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POEMS 
 
POEMS. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. JEDIDIAH HUNTINGTON, M. D. 
 
 NE W- YORK : 
 WILEY AND PUTNAM. 
 
 1843. 
 

 ^Ar*^ 
 
 Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1842, by 
 
 Jedidiah Huntington, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New-York. 
 
 J. P. Wright, Printer, 
 41 Pine street, N. Y. 
 
TO 
 
 ^ ALEXANDER WARFIELD BRADFORD, Esquire, 
 
 j©F NEW- YORK CITY, 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 When I first mentioned to you four years ago, 
 that I was engaged in the composition of a poem, 
 after an expression of pleasure and surprise, you said 
 that I must dedicate my intended volume to yourself. 
 I am sure there is no one to whom I could so appro- 
 priately offer the collection now published. It is 
 nearly eight years since our acquaintance and our 
 friendship (almost contempomneously) commenced ; 
 and during the whole of that period we have been 
 closely knit in affection : — our friendship has been 
 repeatedly tested by adverse circumstances, some- 
 times the most trying ; and if it pass as triumphantly 
 
VI 
 
 the far more difficult ordeal of that prosperity 
 which now seems dawning on us both, we may con- 
 sider it, I think, as based upon an immoveable rock, 
 which the waters of death itself shall momentarily 
 overflow, but not forever submerge and which as 
 the wave of that only universal deluge at last retires 
 from off the face of things, shall remain securely im- 
 bedded (the affectionate wish so often expressed to 
 each other) in the shore of the world eternal. 
 
 We owe each something to the other : — you to me, 
 I suppose, that renewal of faith and love with which 
 in manhood you have sought the actual communion 
 of the holy Church in whose bosom your youth 
 (herein happier than mine) was nurtured ; — I to you, 
 — partly, an intellectual stimulus — an effective aspira- 
 tion for permanent usefulness ; partly, an encourage- 
 ment to effort which you assured me would not prove 
 unsuccessful ; but principally, the aid derived from 
 witnessing and sharing your own intellectual industry, 
 with the consolation and active assistance afforded by 
 your unfeigned friendship and brotherly love. 
 
 This affords a still better reason than that just now 
 assigned, for believing that our friendship is destined 
 
Vll 
 
 to endure ; since it has been the instrument of that 
 heavenly Providence, and that gracious Spirit, in 
 which we both devoutly believe, in conferring upon 
 us a benefit according to our several need, that we 
 trust shall not terminate in ourselves. 
 
 I rejoice that you are becoming more and more a 
 public man, (may God send us many such !) yet I 
 cannot but look back with regret to those happy days, 
 when, though you were devoted during the day to the 
 duties of your profession, our evenings (those frequent 
 nodes) were spent in the pursuit of classic lore, and 
 in following out the train of your researches and dis- 
 coveries in regard to the primitive history of this con- 
 tinent, and indeed, inclusively, of this planet : re- 
 searches not long since given to the world in a volume 
 which has sufficiently established your character as a 
 laborious and original inquirer. 
 
 The immediate fruit of those studies on my part is 
 contained in the present collection of Poems, not a 
 few of which were first recited to yourself, and many 
 of them until lately had been communicated only to 
 you. You will allow me to take this opportunity of 
 explaining the method of their arrangement. 
 
VIU 
 
 It was always my habit to date my poetical com- 
 positions : these dates are retained for the following 
 reasons. 
 
 You will observe a considerable difference in the 
 style, and still more in the character of the subjects, as 
 you proceed through the volume ; — I have wished to 
 mark this, and to connect it visibly with the date 
 of the several pieces. I do not indeed think any of 
 the poems in this volume unsuitable for a clergyman 
 to publish, but the train of thought supposed in some, 
 however innocent in itself, and becoming in the writer 
 at the time when they were composed, is scarcely that 
 which would be appropriate to his present character, 
 if they were understood to be of recent composition. 
 Besides this consideration, to which circumstances 
 induce me to attach more weight than it would or 
 should have in the case of others, I know that you 
 will observe, and I think it will be observed by 
 thoughtful readers generally, that a mental and moral 
 history, and a corresponding lesson, are conveyed by 
 these poems, taken thus as a series, consecutively 
 composed, and distinguished by their dates. To ex- 
 hibit this trait of the book more perfectly, I adopted 
 
IX 
 
 the division into seven Parts, comprising each the 
 poems composed in a corresponding period of time^ 
 and indicating either a peculiar though accidental 
 direction of the writer's studies, or the natural ten- 
 dencies of his mind at that stage of its progress. 
 Nothing is more progressive than poetry ; and in 
 every stage of development it has its own peculiar 
 charm, like that which from the undeveloped germ 
 lying hid in the nutritious matter of the seed, up 
 through the green leaf and flexible stem, to the con- 
 summate blossom, attends the race of flowers, — the 
 ineffable charm of Life expressed by symmetry. 
 
 To each Part is prefixed a dedicatory poem, ad^ 
 dressed to some one of the author's private friends, but 
 not without reference to the sentiment or intellectual 
 character prevailing in each Part, and to the influence 
 directly or indirectly exerted by the individual upon 
 the psychological history thus, (for the peculiar pur- 
 poses and by the peculiar methods of poetry,) in part 
 delineated. It will be observed that the first six 
 Parts, (comprising a period of less than eighteen 
 months devoted to poetical composition,) close pre- 
 viously to December, 1839, at which time the author 
 
became a candidate for holy orders ; and that the 
 seventh Part (commencing in January, 1840, and 
 comprising the poems of two years and a half,) consists 
 chiefly of sacred pieces, some of which are translated 
 from ancient Latin hymns, belonging to the same class 
 with the Veni Creator Spiritus in our ordinal, and 
 taken from the same source, the Roman Breviary. 
 The austere beauty of these devotional compositions 
 can scarcely fail of being appreciated even in a trans- 
 lation. Nearly all the poems in this Part were written 
 at St. Paul's College, where I then resided as a Pro- 
 fessor in that institution. 
 
 In regard to the dates however, I may observe, that 
 although they truly indicate the time when each 
 poem was commenced and mainly composed, they 
 do not perfectly mark the progress of the author in 
 the art of poetry, as, in transcribing and preparing for 
 publication, no scruple was made of altering them as 
 suited his more matured taste. Those most altered 
 in this way, and almost entirely recomposed, are the 
 Sonnets on the Coronation of Q,ueen Victoria. The 
 reason for the alteration in this case is stated in a note. 
 In their original form, the sonnets just mentioned ap- 
 
XI 
 
 peared some years ago in Blackwood's Magazine. With 
 this exception, and that of the sonnet on a picture by 
 Yer Bryck, and one other, none of the original poems 
 in this collection have ever before been either pub- 
 lished or oiFered for publication in any shape. Some 
 of the translations from the Minor Greek Poets (Part 
 II.) appeared some years ago in an article contributed 
 to the New- York Review, (No. for July, 1840, Art- 
 II.) ; and nearly all those from the Female Poets of 
 Greece (Part Y.) in an article contributed to the Demo- 
 cratic Review, the number for January, 1840. 
 
 This is all that I think it necessary to premise in 
 explanation of what may be unusual in the arrange- 
 ment of the following poems. The several Parts are 
 poetically dedicated to very dear friends ; this was an 
 after-thought : — to you, in sober prose, and according 
 to my original design, I offer the entire wreath, and 
 I only wish that its value may be thought by you and 
 others such as may answer to the warmth and sin- 
 cerity with which 
 
 I am, my dear friend. 
 
 Your faithful and affectionate 
 Jedidiah Huntington. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 July— September, 1838. , 
 
 Stanzas Dedicatory . . . . * . . . , p. 16 
 
 The Try sting Place 18 
 
 Sonnets suggested by the Coronation of Clueen Victoria — 
 
 I. The Abbey 37 
 
 11. Theaueen .38 
 
 III. The Crowning ....... 39 
 
 To Emmeline; a Threnodia 41 
 
 To , with the Poems of Bryant 49 
 
 PART II. 
 
 The Winter Months of 1838—1839. 
 FRAGMENTS AND INSCRIPTIONS FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 Sonnet Dedicatory. To the Rev. Samuel Seabury, D. D. . . 53 
 From Simonides — • 
 
 I. On Votive Arrows in the Temple of Minerva : an In- 
 scription 55 
 
 II. On a Spear placed against a Column in a Temple of 
 
 Jupiter . . . " 
 
 III. On those who fell at Thermopylae , . . .56 
 
 IV. For the Votive Pictures of certain Women of Corinth " 
 
 a2 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 V. Danae's Lament p. 57 
 
 Another version of the same 59 
 
 VI. Virtue 60 
 
 Another version ' . . . " 
 
 VII. Life: an Inscription .61 
 
 Life : an Inscription. From Mimnermus 62 
 
 A Fragment. From Solon 63 
 
 Inscription for a small Temple to Venus of the Sea ..." 
 
 The Sword with Myrtle wreathed. Attributed to Alcseus . . 64 
 
 Inscription to a Cicada 65 
 
 In behalf of a Cicada " 
 
 On a Cicada and a Spider 6Q 
 
 To a Nightingale carrying off a Cicada to its Nestlings . . " 
 
 To a Bee 67 
 
 On a wretched Old Man found dead in a Tomb . . . . " 
 
 For the Tomb of a Happy Old Man 68 
 
 For a Tomb of small dimensions " 
 
 On a Bride who died upon her Wedding Night. By Meleager . 69 
 
 Another version of the same, in the Elegiac measure . . . " 
 
 To Heliodora (his Wife) : by Meleager 70 
 
 Funeral Inscription on the Death of Heraclitus of Halicarnassus, 
 
 the Elegiac Poet " 
 
 Hymn to Hygeia 71 
 
 The Song of the Robber Chief . . . . . . .72 
 
 The Wish of Young Fancy " 
 
 Fragments from the Iliad — 
 
 I. Description of the Greek Phalanx 73 
 
 II. Helen to Hector. A Picture of Trojan Chivalry . . 74 
 
 III. Homeric Picture of Aristocracy in the Heroic Age . 75 
 
 PART m. 
 
 December, 1838— August, 1839. 
 
 Sonnet Dedicatory. To D. Huntington, N. A 79 
 
 The Song of the Old Year 81 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 Introductory Sonnet of a Proposed Series designed for a Car- 
 rier's Address p. 85 
 
 To 86 
 
 Suggested by a Picture by D. Huntington 87 
 
 Suggested by the Pendant to the former ... . . .88 
 
 The same subject continued .... ... 89 
 
 A Dream of Youth 90 
 
 Suggested by a Picture by C. Ver Bryck, N. A. . . . '91 
 
 Sunset Lyric 92 
 
 To — . 94 
 
 DelicisB Novi Eboraci • . . 95 
 
 Continued 96 
 
 Concluded 97 
 
 To a Bird warbling on the Batteiy 98 
 
 " Wherefore, O friend, this self-imposed pain" .... 101 
 
 " And is it then my most untoward fate V 102 
 
 Composed on the Battery 103 
 
 Continued in the September following 104 
 
 A Fragment 106 
 
 " See ! from behind the mountain's high, green top" . . .107 
 
 " My five-and-twentieth year flies fast away" . * . . 108 
 
 Self-defence . . . ' 109 
 
 Sketches in the Open Air. Late Summer and Early Autumn . Ill 
 An Inscription in the Greek manner, for the Grave of two Kins- 
 women who had a singular history 113 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 September, 1839. 
 THE NORTHERN DAWN. 
 
 Sonnet Dedicatory. To M. H. B 117 
 
 The Northern Dawn 119 
 
XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 PART V. 
 
 Summer and Autumn of 1839. 
 INSCRIPTIONS AND FRAGMENTS FROM THE FEMALE POETS OF GREECE. 
 
 From Anyte — 
 
 For the Tomb of Philanis; dying unmarried . . p. 139 
 
 On Erato ; dying unmarried 140 
 
 " See the Horned Goat!" " 
 
 On a Favourite Cock 141 
 
 On a Favourite Hound " 
 
 Another version of the same 142 
 
 On a Spear in a Temple of Minerva " 
 
 On Children at Play 143 
 
 To Pan " 
 
 For Two Pets 144 
 
 An Inscription. By Myro " 
 
 On Armour of Brettian Robbers hung up in a Temple, By 
 
 Nossis 145 
 
 On a Tomb. By Erinna " 
 
 By Sappho — 
 
 Inscription for a Poor Fisherman 146 
 
 A Characteristic Fragment, ascribed to Sappho ..." 
 For the Tomb of Timas; who died unmarried ..." 
 
 The Ode to Venus 147 
 
 The Ode to a Girl 150 
 
 PART Vf. 
 
 September and October, 1839. 
 
 Sonnet Dedicatory, To the Name and Memory of My Mother, 
 
 Mrs. Faith Trumbull Huntington 155 
 
 " What giddiness with which I seem to reel" .... 157 
 
 On reading the Samson Agonistes 158 
 
CONTENTS. XVU 
 
 Suggested by the same Poem P- l^^ 
 
 Memory a Creative Power 160 
 
 Written beneath a Grand Peak of the Cattskills . . . • 161 
 " And so they buried Hector the Horse-tamer" .... 162 
 God's Claim of Glory urged as an argument that we should de- 
 sire it 163 
 
 The same continued 164 
 
 The same subject further continued 165 
 
 On reading Bryant's Poem of the Winds . , . . • 166 
 Written in a humour of Philanthropic Melancholy . . .167 
 
 Composed on the Battery 1*70 
 
 Lapsing after Means of Grace ineffectually used . . • 171 
 
 " The Battery looks upon the Sea" 1*73 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 February, 1840.— October, 1840. 
 
 Sonnet Dedicatory. To the Rev. William Augustus Muhlen- 
 berg, D. D 181 
 
 " Jesu ! gracious, meek, divine !" Translated from the Latin . 183 
 
 Christmas Hymn. From the Breviary 185 
 
 A Hymn for Confirmation 187 
 
 The Hymn for both Vespers on the Feast of the Most Holy 
 
 Trinity. Translated from the Roman Breviary . . . 189 
 
 Hymn for Compline. From the Breviary 190 
 
 Hymn ; from a Domestic Service 193 
 
 Jam Lucis Orto 195 
 
 Hymn for a Young Person 197 
 
 Vesper Hymn for Epiphany . . 199 
 
 A Regret recalling Hope 201 
 
 The Honey Moon. To 204 
 
 Composed when sailing on the Canal to Whitehall . . . 205 
 
 Hymn for the Eleventh Sunday after Trinity .... 206 
 
 Hymn for the Twelfth Sunday after Trinity .... 208 
 
 Hymn for the Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity .... 210 
 
XVUl CONTENTS. 
 
 Hymn for the Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity . . . p. 212 
 
 To -214 
 
 Composed among the Green Mountains 215 
 
 A Hymn to the Adorable Trinity 216 
 
 NOTES 219 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 163, second line, for " in" reod is. 
 " 167, second lme,for " Thou" read That. 
 " 175, second line, of third stanza, for " Far" read For. 
 " 184, first line, for " Majestic" read " Majestic." 
 '' 204, eleventh line, the semicolon should be a comma. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 JULY SEPTEMBER, 1838. 
 
" For if of our affections none find grace 
 In sight of Heaven, then wherefore hath God made 
 The world which we inhabit ? Better plea 
 Love cannot have, than that in loving thee 
 Glory to that Eternal Peace is paid, 
 Who such Divinity to thee imparts 
 As haUows and makes pure all gentle hearts." 
 
 [Wordsworth ; from the Italian q/"MiCHAEii Angelo.] 
 
STANZAS DEDICATORY. 
 
 September 16th, 1842. 
 
 On slow but steady wings away 
 
 Four years have flown, my dearest Mary, 
 
 Since I, alone from day to day, 
 
 Began to frame this tender lay 
 
 To cheer a life too solitary. 
 
 Charmed with the new, unthought-of power, 
 I left the sweet, half-finished task ; 
 Wandering through all the Muse's bower, 
 To pluck each day a fresher flower, 
 Or in some softer sunlight bask. 
 
16 
 
 But overpassed my tranquil dream 
 The sudden clouds of breezy life ; 
 Events in swift and dizzying stream 
 Swept by ; until at length I seem 
 Anointed for a sacred strife. 
 
 A holy order I receive, 
 Sworn servant of the sanctuary ; — 
 The fight divine how could I leave, 
 And fame eternal, thus to weave 
 A tale of earthly love, my Mary ] 
 
 Opposing voices raised to warn, 
 Thy heart with apprehension smote, 
 When from a bank of quiet torn. 
 O'er a wild torrent thou wast borne, 
 And placed within my slender boat. 
 
 But given then as 'twere to death. 
 And buried in that mystic water, 
 Breathing a new, more heavenly breath 
 Thou rosest, and wert now by faith 
 The heavenly Zion's new-born daughter. 
 
17 
 
 Could not with mine securely flow 
 Through this hard world thy maiden life ; 
 My early love thou well didst know ; 
 (Could I forget it now ?) and so — 
 The convert has become the wife. 
 
 And this slight task I did pursue, 
 While by thy couch, my love, I feared ; 
 And, since I there must linger, knew 
 That while beneath my hands it grew, 
 Thy hours of languor more were cheered. 
 
 Be thine the wreath was thus entwined : 
 And may what most to thee endears 
 My tale, and is within it shrined. 
 As it has won thy thoughtful mind. 
 Still meet with apprehensive ears. 
 
 B* 
 
18 
 
 THE TRYSTING PLACE. 
 
 July, 1838. 
 
 It was a land where summer soon 
 Puts on its robes of warmth and hght ; 
 'Twas in the leafy month of June, 
 And on a lovely afternoon : 
 The earth was green, the sky was bright. 
 
 Forth to the fields wild fruits to gather 
 With baskets on our arms we walked ; 
 Our friends and we went forth together, 
 And of the country and the weather, 
 And such like things, we gaily talked. 
 
19 
 
 But very soon a field I spied 
 
 Where those wild fruits might plenteous be ; 
 
 And so I told my love aside, 
 
 And stealthily we thither hied, — 
 
 The stealth of sportive rivalry. 
 
 But soon our gaiety was gone 
 
 As further from the rest we wandered ; 
 
 Our voices lost their lively tone, 
 
 And then in silence moved we on. 
 
 While I my heart's wild wishes pondered. 
 
 It was a country rich but wild. 
 In parts almost a wilderness ; 
 With rocks upon each other piled, 
 And woods encircling meadows mild. 
 Most lovely in their loneliness. 
 
 Wearing a-down those rocks its way, 
 
 A rapid mountain-streamlet foamed ; 
 
 And wetted by its showering spray, 
 
 How freshly green about it lay 
 
 The wood-girt fields through which it roamed. 
 
20 
 
 Over the streamlet led the way, 
 Where, by its winter-wrath uprooted, 
 A fallen trunk across it lay ; 
 And find an easy passage they 
 Who are bold-hearted and sure-footed. 
 
