
 
 For when the death-like swoon had passed away, 
 
 A maddening fever seized her as its prey. 
 
 cm. 
 
 Delirium like a demon chained her soul. 
 
 And now her spirit moaned with low complaint, 
 
 And her bright eye with frenzied fire did roll: 
 And oft, with accents tremulous and faint. 
 
 She answered to the lost one's dreamed caress. 
 
 And then implored kind Heaven his steps to bless. 
 
48 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 CIV. 
 
 Softly the beautiful ■withdrew from earth ! 
 
 She faded out as some bright blossom, when 
 The harvest reaper, at the morning's birth, 
 
 Puts forth his sickle to the ripened grain. 
 Cuts down the hidden flower, and leaves it there, 
 To breathe its fragrance on the passing air. 
 
 cv. 
 
 One eve she rested calm, and tranquil sleep 
 Had quenched her eye's wild blaze for hours : the west 
 
 Was one wide sea of beauty, and a deep. 
 Pure brilliancy upon night's darkening vest 
 
 Was cast, and light winds through the lattice strayed. 
 
 And with the sufferer's floating ringlets played. 
 
 cvi. 
 
 She waked, and gazed upon the west, and smiled ; 
 
 The fever's fire was out, and reason came 
 And reassumed her thi-one ; beside her child 
 
 The mother wept, and whispered her loved name. 
 And while ebbed swiftly out life's wasted tide, 
 The dying girl with feeble voice replied. 
 
SPELLS OF THE PAST. 49 
 
 CVII. 
 
 ' Oh, mother ! sit thee down ! — Sweet, holy dreams 
 Have been about me in my long, long sleep ! 
 
 Oh ! see it, mother ! Such pure beauty gleams ! 
 He beckons to me ! — ^Mother, do not weep ! 
 
 I do not weep, and yet he, too, is dead ! — 
 
 What can it be that soothes this aching head ? 
 
 CVIII. 
 
 They hover round ! — I see their silken wings ! — 
 And now the darkness falls ! — Oh, mother ! near 
 
 And yet more near they come ! — How sweet he sings !- 
 They call me, mother ! I must go ! Oh hear ! — 
 
 Mother ! wilt thou go too ? — Their harp-strings swell !- 
 
 I fly ! I fly !— Oh, mother ! fare thee well ! ' 
 
 CIX. 
 
 A moment of deep silence reigned, and then 
 Burst forth sad moans, and sighs, and sobs of wo ; 
 
 For the freed spirit left its clay, as when 
 The unchained eagles heavenward swiftly go, 
 
 To bathe, mid sun-light, in the noon's full blaze. 
 
 Where glory sheds her brilliant, cloudless rays. 
 5 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
Poets dwell on earth 
 To clothe whate'er the soul admires and loves 
 With language and with numbers. 
 
 Akenside. 
 
THE TEAR OF SYMPATHY. 
 
 I DID not weep that life was lone, 
 
 And had no joyous ray ; 
 Nor yet because no flowers were strewn 
 
 Along my thorny way. 
 
 For the young morn with me Avas bright ; 
 
 My boyhood scarce had passed ; 
 No blasted hopes, from age's night. 
 
 Their shadows round me cast. 
 
 It was not that oppression's hand 
 Had seized me in its power ; 
 
 I breathed the air of freedom's land, 
 From childhood's early hour. 
 
 I trod the soil where patriots bled. 
 And pilgrims' graves were made ; 
 
 Where holy peace her influence shed 
 O'er vale and mountain-glade. 
 
 5* 
 
54 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 It was not that my long-loved home 
 Was changed, and knew me not ; 
 
 Nor yet that I should friendless roam, 
 By dear ones all forgot 
 
 For well I knew that, far away. 
 When daily toils were done, 
 
 Did parents kind, and sister, pray 
 For brother, friend, and son. 
 
 I did not fear that she would change. 
 Whose pledge was made in truth ; 
 
 For time and place cannot estrange 
 The love of maiden's youth. 
 
 I did not doubt the parting prayer 
 That each for each had given ; 
 
 For, whUe we knelt together there, 
 Our vows were sealed in heaven ! 
 
 I saw a mother by a mound, 
 
 In garb of widowhood ; 
 I heard the miserable sound 
 
 Of grief in solitude. 
 
THE TEAR OP SYMPATHY. 55 
 
 An infant boy unconscious lay 
 
 Upon her aching breast, 
 And, thoughtless of its simple play. 
 
 She close the cherub pressed. 
 
 The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled, 
 
 As if to calm her fears ; 
 The mother kissed her only child. 
 
 And bathed its face with tears. 
 
 ' Thou hast not known thy sire,' she said, 
 
 ' Nor canst thou ever know ; 
 Thy father, boy, is with the dead. 
 
 And thou art born for wo ! ' 
 
 Again her voice with grief was hushed, 
 
 And moans came forth anew ; 
 Her fondest hopes in life were crushed, — 
 
 Its joys for her were few. 
 
 I looked upon her lovely face. 
 
 All pale and marked with care. 
 Nor wished to leave the sacred place. 
 
 Or break the silence there. 
 
56 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 My soul witli holy fire was warm, 
 And nature's founts were free ; 
 
 For, while I gazed upon that form, 
 I wept, in sympathy ! 
 
 I had not seen that face before, 
 
 I may not see, again ; 
 Yet all the wo that visage bore, 
 
 I strive to hide in vain ! 
 
 It comes across my midnight dream. 
 As waves come o'er the sea. 
 
 And while bright stars o'er millions gleam, 
 I weep, in sympatliy. 
 
NIGHT-STORM AT SEA. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE FAIR BT THE SEAMEn's AID SOCIETY — HELD AT 
 FANEaiL HALL, APRIL 24, 1839. 
 
 Mt thoughts are with thee, Sailor, for the storm 
 Sounds hoarsely through the blazing sky ; 
 
 My fancy pictures death in myriad form. 
 And big tears swell my lid-pressed eye. 
 
 The night is dark about me ; yet I see 
 The shattered mast and shred-torn sail, 
 
 And billows dashing o'er the sea-drenched lee, 
 While brave hearts faint and cheeks turn pale. 
 
 Save when the thunder bursteth from the cloud 
 That clothes black night in denser shade. 
 
 Or angry winds contend in combat loud, 
 No solitary sound is made : 
 
58 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 And yet I hear the surges wildly dash, 
 The piercing cry, the shriek of death, 
 
 The breakers roaring, and the proud ship's crash, 
 The dismal moan, the stifling breath ! 
 
 My brain is troubled, Sailor, and no sleep 
 
 Can woo me to its soft embrace ; 
 My heart goes with thee on the wrathful deep, 
 
 And, sorrowing, finds no resting-place ! 
 
 I fain would help thee, but 'tis not for me 
 
 To stay the Power that ruleth there ; 
 
 Yet, Sailor, I will bow on suppliant knee, 
 
 And lift to Heaven my fervent prayer. 
 
 The storm is wildly drear, and Avell, I deem, 
 It shadows forth time's coming night, 
 
 When seas shall quake, and fiery mountains gleam, 
 And heaven grow awful with afiright 
 
 Where, brother, wilt thou find a final berth, 
 When life's tempestuous sea is passed ? — 
 
 God keep thee, Sailor, midst the wreck of earth, 
 And moor thy soul in bliss at last ! 
 
THE LAST PRAYER.' 
 
 The sunset died along the "west, 
 
 And night stole up the sky, 
 The starlight slowly sank to rest, 
 
 And dim shades flitted by. 
 
 Far o'er the waves, in stately pride, 
 
 A ship was moving fast, 
 While through her sails the full breeze sighed. 
 
 And rocked the lofty mast 
 
 Within that ship a multitude 
 
 Of stranger forms had met; 
 Fair laughing girls, and school-boys rude. 
 
 Whose light hearts bounded yet. 
 
 Old men and young, and women fair. 
 
 Had gathered from afar, 
 And lovers sighed unnoticed there, 
 
 As set the evening star. 
 
60 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Their orisons had all been said, — 
 
 No sound the silence broke, 
 Save now and then the sentry's tread 
 
 A midnight echo woke. 
 
 They slept in peace, and pleasant dreams 
 Around those slumbers played, 
 
 As oft the pure and sparkling streams 
 Play through the thicket's shade. 
 
 The ways of God — how strange ! how deep ! 
 
 Unheard, unseen, unknown ! 
 The heavenly host His counsels keep. 
 
 And worlds His mandates own. 
 
 The flowers of hope seem fair and bright. 
 
 But death is in that bloom ; 
 And swift destruction breaks like light 
 
 Upon the midnight gloom ! 
 
 A shout goes forth ! It tells of wo ! 
 
 From stem to stern it flies ! 
 Far o'er the waves the echoes go, 
 
 Of dread, despairing cries ! 
 
THE LAST PRAYER. 61 
 
 Red flames break forth in awful power, 
 
 Roaring with fearful sound ; 
 Dark clouds of smoke far upward tower, 
 
 And death-lights gleam around. 
 
 A wakened host in terror tread 
 
 The floating funeral pile, 
 While raging fires in fury spread, 
 
 And rising gales revile. 
 
 With maniac tones, the maiden wailed, 
 
 Amidst that pressing crowd. 
 And, as the fire-ship onward sailed, 
 
 The matron shrieked aloud. 
 
 Heard ye the cry, the dreadful cry, 
 
 That bursts from sire and son ! 
 They weep, they pray, frantic they fly, 
 
 While death's own work is done ! 
 
 Some plunge beneath the swelling tide. 
 
 To rise again no more ; 
 And some in vain the billows ride. 
 
 To gain the distant shore ! 
 6 
 
62 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 But one there was that perished there, 
 Whose worth may not be told ; 
 
 Her heart was pm"e as morning air, 
 Her soul of heavenly mould. 
 
 The flood of death had gathered round ; 
 
 Despair was in her eye ; 
 She hears no voice, save horrid sound 
 
 Of wailings, rising high ! 
 
 She shrieks for help, and shrieks again, 
 
 But surges drown her cries : 
 She calls once more, nor calls in vain, — 
 
 A youth to rescue flies. 
 
 She seized with joy the proffered aid ; 
 
 But soon his strength grew faint, 
 And failed him : then to Heaven she made 
 
 Her meek and lonely plaint, — 
 
 ' Oh ! save the youth ! My Father, save 
 From death's untimely hand ! 
 
 Though I must find an unwept grave, 
 Far from my own dear land I ' 
 
THE LAST PRAYER. 63 
 
 That hope was vain ; the wild light beamed 
 
 From topsail, mast, and shroud ; 
 Freshly the flames high upward streamed. 
 
 And pierced the darkened cloud. 
 
 The ship rushed on her fiery way, 
 
 Like meteor in the air ; 
 The big waves dashed their briny spray, 
 
 And stilled the suppliant's prayer. 
 
 Her cry no rescue brought for him 
 
 Who aid so nobly gave. 
 For, while the burning lights grew dim, 
 
 Both sank beneath the wave ! 
 
 The sea- weed is their winding sheet, 
 
 Some unknown cave their tomb ; 
 The moaning winds, when tempests meet, 
 
 Shall chant their early doom ! 
 
 And strickened homes for each shall weep, 
 
 Through days and nights of wo, 
 But tears, nor sighs, can move their sleep. 
 
 Till tears shall cease to flow ! 
 
THE DEAD! I LOVE THEM STILL! 
 
 And hatli the memory 
 
 Of other days no power upon thy soul ? — B. B. Thatcher. 
 
 I LOVE them still — tlie dead — 
 Beneath the grave's dark covert sleeping, 
 Where wild-wood flowers rich sweets are weeping 
 Above their silent bed, — 
 So like the influence memory brings 
 Of friendships, ties unbroken, 
 When heart gave heart pure token 
 
 Of unfeigned happiness, 
 The love-chained soul indwelling. 
 While heaven-waked tlioughts were swelling. 
 With holy tenderness. 
 Then borne, as on celestial wings. 
 Afar from each dull sense of earth. 
 Each seemed to know a seraph's birth, 
 So deep tiaat pleasure's tin-ill ! 
 What though from men their names have perished ? 
 Through changing days their worth I've cherished :- 
 The dead ! I love them still ! 
 
THE DEAD! I LOVE THEM STILL! 65 
 
 When sighs the twilight's gale, 
 In dulcet tones its music waking, 
 And blends with wavesi in ripples breaking 
 Down the wide-spreading dale ; 
 Or when the thunder's voice is heard 
 From heaven, in terror speaking. 
 And storm-winds fierce are shrieking 
 
 From mount and forest far. 
 While temple-spires are crashing, 
 And ocean's surge is lashing 
 The tempest's furious car, 
 And each around with wo is stirred, — 
 In varied tones, a voice I hear, 
 X Or soft or loud, or far or near. 
 
 By sea, by fount, by rill, 
 From out the spirit-land declaring 
 The lost, the lost, my thoughts are sharing ! — 
 The dead ! I love them still ! 
 
 I crave no monument 
 To tower above where I am resting, 
 E'en though to noble deeds attesting 
 
 The sculptor's art is lent : 
 6* 
 
66 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 No charm where marble columns stand 
 So pure as that which liveth 
 Where faithful memory giveth 
 
 Sad tears, to friendship paid ! — 
 I would my name might perish 
 When those whose love I cherish, 
 Shall pass the realms of shade, 
 And meet me in the spirit-land ! 
 Save hope of heaven, 't is all I ask. 
 When finished is life's varied task, 
 And past each good, each ill, 
 That those who round my couch are bending 
 Shall murmur, mid their prayers ascending, 
 ' Till death, we '11 love thee still ! ' 
 
THE WILL OF GOD.=' 
 
 Mil TO 6elrjii6. fiov, alia xb aov ysviado). 
 
 I WALKED abroad alone : the moon on high 
 Lighted the heaven ; the perfumed breeze passed by, 
 And bore all musically on its wing, 
 A thrilling strain, like that which angels sing ! 
 Save only this, deep silence reigned around : 
 My glad heart leaped, that I a rest had found 
 From earth's dull cares, from scenes of pomp and show, 
 From the poor bliss that restless worldlings know. 
 
 Beneath me, flowers in wild luxuriance spread, 
 As it were nature's richest, choicest bed ; 
 Around, the dew-drops sparkled in the light, 
 So pure, I almost wished 't were always night : 
 But all above ! — O, who that scene could paint ? 
 The words from seraph's lips were far too faint 
 
68 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 To sketch the works of Him, who called the earth 
 From nothing, and to countless worlds gave birth ! 
 There, one by one, witli stars the blue was filled. 
 I looked, till lingering thoughts of earth were stilled ; 
 A spirit's charm my every thought had fired ; 
 I gazed and wondered, wondered and admired ! 
 My vision, star by star, stretched into heaven ; 
 But no angelic powers to me were given. 
 Its holy, sacred mysteries to unfold ; 
 Unnumbered orbs around, below me rolled. 
 And gave each other heat, and day, and night. 
 But why, I knew not, yet I longed for light 
 
 I cried aloud : — ' Who hath created all ? 
 Who framed and fashioned each celestial ball 
 That rolls in heaven ? ' But yet no answer came : 
 I cried yet once again ; — ' Why do ye flame, 
 O stars, with light ? Why through succeeding years 
 Revolve within your own accustomed spheres ? 
 Why thus in perfect, endless concert move. 
 As ye were bound by sympathetic love ? ' 
 
 I listened yet once more, and now, a sound. 
 Like roar of rushing waters, echoed round ! 
 
THE WILL OP GOD. 69 
 
 Voices, that on creation's morning sang, 
 Again through heaven's high azure arches rang, 
 As with deep, swelling tones, man never knew, 
 They answered all — ' The Will of God we do ! ' 
 
 II. 
 
 I passed the home of wealth ; a waning light 
 Betrayed a youth, in vigils of the night. 
 
 Why stood he there ? Why midnight watches keep, 
 Thus lone, when all around was hushed in sleep .^ 
 Why floods of grief thus sweep his manly cheek. 
 Telling of woes no human tongue can speak ? 
 Why from his eye the wild and vacant stare. 
 That oped the mind, and showed the tumult there ? 
 Why on his brow that awful anguish writ ? 
 Had hellish fires within his breast been lit. 
 That now burst forth, and with volcanic force 
 Swept his dark soul on their destructive course ? 
 Did dire revenge within his bosom glow, 
 And onward urge to deeds of death and wo ? 
 Or had he knelt at Bacchus' shrine, and poured 
 Accursed libations at the festive board ? 
 
70 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 None, none of these : he bore a holier mien, 
 And, mid the mental hurricane, was seen 
 A pure, a sacred tenderness, that springs 
 Unheeded, as tlie gift that virtue brings. 
 
 A lovely, gentle girl beside him lay, 
 But withered like some flower beside the way. 
 Which the rude peasant, as he passed it by. 
 Hath trampled down, and left it there to die. 
 
 A burning fever coursed tlirough every vein, 
 And drank life's fountain up ; she writhed in pain ; 
 The hue from off her beauteous cheek had passed, 
 And o'er her brow were tresses strangely cast. 
 Those wild eyes flashed with an unearthly blaze, 
 And gave to all around a maniac's gaze I 
 She raved and laughed, and laughed and raved in tm*n, 
 And oft her lover's fond caress did spurn: 
 She called, but when he answered, called the more, 
 And heeded not, though answered as before ! 
 
 He raised his voice to Heaven ; 'My gracious God I 
 In mercy, spare this just afflictive rod ! 
 Ah ! must she die ? — Is tliis thy firm decree ? 
 Then let her look in fondness once on me ! ' 
 
THE WILL OF GOD. 71 
 
 He gently pressed her hand : she gazed around, 
 As if from fiends' embrace she freedom found : 
 A smile beamed o'er her face, as when the west 
 In autumn sunset's gorgeous robe is drest ; 
 She knew the faithful watching by her side — 
 She spoke his name, and, pointing heavenward, died. 
 He saw her sleep as sleeps the setting sun, 
 And said— 'My Father ! Let thy Will be done ! ' 
 
 III. 
 
 I wandered by the sea : a restless play 
 Of the small silvery ripples o'er it lay. 
 And waked a fairy music from the main, 
 Such as I may not chance to hear again. 
 I saw a ship, above its placid breast. 
 Her white sails lift, as plume from warrior's crest ; 
 Proudly she rode its glassy surface o'er, 
 Careering swiftly from the rock-bound shore. 
 
 I lingered long, and mused upon the tide, 
 Till passing day before the twilight hied. 
 A cloud arose upon the western sky. 
 And gathered blackness as it moved on high ; 
 
72 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 As oft at midnight hour, foul spirits seem 
 To rise, and chase away the sunny dream ! 
 The sleeping thunder, from beneath that cloud, 
 Upwaked, and spoke in echoes long and loud ; 
 Afar streamed forth the lightning's vivid light. 
 And rent the darkness of the gathering night ; 
 The gently floating breeze soon swept a gale, 
 And woke, from rock and glen, a fearful wail ! 
 The sturdy forests bowed beneath its force — 
 And ruin marked its swift and dreadful course ! 
 
 Where now that ship ? The dashing billows rise. 
 In briny mountains, to the frowning skies, 
 And deep convulsions heave the storm-waked sea, 
 As though an earthquake struggled to be free ! 
 From wave to wave the frail bark madly rides. 
 Now mounts to heaven, now in the depths she hides : 
 Wildly from every mast the fire-bolts leap, 
 And seem to light the foamings of the deep: 
 Within, the sounds of prayer and oaths arise, 
 While on to death that proud ship swiftly flies ! 
 
 The morning came : the storm had passed away, 
 And never dawned on earth a brighter day ; 
 
THEWILLOFGOD. 73 
 
 The sea was still ; but on its tranquil breast 
 No ship was found, from fearful storms at rest. 
 The stiffened corses lay along the shore, 
 And proofs of wreck the scattered fragments bore ; 
 From far and near, with awful voice, yet still. 
 Was echoed o'er the main, God's holy Will ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 'T was winter's night : a taper's glare was cast 
 Upon the fleecy snow, still falling fast. 
 And mantling earth in robes of purest Avhite. 
 The lengthened shadows of its glimmering light, 
 From windows of a cot, uncertain lay, 
 As if with spirits of the storm at play. 
 
 Within tliose lonely cottage-walls there dwelt 
 A wo, which woman's heart alone hath felt ; 
 A mother, watching o'er an infant's form, 
 Was there, with every tie of nature warm ! 
 The little babe with writhing sufferings groaned ; 
 Responsive, with each breath, the mother moaned ! 
 Long had she watched : as day by day had fled. 
 And night by night came round, beside that bed 
 7 
 
74 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 The yearning creature stood. Oh ! who can tell 
 How strong a mother's love ? As soon might quell 
 The fires that stream from Etna's burning top I 
 As well Niagara's foaming rapids stop ! 
 Misfortune, cold neglect, 't will rise above, 
 And stand, for ever pure, — a mother's love ! 
 
 The sad hours wore away, till morning light 
 Broke in, and chased the darkness of the night ; 
 But death had marked that victim for its prey, 
 And fast the stream of life had ebbed away. 
 Its little withered arms were raised for aid. 
 And deep sad moans the dying infant made ; 
 The anguished mother held its throbbing head, 
 And wished herself might suffer in its stead. 
 Then knelt and prayed, with agonizing cries, 
 ' My Father ! spare the sufferer, ere he dies ! ' — 
 She cried again, in accents still more wild, 
 * My Father ! spare my first, my only child ! 
 Oh ! turn this cup — this bitter cup — from me. 
 And let me not, a widow, childless be ! ' 
 
 She gazed once more upon the wasting boy, 
 So late her every hope, her pride, her joy ; — 
 
THE WILL OF GOD. 75 
 
 The death-sweat gathered on his marble brow, 
 
 Hia brilliant eye was fixed, and lifeless, now ! 
 
 She kissed his sunken cheek : its warmth was gone, 
 
 His soul had flown to Heaven's eternal throne ! 
 
 She knelt beside the ashes of her son. 
 
 And said—' Thy Will, O God, not mine, be done ! ' 
 
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 
 
 Why stands the half-reared granite pile 
 
 On yonder battle height ? 
 Why do the nations loud revile 
 
 At that unseemly sight ? 
 
 Is it because there burn no fires 
 Within our country's breast ? 
 
 Are noble deeds of nobler sires 
 Consigned to endless rest ? 
 