 Narrow the bridge — the stream ran fast ; 
 My hand's assistance Gertrude sought ; 
 Slowly we crossed, but crossed at last, 
 And I, when we had overpassed, 
 Her gentle clasp relinquished not. 
 
 But through those fields by woods shut in, 
 Now onward hand in hand we went. 
 To where amid one meadow green 
 A lonely rock to rise was seen ; 
 And thitherward our steps we bent. 
 
 A rock embowered with shrub and tree, 
 
 And thick-leaved vine that wreathes the whole 
 
 Of what to us doth seem to be 
 
 An isle amid that verdant sea 
 
 Whose grassy waves around it roll. 
 
 / 
 
21 
 
 The rock's gray forehead jutted through 
 The embowering vines, — in autumn mellow 
 Hung with the wild grape's clusters blue, 
 And coloured leaves of blood-red hue, 
 With purples mixed, and vivid yellow. 
 
 But now in dark or lighter green, 
 Were clad both vine and slender tree ; 
 Within whose deep encircling screen. 
 The straight and numerous stems between, 
 A surface of smooth rock must be. 
 
 We clambered up its steep ascent : 
 A seat among the vines I made ; 
 Their canopy above us bent ; 
 Their leafy veil around us went. 
 Offering concealment, rest and shade. 
 
 We rest on this attractive seat ; 
 And delicate wild flowers that grew 
 From the live rock beneath our feet. 
 Yielded their odours faint and sweet. 
 And gave their modest charms to view. 
 
22 
 
 Here side by side we sate alone, 
 When suddenly she turned her head : 
 And in a deep and earnest tone, 
 The while her eyes did meet my own, 
 " I dearly, dearly love you !" said. 
 
 Oh, never tenderness more chaste 
 Was breathed in woman's voice or look ! 
 I did not answer, but I placed 
 My arm around her slender waist. 
 And one white hand in silence took. 
 
 You may behold on yonder lawn 
 A fawn that plays beside its mother ; 
 More timid she than that young fawn, 
 And yet her hand is not withdrawn : 
 My own she clasps within the other — 
 
 And while a deep-drawn sigh relieves 
 
 The burden that were else too much. 
 
 Of thoughts with which her bosom heaves ; 
 
 Her fingers lightly interweaves 
 
 With mine that thrill beneath her touch. 
 
23 
 
 The graceful head is downward bent ; 
 Silent I watch her downcast face, 
 And mark, with feelings strangely blent 
 Across her features eloquent, 
 The rapid thoughts each other chase. 
 
 Her full-orbed eyes that ever seem 
 
 Serenely sad, grow sadder yet ; 
 
 And softer is their liquid gleam ; 
 
 With tears their lids' dark fringes stream ; 
 
 With tears her clear pale cheek is wet. 
 
 To mine she lifts her tearful eyes ; 
 And from their depths upon me broke 
 A light like that of evening skies ; 
 And like the sun-set's brilliant dyes 
 The blushes of her cheek awoke. 
 
 Not her's the cheek where blooms the rose. 
 
 And struggles with the lily white ; 
 
 But in its shadowy repose 
 
 Such lustre was, as moon-light throws 
 
 Over the face of cloudless night. 
 
24 
 
 And as the Aurora's ruddy streak 
 Will with a blushing glory mark 
 The brow of night, so, if she speak, 
 Mantles the blood in Gertrude's cheek, 
 And stains its native clear and dark. 
 
 " I blush to think how tenderly 
 I feel for one so young as you ! 
 And yet 'tis rather what I see 
 Of your young heart, that causes me 
 To feel the shame that now I do. 
 
 " A boy I thought you at the first : 
 But when I knew myself the child ; 
 When at your lips my soul was nursed ; 
 And a new world upon me burst. 
 By you revealed,— I was beguiled. 
 
 " I never dreamed that you might love me ; 
 To win you was not my endeavour ; 
 You seemed beneath me, or above me. 
 I thought your pupil to approve me ; 
 — ^Your mate, — your equal, — never, never ! 
 
25 
 
 " But I will not your hopes deceive, 
 Now I can read that generous heart. 
 Though I shall love you while I live, 
 Yet — ah, the cruel word forgive — 
 'Tis best for both that we should part !" 
 
 " Part ? Why f I falteringly said. 
 Her words recalling then, grew bolder — 
 "You love me — ^then be mine !" — I pled. 
 " I am too young you say to wed, 
 But if I live I shall grow older ! 
 
 " My place in life is yet to gain ; 
 But I have talent — energy ; — 
 My path, it lies before me plain ; — 
 Ere many moons shall wax and wane. 
 My bride, I trust, shall Gertrude be." 
 
 Her sweet, closed hps one moment curled 
 Into a smile of languid pleasure : — 
 " No, no ! you must not yet be hurled 
 Into the vortex of the world. 
 Nor lose those fruits of studious leisure, 
 c 
 
26 
 
 " (Which grow but on that genial soil,) 
 For one who should not be your wife. 
 Quite soon enough will daily toil 
 Its snare inevitable coil 
 Around your thoughtful heart and life. 
 
 " I know— I know what you would say — 
 I cannot suffer to be plighted 
 Your faith to some uncertain day ; 
 Wasting your heart meanwhile, till may 
 Our hands be (all too late) united. 
 
 " In these dark locks of mine, dear Fred, 
 My life's last summer-rose is braided ; 
 And long before we can be wed, 
 Its brilliant petals will be shed. 
 And I be faded — faded — faded !" 
 
 She looked me in the face and smiled, 
 Although her eyes did fill with tears ; 
 With tenderness my heart grew wild — 
 " And shall I be of love beguiled. 
 And happiness, by those few years ? 
 
27 
 
 " Faded ! what then ? — You will be fair 
 Still in your soul your sex above : 
 I too shall fade with thought and care, 
 And then I'll wreathe in Gertrude's hair 
 The never-fading rose of love. 
 
 " In woman's sweet maturity 
 
 — The matchless flower's consummate bloom,- 
 
 I know you are, and joy to see : 
 
 And if it fade, its memory 
 
 Shall linger like the flower's perfume. 
 
 " I fondly, (ah ! how fondly ?) prize 
 Your person and its peerless beauty ; 
 But in my heart the picture lies, — 
 The heart shall then instruct the eyes, 
 Should memory e'er become a duty. 
 
 " The tenderest youth one day must wither ; 
 The heart is soon with beauty sated ; 
 And garner in my breast I'd rather 
 Love's timely harvest, and ingather 
 Affections fully cultivated." 
 
28 
 
 She heard me with a patient smile ; 
 Then calm but sweet she thus replied : — 
 " I do believe you free from guile — 
 You will be ever ; — but meanwhile 
 I must consult my sex's pride. 
 
 " Within my h eart distrust of you 
 Can find no place, — ^no ! not one minute I 
 Nor fears that I shall ever rue 
 My loving you as now I do, 
 Or ever cease to glory in it, 
 
 " But I should hide my head for shame, 
 If I could yield myself to passion ; 
 I love your soul ; I love your fame — 
 A sister might do just the same ; 
 I'll love you still in that pure fashion. 
 
 " But now we part ; — if not for ever. 
 Cannot be known or promised now : — 
 Be fame your bride : (no hard endeavour 
 Will make her yours) but ask me never 
 Till then to break my sacred vow, 
 
29 
 
 " To love you — as a sister may ; — 
 And for your dear society, 
 That each must choose a several way, 
 Nor meet as now from day to day, 
 Till as your hand, your heart be free. 
 
 " For then I could, and feel no shame, 
 
 With sisterly affection twine 
 
 My arms around your neck, and claim 
 
 The privilege of a sister's name 
 
 To ask your kiss and offer mine." 
 
 I answered, " Will you now do so, 
 
 And seal the vow that you have made — 
 
 One such caress on me bestow. 
 
 The first — the last — I e'er shall know ? 
 
 You hesitate — " ** I will," she said. 
 
 Her arm around my neck she flings ; 
 Her lips to mine she gently presses ; 
 For one brief moment trembling clings. 
 Then shrinks with sudden shame that brings 
 A blush for such too bold caresses. 
 
30 
 
 " I know you'll not respect me less,'* 
 She cried, " that this I dare to do." 
 My looks returned her tenderness, 
 And whispered, faltering words express — 
 " I love and I respect you too." 
 
 Two bright wild flowers together grew 
 Upon the rock where still we sate ; 
 (Their root was one, but they were two) 
 With tall green stems of deepest hue, — 
 Each slender stem twined round its mate. 
 
 She plucked them both ; then one bright flower, 
 
 With serious smile, she gave to me — 
 
 " Let this," she said," henceforth have power 
 
 The memory of a sacred hour, 
 
 And happy, to call back to thee. / 
 
 " Be it to you a souvenir, 
 
 And such to me shall be the other ; 
 
 A frail memorial, but dear. 
 
 Of lasting friendship plighted here 
 
 Betwixt us two, beloved brother !" 
 
31 
 
 Oh not with more religious care 
 Were holiest relics guarded ever, 
 Than those now withered leaflets are, 
 Which still upon my heart I wear — 
 From which I will be parted never. 
 
 Oft since, in wild temptation's hour, 
 The sweet and sanctifying charm 
 That dwells within that faded flower. 
 Has proved a spell of instant power 
 To keep my wandering soul from harm. 
 
 Around my person not in vain 
 
 Those consecrating arms did twine ; 
 
 What they have touched I dare not stain, 
 
 Nor e'er that holy kiss profane 
 
 With which her lips have hallowed mine. 
 
 It still recalls our trysting place 
 
 To look upon its faded token ; 
 
 I feel that tremulous embrace — 
 
 I see again that glowing face — 
 
 I hear those accents sweet and broken. 
 
32 
 
 Wherever fall my earthly lot, 
 Whatever be my earthly fate, 
 Never by me can be forgot 
 The hour, and the sequestered spot. 
 To love and honour consecrate. 
 
 % :ic ^^ * :1c :^ 
 
 •r T^ T* T» "p t* 
 
 ****** 
 
 And so we left our rocky isle, 
 Amid its grassy sea so lonely ; 
 A calm resolve was mine the while ; 
 But played upon her face a smile 
 Of high enthusiasm only. 
 
 And lo! the fast-descending sun 
 Smiting the streamlet's shower of spray ,- 
 A many-coloured Iris shone, 
 Whose brilliant bow before us thrown. 
 Now over-arched our homeward way. 
 
33 
 
 Auspicious omen did it seem, 
 
 And sent from Heaven our hearts to cheer ; 
 
 But while did brighter colours gleam 
 
 By far in my enchanting dream, 
 
 We to the rushing stream drew near. 
 
 My aiding hand I offered then, 
 
 For since, our hands had been dissevered ; 
 
 But now the opposing bank to gain 
 
 Unaided all, and not in vain, 
 
 Gertrude courageously endeavoured. 
 
 She was in earnest : — ^years passed over ; 
 Manhood displaced my ardent youth ; 
 I was in distant climes a rover ; 
 Even fame was won ; and still a lover, 
 I then returned to prove my truth. 
 
 The years that stole my youth from me, 
 Had scarcely touched my Gertrude's face ; 
 The beautiful serenity 
 In which she lived, as you might see. 
 Had left her form its girlish grace. 
 
34 
 
 Now need I say that we were wed ? 
 The Church's nuptial sanctities 
 In sacred prelude, duly led 
 My Gertrude to the mystic bed, 
 That chaste and undefiled is. 
 
 The holy Church — we were allied 
 By her dear ritual — at her altar ; 
 Herself a spouse, a royal bride, 
 And knitted to her Maker's side 
 By vows from which she will not falter. 
 
 And they who make their wedded love 
 A type of that mysterious union — 
 The holy guest from worlds above, 
 Whose symbol is the brooding dove. 
 Will sanctify their hearts' communion. 
 
 Supplying in life's little space. 
 
 Through a frail bond which death can sever, 
 
 Of unity an inward grace 
 
 That in a heavenly trysting-place 
 
 Shall bind for ever and for ever. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 SUGGESTED BY 
 
 THE CORONATION OF aUEEN VICTORIA. 
 
 August 4th, 1838. 
 
37 
 
 I. 
 
 THE ABBEY. 
 
 Within the Minster's venerable pile 
 What pomps unwonted flash upon our eyes ! 
 What galleries, in gold and crimson, rise 
 Between the antique pillars of the aisle, 
 Crowded with England's gayest life ; the while 
 Beneath, her dead, unconscious glory lies ; 
 Above, her ancient faith still seeks the skies ; 
 And with apparent life doth well beguile 
 Our senses in that ever-growing roof ; 
 Whence on the soul return those recollections 
 Of her great annals — built to be time-proof, 
 Which chiefly make this spot the fittest scene 
 Wherein to consecrate those new affections 
 We plight this day to Britain's virgin Queen. 
 
 D 
 
38 
 
 II. 
 
 THE QUEEN. 
 
 How strange to see a creature young and fair 
 
 Assume the sceptre of these wide-spread lands ! — 
 
 How in her femininely feeble hands, 
 
 The orb of empire shall she ever bear ! — 
 
 And crowns, they say, not more with gems than care 
 
 Are weighty ; — yet with calmest mien she stands ; 
 
 August in innocence herself commands, 
 
 And will that stately burden lightly wear. 
 
 Claims surely inoffensive ! — What is she ? 
 
 Of ancient sovereignty a living shoot; 
 
 The latest blossom on a royal tree 
 
 Deep in the past extends whose famous root ; 
 
 And realms from age to age securely free, 
 
 Gather of social peace its yet unfaiHng fruit. 
 
89 
 
 III. 
 
 THE CROWNING. 
 
 How dazzling flash the streams of coloured light, 
 
 When on her sacred brow the crown is placed ; 
 
 And straight her peers and dames with haughty haste, 
 
 Their coronets assume, as is their right, 
 
 With sudden blaze making the temple bright. 
 
 Does man's enthusiasm run to waste, 
 
 By which a Queen's investiture is graced 
 
 With deafening demonstrations of delight, 
 
 That from the cannon's roar protect the ear 1 
 
 We may not dare to think so, for His sake 
 
 Whose word has linked king's honour and God's fear. 
 
 Nor is it servile clamour that we make, 
 
 Who, born ourselves to reign, in her revere 
 
 The kingly nature that ourselves partake. 
 
41 
 
 TO EMMELINE ; A THRENODIA, 
 
 November, 1838. 
 
 Sister ! for as such I loved thee. 
 May I not the privilege claim 
 As thy brother to lament thee, 
 Though not mine that sacred name ? 
 
 For though not indeed thy brother, 
 Yet fraternal is the grief, 
 That in tears no solace meeting 
 Now in words would find relief. 
 
 Who did watch thy final conflict ? 
 Who did weep when it was o'er ? 
 Whose the voice which then consoled 
 One by thee beloved more ? 
 
42 
 
 Lips that kissed thy cold white forehead, 
 Sure may sing thy requiem ; 
 Hands that closed thy stiffening eyelids, 
 Should it not be writ by them ? 
 
 To perform those death-bed honours 
 Softened much my deep regret ; 
 But to celebrate thy virtues 
 Is a task more soothing yet. 
 
 O'er thy features death-composed, 
 As the life-like smile that played. 
 By its beauty so familiar 
 Tears drew forth which soon it stayed. 
 
 So the memory of thy goodness 
 Calms the grief that from it springs ; — 
 That which makes our loss the greatest, 
 Sweetest consolation brings. 
 
43 
 
 II. 
 
 When the Christian maiden findeth 
 In the grave a maiden's rest, 
 We mourn not as did the Heathen 
 Over beauty unpossessed. 
 
 As the tender Meleager, 
 In that sweetly mournful strain, 
 Sung the fate of Clearista 
 Borne to nuptial couch in vain. 
 
 How her virgin zone unloosed, 
 She in Death's embraces slept ; 
 As for vainly-wooed Antibia 
 Pure Anyte hopeless wept. 
 
 For the soul to Christ united 
 Need regret no human bliss, 
 And there yet remains a marriage 
 Better than the earthly is. 
 
44 
 
 Wedded love is but the symbol 
 Of a holier mystery, 
 Which unto the stainless only 
 Ever shall unfolded be. 
 
 Life and Hope, when they embracing 
 Seem like one, are Love on earth ; 
 Death and Hope, so reuniting, 
 Are the Love of heavenly birth. 
 
 Was it haply this foreknowing 
 That thou so would'st ever be ? 
 From pursuing ardours shrinking 
 In thy saintly chastity. 
 
45 
 
 III. 
 
 In thy fairy-like proportions 
 Woman's dignity was yet, 
 And in all thy winning actions 
 With the grace of childhood met. 
 
 With what light and airy motion 
 Wert thou wont to glide or spring ! 
 As if were that shape elastic 
 Lifted by an unseen wing. 
 
 In what sweet and lively accents 
 Flowed or gushed thy talk or song ! 
 What pure thoughts and gentle feelings 
 Did that current bear along ! 
 
 But affliction prematurely 
 On thy tender graces breathed, 
 And in sweet decay about thee 
 Were the faded flowerets wreathed. 
 
46 
 
 Blasts that smite with death the flower, 
 Cull for use the ripened fruit ; 
 Suns the plant that overpower, 
 Cannot kill the buried root ; 
 
 So the grief that dimmed thy beauty 
 Showered gifts of higher worth, 
 And the germ of both is hidden 
 Safely now within the earth. 
 
 Nature, eldest, truest sybil, 
 Writes upon her withered leaves. 
 Words of joy restored prophetic 
 To the heart her law bereaves. 
 
47 
 
 IV. 
 
 Greenly swell the clustering mountains 
 Whence thy passing spirit went ; 
 Clear the waters they embosom ; 
 Blue the skies above them bent. 
 
 Passed away the spirit wholly 
 From the haunts to us so dear? 
 Or at will their forms assuming, 
 In them doth it reappear ? 
 
 For there is a new expression 
 
 Now pervading all the place ; 
 
 Rock and stream do look with meanings 
 
 Such as wore thy living face. 
 
 Nor alone the face of Nature ; — 
 Human features show it too ; 
 Chiefly those by love illumined 
 Of the heart-united few. 
 
48 
 
 We upon each other gazing, 
 Mystic shadows come and go, 
 Over each loved visage flitting, 
 Why and whence we do not know. 
 
 In the old familiar dances 
 Mingle thy accustomed feet ; 
 Blending with the song familiar 
 Still are heard thy concords sweet. 
 
 Hence we know the world of spirits 
 Is not far from each of us ; 
 Scarce that veil forbids our entrance 
 Which thou hast half-hfted thus. 
 
49 
 
 TO 
 
 WITH THE POEMS OF BRYANT. 
 
 September, 1838. 
 
 By the rich sunset's " flush of crimson light," 
 The page wherein it burns my friend shall read, 
 Though not such aid shall faithful memory need, 
 When that fast-fading glow shall fail her sight ; 
 But as " the new moon's modest bow grows bright," 
 And on some face beloved, the radiance streams, 
 The lay that tells the beauty of those beams 
 With voice distinct and sweet shall she recite. 
 Whose stainless lips may fearlessly repeat 
 Each flowing verse, nor aught that pleasure mar ; 
 Whose modest eye on each fair page shall meet 
 Language as pure as her own feelings are, 
 Enshrining thoughts as delicately sweet. 
 To her than loftier strains such dearer far. 
 