 Is it because no mighty hosts 
 Dwell round that hill's broad base ? 
 
 Is it that free New England's coasts 
 Yield noiv no hardy race ? 
 
 Ask mid yon city's busy himi ; 
 
 Go through the Union's length ; 
 From every hill they rise, they come, — 
 
 Ye cannot count their strenarth! 
 
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 77 
 
 O, tell it not abroad, nor let 
 
 The sound one echo wake, 
 That freemen dare their pride forget 
 
 For filthy lucre's sake ! 
 
 Blest shade of Washington — arise! 
 
 Rebuke this cursed sleep ! 
 Ghost of brave Warren — lift your cries, 
 
 Your country's fame to keep ! 
 
 Ye pilgrim race ! Your fathers fought 
 
 For Liberty's high trust ; 
 Will ye not spare one holy spot 
 
 To save their hallowed dust ? 
 
 Will ye permit that sacred place 
 
 To pass for gold away ? * 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! Shame hide each face. 
 
 When comes that ruthless day ! 
 
 * In September, 1838, an excavation was commenced, for the pur- 
 pose of building on the original battle-ground, the site the monument 
 occupies. 
 
 7* 
 
78 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Your patriot sires have made their bed 
 From Maine to Georgia's shore ; 
 
 Each smiling vale with blood was red 
 Where brave men shed their gore. 
 
 Their voices live on every breeze 
 That sweeps o'er land and sea, 
 
 While echoes spring from rocks and trees, 
 And speak their children free. 
 
 Say, shall that tower in splendor rise, 
 
 To meet the morning sun ? 
 Shall its proud top, when daylight dies. 
 
 Tell what your sires have done ? 
 
 Or will ye leave it thus to stand 
 
 On glory's resting place, — 
 For e'er to make the fathers' land 
 
 Posterity's disgrace ? 
 
 Ye arms of Jove ! if it must be, — 
 
 This pile, or naked hill, — 
 Oh ! lend your aid, and let us see 
 
 The green-clad summit still ! 
 
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. 79 
 
 Let blacker cloud than battle-smoke, 
 
 Be gathered round its brow ; 
 And louder voice than cannon spoke, 
 
 Be heard from Bunker now ! 
 
 Ye lightning shafts ! on wings of heaven 
 
 Deal out your fiery power, — 
 Let thunderbolts, by fiiry driven. 
 
 Speed on destruction's hour ! 
 
 Ay ! wake again the battle's shock ! 
 
 Let all your forces sound ! 
 To atoms blast each naked rock 
 
 From off that holy ground ! 
 
THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. 
 
 I ASK not Fame ! 't is fleeting 
 
 As breath of balmy eve ; 
 With glory's phantoms cheating, 
 
 'T will nought but sadness leave. 
 
 A surer good I would possess, 
 
 A joy that liveth ever ; 
 That when is past the world's caress, 
 
 Despair may seize me never. 
 
 I ask not Gold ! it bindeth 
 
 To earth the spirit down ; 
 Its hireling victim findeth 
 Only a demon's frown- 
 It is the Tantalus of hell, 
 
 Inmiortal minds tormenting ; 
 And wise are they who break its spell, 
 Ere life's last hour repenting ! 
 
THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. gl 
 
 I ask not Power ! it stilleth 
 
 The soul's best thoughts of God; 
 The world with wo it filleth, 
 
 Swaying an iron rod. 
 
 Soft Beauty's charms I do not crave, 
 Though for them hosts be sighing ; 
 
 They pass away, as sinks the wave 
 Along the sea-shore dying. 
 
 I ask not Friends ! there liveth 
 
 No spell about the name ; 
 For boasted friendship giveth 
 
 A swift, unstable flame. 
 
 If Avant is far, and hopes are bright, 
 Men smile, with others smiling ; 
 
 But when shall lower misfortune's night, 
 They '11 pass away, reviling. 
 
 'T is not of earth, the treasure 
 
 That satisfies the soul : 
 Its value nought can measure, 
 
 From north to southern pole. 
 
82 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 The seraphs round the holy throne 
 Its keeping well might covet ; 
 
 For none, of all the riches known 
 In heaven, is prized above it. 
 
 'T is found where tears are flowing 
 Down contrite sinners' cheeks ; 
 
 Where hearts with love are glowing, 
 While Jesus kindly speaks. 
 
 The star, that rose in Bethlehem, 
 Points where is Heaven's best token ; 
 
 Beneath the cross, — there lies the gem, — 
 The Pearl of price unspoken ! 
 
AN INDIAN LAMENT 
 
 Sorrow is in the breezy sound 
 
 Of the tall poplars whispering round. 
 
 Mb9. HeM1N3. 
 
 They have gone from the hill-top, and gone from the valley, 
 The red men who gathered like leaves on the tree ; 
 
 Never more shall their tribes to the battle-field rally, 
 Their bones are left bleaching from mountain to sea. 
 
 They have passed like the dew-drops in sunlightthat glisten 
 And quiver as sighs through the forest the wind ; 
 
 Never more shall the maid to her fond lover listen, 
 No more shall the lover fond listener find. 
 
 They have fled as the shadow that flits o'er the billow, 
 When hides the bright sun in the swift-passing cloud ; 
 
 They have made in the forest their lonely last pillow, 
 With none to lament o'er their leaf-woven shroud. 
 
tJ4 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Yet they live in the tale of bold deeds and high daring, 
 That blanches the lip, and turns icy the blood, 
 
 Of the day when their fathers proud sceptre were bearing, 
 In triumph unbroken, from mountain to flood. 
 
 And the voice of the brook, as it kisses the fountain. 
 Shall chime with the roar of the hoarse-beating surge ; 
 
 And the wail of the winds, as they swell from the mountain. 
 Shall chant the loud base of their requiem-dirge. 
 
THE VOICE OF DEATH. 
 
 AT THE GRAVE OF E. F. B. 
 
 Four fleeting years old Time hath numbered 
 Of summers bright and winters drear, 
 
 Since she, the loved, beneath thee slumbered. 
 Making, dark grave ! her dwelling here. 
 
 When Sabbath light was calmly waning. 
 With tread of sadness hushed and slow, 
 
 No heart from sympathy refraining, 
 We brought thy ti'ust, the dead below. 
 
 A dismal sound came, dread and hollow. 
 When earth upon her coffin fell, 
 
 That told the listener he must follow 
 Death's sable flag, his ranks to swell. 
 
86 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 That voice hath ofttimes been repeated, 
 As 't were life's watchword in my ear, 
 
 When night in dusky garb was sheeted, 
 Or pleasure died, or waned the year. 
 
 It comes, as waves come, hoarsely beating 
 The rapid march of time's swift feet ; 
 
 It tells, as they tell, life is fleeting 
 
 As winds that wail when tempests meet. 
 
 It bids me wait not till to-moiTOAv, 
 To nerve my heart for solemn strife ; 
 
 Each younger day should wisdom borrow 
 From brothers in the race of life. 
 
 It lures my footsteps, kind and slowly, 
 Beyond death's dismal vaults and cold, 
 
 Till, rapt in visions loved and holy. 
 The lost one found, mine arms enfold. 
 
 Her voice again hath sweetly spoken, 
 Her eyes looked love again to mine, 
 
 Her lips returned affection's token, 
 While felt my soul the gift divine. 
 
THE VOICE OF DEATH. 87 
 
 My youth's bright day-star lent from Heaven, 
 In heaven's resplendent brightness set ; 
 
 Its light still round my path is given, — 
 It guides my footsteps heavenward yet. 
 
 I '11 woo thee, then, pale Death ! and often, 
 
 Nor dread thy pall, or sable bier ; 
 Since thou dost life's fierce passions soften. 
 
 And teach me its great duty here. 
 
SONNET TO 
 
 How soothing sad, how holy are the ties 
 
 That are encircled round thy sainted name ! 
 Thy cherished words and looks before me rise, 
 
 And slumbering love is kindled to a flame. 
 I think thy melody still lingering floats, 
 
 As on the air of some mid-summer's eve ; 
 My spirit fain would hold tlie entrancing notes, 
 
 To calm the passions that my bosom heave. 
 I see the smile that played upon thy cheek, 
 
 As play tlie stars upon the sleeping sea ; — 
 But stay ! those silent lips no more may speak. 
 
 No more that soothing smile shall rest on me ! 
 Sweet girl I I '11 keep thy memory in my breast. 
 Till we may meet and love, for ever blest 
 
A TRIBUTE TO MARIA.^ 
 
 Miss Maria Doggett, youngest daughter of John Doggett, Esq., 
 of Boston, died on the evening of September 8th, 1838, aged sixteen 
 years. 
 
 Ye 've gathered once again about the bier, 
 The last sad honors of your dead to pay ; 
 
 The young and old, in crowds, are lingering here, 
 But one pure soul hath passed from earth away ! 
 
 Go look beneath Maria's sable pall, 
 
 And read the fate that shall attend you all. 
 
 How late she stood among you in her pride, 
 With laughter on her lip, her fair young brow 
 
 In beauty clothed, her cheeks vermilion-dyed ! 
 Her voice soft music woke, that even now 
 
 Seems floating round, like zephyrs, when at eve 
 
 They sigh, as if for twilight's close they grieve. 
 8* 
 
90 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 III. 
 
 Her spirit bounded, and her heart was glad, 
 For life's bright morn unclouded day bespoke ; 
 
 Those mild eyes beamed with love ; none could be sad 
 When mirth from such exhaustless fountain broke : 
 
 How is that fountain sealed ! The form is there, 
 
 But where the soul ? Ye mourners, tell me where J 
 
 IV. 
 
 Gaze, aged father ! on thy daughter's form, 
 And let thy cheeks with sorrow's tears be wet: 
 
 Ye sisters, bowed beneath affliction's storm. 
 Ye brothers, ne'er your severed love forget ; 
 
 Yet stay each vain complaint ; for in that dust 
 
 Is Heaven's own sanction writ — ' Thy God is just ! ' 
 
 And you, ye band of weeping maids, behold 
 The lifeless clay of her for whom ye mourn ! 
 
 Your group is thinned again ! Erst ye were told 
 
 That one had gone ; * and Oh ! the heart-strings torn 
 
 By that sad scene ! for matrons, maids, and men 
 
 Were bowed, and hearts unused to weep wept then ! 
 
A TEIBUTE TO MARIA. 91 
 
 ,VI. 
 
 Nor had those bitter tears away been bmshed, 
 Or yet grown dim her passing loveliness, 
 
 When ye were told another flower was crushed — ^ 
 Another fell, and made your band the less ; 
 
 Once more your brows with pallid grief were clad, 
 
 And she whom now ye mourn, witli you was sad. 
 
 VII. 
 
 That grave hath scarcely closed, or grass grown green 
 Upon the mound that holds her cold remains, 
 
 And lo ! the third within her shroud is seen. 
 Fast bound by tyrant Death's relentless chains ! 
 
 Ay, look ! 't is well to gaze upon the dead. 
 
 And scan ' the dust whence consciousness hath fled ! ' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 If ye but knew a few short months ago. 
 
 Three from your ranks would now be still in death. 
 Would ye have singled those who feel nor know 
 
 Your wails, your bursting sighs, your sobbing breath ? 
 Nay ! ye 'd have said their hopes were bright, — their sun 
 Would roll, till age its latest work had done. 
 
92 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 EX. 
 
 But still the loveliest that lived are gone, 
 And well it is ye -weep ! — yet tears are vain, 
 
 For not till time shall end, and God's own morn 
 Break forth, shall ye behold those forms again ! 
 
 Only from these pale relics, ye may learn 
 
 Your doom— the bourne from which no souls return. 
 
 Proud man's last palace is the sUent tomb, 
 
 And fame, and power, and beauty slumber here : 
 
 Monarch and lord with beggars share the gloom 
 That circles round the dead man's waiting bier ! 
 
 Each for himself must pass the realms of shade, 
 
 And each beside his brother's bones be laid. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Keep this great lesson ever in your hearts ; 
 
 Nurture it well, the immortal soul within ; 
 And when kind memory's voice the tear-drop starts, 
 
 And wakes again the joys that once have been, 
 Go read the stone that marks Maria's sod : — 
 ' Dust unto dust, the spirit to its God ! ' 
 
THERE'S SOMETHING LEFT. 
 
 How oft, when, on life's rushing tide, 
 Hope-freighted barks the billoAvs ride, 
 Dark clouds arise ! — Swift whirlwinds sweep. 
 With direful rage, the troubled deep ; 
 And wreck the dearest joys the soul 
 Hath known ; and waves of anguish roll 
 Within man's breast ! Then fell despair 
 Comes on apace, for he '11 declare 
 
 There's Nothing left! 
 
 Yet hope shall chase despair away, 
 
 As night must yield to opening day ; 
 
 And though the soul is bowed awhile, 
 
 And nature's self withholds her smile, 
 
 For every ill some balm is found. 
 
 And time will heal the deepest wound : — 
 
 Though kind hearts bleed when loved ones fall. 
 
 And thousands mourn, for each, for all. 
 
 There 's Something left ! 
 
94 PEBBLES FROM CASTA LIA. 
 
 That father, o'er his erring son, 
 Sheds bitter tears at follies done ; 
 He curses loud his first-born's birth, 
 To be thus shunned of all the earth, 
 And thinks that life can never more 
 Give joy like that he knew before ! 
 Yet loves he still ; and when that storm 
 Of grief has passed, he 'U hope reform. 
 For Life is left! 
 
 Yon widowed mother, while she bends 
 Upon that grave, and upward sends 
 Her wails, till drooping trees seem stirred 
 At such sad grief from woman heard. 
 And bow to give the dewy tear. 
 If one calm hope they may but cheer, 
 Shall cease those sighs ; for on her breast 
 An image lies of him at rest : 
 
 Her Babe is left! 
 
 Behold that maid ! The traitor's art 
 Has left a wound within her heart ; 
 Her spirit quivers like the rose. 
 When the fierce wind around it blows ! 
 
THERE'S SOMETHING LEFT. 95 
 
 Yet when that gale away has passed, 
 And peace succeeds the angry blast, 
 The flower will lift its head again : 
 And so she '11 trust in other men, 
 
 For Love is left ! 
 
 The sailor sees, on some far shore, 
 His proud ship sink to rise no more ; 
 Some wave-tossed fragments on the beach 
 Alone are near ; no voice can reach 
 The crew that in that night goes down ; 
 Yet he escapes the sea-god's frown. 
 Sees heaven above, and ocean round, 
 Treading with joy the solid ground. 
 For Earth is left ! 
 
 The dying martyr, midst the crowd 
 Of raging foes blaspheming loud. 
 And thirsting, lion-like, to pour 
 His bosom's blood, — ^though flames may roar 
 Round his gray head, nor feels, nor hears 
 Their taunts, their oaths, their hellish jeers ; 
 For while the fiendish throng reviles. 
 Heavenward he looks, and calmly smiles : 
 His Faith is left 
 
9tj PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 When Time itself shall have an end, 
 When lightning-fires tlie hills shall rend, 
 The ' rock-ribbed ' earth heave to and fro, 
 And the great host to judgment go, — 
 E'en then the Christian's hope will live, 
 And dying nature's wails shall give, 
 ' With every throe, a deep-toned voice, — 
 'Ye that believe, aloud rejoice. 
 
 For Heaven is left ! ' 
 
THE MIDNIGHT SNOW-STORM. 
 
 The bleak winds swept from many a height, 
 
 Down o'er the frozen lea, 
 Dark clouds obscured the moon's dim light, 
 
 The tempest howled full fearfully, 
 And drifts of snow had gathered fast 
 
 Since first the night set in, 
 And loudly wailed the midnight blast, 
 While spirits of the stoiTQ flew past. 
 
 Amidst that furious din. 
 
 Yet through that storm, so drear and wild, . 
 
 A mother forced her way. 
 And on her breast she bore her child, 
 
 A form of lifeless clay : 
 Its sire, in fatal hour, had bowed 
 
 At Bacchus' cursed fane ; 
 And while he knelt, foul demons vowed 
 That act should prove his moral shroud, 
 
 His soul's death-binding chain. 
 9 
 
98 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 His home became the haunt of wo, 
 
 A drunkard's earthly hell ; 
 No ray of joy his wife could know, 
 
 But anguish, none may tell : 
 But still she loved, still nightly prayed 
 
 To Him who answers prayer. 
 These erring steps might yet be stayed, 
 The voice of reason be obeyed, 
 
 And she his counsels share. 
 
 She prayed in vain ! He found a den, 
 
 Deep hid within a cave. 
 Where devils thronged, in form like men. 
 
 And devils welcome gave. 
 They drank, caroused, and raised a sound 
 
 Of coarse, unhallowed mirth, 
 Then drank again, while oaths went round, 
 By which each soul in blood was bound 
 
 To deeds unborn of earth. 
 
 Oft would his faithful partner wait 
 Her dreary hearth beside. 
 
 And tremble lest some direful fate 
 His wanderings might betide. 
 
THE MIDNIGHT SNOW-STORM. 99 
 
 And oft had known such wo as came 
 
 With this tempestuous night, — 
 For horror shook her care-worn frame, 
 As every sound did but proclaim 
 
 The tempest's rueful might 
 
 She fancied that she heard the moan 
 
 Telling her husband's death ; 
 She cried aloud, ' It is ! — that groan ! ' — 
 
 But 't was the storm's rude breath ! 
 The snow and sleet went rushing by, 
 
 Till midnight hour came on. 
 Then, while despair gleamed in her eye, 
 Shrieking a wild and frantic cry. 
 
 She seized her first-born son. 
 
 ' Oh must he perish — must he meet 
 
 His death in this fierce ^torm ? 
 Spare — spare him. Heaven ! Oh guide his feet, 
 
 That he may yet reform ! 
 I '11 seek him on the mountains wild, 
 
 Though howls the woful wind ; 
 I '11 hie me, with my darling child, 
 Where drifted snows are towering piled. 
 
 The reveller's haunt to find ! — 
 
100 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 For though we perish, it were well 
 
 To stay a drunkard's doom : ' — 
 No more she spoke. Her big tears fell 
 
 Amidst the night's deep gloom ; 
 Out-rushing then, she braved the force 
 
 Of that fierce tempest's power, 
 And while the storm wailed loud and hoarse, 
 Adown the mount she found a course 
 
 At midnight's fearful hour. 
 
 The infant's cries awhile uprose, 
 
 With piercing cold distressed. 
 Then straight were hushed ! — the loved one froze 
 
 Upon its mother's breast ! 
 Yet knew she not that death's long sleep 
 
 Was on its frozen eyes. 
 Till, sinking down anew to weep. 
 She rent the air with wailings deep, 
 
 And melancholy cries. 
 
 She kissed his cheek, and then flashed out 
 
 The truth like lightning's fire ! 
 ' Oh God ! ' she shrieked with maniac shout, 
 
 ' Save ! save ! his errinar sire ! ' — 
 
THE MIDNIGHT SNOW-STORM. 101 
 
 She fell upon the ice-clad ground 
 
 With one long, gasping breath, 
 And when had ceased the stifled sound, 
 With infant to her bosom bound, 
 
 Her form was cold in death ! 
 
 The storm raged on till morning light, 
 
 Where babe and mother slept. 
 And dismal winds through all the night 
 
 Their revels o'er them kept: — 
 A drifted pile of snow and hail 
 
 Was long their monument, 
 And when awoke the sleeping gale, 
 It softly sang a requiem- wail, 
 
 A lingering, sad lament. 
 
 When spring-time came, they found them there 
 
 Upon the mountain's side. 
 And reared a stone, with tears and prayer, 
 
 To tell how they had died ; 
 And oft, on some drear winter's night, 
 
 When frosty tempests blow. 
 Where cheerful glows the fireside light, 
 Fond mothers to their babes recite 
 
 This tragic tale of wo. 
 
SONG OF THE WINTER KING. 
 
 I COME ! I come ! with my frosty breath, 
 To blight your fields, and to scatter death ; 
 My car is seen in the ragged cloud, 
 My voice is heard when the storms wail loud ; 
 
 My merciless hand 
 
 Shall cover the land, 
 With chains of ice and a snowy shroud ! 
 
 I '11 seize each mount in my ruthless grasp. 
 And every vale in my cold arms clasp ; 
 The forest oaks at my nod shall shake. 
 And fast I '11 fetter the stream and lake ; 
 
 The sun will look down 
 
 With desolate frown, 
 And nature's self at my reign shall quake ! 
 
SONG OF THE WINTER KING. 103 
 
 I '11 rush at night from my hidden seat, 
 And fill the air with a driving sleet; 
 And where some pilgrim alone is found, 
 I '11 bind him stiff on the frozen ground; 
 
 And as the storm moans 
 
 Will he utter his groans, 
 And I will laugh at the dismal sound. 
 
 I '11 seek some widow in lonely cot, 
 Where peace and plenty inhabit not; 
 And while the flame on the cold hearth dies, 
 Heeding not tears, nor cold, nor cries, 
 
 I '11 seize the fond child. 
 
 Rave she never so wild. 
 And bid her look where the victim lies ! 
 
 I '11 ride the gale to the roaring sea. 
 Where sailors' cries shall my welcome be ; 
 I '11 sport awhile with the reeling mast. 
 Then crush the ship with a fearful blast. 
 
 And mock at the prayer 
 
 That offereth there, 
 And flee away when the sound is past ! 
 
104 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 I '11 clothe the earth with my dazzling sheen, 
 And wo shall be where my track is seen ; 
 The leaves shall fall, and the birds take wing, 
 When first approacheth the Winter King : 
 
 A sound will go out, 
 
 With echoing shout, 
 * Beware ! beware ! of the Winter King ! ' 
 
I 'LL THINK OF THEE ! 
 
 I 'll think of thee, at the morning's dawn, 
 When zephyrs float over heath and lawn ; 
 When sunny beams on the waters play, 
 And warblers sing to the new-born day. 
 
 I '11 think of thee, at the mid-day hour, 
 When fragrance breathes from each silent bower ; 
 When bleating flocks to the cool shades go, 
 Bathing their limbs in the ripple's flow. 
 
 I '11 think of thee, at the evening shade, 
 When stillness reigns over hill and glade ; 
 When rainbow tints, streaming far and high. 
 Shall light the arch of the western sky ! 
 