 E 
 
POEMS. 
 
 PART SECOND, 
 
 FRAGMENTS AND INSCRIPTIONS FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 THE WINTER MONTHS OF 1838 AND 1839. 
 
 Ait]6ov6g. 
 
SONNET DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO THE REV. SAMUEL SEABURY, D. D., OF NEW- YORK. 
 
 September 13th, 1842. 
 
 These flowers from Meleager's garland, still 
 
 From age to age imperishably sweet, 
 
 To thee, my friend, I bring, an offering meet. 
 
 The wreath imperfect, but with earnest will 
 
 Entwined, for one who to the ancient rill 
 
 Of Castaly, my inexperienced feet 
 
 Might well have guided ; — so some sacred seat 
 
 I might have found, high on Parnassus' hill. 
 
 Thy reverend ancestor was he, who first 
 
 Brought to our shores the Apostolic line, 
 
 And mid the scorn of proud schismatics, durst 
 
 Plant on New-England's coast the heavenly vine 
 
 Of the true Church ; whose children now are nursed 
 
 With milk of doctrine pure by lips of thine. 
 
FRAGMENTS AND INSCRIPTIONS FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 Winter Months, 1838 and 1839. 
 
 FROM SIMONIDES. 
 
 I. 
 
 ON VOTIVE ARROWS IN THE TEMPLE OF MINERVA ; AN INSCRIPTION. 
 
 These arrows, ceasing now from war the tearful, 
 Beneath Minerva's sacred roof repose ; 
 — Oft in the groaning rout, in battle fearful, 
 Bathed in the blood of mounted Persian foes. 
 
 II. 
 
 ON A SPEAR PLACED AGAINST A COLUMN IN A TEMPLE OP JUPITER ' 
 AN INSCRIPTION. 
 
 Thus, long ash-spear ! this column tall adorn ; 
 
 And sacred to oracular Jove remain. 
 
 For now thy brass is old, thyself art worn, 
 
 (Long brandished in fierce wars) though close in grain. 
 
56 
 
 III. 
 
 ON THOSE WHO FELL AT THERMOPYL^ ; A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Of those that perished at Thermopylae 
 
 Most glorious the lot, and beautiful the fall. 
 
 An altar-tomb ! and for libations shall 
 
 Remembrance, and for wailings praises be, 
 
 And such a burial as this hath been. 
 
 Nor mould, nor Time that all things doth subdue. 
 
 Shall e'er efface, — the burial of brave men. 
 
 The sepulchre of these her servants true 
 
 The honouring thoughts of Greece for 'tself hath won, 
 
 And testifies Leonidas the same. 
 
 Of Sparta king, of valourous actions done 
 
 Leaving a splendour great, and overflowing fame. 
 
 ly. 
 
 FOR THE VOTIVE PICTURES OF CERTAIN WOMEN OF CORINTH, 
 
 To whose intercession with Venus the safety of that Citadel of Greece was attributed. 
 
 For Greece, and for their townsmen fair in fight, 
 These maids divine to Cypris stood to pray ; 
 For not to archer Modes did Aphrodite 
 Conspire the Grecian fortress to betray. 
 
57 
 
 V. 
 
 DANAE's lament ; A FRAGMENT. 
 
 When on the curious ark the winds 
 
 Blew roaring, and the heaving sea 
 That on it beat, with terror whelmed 
 Her, Danae 
 
 With not unmoistened cheeks, around 
 
 Perseus threw her tender arm, 
 And cried, " What woes are mine, my child, 
 While thou so calm- 
 
 " Ly sleepest ; with a nursling's heart, 
 Deep slumbering in a cheerless ark, 
 Brass-studded, and night-glimmering, 
 In the storm dark. 
 
 "Nor thou the overpassing wave 
 
 — That rolleth by, but doth not wet 
 The curlets of thy clustering hair, — 
 Dost heed ; nor yet 
 
58 
 
 " The angry voices of the wind 
 
 Thy calm infantile slumbers chase ; 
 Wrapt in thy purple little-cloak ; — - 
 Beautiful face ! 
 
 " But if this fearful fate of ours 
 Were unto thee indeed a fear, 
 Thou would'st unto my words apply 
 Thy little ear. 
 
 " But sleep I bid thee, O my child, 
 
 And sleep thou too, O restless sea ; 
 And sleep, what measured cannot be, 
 My misery ! 
 
 " A foolish plan may this appear, 
 
 O Father Jove ! and though it be 
 
 A daring prayer, through this my son 
 
 Avenge thou me." 
 
59 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME. 
 
 When on the ark Daedalean blew 
 
 The loud wind, and the heaving sea 
 
 With terror whelmed her ; Danae, 
 
 With moistened cheeks, round Perseus threw 
 
 Her tender arm ; and cried, " O child, 
 
 What woe is mine, and thou dost sleep ! 
 
 Hushed, nursling-like, in slumbers deep, 
 
 In this unblest, brass-bolted ark, 
 
 Night-glimmering in the tempest dark. 
 
 Nor o'er thy clustering hair so dry, 
 
 Dost heed the billows passing by. 
 
 Nor yet of winds the voices high, 
 
 In purple cloaklet wrapt : — sweet face ! 
 
 But didst thou know thy fearful case, 
 
 Unto my words thy little ear 
 
 Would'st give : — but sleep, I bid thee, child ! 
 
 Sleep, sea ! sleep, ills upon me piled ! 
 
 A foolish plan may this appear, 
 
 Father ! and though bold words they be, 
 
 Through this my son avenge thou me." 
 
60 
 
 VI. 
 
 VIRTUE : A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Virtue 'tis said of old, doth dwell 
 On scarce accessible rocks, and there 
 
 The goddess swift the sacred region keeps : 
 To eyes of man invisible. 
 Except soul-gnawing sweat he bear 
 
 Within, and climb to manhood's highest steeps. 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION. 
 
 (According to another reading.) 
 
 'Tis said that Virtue dwelleth on a height 
 Hard to be climbed, and there is aye prepared 
 The region pure on every side to guard : 
 Nor is she visible to mortal sight, 
 Unless from man within exhausting sweat 
 Come forth, and he to manhood's summit get. 
 
61 
 
 VII. 
 
 LIFE ; AN INSCRIPTION. 
 
 Of things possessed by men endureth nought. 
 Once beautifully spake the Chian then, 
 " Such as the race of leaves is that of men !" 
 This mortals few that by the ear have caught, 
 Lodge in their breasts ; — the hope by nature wrought 
 In youthful hearts, abides with each of men. 
 A mortal, youth's loved flower who doth retain. 
 Plans without end revolves in fickle thought ; 
 Nor to grow old expects, nor yet to die. 
 Nor while in health doth sickness apprehend. 
 Fools, that are minded thus ! they do not know 
 How soon the youth and life of mortals go. 
 But thou, this learning, till thy life shall end. 
 Thy soul with good things dare to gratify. 
 
62 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION ; FROM MIMNERMUS. 
 
 We, like the leaves born of the flowery prime, 
 When the spring-suns to sudden splendour grow. 
 Like them with flowers of youth a cubit's time 
 Delighted are ; nor from the Gods we know 
 Evil or good. But near stand gloomy Fates, 
 One having of old age the troublous end, 
 And one of death. Youth's time of fruitage mates 
 That of the light the sun on earth doth spend ; 
 When of this season brief the term is o'er. 
 Straightway to die, is better than to live; 
 For many things unto the mind are sore ; 
 A troubled house and poverty us grieve ; 
 One children wishes, and all things above 
 Desiring this, goes childless to the tomb ; 
 One has heart-wasting sickness ; nor hath Jove 
 To one of men assigned a lot not full of gloom. 
 
63 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FROM SOLON. 
 
 And suddenly, 
 
 As when the wind the clouds at once hath scattered, 
 
 The wind of Spring — which of the billowy sea 
 
 The barren depths hath roused, — the works hath shattered 
 
 That on the fruitful earth so beauteous be : — 
 
 To the Gods' seat, high heaven, hath then ascended, 
 
 And caused to appear again the blue serene : — 
 
 Shines Sol's bright strength o'er earth the wide-extended, 
 
 While of the clouds not one can now be seen. 
 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR A SMALL TEMPLE OF VENUS OF THE SEA. 
 
 Simple this shrine, where by the dark-white waves 
 I sit the mistress of a sea-beat shore ; 
 
 But loved : for in the wide-vexed ocean's roar 
 I joy, and when my hand the seaman saves. 
 
 Propitiate Venus, and she will to thee 
 
 Breathe favouring, in love, or on the clear blue sea. 
 
64 
 
 THE SWORD WITH MYRTLE WREATHED. 
 
 ATTRIBUTED TO ALCJEUS. 
 
 The myrtle-wreathed sword I'll bear 
 Harmodius and Aristogeiton bore, 
 
 Who did to slay the tyrant dare 
 And equal laws to Athenae restore. 
 
 Harmodius dear, thou art not dead I 
 But in the blessed islands, where, they say, 
 
 Achilles swift, and Diomed 
 Tydeides rest, dost ever dwell, they say. 
 
 With myrtle wreaths my sword I'll twine ; 
 Harmodius and Aristogeiton too 
 
 So did, and at Minerva's shrine 
 The tyrant man, Hipparchus, slew. 
 
 Their names shall live on earth for aye ; — 
 Harmodius and Aristogeite adored ! 
 
 Because they did the tyrant slay. 
 And equal laws to Athenae restored. 
 
65 
 
 INSCRIPTION TO A CICADA. 
 
 Noisy Cicada ! drunk with dew-drops sweet, 
 With rustic songs thou to thyself dost sing ; 
 
 And seated high, with broad serrated feet 
 
 Dost make thy body black with lyre-like notes to ring. 
 
 But strike up, dear, some new and playful catch, 
 To the wood-nymphs by turns with Pan's loud cry. 
 
 Till 'scaped from love a midday nap I snatch, 
 Beneath this shady plane as here I lie. 
 
 IN BEHALF OF A CICADA. 
 
 Why, shepherds, drag with shameful chase the loneness- 
 
 loving me. 
 Poor cricket, from the dew- wet, topmost branches of the tree ? 
 The wayside songster of the nymphs, that in the midday heat, 
 Unto the hills and shady vales do prattle ever sweet. 
 But see the thrush and black-bird, and the many starlings see ; 
 How of the wealth of tilled earth so many thieves they be ! 
 Those spoilers of the fruits to catch, is right ; then kill you them; 
 But leaves and this fresh dew to grudge, oh ! is it not a shame ? 
 
66 
 
 ON A CICADA AND A SPIDER. 
 
 With pliant feet the spider finely weaving 
 The cricket in its tangled snares made fast. 
 
 But in the slender fetters low sighs heaving 
 I saw, and to the child of song did haste ; 
 
 And loosing from the meshes, freed it ; and said I, 
 
 " Be saved, to sound with a melodious cry !" 
 
 TO A NIGHTINGALE 
 
 CARRYING OFF A CICADA TO ITS NESTLINGS. 
 
 Attic Maiden, honey-fed ! a prattler thou, a prattler taking, 
 The cicada bearest away, a feast unto thy nestHngs making. 
 Warbling thou, a warbler seize ! the winged make the bright- 
 winged die ! 
 Guest, dost seize a fellow-guest ! the summer-bird, the summer- 
 fly ! 
 Wilt not quickly let it go ? For 'tis not fit, thy young to cherish, 
 'Tis not just, that songsters should by mouths of fellow- 
 songsters perish. 
 
67 
 
 TO A BEE. 
 
 Thou nimble Bee ! the sweet-flowered season showing ; 
 Crazed, yellow one ! for flowers early blowing : 
 Fluttering o'er fragrant fields, oh, labour well, 
 Until is filled thy wax-compacted cell. 
 
 ON A WRETCHED OLD MAN 
 
 FOUND DEAD IN A TOMB. 
 
 By age and want worn out, nor any one 
 To help my wretched case an alms extending, 
 With trembling limbs here softly lying down, 
 Scarce of a wretched life I found the ending. 
 The burial law reversed, I did not die, 
 And after was entombed ; but being entombed, died I. 
 
68 
 
 FOR THE TOMB OF A HAPPY OLD MAN. 
 
 Take old Amyntas to thy heart, dear Earth ! 
 
 Remembering his many toils for thee. 
 
 How on thee he did raise the olive tree, 
 
 And did thy slopes with mantling vines adorn. 
 
 How oft he filled thy lap with foodful corn ; 
 
 And leading to thee fertilizing streams. 
 
 Made thee to plants and harvest fruits give birth. 
 
 For this do thou all softly lie, O Earth ! 
 
 Upon the head that now so hoary seems, 
 
 And with spring-plants do thou him flower-adorn. 
 
 FOR A TOMB OF SMALL DIMENSIONS. 
 
 Let this, O honoured friend ! a record be — 
 This stone so small — of my great love to thee. 
 Thee shall I still regret ; if fate allow, 
 Of Lethe for my sake drink not the waters thou. 
 
69 
 
 ON A BRIDE 
 
 WHO DIED UPON HER WEDDING NIGHT. 
 
 BY MELEAGER. 
 
 No nuptial clasp but Death's did she receive, 
 
 When Cleariste her virgin knot untied ; 
 
 At the bride's doors breathed now the flutes of eve ; 
 
 And closed her echoing doors upon the bride. 
 
 Early at morn the shout of joy was sped, 
 
 But mid the Hymenean, changed to woe : 
 
 And the same torches to the chamber led, 
 
 And showed the pathway to the shades below. 
 
 ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME, IN THE ELEGIAC MEASURE. 
 
 No marriage rites but Death's nuptial embrace, Clearista 
 
 Then received, when she her virgin knot untied, 
 For but now the evening flutes at the doors of the bride 
 were breathing, 
 
 And of the bridal chamber echoed the closing doors : 
 And in the morning was shouted the shout of congratulation, 
 
 But, mid the Hymenean, silenced, was changed to a wail : 
 And the same torches both to the nuptial chamber torch- 
 lighted. 
 
 And to the shades below, showed the path of the dead. 
 
70 
 TO HELIODORA. 
 
 (his wife) ; BY MELEAGER. 
 
 Tears to thee, Heliodora ! though beneath 
 
 The ground, I give ; — love has no more for death : 
 
 Sad tears ! and o'er the tomb that I deplore, 
 
 A stream of fond regrets and memories pour. 
 
 Forlorn, to thee, dear even in death, I rave ; 
 
 Poor Meleager ! to the thankless grave. 
 
 Woe ! Woe ! where is my darling plant ? Has spoiled, 
 
 Spoiled it, Death : dust the perfect flower hath soiled. 
 
 O Mother Earth ! all cherishing of old, 
 
 Softly unto thy breast my much lamented fold. 
 
 FUNERAL INSCRIPTION 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HERACLITUS OF HALICARNASSUS, THE 
 ELEGIAC POET. 
 
 Told, Heraclitus ! of thy death, tears wet 
 
 My cheek, and I recalled each time we two 
 
 Talked down the sun. But somewhere, long since, thou, 
 
 Halicarnassean guest ! art ashes. Yet 
 
 Survive thy nightingales ; nor e'er on those 
 
 Shall the arch-robber Death his hand impose. 
 
71 
 
 HYMN TO HYGEIA. 
 
 Hygeia ! most revered of all the blest, 
 With thee I'd live of all my life the rest ; 
 Be thou to me a voluntary guest. 
 
 If aught there be in riches of delight, 
 Or, what is godlike most to human sight, 
 In kingly rule ; or in the stolen rite 
 
 Of venturous Love, which we to gain have striven ; 
 
 If any other joy to man by Heaven, 
 
 Or breathing space from toil, be ever given ; 
 
 Through thee they flourish all, Hygeia blest ! 
 By thee are graced with a spring-like zest ; 
 Nor any man deprived of thee is blest. 
 
THE SONG OF THE ROBBER-CHIEF. 
 
 Great riches have I, a spear and a sword, 
 And good hide-bound shield the body to guard ; 
 
 With this I plough ; with this I reap ; 
 With this the sweet wine I tread from the vine ; 
 
 With this my household slaves I keep. 
 
 Who dare not to have a spear and a sword, 
 And good hide-bound shield the body to guard ; 
 
 Upon their knees themselves must fling, 
 And so proclaim me their master to be. 
 
 And honour me as mighty King. 
 
 THE WISH OF YOUNG FANCY. 
 
 O that a beauteous lyre 
 
 Of ivory I were ; 
 That me the beauteous youths 
 
 To Bacchus' dance might bear. 
 
 O that a beauteous chalice 
 
 I were of virgin gold ; 
 That me a beauteous woman 
 
 Of chastest mind might hold. 
 
73 
 
 FRAGMENTS FROM THE ILIAD. 
 
 I. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE GREEK PHALANX. 
 
 Stood round the Ajaces both the squadrons strong, 
 Which not even Mars inspecting could reprove, 
 Or warlike Pallas' self ; for the brave chosen 
 The Trojans and their godlike Hector wait, 
 Deep-closing spear with spear, shield with firm shield. 
 While sword pressed sword, helm helm, and man on man, 
 Shone then of horse-haired helms the blazing studs. 
 As nodded those who close together stood. 
 Bristled the threatened battle with long spears. 
 Sharp, which they held ; the eyes were blinded by 
 The glare of brass from helmets flashing bright. 
 From breastplates polished new, and shining shields. 
 Onward together moving. Bold his heart 
 Who seeing this, admired, but trembled not. 
 
 G 
 
74 
 
 II. 
 
 HELEN TO HECTOR : A PICTURE OP TROJAN CHIVALRY. 
 
 Hector ! of all my brothers dearest far, 
 
 Since I espoused the godlike Paris, who 
 
 Led me to Troy when first I should have died. 
 
 For now already 'tis my twentieth year 
 
 Since here I came, even from my country came, 
 
 But ne'er have heard from thee harsh word unkind. 
 
 But even if any in the court did chide, 
 
 Brother-in-law, or sister, brother's bride, 
 
 Splendidly robed, or if thy mother even, 
 
 (Thy father as a father still was kind) 
 
 Thou wouldst with words persuasive each restrain : 
 
 — By thy soft bearing and thy sweet-toned words. 
 
75 
 
 III. 
 
 HOMERIC PORTRAIT OF ARISTOCRACY IN THE HEROIC AGE. 
 
 Him then addressed Hippolochus' bright son. 
 
 " High-souled Tydeides ! wherefore ask my race ? 
 
 As is the race of leaves is that of men. 
 
 The leaves the wind doth strew on earth ; the wood 
 
 Still germinating lives and buds in Spring. 
 
 Such is the race of men : it lives ; it dies. 
 
 But this if thou wouldst learn, be then informed 
 
 Of my descent, which many know indeed." 
 
POEMS. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 DECEMBER, 1838 AUGUST, 1839. 
 