 I'll think of thee, when the midnight bell 
 Soft echo wakes to its solemn swell ; 
 When stars are up, and the moon's cold light 
 Is shed around, as the queen of night ! 
 
106 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 I '11 think of thee, at the hour of prayer, 
 When tears shall fall in the silence there ; 
 When anthems peal, and the song of praise 
 Is sounding forth, as in seraph lays. 
 
 I '11 think of thee, when my heart is sad, 
 And joys are passed that have made me glad; 
 Though anguish rolls like the troubled wave, 
 A thought of thee will the tempest lave ! 
 
THE WITHERED ROSE. 
 
 At morn I saw a modest flower 
 
 Blushingly kiss the air ; 
 It sent a fragrance through the bower, 
 
 And glowed in beauty there. 
 
 I thought so pure and bright a thing 
 Would bloom for many a day ; 
 
 That Time's rude hand would slowly fling 
 Its loveliness away. 
 
 I passed the spot at daylight's close, 
 When night resumed her throne. 
 
 And sought again that blushing rose ; 
 I found its stem alone. 
 
 Its leaves lay withered on the ground. 
 
 Its beauty all was gone ; 
 Only the fragrance hovered round, 
 
 Through all the spreading lawn. 
 
108 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Away, in silent thought, I turned, 
 To leave the tranquil spot, 
 
 And from the scene a lesson learned. 
 Which may not be forgot : 
 
 As fragrance on the breeze will live. 
 When beauty finds decay. 
 
 So will religion pleasure give, 
 In fortune's darkest day. 
 
THE SPIRIT'S REST. 
 
 ' Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure.' — Moore. 
 
 My heart was sad, with heavy grief oppressed ; 
 Deep anguish weighed like mountains on my soul, 
 And passion held its sway within a breast 
 That rose and fell with every troubled breath, — 
 Like ocean-waters, when the huge waves break 
 From out their prison-house, and wildly roll. 
 While night is wrapped in shrouds more dark than death, 
 And earth and sea with dread convulsions quake. 
 And tempests madly reign, with bloody robe and crest. 
 
 Upon my brow, in drops, the cold sweat came, 
 Of wo that dwelt within an index true. 
 And seemed to show of guilt the raging flame, 
 That burns the soul, the troubled conscience fires. 
 And racks the mind with tortures more intense 
 Than human law or justice ever knew ! 
 Yet no dark crime was mine ; and no desires 
 For foul revenge found place with me ; but sense 
 Of sweetest peace I wished for other men, myself the same. 
 10 
 
110 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 I strove to break the miserable spell 
 That held me thus enchained, but strove in vain ; 
 It rose the more, the more I tried to quell 
 The tumult's power. I turned the classic page, 
 And thought to make forgetfulness a friend ; 
 But on each leaf, in strange and horrid train, 
 Foul spirits thronged, dissembling hate and rage : 
 Delaying not this fiendish lore to end, 
 I trembling closed the mystic book where such could dwell. 
 
 I tried to rouse the muses' dying fire, 
 Upon the altar of my tortured mind ; 
 But every touch from forth the shattered lyre 
 Brought sounds discordant, harsh, and boding ill : 
 'T was vain to wander on Parnassus' height, 
 Or sweet Castalia's gushing founts to find ; — 
 For when I paused beside the sacred rill. 
 And drank, bitter the waters were ; no light 
 Shone there ; no music rose from Helicon's chaste choir. 
 
 The heartless world's tumultuous scenes I sought. 
 I would have quelled my spirit's wo by this : 
 I followed proud Ambition's sway, and thought 
 To sit in honor's seat would brinsf relief. 
 
THE SPIRIT'S REST. U-l 
 
 I learned that glory is an empty liame, 
 And honor but a splendid cheat ; that bliss 
 Dwells not in outward pomp, and often grief 
 And dark despair join willing hands with fame ; 
 And strange ! as it doth spread, the less content is brought. 
 
 I found bright Pleasure's golden shrine ; the fair, 
 The' young, the gay, in many a crowd, knelt down 
 And worshipped her. Unmarred by grief and care. 
 And all life's thousand ills, voices arose 
 With joyous merriment, while on the dance 
 Was led to music's witching swell, A crown 
 Of smiles the goddess wore, and sweet repose 
 Seemed sleeping on her brow : but time, perchance. 
 Revealed despair, and gloom, and misery written there ! 
 
 Sadly I turned away from all, and cried, 
 ' Oh where may quietness on earth be found — 
 Rest for the weary soul ? ' The echoes died 
 Along the woods and distant hills, and then 
 No human voice was heard, no winds were there. 
 No tempest came, no thunders rolled around : 
 A gentle zephyr floated o'er the glen, 
 And on its wing some spirit rode the air. 
 And, with celestial tones, the ' still small voice ' replied : 
 
112 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 'Poor worldling ! stay thy vain pursuit of peace 
 In empty vanities : no good can live 
 In all the gilded charms that mock thee : cease 
 Thy hold on tliese ; loose every cord, and hear 
 The voice of God : " Come ye that weary are ! 
 Ye heavy-laden come, and I will give 
 You rest." O heed that call ! in holy fear, 
 In deep humility, how down : the star 
 Of hope shall rise, and joy shall speak thy soul's release.' 
 
 The silent whisper ceased : the heavenly guest 
 Passed by : I knelt me down, and prayed and wept 
 In love, and felt sweet peace within my breast. 
 The cloud of gloom then quicldy fled away, 
 The Sun of Righteousness uprose, with gleam 
 Of holy light, and every passion slept : 
 A smile celestial, like the dawning day, 
 Shone round my path, with full effulgent beam, 
 For, in that glorious hour, I knew ' The Spirit's Rest.' 
 
DESCRIPTION FROM NATURE. 
 
 In forest wilds, there is a spot far hid, 
 Where he of knavish man who tires, and feels 
 The anguish that some broken friendship brings, 
 Turning the soul to bitterness, — who seeks 
 Retreat to find from human monster's wiles, — 
 And every cankered dart that hides beneath 
 Some luring pleasure's cheat, — ^might dwell 
 Content, and hold with nature's perfect self 
 Communion sweet, listing her music's voice. 
 
 Rock towers on rock, in native grandeur wild, 
 Forming one mighty fane, with pillar, shaft. 
 And architrave, cornice and frieze, firm set, 
 As when from chaos-night thick darkness fled. 
 To cavern gulfs the turbid waters rushed ; 
 And Power Omnipotent to earth gave bounds. 
 The rock-girt mountain reared, and this blue vault, 
 That man, through time's long centuries, might dread 
 The Hand that wide creation's fabric built ! 
 10* 
 
114 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 From out their fissures deep, gnarled oaks have thrust 
 Their wayward forms, upon the rugged stone 
 Seeming to vegetate, whose twisted roots 
 The ragged cliff firm hold, shooting their trunks 
 In shapeless strength, or up or down, transverse, 
 Oblique. Some rifted by the lightning's shaft, 
 Hang poising in mid-air, and break ofltimes 
 Their shattered hold, leaping from crag to crag. 
 Thundering adown the mount, new impetus 
 Impelling as along they sweep. Strange sounds 
 Rise echoing from the abyss beneath. 
 Faint and more faint, till the last rumbling tells 
 The resting-place they find at length below ; 
 While 'neath a cliff that juts its beetling form 
 Far o'er the dark abyss, the eagle's ear. 
 From out her eyry nest, catches the sound, 
 As blend her piercing screams in unison. 
 
 From hidden springs, the cooling cascades gush, 
 Like streams of crystal, sparkling in the light 
 That steals at intervals the forest through ; 
 And as they dash their rocky pathway o'er. 
 Unnumbered tribute rills the torrent sAvell, 
 Till in one mighty sheeted Avave, it leaps 
 The towering cliff, and plunges in the pool 
 
' DESCRIPTION PROM NATURE. 115 
 
 Foaming below ; then upward sends a roar, 
 
 That thousand tongues reverberate afar, 
 
 The listening mountain through, hymning a song 
 
 Of melody sublime, as 'twere a choir 
 
 Of thunder-spirits, « chanting anthems loud 
 
 To Nature's Architect, Jehovah, God, 
 
 In one stupendous, changeless symphony ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Les ccBurs constans ne sauraient avoir qu'une passion — Gil Blas. 
 
 We met -within a crowded room, 
 When flying years had passed away, 
 
 And all unknown to each the gloom, 
 That yielded not to pleasure's sway : 
 
 I coldly spake of mountains, lakes, 
 And battlements, and gray old towers ; 
 
 But, as a dream when one awakes, 
 I straight forgot Italian bowers. 
 And minding me of early hours, 
 
 I named the friends to memory dear, 
 And when I told of hearts estranged, 
 While I through foreign lands had ranged, 
 
 Her blue eye showed a tell-tale tear. 
 
 That said, ' My love has never changed ! ' 
 
STANZAS. 117 
 
 I knew the chord my voice had woke 
 
 Within that angel's faithful heart, 
 And heeding not the words I spoke, 
 
 I led her from the throng apart, 
 And sitting hy my loved one's side, 
 
 I felt me blest in being there ! 
 I could not then my passion hide, 
 
 Or longer cold indifference wear ; 
 
 But, pouring forth a lover's prayer, 
 I pledged my faith at beauty's shrine ; 
 
 And yielding to my glad embrace. 
 
 While heavenly smiles played o'er her face, 
 She whispered, ' Dearest ! I am thine, 
 
 And nought can e'er my love efface ! ' 
 
 III. 
 
 She spoke of those whose cruelty 
 
 Had forced her erst to shun my way. 
 And bid her think no more of me 
 
 Whose love would change e'er manhood's day : — 
 Of rank and fashion there were found, 
 
 Who bowed and sued her youthful hand, 
 But moved her not : her love was bound 
 
118 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 By ties that could all else withstand ; 
 
 And sighs, by passion's firm command, 
 Betrayed, unasked, affection's tale ; 
 
 And when the throng would idly gaze, 
 She stole away to some sweet vale, 
 To chime her prayer, with twilight's gale. 
 
 For the dear friend of happier days. 
 
 IV, 
 
 Anew we pledged our young love's vow. 
 
 And sealed it with a holy kiss. 
 Whose rapture thrills me even now, 
 
 So pure and deep that moment's bliss ! 
 The cold world sneer and jibe in vain 
 
 At those who know affection's joy ; 
 I 'd gladly pass such years of pain, 
 To taste that draught of heaven again, 
 
 So free of earth's least base alloy ; — 
 And need I not : from that loved hour, — 
 
 As vines about the elm-trees twine, 
 Within some nature's shaded bower, — 
 We yielded each to love's soft power. 
 
 And now for ever is she mine ! 
 
TOUCH NOT THE TEMPTING BOWL. 
 
 Touch not the tempting bowl, 
 
 When foams the sparkling wine ; 
 For deep pollution taints his soul 
 
 Who bows at Bacchus' shrine ; 
 A demon's poisoned breath 
 
 Foments that cup's bright wave ! — 
 Who dares to sip that draught of death ? 
 
 Who dares that curse to brave ? 
 
 Think not to shun the wo 
 
 That sleeps its brim beneath ; — 
 Beware ! there lurks a hellish foe 
 
 Within the goblet's wreath : 
 Its hiss hath oft been heard, 
 
 Like some foul serpent's cry, 
 As in its liquid lair it stirred 
 
 To see its victim die. 
 