 » 
 
SONNET DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO D. HUNTINGTON, N. A. 
 
 September 12th, 1842. 
 
 I could not dedicate to any other 
 
 The work of those brief days of light and power, 
 
 When visible Nature was the Muse's dower. 
 
 Nor was the inspiration from another 
 
 By me derived than from that genial mother, 
 
 When far from running stream and leafy bower, 
 
 I gazed on sweetest landscapes by the hour 
 
 Which in thy darkened studio, my brother, 
 
 Grew on the accustomed sight. Nor thou refuse 
 
 This tribute of affection : — we were mated 
 
 In childhood's innocent sports ; the sacred Muse 
 
 Of both the early manhood consecrated ; 
 
 Whence both have won what life shall never lose, 
 
 Imagination pure and elevated. 
 
THE SONG OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 December 31st, 1838, 
 
 Of brethren we six thousand be, 
 Nor one e'er saw another ; 
 
 By birth-law dire must each expire 
 To make way for a brother ; 
 
 Old Father Time our common sire, 
 Eternity our mother. 
 
 When we have spent the life she lent. 
 Her breast we do not spurn ; 
 
 The very womb from which we loom, 
 To it we still return ; 
 
 Its boundless gloom becomes a tomb 
 Our shadows to inurn. 
 
82 
 
 In the hour of my birth, there was joy and mirth ; 
 
 And shouts of gladness filled my ear ; 
 But directly after each burst of laughter 
 
 Came sounds of pain and fear ; 
 — ^The groans of the dying, the bitter crying 
 
 Of those who held them dear. 
 
 The regular beat of dancing feet 
 Ushered my advent in ; 
 
 But on the air the voice of prayer 
 Arose above the din ; 
 
 Its accents sweet did still entreat 
 Pardon for human sin. 
 
 As thus began my twelve-month's span, 
 
 Through the infinite extended ; 
 So ever hath run on my path, 
 
 'Twixt joy and grief suspended ; 
 But chiefly measured by things most treasured, 
 
 In death with burdens blended. 
 
83 
 
 The bell aye tolls for departing souls 
 Of those whom I have slain ; 
 
 The ceaseless knell to me doth tell 
 Each minute of my reign. 
 
 Their bodies left of life bereft, 
 Would cumber hill and plain. 
 
 But I have made, with my restless spade, 
 
 Their thirty-million graves ; 
 With constant toil upturning the soil, 
 
 Or parting the salt-sea waves, 
 To find a bed for my countless dead 
 
 In the secret ocean-caves. 
 
 By fond hopes blighted, of true vows plighted 
 
 Showing the little worth ; 
 By affections wasted : by joys scarce tasted, 
 
 Or poisoned e'er their birth ; 
 I have proved to many, there is not any 
 
 Pure happiness on earth. 
 
84 
 
 And prophetic power upon the hour 
 
 Of my expiring waits ; 
 What I have been not enters in 
 
 With me the silent gates : 
 The fruit within its grace, or sin, 
 
 For endless harvest waits. 
 
 And lo, as I pass, with that running glass 
 That counts my last moments of sorrow. 
 
 The tale I tell, if pondered well. 
 
 The soul of young hope must harrow ; 
 
 For mirrored in me, ye behold what shall be 
 In the New-Year born to-morrow. 
 
85 
 
 INTRODUCTORY SONNET 
 
 OF A PKOPOSED SERIES DESIGNED FOR A CARRIER's ADDRESS. 
 
 January 1, 1839. 
 
 The Carrier solicits attention to his verses, and claims the 
 prerogative of the Ancient Minstrel. 
 
 List, list ye, Gentles, while with artful verse 
 Your Carrier doth his humble trade extol, 
 And breathing through his rhymes a living soul 
 Of power poetic, the Old Year rehearse, 
 In stately-moving sonnets, sweet yet terse, 
 "Which, full of melody as meaning, roll, 
 The mournful, pleasant wheels of joy and dole ; 
 The New Year following the Old Year's hearse. 
 Wordsworth his Pedlar likened to the Knight ; 
 This was a fancy, and perhaps a folly : 
 But sure the Minstrel's type is now the Carrier ; 
 Both wanderers far and wide to scatter light. 
 The light of knowledge, both profane and holy : 
 But 'gainst the dark raise we the stronger barrier. 
 
 H 
 
86 
 
 TO 
 
 January 1st, 1839. 
 
 At thy request I hail the opening year, 
 With verse that pays no hollow compliment, 
 To one who hath no slender portion lent 
 Of daily happiness that renders dear 
 The year now passed away ; nor do I fear 
 Thy kind accepting what I now present, 
 " A token (may it prove a monument) 
 Of high respect and gratitude sincere." 
 And though the verse that tells that gratitude 
 Be slight indeed, still. Lady, let it prove 
 To thee, a heart with no slight sense imbued 
 Of obligations deep, that are above 
 The power of words, and only are made good 
 By truest friendship and fraternal love. 
 
87 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY D. HUNTINGTON : 
 
 A VIEW OF A RAVINE NEAR THE HEAD-WATERS OF THE RAMAPO. 
 
 March, 1839. 
 
 The cascade flashes through the lit ravine ; 
 
 And where the settler's axe has thinned the trees, 
 
 The sun looks through their bright autumnal screen 
 
 Of coloured leaves. Fantastic visages 
 
 Of rocks illumined by his smile he sees ; 
 
 Their shattered fronts the forest stems between, 
 
 And all with creeping vegetation green. 
 
 Flies 'twixt the mossy trunks the dripping breeze, 
 
 On its moist wings outbearing to our ears 
 
 A pleasant rustle of decaying leaves,-— 
 
 And the hoarse gurgle of descending waters : 
 
 Commingling sounds, which charmed Fancy hears 
 
 And pure Imagination glad receives ; 
 
 — Of Memory and Delight the twin-born daughters. 
 
88 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE PENDANT TO THE FORMER ? 
 
 A VIEW ON THE RAMAPO, WITH A BRIDGE. BY THE SAME ARTIST. 
 
 April, 1839. 
 
 The stream is now a torrent, and doth force 
 
 Its way, mid foam and noise, beneath the rocks 
 
 Late from whose height it fell. The incessant shocks 
 
 Of the young waters, from a sky-fed source 
 
 For ever rushing on their seaward course, 
 
 Have worn this chasm. The " mountain infant" mocks 
 
 His prison, and its gate compact unlocks. 
 
 And still escapes, with ceaseless laughter hearse. 
 
 Above the noise and spray, a rustic bridge, 
 
 Hanging against the faintly-luminous sky, 
 
 Extends its trembling weight from ridge to ridge. 
 
 As if, the unconscious torrent's wrath despite. 
 
 To show with pains how sHght, can Man supply 
 
 What Nature wrought with patience infinite. 
 
89 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 
 
 April, 1839. 
 
 O Vision sweet ! to which the wearied eye 
 
 Returns, and lingers at the heart's demand. 
 
 For while I seem on this worn rock to stand, 
 
 And see yon structure frail, that hangs so high, 
 
 Under the step of casual passer-by 
 
 Tremble and bend, — straight Fancy moves her wand. 
 
 And the slight work, rude-framed by unskilled hand, 
 
 Loosens and rushes headlong ; — with a cry, 
 
 Beneath the whirling water disappearing. 
 
 The bodily eye can still its outline trace. 
 
 Binding the scene in one harmonious whole ; 
 
 But to the mind, that sees an empty space, 
 
 Come agitations sweet of tender fearing, 
 
 Recalling to the sense the startled soul. 
 
90 
 
 A DREAM OF YOUTH. 
 
 April, 1839. 
 
 Deep in some forest shall I one day find 
 
 A fountain clear, from hidden sources fed, 
 
 Over whose grassy marge hangs low-inclined 
 
 Of many a beauteous tree the green-tressed head 
 
 — That doth therein, in Spring, white blossoms shed, 
 
 And doth its golden Autumn locks unbind 
 
 In that pure mirror ; — and the Summer wind, 
 
 To cool his fainting wings, is thither led. 
 
 About it every bright melodious bird 
 
 Hath built with sweetest songs her secret nest. 
 
 But ne'er the beauty that hath alway dwelt 
 
 Around that fountain, and within its breast, 
 
 By man was seen : nor e'er by man was felt 
 
 That grateful coolness, or that music heard. 
 
91 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY C. VER BRYCK, N. A. 
 
 REPRESENTING CHARLES THE FIRST IN THE STUDIO OF VAN DYCK. 
 
 May, 1839. 
 
 I SEE a shadowy, air-pervaded room ; 
 
 And coloured forms diverse, that harmonize 
 
 And blend like one. 'Midst these how mild doth rise 
 
 That martyr king whose face foretold his doom ! 
 
 But dwells, displacing now their wonted gloom, 
 
 Calm admiration in those royal eyes, 
 
 And tranquil pleasure : — Time the while still flies, 
 
 And brings unrest that leads but to the tomb ; 
 
 Not now the phantom scythe, but axe of steel 
 
 Uplifting for a stroke delayed yet sure. 
 
 And o'er the king the honoured painter bends, 
 
 With look and posture that a soul reveal 
 
 In His approval smilingly secure. 
 
 Whose sovereign course in swift destruction ends. 
 
92 
 
 SUNSET LYRIC, 
 
 June, 1839. 
 
 On the calmed sea is falling — 
 
 Falling, like a charm 
 Melting down its waves — the Sunset ; 
 
 Sunset bright and warm. 
 
 Masts and spars and rigging blacken 
 
 All betwixt the sky 
 (Ruddy, clear, a rosy chrystal !) 
 
 And the glistening eye. 
 
 Sound is none ; but sweet as music 
 
 Is the melody 
 Of the gradual colours, stealing 
 
 O'er the charmed sea. 
 
93 
 
 All is changing, fading, darkening, - 
 
 Lo ! the gleam is gone, 
 Thousand billows that were sleeping 
 
 Rise and toss like one. 
 
 Masts and spars and rigging whiten 
 
 Soon beneath the pale, 
 Silver Moonlight : — and the breezes 
 
 Fill the rustling sail. 
 
94 
 
 TO 
 
 June 12th. 1839. 
 
 MORE than friend, and more than sister dear ! 
 For hast thou not a heart susceptible 
 
 Yet pure 1 a breast that cannot help but thrill 
 With quick and sweet emotion, at the mere 
 Touch of apparent friendship : whence sincere 
 Words, earnestly affectionate, that will 
 Be uttered : — acts of kindness ; — looks that still 
 Speak love whose very weakness I revere : 
 — Folded in thy meek arms last night, his fate 
 
 1 envied not, whose unbelief or haste. 
 Fearing to lose the girl's pure feelings, could 
 Love's fair and timely harvest not await ; 
 Whence stands unreaped, in sweet ungarnered waste, 
 The rich and ripened heart of womanhood. 
 
95 
 
 DELICIJE NOVI EBORACI. 
 
 June 2, 1839. 
 
 With much the soul that fetters and degrades, 
 n thee, Manhatta ! yet are some things seen, 
 That hft to joy and love thy citizen. 
 Refreshing as a dream of forest glades, 
 Not seldom meets his eye whom business jades, 
 In the brick desert an oasis green. 
 St. Luke's low tower has yet its rural screen ; 
 St. John's its thick and rose-besprinkled shades ; 
 And many spots and sights as fair there be. 
 But one fair sight is prized above the rest ; 
 Beheld, when, loitering home at sun-down, we 
 Have frequent glimpses of the crimson west, 
 Tinging the woody shores and glittering breast 
 Of kingly Hudson passing to the sea. 
 
96 
 
 CONTINUED, 
 
 July 21, 1842. 
 
 With step that times the pulse's languid beats, 
 Forth to the Battery at the cool of day, 
 Forth to the wave-washed Battery we stray, 
 Glad to exchange the city's central heats, 
 And scorching pavements of unshaded streets, 
 For long and gravelled walks, where children play, 
 And the pure breeze, fresh-blowing from the bay. 
 Rifles the perfumed bosom of its sweets. 
 Thence, " loitering home at sun-down," we perceive. 
 Bright streaming up each vistaed street we pass, 
 A flush, from western skies by purple eve 
 Suffused, and from the river smooth as glass ; 
 'Gainst which, and 'gainst the sky, a tangled mass 
 Of masts and spars their blackened lines relieve. 
 
97 
 
 CONCLUDED. 
 
 Amid the bustle of the crowded mart, 
 Where the polluting streams of Mammon roll, 
 The lonely poet keeps a stainless soul. 
 From common passions keeps himself apart, 
 And purifies with love and joy his heart. 
 We need not, like the dark, self-blinded mole. 
 Burrow in our own dwellings ; — if the whole 
 Of Nature be not with us, we may dart 
 On that which we behold, a glance of power : 
 Small cultured parks may tell of boundless groves ; 
 Ours are the nightly stars ; the moon divides 
 Our streets 'twixt light and shadow, in the hour 
 Of silent midnight, when on high she roves, 
 And swell against our piers her faithful tides. 
 
98 
 
 TO A BIRD WARBLING ON THE BATTERY. 
 
 June, 1839. 
 
 I. 
 
 That blithesome carol 
 
 Repeat ! repeat ! 
 Once more that carol 
 
 I would entreat ! 
 For love or quarrel 
 Alike so meet. 
 Now a rapid continuous stream 
 Of twittering notes, and now a scream 
 Prolonged and shrill ! 
 Now it is still ; 
 And now it begins again with hesitancy sweet. 
 
99 
 
 II. 
 
 Long ago, songster, 
 One of thy stock. 
 Whose cradles, songster, 
 
 The high trees rock, 
 I then a youngster 
 Was used to mock. 
 With a whistle as thoughtless as e'er 
 Was twitter of thine, I filled the air. 
 Thy parent, bird I 
 When me it heard. 
 Did straight the sweet treasures of its trembling breast fast 
 lock. 
 
100 
 
 III. 
 
 Those sweet, unhoarded treasures 
 
 I now not so despise ; 
 Those sweet, unwasting treasures 
 I now more justly prize. 
 I could not now with rude delight 
 Thee in wantonness affright. 
 
 I am grown more wise. 
 Only still in mimic measures 
 
 I follow thee with softly-chanted words ; 
 Not unthankful for the subtler pleasures 
 For me still lurking in the song of birds. 
 
101 
 
 July 8th, 1839. 
 
 Wherefore, O friend, this self-imposed pain, 
 
 That thou hast lost or fear'st to lose thy pelf. 
 
 Which ne'er was thine ? Say, didst thou make thyself, 
 
 And choose these bodily wants ; and so must strain 
 
 Lest, unawares, thou sink to nought again ? 
 
 What were the loss to lay as on a shelf 
 
 This mortal by, and be a bodiless elf ! 
 
 " Except the Lord do build the house, in vain 
 
 Do they that build it labour ; and except 
 
 The Lord did so the 'leaguered city keep. 
 
 In vain the faithful watchman had not slept. 
 
 To rise up early brings you no relief, 
 
 To sit up late, and eat the bread of grief; — 
 
 For so He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
102 
 
 July, 1839. 
 
 And is it then my most untoward fate 
 My flying youth in loneHness to lose, 
 With unespoused heart ? Or shall too late 
 My passions find the rest they now refuse, 
 And fix at last in vain ? Ah ! let me choose 
 Rather forego the hope of fitting mate. 
 I shall not so be wholly desolate, 
 Possessed of thee at least, O faithful Muse ! 
 The comfort of whose presence I can vouch. 
 That lends my days their soft and shadowy charm, 
 Nor doth not consecrate my nightly couch 
 With unreluctant love and tenderest care. 
 Yielding my head the pillow of an arm 
 Than mortal woman's more surpassing fair. 
 
103 
 
 COMPOSED ON THE BATTERY. 
 
 July, 1839. 
 
 To us at length the moon begins to show 
 Her bright ascending car behind the grove, 
 Laden with light. The drifting clouds above 
 That overspread the dark blue sky, as blow 
 Light winds on high ; — the steady sails below 
 That rest upon the quiet bay, nor move 
 From their safe mooring, save as with a shove 
 The tide outsetting swings them to and fro ; — 
 Grow bright as she cUmbs up the deep serene. 
 The bay, the forts, the grove-crowned esplanade. 
 The drifting clouds, the struggling stars between, 
 The sails of fast-moored vessels gently swayed 
 By the outsetting tide, — do, like a blade 
 Drawn from its sheath, as she rides high, grow keen. 
 
104 
 
 CONTINUED IN THE SEPTEMBER FOLLOWING. 
 
 Such scene itself displayed 
 One warm midsummer night of late to us, 
 What time the moon withdrew the curtain thus 
 
 Of twilight's transient shade. 
 Our hearts were calm within us as we took 
 Of its tranquillity a farewell look. 
 
 No beauty else displaced 
 The fair impression, or above it traced 
 
 Dim outlines and ideal. 
 Or with the haze of sentiment the Real 
 
 Half-brightened — half-effaced. 
 
 Hear now what thoughts excite 
 Objects that gave us so entire delight 
 When now they meet my solitary sight. 
 
 [Here should follow a Sonnet composed a short time previous to 
 the introductory lines above. The Sonnet itself is lost, and the 
 
105 
 
 author can remember so much of it only, as that, from a tranquil 
 autumn view of the bay from the Battery, the scene of composition, 
 it passed to the image of storms, already perhaps approaching 
 from afar, associating with this image that of the death-bed of the 
 friend alluded to in the former Sonnet ; — the author having then 
 just returned from witnessing the last moments of his former com- 
 panion.] 
 
 A midnight vision flies 
 And cannot be recalled when morning comes, 
 And time, they say, the tender heart benumbs. 
 
 But swifter than a dream 
 Doth pass away the real face of nature. 
 And disappear with every genuine feature, 
 
 Swept from us by the stream 
 Of forms and colours which ourselves we make ; 
 
 Or as a tranquil lake. 
 That doth the image of his shores partake. 
 
 But if the wind arise 
 The agitated surface reappears : 
 So do our passions — chiefly griefs and fears — 
 
 Supplant external forms ; 
 And calmest sights suggest the thought of storms, 
 The outward man grows cold, the inner warms. 
 
106 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 August, 1839. 
 
 The unstirring Air is locked in slumber deep. 
 
 The light-leaved tops of lofty trees therein 
 
 Are motionless as rocks : the very birds 
 
 In awe or tender care suspend their songs, 
 
 Nor cleave with rapid wings the element 
 
 So still, but rest on every bough ; the clouds 
 
 Suspended in their flight, to listen seem 
 
 For sounds that in the hollow of the sky 
 
 Wont to reverberate. Soon shall wake the Air ; 
 
 The trees shall scatter wide their flying leaves, 
 
 And bend their swaying tops and springing boughs 
 
 Before its force ; the birds with startled cries, 
 
 The darkening clouds with thunder, fill the sky. 
 
107 
 
 August 6th, 1839. 
 