120 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Go learn each drunkard's fate, 
 
 When sound his death-waked groans ; 
 Ask those that round the gallows wait, 
 
 For what that life atones ; 
 Demand from some lost youth, 
 
 What fiend beset his path ; 
 And each will say, with Heaven's own truth, 
 
 ' The wine-cup's deadly wrath ! ' 
 
 Dash down the tempting bowl. 
 
 When foams the sparkling wine : 
 The guilt that burns the tortured soul 
 
 Shall never then be thine : 
 Ay ! crush the demon's head 
 
 Beneath the cursed wave. 
 And let the cup, all tempting red, 
 
 Be its eternal grave ! 
 
AMBITION. — A FRAGMENT. 
 
 'T WAS night o'er fair Italia's thousand hills : 
 The moon looked forth on seas and leaping rills, 
 Mounts, vales, and battlements, and ancient towers, 
 Rearing their tops to heaven. The silent hours. 
 That rolled away while half the nations slept. 
 And starlight o'er the earth its vigils kept. 
 Were image faint of the bright reign of love, 
 That was, when man was like the saints above. 
 And knew no joy, save that alone which came 
 From righteous deeds, and acts of holy name ! 
 An image, too, of that which will be known 
 Again, when perfect peace its right shall own. 
 And hold its sacred sway o'er every land ; 
 When man, once more, aloof from sin shall stand, 
 Devoid of hate, revenge, and deadly rage. 
 And foul Ambition's lust ; — when youth nor age 
 Shall do his brother wrong : — when all as one 
 Shall be, and each to each as sire and son« 
 11 
 
122 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 But soon the peaceful night had passed away, 
 And then the rosy hues gave note that day 
 Was breaking forth, along the eastern sky ; 
 The bright sun rose, and, bidding darkness fly, 
 Eartli, sea and air, one scene of beauty were. 
 The earth, by its own loveliness, from stir 
 Of humblest flower, to mighty waving tree, 
 With rocks, and hills, and cataracts, boldly free ; 
 The sea, reflected clear upon its breast 
 The face of heaven above, and while its rest 
 Was undisturbed, the light clouds came and went ; 
 The purple tinge was tliere, — gold and blue, blent 
 In one broad sheet of perfect light and shade. 
 And seemed as if a second heaven were made. 
 The air was filled with fragrance sweet, and song 
 Of sootliing note went upward, loud and long. 
 From bu'ds of every name ; and e'en the trees 
 Whispered their joy, as passed the sighing breeze. 
 While, 'neath tlieir rustling leaves, the turtle-dove 
 Breathed forth, in plaintive tones, her constant love. 
 
 How strange that man should mar such paradise ! 
 How strange that he should e'er permit to rise 
 The deadly flame of passion's firm control. 
 And o'er the face of nature wildly roll 
 
AMBITION.— A FRAGMENT. 123 
 
 Destruction, terror and despair ! But hark ! 
 The trumpet's peal is there, and densely dark, 
 Like wintry clouds, in serried columns go 
 The marshalled troops, blood-thirsty for the foe ! 
 Proud banners wave on high, as swift tliey come 
 At bugle-call, and ' roll of stirring drum.' 
 
 Two armies meet: — and now the mingled sound 
 Of shouts, commands, and horseman's tread, is drowned 
 By deafening roar of thundering cannonry ! 
 Rocks, hills and dales, high tower and lofty tree. 
 In black and awful cloud enveloped stand, 
 As though earth's doom were sealed by heaven's command. 
 Now darkness hides the scene, save fitful gleam 
 Of fire from cannon's mouth, or where the stream 
 Of death rushes with hellish blaze ; afar 
 The death-note flies, and swift as Phcebus' car 
 The reign of terror spreads ; each battlement. 
 Which yester-eve gave sign of peace, has sent 
 The note of war abroad; and tocsin tolled 
 Alarm, while deep the dreadful echoes rolled. 
 
 That cloud has passed away, and all around 
 No peal of war is heard ; anotlier sound 
 
124 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 Breaks in ; it strikes the listening ear in groans, 
 And shrieks, and wailings of distress, and tones 
 Of deep despair ; the eartli is covered o'er 
 With heaps of slain, and streams of human gore 
 Flow fast along, while moans of wounded rise. 
 In horrid gloom, till death has stilled their cries. 
 In one huge mass, in strange confusion, lie 
 The slaughtered hosts, and hearts that late beat high 
 At glory's shrine, now mingle with the dust ! — 
 But Avhence such awful guilt ? Wliose such a lust 
 To lavish thus his brother's blood ? Oh ! tell 
 The fiendish cause that makes this earth a hell ! 
 
 Behold an honored man ; his shoulder bears 
 The warrior's badge, and on his brow the cares 
 Of life are deeply writ ; his bloody crest 
 Beside him lies, with broken sword ; his breast 
 Is pierced with wounds, and forth the crimson tide 
 Is flowing fast : he turns from side to side. 
 His eyes gaze wildly o'er the field of death. 
 His spirit sinks, and while his parting breath 
 Delays, he cries, ' O sacred, holy Fame ! 
 Shall I ne'er taste thy fruits ? Shall not my name 
 Be joined with deeds of glorious praise? Oh! save 
 From coming- doom, nor let an unknown srrave 
 
AMBITION. — A FRAGMENT. 125 
 
 Be mine ! I cannot die, with no proud pile, 
 
 No monument — ' He ceased to speak : awhile 
 
 He struggled for his life ; he writhed and groaned 
 
 In agony, and in deep anguish moaned, 
 
 And gnashed his teeth. But swift the mandate hied 
 
 From heaven, and grasping fast his shield, he died ! 
 
 He was Ambition's slave : Ambition showed 
 The path of fame, pointing the fatal road : 
 For this alone he lived : for this he learned 
 To l)athe liis hands in blood, and proudly spurned 
 All love of good, and loved revenge alone : 
 For tliis he trode where human bones were strewn, 
 And led the marshalled clan : for this he fought — 
 For this he died— but lost the prize he sought ! 
 
 11* 
 
THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 
 
 Heard ye that sound in the distance swelKng, 
 
 Like the lofty shout of the mountain wind, 
 Or ocean's wail, when the storms are yelling, 
 
 And the lightning's blaze with its wave is twined ? 
 It soundeth now ! Like an earthquake's groan, 
 
 Did the voice of terror break in once more ; 
 The dun-hued smoke o'er the east is thrown. 
 
 And it casts a shade on the war-lined shore. 
 
 II. ' 
 
 Saw ye that flame ? Like a meteor's glare, 
 
 It flashed from the skirts of the east's black shroud : 
 It gleams again, for the foe is there, 
 
 With mustering steeds, and with riders proud. 
 List to the beat of the sudden drum ! 
 
 List to the swell of the trumpet's breath ! 
 
 List to the call of the champion, Death ! 
 List to the shout, as the foemen come ! 
 
THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 127 
 
 III. 
 
 On, where the yeomen hosts are swarming ! 
 On, where the serried ranks are forming ! 
 On, where the cannon's hail is storming ! 
 
 On, to the blood-drenched field ! 
 Fight for the brave in glory dying ! 
 Fight for the hosts to victory hying ! 
 Fight for the white-winged banner flying ! 
 
 Fight for your birthright's shield! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the watchword swept through New-England's length, 
 
 Like a flash from the storm-robed sky ; 
 For the winged winds heard, and they gave their strength, 
 
 Till its echo was heard on high ; 
 And the voice came back with a loftier tone, 
 When the mountain eagle its sound had known. 
 
 V. 
 
 The yeoman left his plough in the field ; 
 The tradesman found his SAvord and his shield ; 
 The herdsman rushed from the mountain's height, 
 And quickly armed for the deadly fight : — 
 
128 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 At the altar was left the bride unwed, — 
 To liberty's rescue the bridegroom fled ; 
 The man of God left his waiting flock, 
 To bare his breast to the battle's shock. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Wo to the hill-top, and wo to the glade ! 
 
 Wo to the matron, and wo to the maid ! 
 
 For husband shall perish, and lover shall die, 
 
 Ere sunlight shall fade from the widowed west sky ; 
 
 Ere eve shall king Death wear his blood-reeking crown, — 
 
 The tramp of the pale horse is crushing them down ! 
 
 VII, 
 
 E'en now the fierce flames, like lightning, are streaming 
 
 Up heaven's high arch, all angrily red ! 
 The vultures for prey o'er Bunker are screaming. 
 
 With beaks right sharp to gorge on the dead : 
 The storm of the battle by vengeance is driven, 
 
 All wofully driven, like hail from the cloud ; 
 Already the ranks of the foemen are riven. 
 
 The grass of the field alone is their shroud ! 
 
THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. 129 
 
 VIII. 
 
 List the shrieks of the wounded, the wails of the dying, 
 And the shouts of the brave ones who rally tlie flying ! 
 'T is the voice of the war-god, with dissonant note, 
 As the armor is clashing where proud banners float ! 
 'T is the death-groan of tyranny writhing in blood ! ' 
 
 From her heart-wound is welling life's tide at its flood ; 
 And her funeral pile, which the noon saw so bright, 
 Ere eve, shall go out in the blackness of night ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 When darkness came from her home in the west, 
 
 The dewy eve o'er the battle-field wept; 
 The vulture fled to its rock-hidden nest, 
 
 And stars kept watch where the warrior slept 
 The smouldering town sent a lurid glare 
 
 Far up night's smoke-wreathed dome, 
 And pale-lipped hosts, that were gazing there, 
 
 Pledged life for freedom's home : 
 And in after days they Avere true and brave, 
 Till the God of battle a conquest gave. 
 
130 PEBBLES FROM CAST A LI A. 
 
 The strife is past ; but the spirit dwells 
 
 In the shrine of a nation's breast : 
 It boasteth not, but its silence tells 
 
 Of the place of its sacred rest ! 
 It sleeps as volcanoes sleep, 
 
 When their blaze is out, and unheard their roar : 
 But their fires still sweep, in their caverns deep. 
 
 And shall deadlier rage when their rest is o'er ! 
 The spirit of Bunker shall never die. 
 Till stars fade out from the evening's sky. 
 
A DREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 I 'vE stood beside some river, rolling 
 
 Its rapid tide away, 
 And heard an evening bell's deep tolling, 
 
 As closed expiring day ; 
 And as the sound soft echoes woke 
 From off that stream's dark tide, there spoke 
 
 Some voice within my soul, 
 
 Unfolding Memory's scroll, 
 And bringing each past scene to light 
 
 With pure and perfect tracing ; 
 Till I have felt such strange delight. 
 
 My heart's dark anguish chasing. 
 That I have seemed to live again 
 
 Mid joys that erst I cherished. 
 And in my dream I 've laughed, and then — 
 
 My phantom bliss hath perished ! 
 
132 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet when that charm was broken, 
 Another voice hath spoken, 
 
 With soft and trancing melody, 
 As 't were some angel-spirit, sounding 
 Sweet tones in tune with waters bounding. 
 
 In deep and joyous harmony. 
 
 III. 
 