 See ! from behind the mountain's high, green top, 
 Hiding the sky's deep azure, a white cloud 
 Uplifts its dazzling head ; and soon a crowd 
 Of snowy followers, a radiant troop. 
 Appear above the crested line aslope 
 Of the horizon, as from ambush bowed ; 
 And rise with spreading wings until they shroud 
 Half of the sky. Then as they slowly drop 
 Southward, they darken ; — but their edges, slow 
 In sunlight moving, hint that out of sight 
 Their heaven- ward face is shining. Even so, 
 Often our cloud-like hopes that rise all light, 
 As they float on grow dark as fears below, 
 Though in celestial eyes still promise-bright. 
 
108 
 
 August 27th, 1839. 
 
 " HolO soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, 
 Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year .'" 
 
 Milton's Sonnet. 
 
 My five-and-twentieth year flies fast away, 
 
 And brings not yet the fame which once I thought, 
 
 Ere my fifth lustre wonld have come unsought : 
 
 My night wears on, yet I perceive no day 
 
 Streaking the long- watched east with silver grey, 
 
 Of golden dawn the harbinger : — but taught 
 
 By many a starry omen, that I ought 
 
 In this long dark to suffer no dismay. 
 
 Patient I keep my vigil ; mindful still 
 
 Of them who breathed before inspired breath, 
 
 Inhaling light in gloom apparent, till 
 
 Did every radiant soul from cloudy sheath 
 
 Break forth, a shining safety by Heaven's will, 
 
 — To charm and guide, and brighten still in death. 
 
109 
 
 SELF-DEFENCE, 
 
 August, 1839, 
 
 Not without cause the ancient poets feigned 
 The heavenly inspiration of the Muse ; 
 And her divine command that bade to sing, 
 Modestly pleaded. Song was never yet 
 Without the Muse, nor poet ever sung 
 Unbidden, or by higher powers unmoved. 
 Under constraint it was, not else, I sang. 
 Because within me thoughts and feelings were 
 Whose vague, unfettered sweetness sought relief 
 In sweeter bondage, self-imposed, of verse. 
 Feelings, delicious with the uneasy sense 
 Of inly-stirring and mysterious life ; — 
 Thoughts, of their own expansion half-afraid, 
 And trembling at a growth that seemed in sooth 
 To have no limit, no containing form. 
 Which yet a separate existence sought 
 
 K 
 
110 
 
 With strivings that would not be quelled, until 
 
 The new-born power within my soul I felt, 
 
 And in my studious solitude received 
 
 The gift, the impulse, and the strong command ; 
 
 — For Duty is the offspring of Delight, 
 
 When awful Truth as Beauty is embraced. 
 
 Or if I would, how could I then resist 
 
 A sacred impulse that within me wrought, 
 
 Perchance without my will ; and seemed no less 
 
 Than the appointing law by which I lived ; 
 
 What time I had unwittingly inspired 
 
 The sudden breath of that surrounding god : 
 
 — The breath that filled, and filling overpowered 
 
 The Pythian on the sacred tripod placed. 
 
HI 
 
 SKETCHES IN THE OPEN AIR 
 
 LATE SUMMER AND EARLY AUTUMN. 
 
 August or September, 1839, 
 
 Oh what delight is now to lift the eyes, 
 And see far off the honey-sweet buckwheat, 
 Late flowering on the mountain's perfumed breast : — 
 Bloom odoriferous ! Or in the vale 
 To trace the long and narrow winding road 
 'Twixt meadows waving with deep grass, which now 
 The mowers toss aside, across the field 
 Bearing with graceful sweep the cutting scythe : 
 The stately grass prone falling in long swathes, 
 And soon with busy rake and skilful fork 
 To be upgathered. Now the new-made hay. 
 Lifeless but sweet, scents all the evening air ; 
 As leaving smooth and bare the shaven fields, 
 The fragrant slaughter loads the enormous wains. 
 By hardy teams, with voices loud of men. 
 Cheering or guiding, drawn at nightfall home. 
 
112 
 
 The yellow wheat-field ripening apace, 
 
 And for a few days by the sickle spared, 
 
 The reddening berries of the mountain ash, 
 
 The maple's beautiful and tender leaves 
 
 To bright or pale red changing, indicate 
 
 Departing Summer. Soon on all the hills 
 
 The uniform and pleasant green shall feel 
 
 The breath of frosty Autumn, and put on 
 
 The many brighter tints of swift decay, 
 
 Often effected in a single night. 
 
 When evening sees the verdant mountain-sides 
 
 Flushed with a transient glow from western skies, 
 
 The morning's sunrise shall surprise the woods 
 
 Gay with inhering colours ; fatal stains, 
 
 And ominous of quick decadence ; while 
 
 The universal green, the living robe 
 
 Of all the many-rooted, branching race 
 
 That drink the rain and breathe the air of Heaven, 
 
 Is to a dead but radiant vesture changed. 
 
 Whose golden yellows, vivid scarlets, reds. 
 
 And sovereign purples, sparkle all with frost. 
 
113 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION 
 
 IN THE GREEK MANNER, FOR THE GRAVE OF TWO KINSWOMEN 
 WHO HAD A SINGULAR HISTORY. 
 
 August, 1839. 
 
 Within the self-same year that Myrrha saw 
 The light, emerged from those maternal glooms, 
 Her first, faint breath did sweet Erinna draw ; 
 Sisters almost, for sprung from kindred wombs. 
 
 Like care, like growth, like tasks, like charms they shared ; 
 They grew to womanhood, nor died unwed. 
 But ah ! what fate was for those friends prepared ! 
 Successive brides ! they shared the self-same bed. 
 
 Both, ere the mother could supplant the bride, 
 To one grave from the same sad arms were borne : 
 — ^Yet be we cheered ! — in the same faith they died, 
 And here both wait the Resurrection morn. 
 
POEMS 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 THE NORTHERN DAWN 
 
 SEPTEMBER, 1839. 
 
SONNET DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO M. H. B. 
 
 September 13th, 1842. 
 
 Long of my earthly friends the dearest one, 
 Whose firm affection was by suffering tried. 
 And what thy sex most shrinks from could abide- 
 Dreadful Suspicion ; who, while most did shun, 
 And even of the chosen band was none 
 But proved by doubt his wisdom, at the side 
 Of him who was thy youth's elected guide. 
 Courageously believed me not undone 
 When from the beaten path I dared to stray ; 
 Whose faith unshaken then supported mine. 
 Whose sympathy unfailing cheered my way : — 
 Oh if my name shall ever, Martha, shine 
 Among the unforgotten, shall a ray. 
 Shed from its grateful sphere, illumine thine. 
 
THE NORTHERN DAWN, 
 
 September, 1839. 
 
 Again, O Mount Celestial ! I awake 
 Thy echoes, silent long ;— again invoke 
 Thy yet untimely aid, Celestial Muse ! 
 Whose voice was heard long since in Albion, 
 What time thou wont to cheer a sightless bard 
 With that sublime continued strain, prolonged 
 Until the nightly crescent argument 
 That shined into his dreary dark, had filled 
 With light that shall not wane a perfect orb. 
 Thy mystic voice, O Muse ! was heard by him. 
 His voice to thine replied, and ages hear 
 The repetition, still distinctly sent 
 Through all the hollow caves of listening Time. 
 My theme, Urania ! too, belongs to thee. 
 
120 
 
 Nor thou disdain to touch the trembling ears 
 Of one albeit to such high argument 
 Unequal, as resounded then so clear 
 Through that invisible sphere wherein 
 Thy dwelling is ; but now be audible 
 To me, inferior and unpractised, while 
 I sing the wonders of that visible heaven. 
 Whose azure dome immense, uncounted stars, 
 Are of thy unimagined brighter orb 
 The symbols and material image fair. 
 
 Lured by the beauty of the sunset, we 
 Long linger in the open air, and watch 
 The disappearing clouds, now settling fast 
 In one blue mass that lines the fading west. 
 Despite of early falling dews we linger. 
 For though the stars a sole dominion hold, 
 Unshared by Cynthia's sovereign beams, while now 
 The shame-faced huntress turns from earth away 
 Her shining countenance, and spends its light 
 Far in ungrateful space, nor fills her horns 
 Fast wasting every night whose waning hours 
 Behold her rise too late ; — though moon be none, 
 Yet all too slow the mountaiiig darken round, 
 
121 
 
 As Eve descends, slower than they are wont : 
 
 And the fair plain which these enclose spreads wide 
 
 A hoary gleam, like moonlight strained through clouds ; 
 
 Though all the sky be clear, and the stars shed 
 
 Their rays inadequate to such effect. 
 
 But lo, the cause apparent ! o'er the hills 
 
 That stretch their outline dark beneath the pole, 
 
 The Northern Dawn appears. With banners grey 
 
 Waving afar, his spectral columns fast 
 
 The steep ascent of Heaven's dark concave climb, 
 
 And struggle to efface the twilight dim. 
 
 Soon conquering, they overrun the sky, 
 
 And fill it with their light ; and even now 
 
 Full many a wanderer on the ocean tost, 
 
 Helmsman or mast-head watch of tall-rigged ship, 
 
 Ploughing the waves that wear our Eastern coast, 
 
 Perceives the growing brightness and looks up : 
 
 And on the Western plains, our stable sea. 
 
 Whose waves are swelling earth, whose foam is flowers, 
 
 — The Prairies vast ; — shall soon the hunter see 
 
 A glory more matured, but changing still 
 
 Both moving shape and hue ; — anon the pomp 
 
 Of colour spreading through alternate rays 
 
 Of deep ensanguined dark, while the paler bars 
 
122 
 
 Assume contrasted green or rosy hues. 
 Thus oft when Winter brings Hke welcome show, 
 And the benighted traveller sledging home 
 Tracks the far- whitened plains with flying steeds, 
 And cheers with sound of bells the lonely night, 
 He all at once perceives on looking round, 
 The innocent snow to blush on every side. 
 Glad he pursues his rapid way, heart-cheered. 
 But how shall I each several change relate 
 By these Boreal splendours undergone 1 
 Nor are Boreal solely ; — while I speak. 
 Behold an Austral Dawn apparent, rolls 
 A flood of light along its proper hills ; 
 And now the West is afl refulgent ; now 
 The zenith draws into itself the rays. 
 All gathering to a sunlike focus, whence 
 Again they spread, diverging fan-like wide. 
 Nor this expansion swift of restless light 
 Seems, as it overspreads the brightening vault, 
 Unlike, if great with least we may compare. 
 The shooting chrystals of some glittering salt, 
 A million times it may be magnified, 
 (And so in all their wondrous growth discerned) 
 By power of solar lens, whose light condensed 
 
123 
 
 Thrown on the blank wall of a darkened room, 
 To the observant sage reveals a world 
 Minutely infinite, and filled with powers 
 Not less stupendous than the eternal law 
 Which like a wall from nothingness disparts 
 The universal orb ; nor mocking less 
 Our boasted faculties, which vainly strive 
 To overtake their still retreating steps, 
 And fix their countless, ever-lessening spheres. 
 But now, behold, as if by magic turned. 
 The fan-like glory shifts from West to South, 
 From South to East, and thence revolving still 
 Upon its centre, to the North it turns ; 
 Streaming across the horizontal clouds 
 Like moonlight over distant rivers thrown ; 
 While as the circling radii sweep athwart 
 The stars, sparkle at once their lamps serene 
 Brighter than wont ; like lighted tapers plunged 
 In purest oxygen, if great to less 
 Again may lead us. Now save one bright arch. 
 Spanning from East to West the darkened dome, 
 The show has faded ; and that arch anon, 
 Contracting to a fragment, twists itself 
 Upon the zenith ; whence forthwith it showers 
 
124 
 
 On every side its likeness, till all Heaven 
 
 Appears one stately Tent of purest light. 
 
 A splendid spectacle ! beyond compare 
 
 With aught that History records of pomp 
 
 Imperial, or in the feigned abodes 
 
 Of Genii magnific, the swift work 
 
 Of magic, for some favoured Eastern king 
 
 Erecting a pavilion underneath 
 
 Whose wondrous canopy might armies rest. 
 
 At last ; — completing show, and most sublime, 
 
 When first that glittering Tent had disappeared, 
 
 And the last hues seemed fading ; — flashes keen 
 
 From the entire horizon upward shot 
 
 In quick succession, and with noiseless shock 
 
 At the dark zenith meeting, vanished. Thus, 
 
 For an half-hour's illuminated space. 
 
 These silent lightnings played incessantly. 
 
 Like splendours haply saw the sightless bard 
 
 To whom illuminated inly, came 
 
 Sight of that lost archangel, and the dark 
 
 Of that infernal pit was visible. 
 
 What time the millions of the outcast host 
 
 On Hell's campagne foot-scorching, trodden fire, 
 
 Stood (burning more within from fruitless rage) 
 
125 
 
 In military order impotent, 
 
 Covering those wide, intolerable coasts. 
 
 And waved their countless swords, the workmanship 
 
 Of the celestial forges ; dulled their sheen 
 
 Now by the thunder, yet reflecting still 
 
 From all their restless mirrors, on the dark 
 
 And brazen vault of Hell, the glow intense 
 
 Of the unextinguishable fires below. 
 
 And now that final grand display is done ; 
 
 The constellations are alone in Heaven. 
 
 Jove with his viewless satellites is sunk ; 
 
 And Saturn, with his rings invisible 
 
 Save to the telescopic eye ; red Mars 
 
 Rose not ; while Herschel haply treads unseen 
 
 His path remote, and dissipates his light. 
 
 But still the Milky Way above us bends 
 
 Crowded with hazy lustres indistinct ; 
 
 And who keeps watch to-night shall see ere long 
 
 The slender crescent of the waning moon, 
 
 And see Orion with the starry belt 
 
 His gradual lustres lift above the hills ; 
 
 And that fair herald of the advancing morn 
 
 Nod in the kindling East his glittering plume : 
 
126 
 
 Bright Lucifer, the chief of Planets. Dawn 
 
 Shall come at length, though not the Northern Dawn: 
 
 But that Aurora who of old, as feigned, 
 
 Used blushing quit each morn the saffron couch 
 
 Of old Tithonus, and that hapless prince 
 
 Detained unwilling in the early woods 
 
 From his desired spouse ; who jealous thence, 
 
 Ambushed her lord, and in her breast received 
 
 The fatal arrow hastily despatched 
 
 From his unwary hand. 
 
 But other thoughts 
 Now claim the high attention of the Muse, 
 Pondering what cause, from the dark treasury 
 Of Nature spending still the sum of force 
 Lent to her at the first, in course produced : 
 Or in the mystic way of Providence, 
 Nature's transcendent, interposed to-night ; 
 Gave to the sight of half our hemisphere 
 This brilliant apparition of the North. 
 
 Through all the wondrous world there is diffused 
 
 A swift, elusive principle, the power 
 
 Of light and heat and motion, triply twined ; 
 
127 
 
 Diffused through all, and acting everywhere 
 
 With subtle force, but here and there made known 
 
 By sudden operation, as if were 
 
 To our gross senses rendered manifest 
 
 One of the spiritual guardians of the world. 
 
 Say, was it this that visibly wrought to-night — 
 
 Whence that keen flash as from electric clouds ; 
 
 Those streaming arcs of many-coloured fire ; 
 
 Those movements in magnetic circle strange 
 
 Of endless revolution ; that long known 
 
 But unexplained relation to the pole, 
 
 — The steadfast centre of earth's ceaseless whirl ? 
 
 Oft in his darkened laboratory when 
 
 The alchemist's successor has produced 
 
 An artificial night, all girt around 
 
 By instruments of shape uncouth, and use 
 
 That superstition would have questioned once, 
 
 Racks not for quivering human flesh designed, 
 
 But meant to torture Nature and extort 
 
 Her most obscure and vital secrets ; — we have sees 
 
 This subtle power evoked and bound in chains ; 
 
 Or suddenly let loose to work the will 
 
 Of all-controlling man ; — while metal cold, 
 
 Strongest of things and tolerant of flame, 
 
128 
 
 In one brief moment conquered, liquefied 
 
 In blazing globules fell — a shower of fire. 
 
 Ah ! do those brillant coruscations mild, 
 
 Whose harmless splendours we have seen to-night. 
 
 Do they portend such fearful energies 
 
 Self-balancing from pole to glimmering pole. 
 
 In equilibrium by which our sphere 
 
 Its safety holds, and its enduring form ? 
 
 — So may they hint the secret of a power 
 
 In Nature's centre hid, yet to break forth 
 
 In conflagration irresistible, 
 
 When in the universal furnace wide. 
 
 Like ice shall marble palaces dissolve. 
 
 And stone-wrought sculptures melt like waxen flowers 
 
 The airy skies take fire, and yield at length 
 
 Their clear expanse to dissolution strange. 
 
 Signal catastrophe of this lost world, 
 
 Reserved for burning ! 
 
 Ask the roving son 
 Of that most ancient and renowned race, 
 Whose works are scattered wide upon the soil 
 Where once their empires grew beneath the shade 
 Of earliest knowledge, rooted once so deep 
 
129 
 
 In primitive traditions of the time 
 
 When God and angels first instructed men ; 
 
 — Go ask the Indian, or the Mongol wild, 
 
 His Asiatic brother, guarding still 
 
 Round their symbolic council-fires, whate'er 
 
 Of their ancestral lore is unforgof ; 
 
 Or, in the twilight that distorteth now 
 
 Their unassisted sight, imagining forms 
 
 That have in real day no counterpart ; 
 
 And they will tell you of the Spirits' Dance 
 
 In the cojd Northern sky, wherewith they cheer 
 
 Their shadowy and incorporeal state, 
 
 Of welcome to the islands of the dead 
 
 Some sad new-comer from the shores of life. 
 
 We have extorted from the patient breast 
 
 Of all-enduring Nature, what we deem 
 
 The symbols of a better knowledge ; yet 
 
 Can we be sure that we are not deceived ? 
 
 The oracles of old spake truth, yet left 
 
 Their votaries as ignorant as before. 
 
 Nature, our oracle, may utter truth 
 
 In dark enigmas subtler than we think, 
 
 And shroud her secrets most when she reveals. 
 
 Where are thy calculations intricate, 
 
130 
 
 O vain Astrologer ? or older far 
 
 Than he, star-gazing Chaldee ! where is now 
 
 Thy science, gathering from the mystic dance 
 
 Of planets and the fixity of stars, 
 
 Celestial auguries of earthly change, 
 
 And human fate immutable as Heaven ? 
 
 Yet is the visible world no doubt a scroll 
 
 By God's own hand inscribed with prophecy. 
 
 And intimations of events to come. 
 
 Nor should we reckon man, the heir of Heaven, 
 
 So little that his fate might not be writ 
 
 In the celestial signs, nor Heaven's concern 
 
 For him and his brief state on midnight skies. 
 
 O for the simple faith our Fathers had ! 
 
 Whose uninstructed but religious eyes. 
 
 Beholding this, would surely have discerned 
 
 That in the starry fields were wide encamped 
 
 The bright cherubic legions, keeping watch , 
 
 About the endangered Church : the threatening gleams 
 
 Of their celestial armoury would see 
 
 In all those waving fires ; determined help 
 
 Portending to the patience of the saints. 
 
 And to their foes the ruin long delayed. 
 
 Nor would not each with other call to mind 
 
131 
 
 How shone the glory of the Lord around 
 
 The shepherds of Judaea, who by night 
 
 Watching their flocks, beheld that multitude 
 
 Of the heavenly host obliterate the stars. 
 
 Shining irruption ! that surprised the night. 
 
 Not silent, but accompanied with noise 
 
 Harmonious of harps, and voices sweet, 
 
 A sweeter message uttering : Peace on earth, 
 
 Good will to men : — Thus sang they, and withdrew 
 
 From those astonished eyes that followed far 
 
 Their bright departure till it faded quite. 
 
 Far other sign abandoned Judah read 
 
 In the flashing sky, when on them flying came 
 
 From the fierce North the vengeance self-implored : 
 
 The blood of their rejected King, assumed 
 
 At Pilate's judgment seat. Then for the space 
 
 Of three years and a half, the nightly sword 
 
 Hung o'er Jerusalem, and armies fought 
 
 In Heaven : — terrific omen to the eyes 
 
 Of them whose eyes were opened : these were blind, 
 
 And not for all the portents would believe 
 
 That which their unbelief made trebly sure. 
 
 Thereto by Heaven ordained, judgment most just ! 
 
 Be never ours such blindness or such fate ! 
 
132 
 
 But taught that still the purposes divine 
 Preserve this fated world, and shall destroy ; 
 That now, as ever was, the daily course 
 Of life, that fills the unobservant eye, 
 Is but subservient to the building up 
 Of that celestial House not made with hands, 
 That City which foundations truly hath ; 
 We will with awe behold in Heaven displayed 
 Such signs as were of old by gifted eyes 
 Of saints and prophets, clear interpreted ; 
 Nor be unconscious of a mystery 
 In God's long-suffering haply now concealed : 
 Not less to be unfolded in its time. 
 
M 
 
POEMS. 
 
 PART FIFTH. 
 
 INSCRIPTIONS AND FRAGMENTS FROM THE 
 FEMALE POETS OF GREECE. 
 
 SUMMER AND AUTUMN OF 1839. 
 
 IIoXXo niv £inr\i^ag 'AvvTrjg Kpiva^ noWa Si Motpotif 
 \eipia, KUi 'Zairtpovg Baia jxiv, dWa poSa. 
 
 Me\eay, Erefav. 
 
 Entwining many lilies of Anyte, and of Maero many 
 Lilies, and of Sappho, few indeed, but roses. 
 
STANZAS DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO 
 
 (In English Sapphics.) 
 
 At its outbreak Sappho's elected measure 
 Softly flows on, then for a moment pauses ; 
 Then the soul-breathed melody quickly rushes, 
 
 Flutters and fainteth. 
 
 So a stream that over a smoothed channel 
 Moveth scarce heard, if but a pebble break it. 
 Rippling, voice-Hke murmurs aloud ; soon after 
 
 Noiselessly gliding. 
 
 Thus should female tenderness, Evelina, 
 Ever spring forth ; first in a conscious silence, 
 Then reluctant utterance yield, in unheard 
 
 Actions thereafter. 
 
 So of ancient melody shall the spirit, 
 Than its transient form if it be more holy. 
 In the pure breast find an enduring mansion, 
 
 Truly immortal. 
 
INSCRIPTIONS AND FRAGMENTS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE FEMALE POETS OF GREECE 
 
 Summer and Autumn of 1839. 
 
 FOK THE TOMB OF PHILANIS ; DYING UNMARRIED, 
 
 BY THE VIRGIN ANYTE. 
 
 Often upon the lamentable grave 
 
 Of the Maid untimely dying, 
 Kieino the mother wept her child beloved : 
 
 By name to the shade loud crying 
 Of Philanis ! who, the marriage night unproved. 
 
 Crossed Acheron's pale wave. 
 
140 
 
 ON ERATO, DYING UNMARRIED. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 For the last time around her father dear 
 
 Erato threw her arms and said, 
 In fresh tears dissolving : — 
 " Not long, O Father ! am I with you here, 
 And Death is now my dark blue eye involving, 
 
 As I depart, in gloomy shade." 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 See the horned goat ! how proudly 
 
 Doth his haughty eye 
 Roll above his jaws thick-bearded ! 
 
 Canst thou tell me why ? 
 
 Proud he is that on the mountains 
 
 His deep curled neck, 
 In her rosy hand, sweet Nais 
 
 Would so often take. 
 
141 
 
 ON A FAVOUEITE COCK. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 Clapping with close-pressed wings, no more, 
 
 Awaking early, shalt thou me 
 Rouse from my couch as heretofore ; 
 For coming on thee stealthily, 
 Pounced on thy sleep some beast with ravenous maw, 
 Placing on thy soft throat his sudden paw. 
 
 ON A FAVOURITE HOUND. 
 
 BY THE SAME. 
 
 Perished, Maira ! at length, in the copse many-rooted ; 
 
 Fleet Locrian ! swiftest of deep-baying hounds. 
 With a venom so fatal the viper neck-spotted 
 
 Thy foot nimbly flying incurably wounds. 
 
142 
 
 ANOTHER VEKSION OF THE SAME. 
 
 Thou hast perished at last, O Locrian Maira ! 
 
 The swiftest of deep-baying hounds ; 
 Thou hast perished alone in the copse many-rooted, 
 
 That no more with thy baying resounds : 
 Such was the force of the venom which ne'er a 
 
 Cure would admit for the wounds 
 Which thy fleet foot received from the viper neck-spotted. 
 
 ON A SPEAK IN THE TEMPLE OF MINERVA. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 Stand thou here, 
 
 Homicidal Cornel-spear ! 
 Suffer thy brazen point to drip no more 
 
 With the piteous gore 
 
 Of Enemies : 
 But resting in this marble hall, 
 (Minerva's sacred dome it is) 
 The bravery proclaim to all 
 
 Of the Cretan Ecratis. 
 
143 
 
 ON CHILDREN AT PLAY. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 The purple reins the children put 
 On thee, O solemn Goat, and draw 
 
 The nose-band round thy bearded mouth, 
 To mock in play what late they saw, 
 
 The equestrian contest at the temple ; till 
 
 Thou carry them, with trifles pleased so well. 
 
 TO PAN. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 Wherefore, Pan ! rustic rude, 
 Sitting in the solitary 
 
 Thickly shaded wood. 
 
 Dost thou play 
 Upon the sweet- voiced reed 1 
 
 That my heifers may 
 On these dewy mountains feed. 
 Cropping the beautiful grass-spikes hairy. 
 
144 
 
 FOR TWO PETS. 
 
 BY ANYTE. 
 
 To a Locust — on the ground, sweet singer ; 
 And Cricket — on the tree-top swinger ; 
 
 Myro built a common tomb, 
 And shed a virgin tear the maiden ; 
 For with both her playthings laden 
 
 Went unpitying Pluto home. 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION. 
 
 BY MYKO. 
 
 Nymphs of the forest ! Virgins of the river ! 
 Immortal Maids, who tread with rosy feet 
 The green recesses of the woods for ever ! 
 Grace and protection unto Cleon mete : 
 Him who set up to you, O Goddesses ! 
 Beneath the pines these beauteous images. 
 
145 
 
 ox ARMOR OF BRETTIAN ROBBERS HUNG UP IN A TEMPLE, 
 
 BY NOSSIS. 
 
 The Brettian men their armor dight 
 
 On shoulders right unfortunate ! 
 Slain by Locrians swift in fight : 
 Whose prowess these now celebrate ; 
 And in the temple of the God suspended, 
 Miss not the clumsy thieves whom lately they defended. 
 
 ON A TOMB. 
 
 BY EEINNA. 
 
 Ye monumental pillars ! you, my birds ! 
 
 Thou mournful urn, that holds my slender dust ! 
 
 To such as hither may be led, these words 
 
 Address, and greet them ; — -citizen or guest. * 
 
 And that the grave hath me a bride, declare ; 
 
 And that my father called me Baucis ; that I came 
 
 Of Tenia ; (this they know) and that the fair 
 
 Erinna, my companion, on this tomb engraved my name. 
 
 N 
 
146 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A POOR FISHERMAN. 
 
 BY SAPPHO : IN THE ELEGIAC MEASURE. 
 
 Unto the fisher Pelagon, his father Meniscus devoted 
 Basket of wicker and oar; — monument of a curs'd life. 
 
 A CHARACTERISTIC FRAGMENT. 
 
 ATTRIBUTED TO SAPPHO. 
 
 Gone down is both the Moon, 
 And Pleiades ; — 'tis noon 
 Of night ; the hour gone by ; 
 And yet alone I lie. 
 
 FOR THE TOMB OF TIMAS ; WHO DIED UNMARRIED. 
 
 BY SAPPHO. 
 
 This dust is Timas' ; whom, dying unwed, 
 Received Persephone's sad-colored bed : 
 But from her dead did all her comrades fair, 
 With newly-sharpened steel, cut off that envied hair. 
 
147 
 
 THE ODE TO VENUS. 
 
 BY SAPPHO. 
 
 Sitter on the embroidered throne ! 
 Deathless Venus ! Child of Jove, 
 Weaver of wiles, thrice-worshipped one ! 
 
 I thee implore, 
 With nor the trials nor disgusts of love 
 
 My soul to overpower. 
 
 Hither come unto me now, 
 Come ! if ever and elsewhere, 
 Hearing my supplications, thou 
 
 Didst them receive. 
 And thy sire's palace at my favoured prayer, 
 
 Didst not disdain to leave. 
 
148 
 
 Thee the beautiful, swift sparrows. 
 Harnessed to thy golden ear, 
 Bore along, (like falling arrows) 
 
 Their wings oft waving 
 Above the shadowed earth, through middle air 
 
 Hither from highest heaven. 
 
 Soon they arrived : — but bending thou 
 On me thine immortal eyes. 
 Smiling didst ask what was it now 
 
 That caused my pain, 
 And wherefore I had called thee from the skies, 
 
 To visit me again. 
 
 What I would especially 
 
 Thou for my wild soul shouldst do ; 
 
 And held in sweet captivity 
 
 To what new longing, 
 To re-ensnare it I endeavoured ;— " Who, 
 
 Sappho, thy love is wronging ? 
 
149 
 
 Even though he fly thee now, 
 Soon he shall thy flight pursue ; 
 The gifts which he will not allow, 
 
 Shall give unsought ; 
 And though he woos not now, he soon shall woo,- 
 
 Nay, though thou wish it not." 
 
 Come again then unto me, 
 From disquiets free my heart ; 
 And what my soul desires to be 
 
 Done for it, do ; 
 In the love-contest, Goddess, take my part. 
 
 And be mine ally true. 
 
150 
 
 THE ODE TO A 6IKL. 
 
 BV SAPPHO. 
 
 Blest as the Gods appeareth to me 
 He that opposite to thee 
 Sitteth, and sweetly uttered near 
 Thy voice doth hear. 
 
 Smilest desiringly I ah, *tis then 
 Sinks the heart my breast within ; 
 For as I see, of voice no more 
 I have the power. 
 
 But is my tongue quite weak, and a thin 
 Fire runs quick beneath my skin ; 
 And nothing see mine eyes ; I hear 
 Sounds in mine ear. 
 
 And the cold sweat pours down ; all of me 
 Tremblings seize ; I paler be 
 Than grass, and scarce removed from death, 
 Seem without breath. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 PART SIXTH, 
 
 SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER, 1339. 
 
SONNET DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO THE NAME AND MEMORY OF 
 
 MY MOTHER, 
 
 September 16th, 1842. 
 
 Of that sad hour when nought but hope survived, 
 
 And hope had sickened, and Uved faintly on, 
 
 For that which earthly hope did rest upon. 
 
 The unsteady brain, seemed failing, and deprived 
 
 The toiling mind of all it long had hived 
 
 Of sweet and precious ; patient labor won 
 
 Fresh disappointment ; and all friends were gone, 
 
 Save one, a woman ! one, who little thrived ! 
 
 Of that sad hour, my mother, I devote 
 
 These slender relics to thy honoured name ; 
 
 While now before me softest memories float. 
 
 Of thy true love that ever was the same ; — 
 
 — Thy name, O heavenly Faith ! which did denote 
 
 What in her breast still dwelt with Love's pure flame. 
 
157 
 
 September 7th, 1839. 
 
 What giddiness with which I seem to reel 
 
 Has seized my brain ? — and why within me sinks 
 
 The nervous energy ? — the while I feel 
 
 An unsupported hollowness that shrinks 
 
 Even from rest it needs. As ocean drinks 
 
 The strugghng light of some bright star whose wheel 
 
 Dips 'neath his western rim, so sleep will steal 
 
 Strength from the soul, that still her chain unlinks, 
 
 And would the wing of Icarus replume, 
 
 To take than his a higher sunward flight, 
 
 Nor heeds that melting wax. But wise the doom 
 
 Chaining this tameless to a clod which might 
 
 Check a blind speed, for which the world wants roomp 
 
 And bring fatigue with sleep each welcome night. 
 
158 
 
 ON READING THE SAMSON AGONISTES. 
 
 September 8th, 1839. 
 
 The sightless Hercules ! I see him now. 
 
 Philistia's pride surveys his matchless form 
 
 With scornful wonder, and that strength enorm 
 
 Contemns ; — as those blind orbs would seem t' allow ; 
 
 But not those Nazarite locks, that sweeping low 
 
 Hang round his lion front, black as a storm : 
 
 Not without dreadful omen to the swarm 
 
 Of those uncircumcised, when he shall bow 
 
 Betwixt the props of yonder dizzy roof. 
 
 So drooped the ambrosial curls of fabled Jove, 
 
 And deep Olympus trembled at his nod ; 
 
 Haply from fame of Samson's hair, inwove 
 
 With strength that bent those pillars massy -proof, 
 
 The heathen feigned the like of their false god. 
 
159 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE SAME POEM. 
 
 The thrilling harmonies of that high song 
 
 Sank deep into my soul : methought the lays 
 
 Of Angels, filling Heaven with choral praise, 
 
 And Harps sweet with thanksgiving, might prolong 
 
 A strain, than which did the celestial throng 
 
 List never holier, nor more amaze 
 
 Of sympathy partaking, since the days 
 
 When (as the Wind-harp shrieks, by gusts too strong 
 
 Awakened) that crowned Singer's lyre-like heart, 
 
 Swept by the heavenly Breath on Zion hill. 
 
 Of like melodious anguish yielded tones. 
 
 Like threatenings mixed with his prophetic groans ; 
 
 Like faith his righteous passion tempered still, 
 
 Waiting till God his judgments should assert. 
 
160 
 
 MEMORY A CREATIVE POWER« 
 
 September 7th, 18X9. 
 
 Imaginative Memory is what ? 
 
 No wizard's glass of force mechanical, 
 
 Over whose face the rapid pictures shall 
 
 Pass unexcited by the gazer's thought, 
 
 By his will uncontrolled. Say, is it not 
 
 Rather the wizard's voice, whose thrilling call 
 
 Summons from secret cave, or airy hall, 
 
 The subtile Spirit of each hallowed spot. 
 
 Each moving scene, each soul-imprinted act, 
 
 Impassioned look, irrevocable word. 
 
 In silent concourse throng the potent Forms : 
 
 And straightway, lo ! a wondrous world compact 
 
 — An unsubstantial world, but heart-preferred 
 
 To any that the common sunlight warms. 
 
161 
 
 WRITTEN BENEATH A GRAND PEAK OF THE CATTSKILLS. 
 
 September 6th, 1839. 
 
 Chief of a thousand hills ! — if I may dare 
 Such title give thee, pointed peak and green ! 
 Those summits multitudinous unseen, 
 The Cattskills' wooded heights — in summer fair 
 To look upon, but in the piercing air 
 Of winter lifting snowy foreheads keen ; 
 Save where the hemlock's frequent cones, between 
 The trees deciduous, clothe their sides else bare. 
 Declare, O Mount ! if haply thou may'st speak 
 In poet's ear, what name those warriors dark, 
 In their deep guttural, gave thy graceful peak ? 
 Answer is none, nor name : — take then, to mark 
 Thy eminent beauty, from the flowing Greek 
 An appellation : — be Mount Chiliarch. 
 
162 
 
 Composed September, 1839. 
 
 " And so they buried Hector the Horse-tamer." 
 And that is all ? and in this single line, 
 With the odd epithet that comes in fine, 
 Of thy transcendent merits sole proclaimer ? 
 Yet what could be more needless here, or lamer, 
 Than laboured panegyric ? — So doth shine, 
 Around that sacred, dust-trailed head of thine, 
 The virtue that hath found defeat no shamer ; — 
 But such an ornament as ruin proved 
 To those thrice-circled walls of Troy : whose tale, 
 First uttered to that wandering bard by Clio, 
 Was through Ionia sung wheree'er he roved ; 
 The where still sings his deathless nightingale : 
 — "A blind man he, and dwelt in rocky Scio." 
 
163 
 
 GOD S CLAIM OF GLORY 
 
 URGED AS AN ARGUMENT THAT WE SHOULD DESIRE IT. 
 
 September 9th, 1839. 
 
 It was thy frank opinion that I asked, 
 
 O dearest friend ! — but had I asked thy praise, 
 
 What were the blame ? Even He that in the blaze 
 
 Of uncreated glory sole hath basked 
 
 Eternally, which never yet unmasked 
 
 By clouds that shield the insufferable rays, 
 
 Of sun-bright seraphs met the guarded gaze, 
 
 Bowing beneath their wings — even He hath tasked 
 
 Mankind with praise unneeded : and the eye 
 
 From dust derived, must witness — clay-formed lips 
 
 Declare His goodness : — nor, if we deny 
 
 Him this, His glory suffers not eclipse : 
 
 — For He of that essential glory strips 
 
 His head, and puts on man, to need man's sympathy 
 
164 
 
 THE SAME CONTINUED. 
 
 September 10th. 
 
 Which fruit he never reaps 
 From any soul that tendeth not by nature 
 To seek like feeling from each fellow-creature. 
 
 Such passion is the soil, 
 Wherein, (those olives wild subdued by toil,) 
 Do grow the trees that yield that fragrant oil 
 
 Which in fit vessel keeps 
 To feed her well-trimmed lamp each Virgin wise. 
 Who hence, to rest her watching- wearied eyes, 
 
 In perfect safety sleeps. 
 Ah ! when the Bridegroom comes in nuptial state, 
 
 No fear that such too late, 
 Shall stand and vainly knock at that closed gate. 
 
165 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECT FURTHER CONTINUED. 
 
 Man is God's image, and was made thereto. 
 Nor, were the eye not soHform, it could 
 Perceive the San, nor'd need a fleshly hood 
 To ward his beams, but as the blind flowers do, 
 Would open to the light ; — nor ever knew 
 The soul her God, not being godlike. Good 
 Is known by us, and Eden understood. 
 Though both are lost since that false fruit we rue. 
 Which oped our eyes in vain, and made us gods. 
 Not in possession, but in apprehension. 
 But since we cannot be the happy clods 
 Which once we were before that sad declension, 
 Behold a better fruit above us nods ; 
 Another voice invites a new, a safe ascension. 
 