 That music's captivating swell 
 Hath chained me in its witching spell, 
 Till, lost in strange forgetfulness, 
 
 I lived in some unreal world, 
 Where beauty flung her varied dress 
 O'er mountain, forest, field and sea, 
 In rich and splendid brilliancy : 
 And where the eddying waters curled, 
 The sunbeam gave its golden tinge. 
 And set with gems the wavelet's fringe. 
 Uprising as the breeze swept by ; 
 While light, with water blended, 
 Reflected from the arching sky 
 The bow of promise bended ! 
 
A DREAM OF LIFE, 133 
 
 And I would gaze in ecstasies, 
 
 Till sound of swelling thunder 
 Came rumbling on the fitful breeze, 
 While lightnings rent the storm's black shroud, 
 And hurled their shafts from out the cloud, 
 
 Dividing heaven asunder. 
 My Hope-lured fancy calling back 
 To rest on Reason's changeless track. 
 
 Such is a transient dream of life. 
 When free of earth's tumultuous strife, 
 We pause beside Time's rushing stream. 
 To hear a closing year's sad knell, — 
 As if from some deep tolling bell, — 
 Come, on the sad ear pealing, 
 Its tones of death revealing ; 
 And we have lived, in Memory's dream, 
 The scenes of other days, and felt 
 Our light and joyous spirits bounding 
 At gladsome tones, once more resounding ■ 
 From hearts where holy friendship dwelt 
 12 
 
134 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 V. 
 
 A brother's arm hath clasped us to his breast ; 
 A sister's lips have kissed our tears away ; 
 And we have felt anew the blissful day 
 That made our young hearts truly blest ! 
 Perchance a father's voice hath spoken, 
 Whose soul was but affection's fountain, 
 
 And from whose lips distilled the dew of love ; 
 Perhaps a mother smiled, — bright token 
 Of love more firm than towering mountain, 
 
 Uprearing high its head the clouds above : 
 For none may tell how fast a mother's heart 
 
 Is bound to those she taught to lisp her name ; 
 Earth may be rent, high heaven be torn apart, 
 And yet a mother's love endure the same ; — 
 Pure as the stream from God's own fountain welling. 
 
 As dread Eternity 't is fathomless ; 
 Strong as the cataract's power from mountain swelling, 
 Whatever else may die, it lives to bless ! — 
 
 vr. 
 
 O what a power hath memory ; Unveiling, 
 With magic hand, the long-forgotten past, 
 
A DREAM OF LIFE. 135 
 
 Repeating each loved word, each sigh, each wailing, 
 That rose when death its fearful shroud had cast 
 Upon the idols we had loved so much 
 We fondly deemed they might escape his touch ! 
 The dead come up before our vision, living 
 In all their pristine loveliness ; 
 Each virtue lives in perfectness, 
 While thought of vice no slightest taint is giving 
 To mar that holy happiness. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sweet Memory ! 'T is thine to give again 
 
 The dead we loved in hope's bright hour ; 
 'T is thine to lead us through thine hallowed glen, 
 Our thirsting souls to satisfy 
 With that save which all else may die — 
 The honey of affection's flower ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But Memory may not always lure. 
 The blissful past returning ; 
 
 The flame she lights is all too pure. 
 To be for ever burning ; — 
 
136 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 The sun goes down at dewy eve ; 
 
 The stars light not the morning ; 
 The widowed plant for flowers may grieve, 
 
 Just now its stem adorning : 
 The rainbow on the smiling heaven 
 
 Is in a moment dying ; 
 The strain from some soft harp-string given, 
 
 iEolian music sighing, 
 Expires when sleeps the zephyr's breath, 
 And stills that melody in death : 
 And e'en its transientness hath filled the soul 
 
 With half the rapture thrilling there ; 
 For could such thoughts of beauty ceaseless roll, 
 
 Unchecked by one dark shade of care, 
 The beautiful would almost cease to be. 
 And bliss itself become monotony ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 'T is perfect wisdom, then, that earth 
 Is subject to the law of change, — 
 That objects simple, deep, or strange. 
 Do not consume our every thought, — 
 Else Memory's voice had never taught 
 
 The joy of Hope's celestial birth. 
 
A DREAM OF LIFE. 137 
 
 X. 
 
 'T is thine, O Hope, when life's storms lower, 
 And lightnings of despair are flashing. 
 
 When passion swells with chainless power. 
 And waves of wo the soul are lashing, 
 
 To point us to the blue above. 
 
 And guide us to that world of love ! 
 To bow thee from thy throne in heaven. 
 When stronger ties of earth are riven, 
 And with the joy thine accents bear, 
 Win back our souls from dark despair. 
 'T is thine to lead us on our varied way, — 
 
 Guiding us o'er life's eddying stream ; 
 'T is thine to mind us of the endless day 
 
 That dawns when ends Life's fitful dream ! 
 
 12* 
 
THEY TELL ME THOU'LT FORGET, 
 
 They tell me thou 'It forget, 
 
 When passion's charm is stayed, 
 The pledge — the vow — the promises, 
 
 We to each other made : 
 They think that woman's heart 
 
 Is fleeting as the air ; 
 But ah ! they cannot, cannot tell 
 
 The love that slumbers there ! 
 
 They tell me thou 'It forget, 
 
 When I am from thee gone — 
 That all thy faith will transient be, 
 
 As dew-drops in the morn. 
 They know thy heart will fail, 
 
 Till I no longer share 
 The hopes, the joyous sympathies. 
 
 The love that slumbers there ! 
 
THEY TELL ME THOU'LT FORGET. 139 
 
 They tell me thou 'It forget, 
 
 When pleasure's sound is heard ; — 
 Or music's swell is bursting forth, 
 
 Like song of Eden's bird : — 
 'T is wondrous they should think 
 
 A steadfast heart so rare ! 
 But none, save me, have ever known 
 
 The love that slumbers there. 
 
 O no, thou 'It not forget, 
 
 Though flatterers come and go ; — 
 And even I should faithless prove, 
 
 And fill thy life with wo ! 
 Though daily griefs oppress, 
 
 Though hard thy lot to bear, 
 Each dream, within thy breast, shall wake 
 
 The love that slumbers there. 
 
TO A LOCK OF HAIR. 
 
 Beautiful thing ! 
 There lives with thee a strange mysterious power, 
 To bring anew young love's long-buried hour, 
 
 On viewless wing. 
 
 What soul-rapt bliss 
 Was mine, when, charmed by Tier soft melody, 
 I gazed as thou didst float on zephyr free, 
 
 Wooing its kiss ! 
 
 Affection spoke 
 From the mild eyes thy sister tresses hid, 
 And many a tear would gem their silk-fringed lid. 
 
 When passion woke. 
 
 Her heart was free 
 From base deception then, nor had she known 
 To cause such wo, as since hath been mine own 
 
 Dark misery. 
 
TO A LOCK OP HAIR. 141 
 
 Oh ! would the grave , - 
 
 Had held that form, ere my embittered soul 
 Were doomed to feel rebuked affection roll 
 
 Its icy wave ! 
 
 To Heaven's decree 
 Then had I willing bowed ; nor would distrust 
 Have levelled every friendship in the dust, 
 
 As mockery ! 
 
 But still, 't is thine, 
 Bright ringlet, to give back the holy spell 
 That bound my first fond love ! — What raptures dwell 
 
 Round its pure shrine ! 
 
 And thou dost rouse 
 A voice within, telling that earth's caress 
 Shall swiftly pass away, — all transientness 
 
 Her solemn vows. 
 
 Truth's home is heaven ; 
 And, taught by thee, my spirit thirsts to fly 
 Above, where the freed soul rests tranquilly, 
 
 And bliss is given. 
 
THE MINISTERING SPIRIT. 
 
 DEDICATED TO A SISTER, ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY CHILD. 
 
 ' Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them 
 who shall be heirs of salvation.' — Holy Writ. 
 
 Listen, Sister ! Thy beauteous child 
 Heeds not thy bitter weeping ; 
 
 Not floods of tears, nor wailings wild, 
 Can move his silent sleeping : 
 
 Like passing dream his spirit came, 
 
 And ere it burned, expired the flame. 
 
 How sadly, now, his brilliant eye 
 With lifeless lid is shaded ! 
 
 The death-drops on his forehead lie — 
 His ruddy cheek, how faded ! 
 
 But yet a smile is on thy boy. 
 
 As erst it gave his mother joy. 
 
THE MINISTERING SPIRIT. I43 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy heart alone its anguish knows, 
 Nor can thy grief be spoken ; 
 
 Thy bitter moan too truly shows 
 That ' golden bowl ' is broken ; 
 
 Nor would I quell affection's grief, 
 
 For 't is the soul's most sweet relief. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hast heard it told, when infants smile 
 In calm and tranquil slumbers, 
 
 That angels round them watch the while, 
 Chanting celestial numbers 7 
 
 'T is said that in their sleep they hear 
 
 Soft tones, unknown to others' ear. 
 
 If false, 't is beautiful, the thought 
 That spirits round are flying ; 
 
 That whispers in each dream are brought, 
 Like summer zephyrs sighing ! 
 
 Nor would I break so sweet a charm, 
 
 For, if no good, it leaves no harm. 
 
144 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I think that when the hand of death 
 Its mantle round is throwing, 
 
 When faintly comes the stifled breath, 
 And silent tears are flowing, 
 
 Bright seraphs leave the world of love, 
 
 To guide the panting soul above. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And oft, ere nature gives release. 
 
 Or ' silver cord ' is rended, 
 They whisper tones of heavenly peace, 
 
 Till bliss with pain is blended : 
 'T is this that makes the smile's soft play, 
 When life and nature sink away. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'T is this lights up the languid eye, 
 When death each sense is stealing ; 
 
 That stills each fear, each troubled sigh. 
 Pure inward joy revealing: 
 
 'T is this that, on the infant's cheek. 
 
 Reveals a tale no tongue can speak. 
 
THE MINISTERING SPIRIT. 145 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then, sister ! hear the silent voice 
 Thy lost one's smile is giving — 
 'O mother ! weep not, but rejoice ; 
 Thy babe in heaven is living : 
 
 I cannot come again to thee. 
 
 But thou shalt come from earth to me ! ' 
 
 X. 
 
 Then stay thy grief; and let thy wo 
 Its fountains burst no longer ; 
 
 And while thy tears shall cease to flow, 
 Thy love will burn the stronger: 
 
 That smile will play about thy dreams. 
 
 Like golden stars on gliding streams ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And ever, when thou kneel'st in prayer, 
 To crave thy Saviour's blessing, 
 
 A spirit shall be with thee there. 
 Each wished-for good possessing : 
 
 Thy first-born son is by thy side. 
 
 Sent forth to bless, and guard, and guide ! 
 13 
 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 Oh ! there is none, 
 
 In all this cold and hollow world, no fount 
 
 Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within 
 
 A mother's heart. Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 At midnight, when the earth was stilled, 
 Nor mighty winds the forests stirred, 
 
 A voice of wo the night-air filled, 
 
 And lonely sounds of grief were heard. 
 
 In bitter anguish, deep and sad, 
 A weeping group stood up alone, 
 
 And each pale brow with grief was clad. 
 To each the spirit's wo was known. 
 
 Why round that couch had gatliered then 
 A strickened band, with stifled breath ? 
 
 Had fate cut down the brave of men ? 
 Say — grappled there the hand of Death ? 
 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 147 
 
 Yes ! Death was there !— but not the brave 
 Bowed down beneath his h-on sway ; 
 
 The young, the good, must meet her grave, 
 Just when life's morn burst into day ! 
 
 On the cold couch a mother lies ; 
 
 A mother ! ay ! an hour ago 
 Nor had she felt those sacred ties 
 
 That once but formed, no end shall know ! 
 
 The purest thing in all the earth — 
 An infant's soul— had waked to light ; 
 
 But wo for her who gave it birth ! 
 Her sun must set, ere yet 't is night. 
 
 E'en now her dark eye flashed with fire, 
 That burns but when consumes too fast 
 
 Life's latent spark ; nor harp, nor lyre 
 
 Could calm that gaze !— the one— the last! 
 
 The hectic flush upon that cheek, 
 Like morning star grew pale and dim ; 
 
 Her doom she knew ! — but could she speak ? 
 Oh ! could she say farewell to Mm ? 
 
148 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 
 It must be so : in grief he bowed, 
 To catch each precious, dying word ; 
 
 The last fond kiss Avas pressed, and loud 
 He wept, for all love's founts were stirred ! 
 
 ' My husband ! fare thee well ! — my breath 
 Grows stifled, short and faint ; 
 
 Come, dearest, near ! I sleep in death. 
 To wake in heaven a saint ! 
 
 'T is not for earth alone we live, — 
 
 There is a home above ! 
 To God and heaven each moment give, — 
 
 For heaven is perfect love ! 
 
 ' Now bring me here my babe,' she said, 
 ' Oh, haste ! — my first-born child ! 
 
 Quick ! ere its mother meets the dead, 
 Or pain hatli made me wild ! 
 
 My spirit now is calm and free, 
 
 Oh, bring my orphan boy ! 
 If on his soul my blessing be, 
 
 I die with peaceful joy ! ' 
 
A MOTHER'S LOVE. 149 
 
 The babe was brought: once more she grasped 
 
 The idol of her love, 
 And close upon her bosom clasped, 
 
 Raising her eyes above : 
 
 ■ Thou orphan's God ! Oh, hear my plea, 
 
 With life's last accents given ! — 
 Guide thou my boy o'er time's dark sea, 
 And let us meet in heaven ! ' 
 
 Her pale lips closed : her eyelids fell : 
 Her hand grew palsied by her side ; 
 
 The clammy brow but told too well, 
 All, save a mother's love, had died ! 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 ■ Et dixi : quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbte, et volabo, et requies- 
 cam ? Ecce elongavi fugiens.' 
 
 For wings ! for wings like a dove, to fly 
 Beyond the arch of the sapphire sky ! 
 To mount unchained through the depths of air, 
 To bathe in floods of the beauty there, 
 And, raptured, list to the hymning spheres. 
 With bliss unstayed by the flight of years. 
 
 ti. 
 
 Earth is no home for the deathless soul! 
 That yieldeth not to its base control, 
 For, like a bird on its upward flight, 
 It yearns for its home of living light ; 
 It pants to burst from its prison, free 
 To blend itself with Eternity. 
 
IMMORTALITY. 151 
 
 III. 
 
 I 've gazed, O Night ! at thy diadem, 
 Studded with many a dazzling gem, 
 Vieing with each in their brilliancy, 
 Till thy dome seems like a waveless sea ; 
 And I am borne o'er its sleeping breast, 
 By unwaked winds, to the spirit's rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then music greets me with such rich tones, 
 
 Methinks it comes from celestial zones ; 
 
 It swells too soft, and too thrillingly. 
 
 For mortal minstrel, on land or sea ; 
 
 It bursts alone from the tuneful choirs 
 
 That charm high heaven with their thrilling lyres. 
 
 Yet, tell me, queen of the silent eve ! 
 What gems of truth do my soul enweave, 
 While fancy soars through the ether blue ? 
 Do pendant flowers weep Elysian dew, 
 Or blush with hues of perennial spring, 
 And breathe too pure for earth's journeying ? 
 
152 PEBBLES FROM CASTALIA. 
 VI. 
 
 Do crystal streams, in ambrosial lawns, 
 Drink rays of light from resplendent moms ? 
 Do founts of life from the green liills burst. 
 Where heavenly cherubim slake their thirst ? 
 Do seraphs rove through the solitudes. 
 Where foliage rare decks the whispering woods ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 O, answer, orb of the silver glow ! 
 
 My soul is faint, in its thirst to know ; 
 
 Answer me, stars of the cloudless sky ! 
 
 My thought has pierced where your pathways lie, 
 
 Till lost and tired of the empty strife, 
 
 My spirit burns for its after life ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 I 've drank full deep of the scholiast's lore. 
 And fathomed truths that were hid before ; 
 But Science fails on the boundless sea 
 That laves the shores of Eternity ; 
 And casts me back on the lap of earth, 
 And bids me wait for my final birth ! 
 
IMMORTALITY. 153 
 
 Then welcome, Death ! Let thy summDns come, 
 And bring my pass to my upper home ! 
 Give wings ! give wings like a dove, to fly 
 Beyond the arch of the sapphire sky, 
 To mount unchained through the depths of air, 
 And quench my thirst for the glories there! 
 14 
 
SABBATH MORNING. 
 
 Hail, holy day ! The opening' light of mom 
 
 Streams up the azure sky, and clothes the east 
 In hues like blush of bursting rose : the lawn 
 
 Lies stretched in quiet rest, — the sea hath ceased 
 Its troubled roar, and tumult's voice is still. 
 
 Wide forests lift their heads in upright pride. 
 High mountains rear their lofty peaks, that fill 
 
 The void of heaven, and mighty rivers glide 
 Along their winding course with noiseless flow ; 
 
 A spirit moves o'er earth ; the deep blue sea 
 Gives forth its voice ; the green-clad valleys know 
 
 The soft response, the mounts, cloud-topped and free. 
 All join ; and man, — God's latest work and best, — 
 With reverent awe replies, ' Let all things rest ! ' 
 
SABBATH NOON, 
 
 The deep-toned organ's peals are echoing loud 
 With rapturous swell, and solemn anthems rise, 
 In cadence rich, far sounding up the skies, 
 
 Sweet and more sweet as 't sinks away ! The crowd 
 
 Of humble worshippers are lowly bowed, 
 And holy prayer and praise mount up to heaven 
 As they were flames of purest incense given 
 
 From out some angel's censer ; no dark cloud 
 Of worldly passion frowneth there, no storm 
 Of angry strife ; each contrite soul is warm 
 
 With Jesus' love ! The Holy Ghost hath passed 
 Within those sacred walls, the cup and bread 
 Are there, and perfect peace on all is shed — 
 
 Fit type of Sabbath rest in heaven at last ! 
 
SABBATH EVENING. 
 
 How beautiful! The fading light of day- 
 Is lingering yet on forest, field and sea ; 
 And now the temple's spire shines dazzlingly, 
 
 While parting sunbeams round its summit play, 
 
 As 't Avere a shaft of burnished gold ! The lay 
 Of evening zephyrs comes upon the ear 
 So delicately soft, I think I hear 
 
 Some seraph tones symphonious die away. 
 While nature chants her Sabbath vesper-hymn ! 
 And now the red light passes ; and the skies are dim 
 
 Above the west ; night's sable veils unroll. 
 And new-born stars the sleeping waters kiss ! 
 Oh, be like this my closing day ! like this 
 
 My final rest — ^the Sabbath of the soul ! 
 
NOTES 
 
NOTES. 
 
 Note 1.— Page 59. 
 The incident forming this ballad is narrated of the loss of the steam- 
 boat Ben Sherrod, burned on the night of the Sabbath, May 9th, 1837, 
 when more than one hundred and twenty lives were lost. I met with 
 the paragraph in a Mobile paper, in nearly the following words. 
 " Amidst the terrors of that awful night, when the roar of the flames, 
 the shrieks of the frantic, and the yells of the dying mingled in strange 
 horror together, there was noticed a young and beautiful girl in the 
 water struggling for life. At the moment when she was sinking, a 
 noble-hearted youth, as he was swimming by her, called to her to seize 
 hold of his suspenders. Filled with new courage by the consciousness 
 that the fate of his precious burden was then joined with his own, he 
 put forth, with a mighty effort, all his remaining strength, to gain the 
 shore. Soon, however, nature was exhausted ; and, as she perceived 
 it, she released her grasp, and raised her hands to heaven, in prayer for 
 the rescue of him who had attempted to save her. He swam a few 
 yards only, when both were drowned." 
 
 Note 2.— Page 67. 
 The members of the Boston Lyceum will recognize this poem as 
 having been delivered before them in March, 1837. The favor with 
 which it was then received, induces the author to hope it may not be an 
 unwelcome visiter in its present form ; although written earlier than 
 any in the volume, with one exception. 
 
 Note 3 Page 89. 
 
 Miss Doggett was a member of the Sabbath school connected vrith 
 the Bowdoin Street Church. Her death, of itself solemnly interesting, 
 was rendered more awfully impressive, from the fact, that the insatiate 
 archer aimed his arrow then, for the third time, at the same class. 
 Three, in the bloom of youth and beauty, had gone successively to the 
 tomb, from that little band, while the rest of the school were spared. 
 Maria was ill but one week, and the suddenness of her departure 
 occasioned a deeply interesting sermon from Rev. H. Winslow ; text, 
 Matthew 24 : 44—" Therefore be ye also ready : for in such an hour 
 as ye think not, the Son of man cometh." 
 
160 NOTES. 
 
 Note 4. — Page 90, Stanza V. 
 
 Erst ye were told 
 That ONE had gone. 
 Eunice Ford Bates died April 15th, 1836, aged 16. Miss B. made 
 public profession of faith in Christ, Sabbath, March 6th ; and though 
 called so soon to join the church triumphant, she left behind her bright 
 evidence of a Christian devotion of unusual purity. Her open heart, 
 and amiable deportment, endeared her to many who will cherish her 
 memory through life's long day. The accompanying Hymn, penned 
 on the occasion of her death, was set to music by Professor L. Mason, 
 and presented to his singing choir, of which she had been a member. 
 
 Lovely sister ! thou art sleeping 
 
 In the lone and quiet tomb ; 
 Angels o'er thy rest are keeping 
 
 Watches peaceful, mid the gloom. 
 We have felt the pang of parting 
 
 From thy sweet communion here ; 
 While, with grief our bosoms starting, 
 
 We have shed the bitter tear. 
 Yet we feel that God hath riven 
 
 All our tender ties of love : 
 Thy pure soul, acclimed to heaven, 
 
 He hath called to joys above ! 
 There thou 'It join the heavenly chorus, 
 
 While we chant our hymns below ; 
 There we '11 meet when death comes o'er us, 
 
 Parting never more to know ! 
 
 Note5. — Page 91, Stanza VI. 
 
 — ye were told another Jlower teas crushed. 
 
 Miss Abigail M. Huff died May 27th, 1837, aged 19. Miss H. had 
 
 never been absent from her class from the time of her joining, until the 
 
 Sabbath before her death. — MimUe Book of Bowdoin St. Sabbath School. 
 
 Note 6. — Page 115. 
 hymning a song 
 Of melody sublime, as 'twere a choir 
 Of thunder-spirits. 
 The ocean -waves went up among 
 The thunder-spirit's choir. Dawes.