166 
 
 ON READING BRYANT S POEM OF THE WINDS. 
 
 September 20tli, 1839. 
 
 Ye Winds, whose various voices in his lay 
 
 That bard interpreted :— your utterance mild, 
 
 Nor less your ministration fierce and wild, 
 
 Of those resistless laws which ye obey 
 
 In your apparent lawlessness ; — O say ! 
 
 Is not your will-less agency reviled 
 
 When it is likened unto what is styled 
 
 By such unwise the Spirit of the Day ? 
 
 Not all the islands by tornadoes swept. 
 
 E'er knew such ruin as befalls a state 
 
 When not the winds of God, but mortal breath. 
 
 With threatening sweetness of melodious hate 
 
 Assaults the fabrics reverent Ages kept 
 
 To shelter ancient Loyalty and Faith. 
 
167 
 
 WRITTEN IN A HUMOUR OF PHILANTHROPIC MELANCHOLY, 
 
 September 25th, 1839. 
 
 O Man ! whoe'er thou art, 
 Thou hast a mind — a heart — 
 
 Like any other ; 
 Though mind be half-imbrute ; 
 Though heart be dissolute ; 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
 O Man ! whoe'er thou art, 
 Whom, like a wall, doth part 
 
 From every other, 
 Some obstacle of nature. 
 Revolting every creature ; 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
168 
 
 Yes, Man ! whoe'er thou art, 
 Though purchased in the mart 
 
 By any other ; 
 Or, bondman of the law. 
 Condemned to hew and draw ; 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
 Or if, (far worse,) thou art 
 Writhing beneath the smart 
 
 Of any other 
 And inly-cutting scourge, 
 — Vices, to shame that urge ; 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
 Within me what thou art 
 I read, and though I start 
 
 At such another, 
 I may not disavow 
 A kinsman, though 'tis thou ! 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
169 
 
 Henceforward then thou art 
 No more from me apart 
 
 Than any other ; 
 I think of thee, address, 
 And seek thy good, and bless 
 
 Thee as my brother. 
 
 Farewell ! Whoe'er thou art ! 
 Thou hast not all my heart, 
 
 Nor any other ; 
 And so no more my song 
 Its burthen shall prolong ; 
 
 — I am thy brother. 
 
170 
 
 COMPOSED ON THE BATTERY. 
 
 October 20th, 1839. 
 
 With thick, foot-rustling leaves these frosty days 
 Scatter the oft-swept walks, and wrap the while. 
 The sky with cloudage white of fleecy pile ; 
 But from the sun's already slanting rays 
 A silver gleam upon the water plays, 
 The coming Winter's cold but cheerful smile : 
 Omen of comforts that shall well beguile 
 The dark and windy Hours that, while He stays 
 His ice-bound chariot by all our floods — 
 On all our plains, — attend the chilling Power. 
 His lagging steeds they are, and from their manes 
 Toss the fast-flying snow, a flaky shower. 
 But soon with unchecked speed shall spurn the reins 
 Dissolved by Spring's warm hand, when she shall claim 
 her dower. 
 
171 
 
 LAPSING AFTER MEANS OF GRACE INEFFECTUALLY USED. 
 
 October 14th, 1839. 
 
 And am I he that did so lately share. 
 In sacred fellowship with all the saints, 
 That feast medicinal for such complaints 1 
 For thereupon mine old disorders are 
 All broken out afresh ! — O, vain is prayer. 
 Nor sacraments avail ; my spirit faints 
 Though daily fed ; my sinful body taints, 
 Despite its life renewed, and clothed, grows bare. 
 Take pity, O take pity on me. Lord I 
 Think on my suffering and forgive my sin ; 
 And from the wicked, (thine avenging sword) 
 Deliver me, by mine own ill desires 
 Punished enough ; myself, chief foe within, 
 Subdue, but not destroy in penal fires. 
 
 For lo, the earthly tires, 
 
 And Nature is exhausted while she burns ; 
 
172 
 
 The ashes of her lusts disgust inurns. 
 
 But still for what she yearns 
 
 The Spirit seeks, and though she seek in vain 
 
 Still vainly seeks with evergrowing pain. 
 
 Even so returned again 
 
 To their rejected food the serpent train, 
 
 When growing from Hell's soil, 
 
 Those hateful trees their taste did lure and foil, 
 
 Round which they writhed in many a painful coil 
 
173 
 
 October, 1839. 
 
 The Battery looks upon the sea, 
 
 And catches the sea-breeze ; 
 And there in summer-time there be 
 
 A many shady trees ; 
 
 Whereon in summer and in spring, 
 
 The city's uncaged birds 
 Build nests, and pair, and love-lays sing- 
 Sweet as a child's first uttering 
 
 Of unexpected words. 
 
 The willow is a sightly tree ; 
 
 The willow there is seen ; 
 And tender grass spreads pleasantly 
 
 The gravelled walks between ; 
 
174 
 
 And often do I walk or sit 
 
 Beneath those drooping willows, 
 
 To look upon the bay sunlit, 
 With far white-breaking billows, 
 
 Thinking how, long ago, they broke 
 
 Upon a silent shore, 
 Or parted to that noiseless stroke — 
 
 The quiet Indian oar. 
 
 But on the day this simple song 
 
 Suggested was to me, 
 I drove the shady walks along 
 
 With rapid step and free : 
 
 With eager pleasure marking how 
 
 My favourite trees so soon 
 In budding May, were clad each bough 
 
 In foliage of June. 
 
 Did seem the walks a natural grove 
 By annual sheddings softly floored, 
 
 As the green wilderness above 
 My earnest eyes explored. 
 
175 
 
 The circuit I had traversed oft 
 
 Was traversed soon again ; 
 Wearied with gazing still aloft, 
 
 My glance sunk downward then, 
 
 And rested on one willow tree 
 
 Unlike the others there ; 
 A naked trunk it seemed to be 
 
 Of leaves and branches bare. 
 
 But was than naked something less ; 
 
 Far from its forehead bare 
 Flowed down a single soft green tress 
 
 Of the willow's drooping hair. 
 
 As then I paused a moment, pleased 
 
 The curious sight to see ; 
 The sudden thought my fancy seized, 
 
 ** This is a type of me. 
 
 " The boughs which late towards Heaven I spread, 
 
 So fair with budding leaves ; 
 — Those boughs are dead, those leaves are shed, 
 And all around, Earth's mouldy bed 
 
 Their thick decay receives. 
 
176 
 
 " Yet do I thus the soil enrich 
 
 That Ues about my root, 
 And feeds the living juices which 
 
 Not ineffectual shoot 
 
 " Upward, to form that single spray, 
 
 Which still adorns my tree ; — 
 By every other hope's decay, 
 And purpose marred, or cast away. 
 Still grows sweet poesy. 
 
 ^^ All moral verdure so I call 
 That groweth not from duty, 
 
 And liveth, if it live at all. 
 Not by its use, but beauty." 
 
POEMS 
 
 PART SEVENTH. 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1840 OCTOBER, 1842. 
 
SONNET DEDICATORY. 
 
 TO THE REV. WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MUHLENBERG, D. D. 
 
 OF ST. Paul's college, l. i. 
 September 13th. 1842. 
 
 Oft in our chapel by the sounding shore, 
 Where 'neath the windows dashed the rising tide, 
 Or was the ice of winter, crashing wide, 
 Heard through the darkness of the matin hour, 
 The first sweet notes the organ 'gan to pour 
 Upon the expectant ear, my soul would guide 
 To meditate how once was glorified 
 In hymns forgotten He whom we adore. 
 If aught like them in melody austere 
 In native hymns my pen has tried to frame, 
 To consecrate the swift revolving year 
 With punctual adoration, thus it came ; 
 While the bright tapers in our chapel dear 
 Outshone the unhallowed Hght of earthly fame. 
 Q 
 
183 
 
 TKANSLATED FROM THE LATIN. 
 
 February, 1840. 
 
 Jesu ! gracious, meek, divine ! 
 
 Jesu ! sweet, beloved, mine ! 
 Jesu gentle, Jesu mild, 
 Son of God and Mary's child. 
 
 Who, O who, can ever tell 
 His deep joy that loves thee well ? 
 Thee his portion takes in faith, 
 In thee pleasure always hath ? 
 
 Grant me power, O Lord, to prove 
 How it sweet is thee to love ; 
 
 With thee suffer, with thee weep ; 
 
 With thee still triumphing keep. 
 
184 
 
 O Majestie, Infinite ! 
 
 Life and Hope, and our Delight ! 
 Make us worthy Thee to see, 
 And forever dwell with Thee. 
 
 That beholding and enjoying, 
 Alway singing, never cloying. 
 
 We the bliss of Heaven may know ; 
 
 Amen, Jesu ! be it so. 
 
185 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN : FROM THE BREVIARY. 
 
 June, 1840. 
 
 From where the sun doth morning bring, 
 To where his beams by night are shorn, 
 The Christ, the Anointed Prince, we sing, 
 Of Mary, ever- virgin, born. 
 
 The Maker of the World arrayed 
 Himself in likeness of a slave ; 
 And not to lose the souls He made, 
 Put on the flesh, the flesh to save. 
 
 The virgin mother's side unstained 
 Power enters from the Heavenly throne ; 
 Within its walls are now contained 
 The mysteries it had not known. 
 
186 
 
 The mansion of a modest breast 
 The sudden Godhead hath received ; 
 Who knew no man — the unpossessed — 
 Hath in her womb a Son conceived. 
 
 Behold with Him she laboureth, 
 Whom pre-announced that Angel true ; 
 Whom in thy womb, EHsabeth ! 
 The yet unborn Forerunner knew. 
 
 He bore to make the straw His bed, 
 Nor in the manger scorned to lie ; 
 And He with little milk is fed 
 Who feeds the ravens when they cry. 
 
 The Angels sing to God on high 
 Songs heard on earth by shepherds' ears, 
 And through the opening midnight sky 
 The shining multitude appears. 
 
 To Thee, on that returning morn, 
 Jesus, the Son of God, we sing ; 
 — Of Mary, ever-virgin, born, 
 Of Heaven and all its angels King. 
 
187 
 
 A HYMN FOR CONFIKMATION. 
 
 July, 1840. 
 
 O Lord, who made both Heaven and Earth, 
 
 Our help is in Thy name : 
 Its virtue wrought our heavenly birth, 
 
 And must confirm the same. 
 
 O God our Father, bless thy sons ; 
 
 And hear us when we cry : 
 Thy washed, new-born, and pardoned ones 
 
 With needful strength supply. 
 
 A wise and understanding heart 
 
 On each of us bestow ; 
 Counsel and ghostly strength impart 
 
 To dwell in us and grow. 
 
188 
 
 Give us the knowledge of Thy will, 
 
 And piety sincere ; 
 And fill, O Lord, our bosoms fill 
 
 With Thy most holy fear. 
 
 9o we henceforth Thy name may bless ; 
 
 Thine, Holy Son ; and Thine, 
 Spirit of Truth and Holiness, 
 
 The Comforter Divine. 
 
189 
 
 THE HYMN FOR BOTH VESPERS ON THE FEAST OF 
 THE MOST HOLY TRINITY. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ROMAN BREVIARY. 
 July, 1840. 
 
 And now retires the burniog Sun. 
 
 But Thou art endless Light ! 
 Whose quickening power, Blest Three in One ! 
 
 Our wilHng hearts invite. 
 
 To Thee at morn we sing and pray : 
 
 To Thee we pray at even ; 
 Vouchsafe that so Thy suppliants may 
 
 Sing praise to Thee in Heaven. 
 
 To Father, Only Son, and Thee, 
 
 O Holy Ghost, the praise, 
 As ever was, so jointly be. 
 
 Through never-ending days. 
 
190 
 
 HYMN FOR COMPLINE ; FKOM THE BREVIARY, 
 
 July, 1840. 
 
 Thee before we close the day, 
 Maker of the World, we pray, 
 For thy goodness' sake to keep 
 Us in safety while we sleep. 
 
 Dreams unholy put to flight, 
 And the phantoms of the night ; 
 And the ghostly Foe restrain. 
 Else who may our bodies stain. 
 
 Let thy pity, Father, give 
 This to us, who while we live. 
 Worship Thee, thine only Son, 
 And the Holy Ghost, as One. 
 
191 
 
 Creator alme siderum. 
 
 Creator of the starry host ! 
 
 Our everlasting Day ; 
 Jesu ! Redeemer of the lost, 
 
 Hear us that humbly pray, 
 
 O thou whom lest by frauds of Hell 
 The world should perish, pure 
 
 Love from thy glory did impel 
 To be a sick world's cure ; 
 
 Thou, who the common guilt of earth 
 
 To expiate, to thy doom 
 A perfect victim camest forth 
 
 From a pure virgin's womb ; 
 
 Whose power is such and glory now, 
 That when thy name they hear, 
 
 In heaven, on earth, in hell below. 
 All bow the knee and fear : 
 
192 
 
 Who, when at length shall come the end, 
 
 Shall sit the Judge of all ; 
 Them with thy sovereign grace defend 
 
 Who now upon thee call. 
 
 Strength, Honour, Praise and Glory meet 
 
 To God the Father be ; 
 To Thee, and to the Paraclete, 
 
 Through all eternity. 
 
193 
 
 hymn: from a domestic service. 
 
 June, 1841. 
 
 Father of all, most wise ! most good ! 
 
 Who didst a way prepare, 
 By which all sinners might who would 
 
 Thy free salvation share ; 
 
 And gave Thy servants first to hear, 
 And then obey Thy word ; — 
 
 Oh to the humble prayer give ear 
 Before Thee now preferred : — 
 
 Gather our brethren to Thy fold, 
 Now with Thy word at strife ; 
 
 And be their names, like ours, enrolled 
 Upon Thy book of life. 
 
194 
 
 So we who from one earthly spring 
 (By Thee made fruitful) came, 
 
 Brought back again to one, may sing 
 In honour of Thy name, 
 
 *' Praise to the Father as is meet ; 
 
 Praise to the only Son ; 
 Praise to the Holy Paraclete. 
 
 While endless ages run." 
 
195 
 
 JAM LUCIS OKTO. 
 
 July, 1841. 
 
 Now by the risen light of day 
 To God with humble voice we pray, 
 That He the uncreated Light, 
 Himself would guide our ways aright. 
 
 Let tongue or hand in nought transgress ; 
 Let no vain thought our mind possess ; 
 Our speech with simple truth be plain, 
 And love within our bosoms reign. 
 
 As glides the day, if we should sleep, 
 O Christ ! our sleepless guardian, keep 
 Inviolate through Thy defence. 
 The foe-beleaguered gates of sense. 
 
196 
 
 And grant us that our efforts may 
 Promote Thy glory day by day ; 
 What Thou hast prompted us to do, 
 Do Thou assist us to pursue. 
 
 And lest the pride of flesh control 
 The godly motions of the soul, 
 May sparing meat and drink repress 
 The flesh's pride and wantonness. 
 
 To God the Father glory be ; 
 To Christ the Son let every knee 
 Be lowly bent ; and endless praise 
 To God the Holy Spirit raise. 
 
197 
 
 HYMN FOR A YOUNG PERSON 
 
 WHOSE BAPTISM MAY HAVE BEEN KEPT UNDEFILED BY DEADLY SIK. 
 
 July, 1841. 
 
 O Bliss supreme ! who dost impart 
 Thyself to whom Thou wilt below, 
 
 And only to the pure in heart 
 Thy secret sweetness show ; 
 
 And by Thy providence hast kept 
 Thy servant spotless from a child ; 
 
 And if I waked or if I slept 
 Preserved me undefiled ; 
 
 O Lord, that still my sacred boast 
 Of chastity may prove a truth ; 
 
 Do Thou, Creator Holy Ghost ! 
 Still sanctify my youth. 
 
 R* 
 
198 
 
 That guarded 'gainst the tempter's power 
 By purity and strength within, 
 
 I may not to my dying hour 
 Commit one mortal sin. 
 
 But never having from Thee swerved, 
 Prove victor in the ghostly strife. 
 
 In body as in soul preserved 
 To everlasting life. 
 
 So shall I be a vessel meet 
 
 The awful honours to proclaim, 
 
 O Father, Son, and Paraclete, 
 Of Thy thrice holy name. 
 
199 
 
 VESPER HYMN FOR EPIPHANY. 
 
 January 12th, 1842. 
 
 The winter sun goes early down, 
 And yields our western world to night ; 
 But shed, O Saviour ! from Thy crown, 
 Is still diffused a mystic light. 
 
 As to the eastern sages' eyes. 
 
 Gazing for Bethlehem from afar, 
 
 At eve appeared amid the skies. 
 
 To guide their steps, that wondrous star. 
 
 To us indeed no more is shown 
 A visible celestial sign ; 
 Sees now the eye of faith alone 
 The token of Thy presence shine. 
 
200 
 
 Thy Church preserved from age to age, 
 Doth thus attest herself to be 
 The House where simple ones and sage, 
 May yet their King and Saviour see. 
 
 And as of old the Gentiles came. 
 So shall again the Gentiles come. 
 Led on by her far-shining claim, 
 To find Thee in that chosen home. 
 
 Obedience she hath for gold ; 
 The patience of the saints for myrrh ; 
 For frankincense Thy praises told 
 In hymns unceasing sung by her. 
 
 And thus, O Lord, from eve to eve, 
 We for Thy glory Thee adore. 
 Who with the Father, we believe. 
 And Spirit, reignest evermore. 
 
201 
 
 A REGRET RECALLING HOPE. 
 
 July 6th, 1842. 
 
 Oft as I pass the beauty through 
 
 Of this sequestered lane, 
 I sigh to think that I should view 
 
 Its beauty thus in vain ; 
 
 — That yellow wheat and meadow green 
 
 In one fair picture joined ; 
 With wild luxuriant hedge between, 
 
 And wooded hills behind j 
 
 While screened in part by bending trees 
 
 Yon sea-like river pours ; 
 White sails slow gliding from the breeze 
 
 Atwixt its sloping shores ; 
 
202 
 
 Yet nothing feel within my breast 
 Beyond a common thrill, 
 
 A wish that can but bring unrest 
 And not itself fulfil. 
 
 O for the hour once more when thought 
 Was new and sweet and strong ; 
 
 And every glance at nature brought 
 Material for song. 
 
 Or was it but a fancied power, 
 And not a gift divine ? 
 
 Now in my soul's maturest hour, 
 To fail or to decline. 
 
 Did youth and restlessness of heart 
 
 A genial heat inspire, 
 That must with quiet days depart. 
 
 And satisfied desire. 
 
203 
 
 Ah no ! my manhood's settled lot 
 And sweet heart-centred calm, 
 
 For many a wild desire, but not 
 For this have found a balm. 
 
 And while such yearnings to my breast 
 Harmonious Nature brings ; 
 
 Yet in my songs may be expressed 
 The life and charm of things. 
 
204 
 
 THE HONEY-MOON. 
 
 TO 
 
 July 21st, 1842. 
 
 Thy smiling Present makes the Future fair, 
 
 As Earth in temperate dimes by blossoming Spring 
 
 Encircled with a white and fragrant ring 
 
 Of bridal promise— and if Time may dare 
 
 Not even for thee that primal gloss to spare, 
 
 Although he brush it with reluctant wing ; 
 
 Yet to thy heart, I trust, his flight shall bring 
 
 Of Love's experience a blissful share. 
 
 So moonlight falling on a distant river 
 
 With a vague splendour gleams ; and if more nigh, 
 
 Vanish the beams did on the surface quiver ; 
 
 In the clear depths, a rival orb of light. 
 
 The glory of its own inverted sky. 
 
 Rolls through the mirrored clouds distinct and bright. 
 
205 
 
 COMPOSED WHEN SAILING ON THE CANAL TO WHITEHALL, 
 
 July 29th, 1842. 
 
 Not like the unprofaned and natural stream 
 
 'Twixt wild and varied banks that winding flows, 
 
 Upon whose glassy rolling surface throws 
 
 The overhanging elm a mingled gleam, 
 
 Image and shadow both ; and the hot beam 
 
 Lifts from each sunny pool's noontide repose 
 
 An imperceptible but constant steam. 
 
 Moistening the wing of each soft breeze that blows ; 
 
 Not such to men the stream of common life. 
 
 That, like this dead canal, a sluggish mass. 
 
 Save as we move pursues us still the strife 
 
 Of our own motion ; while the bank's bare ridge 
 
 Reflects a glare scarce broken as we pass 
 
 Under the welcome shadow of a bridge. 
 
206 
 
 HTMN FOE THE ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. 
 
 August 6th, 1842. 
 
 O God, who wast so nigh of old 
 To Israel, Thine ancient fold ; 
 The power of whose all-ruling throne 
 Is still in sweet compassion shown ; 
 We sinners come before Thy face. 
 So we may find Thy wonted grace. 
 
 Unworthy of tjie statutes wise 
 
 Thou gavest us, the sacrifice 
 
 Of penitence for that of praise 
 
 We offer Thee, and in the ways 
 
 Which Thou with joy hadst planted, must 
 
 Cover our shame-bowed heads with dust. 
 
207 
 
 Yet while upon Thy altar, Lord, 
 The broken bread and wine outpoured 
 Still signify atonement made 
 For sinful souls, O let Thine aid 
 Put strength within us yet to run 
 In the true footsteps of Thy Son. 
 
 So may, O Lord, Thy planted grace 
 Within our hearts still keep its place ; 
 And from its sure and living root 
 Spring up of joy, the heavenly fruit, 
 Of endless praise, the blossom sweet, 
 To Father, Son, and Paraclete. 
 
208 
 
 HYMN FOR THE TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. 
 
 August 12th, 1842. 
 
 Thy first lawgiver's countenance 
 
 Diffusing sunlike rays, 
 Caught from Thy cloud-enveloped glance, 
 
 Forbade Thy people's gaze. 
 
 Yet all the glory which he saw 
 
 Was soon to pass away ; 
 And like its cedar shrine, his law 
 
 Wax old and feel decay. 
 
 If such effulgence glorified 
 
 The ministry of death ; 
 Shall that not shine which doth divide 
 
 To men the vital breath 
 
209 
 
 By which the spirit lives ; doth write 
 
 The law imperishable, 
 That purges and not blinds the sight, 
 
 On the heart's fleshly table 1 
 
 But be not ours a carnal boast ; 
 
 For if Thy servants shine, 
 O Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 
 The glory still is Thine. 
 
210 
 
 HYMN FOR THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. 
 
 August 20th, 1842. 
 
 When from Chaldsea's starry plain 
 Southward did Abram bend 
 
 His course confiding, Thou didst deign, 
 O Lord ! to call him friend. 
 
 But whence the new and mystic name, 
 To Abraham no\^ given ? 
 
 And whence the promise, in the same 
 Implied and sealed by Heaven ? 
 
 The wanderer Thy word believed, 
 
 O true, O living Lord ! 
 Thence the true promise he received 
 
 Thy scriptures old record. 
 
211 
 
 Grant us, O Lord, our faith to show 
 In acts of faith like his. 
 
 O grant it, Lord, for well we know 
 Thy only gift it is. 
 
 That so Thy faithful people may 
 Praiseworthy service do ; 
 
 Nor fail in that Thy glorious day 
 To gain Thy promise too. 
 
 To God, the Father true of Heaven ; 
 
 And with the Paraclete, 
 To Christ, the promised seed, be given 
 
 All glory as is meet. 
 
212 
 
 FOR THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. 
 
 August 27th, 1842. 
 
 How brief and simple was the word 
 That cleansed the leprous ten ? 
 
 Of all alike the prayer was heard — 
 But one turned back again ! 
 
 Of dark Samaria, shall we say ? 
 
 In error bred was he ; 
 Of thy sun-lighted region, they ; 
 
 Ungrateful Galilee ! 
 
 A deeper taint than theirs did yield 
 
 Before the mystery 
 Of cleansing words, when we were healed 
 
 Of Nature's leprosy. 
 
213 
 
 But we, O Lord, should we forget 
 
 That mercy to adore, 
 Full soon the leprosy would fret 
 
 And burn within once more. 
 
 But fill, O Lord, with love each heart 
 That Thou hast purified : 
 
 With love shall faith and hope impart 
 Their healing power beside. 
 
 So we a salted sacrifice 
 
 Of true and sweet thanksgiving 
 May offer — such as Thou wilt prize ; 
 
 And best — of holy living. 
 
214 
 
 TO 
 
 September 14th, 1842. 
 
 Descended, Mary, of one saintly line, 
 
 (It so is deemed) flows in our kindred veins 
 
 The same pure blood, by no ancestral stains 
 
 Ever polluted, since thy sires and mine 
 
 First in our story caused their name to shine. 
 
 If we renounce the creed which taught their pains, 
 
 To build upon our boundless western plains 
 
 An edifice whose type they thought divine ; 
 
 It is not that their piety sincere, 
 
 And faith unfaltering, are no more our pride ; 
 
 Or to our filial hearts their fame not dear : 
 
 To the ancient fold from which they roved so wide. 
 
 We have returned in penitence and fear ; 
 
 And there, in peace and hope, we will abide. 
 
215 
 
 COMPOSED AMONG THE GREEN MOUNTAINS. 
 
 September 23d, IQiZ 
 
 Anticipating Autumn's tardy frost, 
 
 On yonder summits lies the early snow, 
 
 Fresh fallen from heaven ; while in the vale below 
 
 Unbroken verdure doth the eye accost. 
 
 Save, that almost in the green forest lost, 
 
 The tender maples here and there may show 
 
 A scarlet plume of foliage ; — whence we know 
 
 Where the cold northern wind the vale hath crossed. 
 
 But unimpeded yet in most, the life 
 
 Of vegetable nature ebbs and flows ; 
 
 Spared a brief space by the unrelenting knife 
 
 Of sharp, victorious frosts, which soon shall close 
 
 Summer's soft reign, and wind and clouds at strife 
 
 Spread through the vale interminable snows. 
 
216 
 
 A HYMN TO THE ADORABLE TRINITY. 
 
 O luce qucB tua lates. 
 November 5th, 1842. 
 
 Which in Thy light dost hidden lie, 
 O ever blessed Trinity ! 
 We Thee confess ; we Thee believe ; 
 And would with pious heart receive. 
 
 Holy of Holies, Father Thou ! 
 Thee, Son of God, we God allow ! 
 O Chain of Charity divine. 
 Thou, Spirit, art who both dost join. 
 
 Is all the Father in the Son ; 
 Is all the Son in Him as one ; 
 And whom both Son and Father fill, 
 Dwelleth in Both the Spirit still. 
 
217 
 
 What is the Son, that is the Spirit ; 
 What is the Father, Both inherit ; 
 The blessed Three one Truth's pure beam ; 
 The blessed Three one Love supreme. 
 
 Unto the Father endless praise, 
 And to the Son and Spirit raise ; 
 Who lives and reigns. One God in Three, 
 World without end. So let it be. 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 SONNETS ON THE CORONATION OF QUEEN VICTORIA. 
 
 Page 35. 
 
 - A series of four Sonnets with this title was published in Blackwood's 
 Magazine four years ago ; but in transcribing them for publication in 
 this volume, the author made so many alterations in their form and 
 language that they can scarcely be considered as the same. One is 
 omitted. The irregularity in form of the original sonnets was the au- 
 thor's chief reason for making these alterations, and for the omission of 
 the last of the series. 
 
 From the number of poems published as Sonnets, but answering to 
 the legitimate Sonnet only in having fourteen lines, the author is led to 
 suppose that the true law of this species of composition is not generally 
 understood. A Sonnet consists of two quatrains and two terzets, and 
 admits strictly of but four rhymes. The first and fourth lines of both 
 quatrains constituting one rhyme ; the second and third of both, a se- 
 cond rhyme ; the first and third lines of the first terzet, and the middle 
 line of the second, constituting the third rhyme ; and the middle line of 
 the first, with the first and third of the second terzet, constituting the 
 fourth rhyme. English usage, however, allows three rhymes to the 
 terzets, of which Milton's Sonnets afford an example. Most of the 
 poems of fourteen lines published as Sonnets consist of three quatrains 
 and a couplet. But this arrangement destroys not only the legitimate 
 form, but the peculiar charm of the Sonnet. For my own part at least, 
 I have always felt the concluding couplet to be a blemish, and that the 
 addition of two lines more to complete a fourth quatrain, would essen- 
 tially improve the melody of these supposed Sonnets. But the true 
 
222 K0TT3S* 
 
 Sonnet has a melody of its own, which such an addition would entirely 
 ruin. The law of the Sonnet, therefore, is not arbitrary, but is founded 
 on inviolable principles of rhythm. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Nor is it servile clamour that we ^make, 
 Who born ourselves to reign, in her revere 
 The kingly nature that ourselves partake." 
 
 Page 39. 
 
 "For kingliness agrees with all Christians that are indeed Chris- 
 tians: for they are themselves of a royal nature, made kings with 
 Christ, and cannot but be friends to it, being of kin to it : and if there 
 were not kings to honour, they would want one of the appointed ob- 
 jects whereon to bestow that fulness of honour that is in their breasts. 
 A virtue wmdd be unemployed within them, and in prison, pining and 
 restless from want of its proper correlative." — From a tract of the age of 
 Charles I., inserted in Coleridge's Friend, Sec. II., Essay I. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Thy reverend ancestor was he, who first 
 Brought to our shores the Apostolic line." 
 
 SONNET DEiDICATORY. — Page 53. 
 
 The Right Rev. Samuel Seabury, Bishop of Connecticut, and the 
 first Bishop of the American succession, was consecrated by the most 
 reverend Primus of the Scottish Church, assisted by two other Bishops, 
 on the 14th of November, 1784 
 
 fV. 
 
 " An altar-tomb ! and for libations shall 
 Remembrance, ai>d for waitings praises be." 
 
 Page 56. 
 
 We all remember the sacred simile, ^' "We must needs die, and as 
 water spilt upon the ground which cannot be gathered up." To the 
 
NOTES. 223 
 
 imaginative Greek, the libation, as a funeral rite, was the symbol of 
 human life, spilt, and irrecoverably lost. Therefore Simonides says — 
 " for libations shall be Remembrance." That life was not spilt, and 
 lost, which was laid down for the honour and freedom of Greece ; but 
 rather it was garnered up and saved in that undying fame, which was 
 to the Pagan the liveliest and most cherished aspect of the existence 
 beyond the grave. " For libations shall be remembrance, and for 
 wailings shall be praise." — ^' Wailings" ; that is, the ceremonial la- 
 mentations practised by the Heathen, and still by the Oriental nations, 
 and by the Irish Celts, as a funeral rite ; but the death of the three hun- 
 dred, says Simonides, was beautiful : their lot very glorious ; because, 
 instead of this ceremonial wailing, they have eulogies; and as they are 
 not lost, so neither are they lamented, who, greatly dying for their coun- 
 try, by that death became conquerors of forgetfulness. 
 
 V. 
 
 FOR THE TOTIVE PICTURES OF CERTAIN WOMEN OF CORINTH, 
 
 Page 56. 
 
 This epigram is apparently founded on the defeat of the Medes, in 
 an intrigue to gain possession of Corinth, by the seduction of some fe- 
 male inhabitant. The force of the original depends on the contrast be- 
 tween the fair-Jighting Greeks, and the archer Medes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 danae's lament. 
 
 Page 57. 
 
 We have seen no fewer than nineteen translations of this celebrated 
 and beautiful fragment, but never any that seemed to do it justice. The 
 admired version of Mr. WilHam Hay, published several years since in 
 Blackwood, departs in many important particulars from the original, 
 and so as to lose much of its characteristic tenderness. " Clasps her 
 babe" is Hay's rendering of "Around Perseus cast her tender arm." 
 " Thine ears" is the expression which Hay puts in the mouth of 
 
224 NOTES. 
 
 Danae : — " Thy little ear" is Simonides'. " Beautiful countenance !" 
 is modernized by Hay into 
 
 " My beautiful ! my child !" 
 
 Into these deviations from the characteristic beauty of the fragment, 
 this exquisite translator appears to have been forced by the stanza 
 which he selected for his version. The expressions thus lost are pre- 
 cisely those the caressing fondness of which makes this 
 
 " A precious, tender-hearted scroll 
 Of pure Simonides." 
 
 In the second translation of the fragment in this volume, the author 
 has attempted to compress the English into the same number of lines 
 with the original Greek. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " And cried, 'what woes ai'e mine, my cMd, 
 While thou so calm- 
 Ly sleepest.' " Page 57. 
 
 " One striking beauty of the original," as Professor Wilson quotes 
 from Lord Woodhouselee's Essay on Translation, " is the easy and 
 loose structure of the verse, which has little else to distinguish it from 
 animated discourse than the harmony of syllables." "And Dionysius 
 cites it as an instance of that form of composition in which poetry ap- 
 proaches the freedom of prose." The license exemplified in the lines 
 prefixed to this note is found in the original, the freedom of which the 
 author has attempted to imitate, not only in allowing the stanzas of his 
 translation to run into one another, but in the form of the stanza itself. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Virtue, 'tis said of old, doth dwell." 
 
 Page 60. 
 
 " TJiere is a certain narrative^'' says the poet. — Herder, in his " Spirit 
 of Hebrew Poetry," has shown tliat universal in the East was the 
 tradition of a certain place of peculiar sanctity, separated from inhabited 
 
NOTES. 225 
 
 countries by inaccessible rocks, and guarded against all approach by 
 supernatural beings, who, invisible and with invisible weapons, repelled 
 every intruder. In this place were lodged the treasures of wisdom and 
 immortality — the guerdon of virtue. Herder calls this the tradition of 
 Eden and the Cherubim. Was it this tale which Simonides had re- 
 ceived 1 — Perhaps not : yet, in perusing it, we cannot avoid thinking of 
 " the flaming sword that turned every way to keep the way of the tree of 
 life." 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE SWORD WITH MYRTLE WREATHED. 
 
 Page 64. 
 
 The lovers of the higher English poetry will recollect the lines in 
 Collins' magnificent Ode : — 
 
 " What new Alcaeus, fancy blest, 
 Shall sing the sword with myrtles drest, 
 At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flames concealing ; 
 
 (What fitter place to seal a deed renowned 1) 
 Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, 
 
 It leapt in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound !" 
 
 X. 
 
 TO A NIGHTINGALE CARRYING OFF A CICADA TO ITS NESTLINGS. 
 
 Page 66. 
 
 For the spirit, and for some of the expressions, of tiiis version, the 
 author is indebted to a contributor in Blackwood's Magazine, whose 
 name he cannot recall. 
 
 XL 
 
 ON A BRIDE, WHO DIED UPON HER WEDDING NIGHT. BY MELEAGER. 
 
 Page 69. 
 
 Meleager, the Syrian, first made a collection of the Minor Greek 
 Poets, and in some graceful verses prefixed to his Anthology, cele- 
 
226 NOTES. 
 
 brated their genius with happily discriminated praise. These verses he 
 called his Garland. The finest perhaps of the elegiac epigrams were 
 written by himself, and are characteristic of that impressible and sym- 
 pathetic genius, which conceived the beautiful idea of the Anthology. 
 
 XIL 
 
 "Yet 
 Survive thy nightingales." 
 
 Page 70. 
 
 That is, his elegiac poems, so called by the Greeks. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A PICTURE OF TROJAN CHIVALRY. 
 
 Page 74. 
 
 During the heroic ages of Greece a respect for women appears to 
 have obtained, which, however it differed from the fanaticism of modem 
 gallantry, was sufficient to constitute the ground of high female excel- 
 lence. The aifecting acknowledgment of Helen, that never, during her 
 twenty years' residence in Troy, had the brave Hector insulted her by 
 word or look, nay, had protected her from the reproaches of others, is a 
 remarkable proof that the hero, like the knight, deemed courtesy the right 
 of the sex even in the persons of the frail. Women of honour, too, 
 knew what was the worth of their sex. No wife, not respected and 
 self-respected, could have said with Andromache — 
 
 But Hector ! thou art father, mother dear, 
 
 And brother ; — thou, my young spouse, all in one. 
 
 Or, more after the rapid and impassioned gallop of the Hexameter — 
 
 But thou, O my Hector ! art father, and mother beloved, 
 
 And brother ; and thou art moreover my youth-blooming husband. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 "As is the race of leaves is that of men.*' 
 
 Page 75. 
 
 The fragment on the 75th page is translated chiefly for the sake of 
 
NOTES, 227 
 
 this line, which is quoted by Simonides, in the beautiful and melan- 
 choly inscription on Life, of which a version is given on the 61st page. 
 
 " Thousand billows that were sleeping 
 Rise and toss like one." 
 
 Page 93. 
 
 The reader will scarcely need to be referred to Wordsworth's 
 
 " There are forty feeding like one." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " So of ancient melody shall the spirit, 
 Than its transient form if it be more holy, 
 In the pure breast find an enduring mansion, 
 Truly immortal." 
 
 Page 137. 
 
 " To have shrouded," says Henry Nelson Coleridge, "the keenest 
 appetite in the tenderest passion — to have articulated the pulses of ani- 
 mal desire in syllables that burn, and in a measure that breathes, and 
 flutters, and swoons away — this it is to have written immortal verses." 
 True ; — there is that in the Sapphic poems, and in the inimitable Sap- 
 phic rhythm, which is immortal ; and that is their essential spirit of 
 truth and morality. True poetry is never immoral, — 
 
 " And not unhallowed was the page 
 By winged Love inscribed, to assuage 
 
 The pangs of vain pursuit ; 
 Love, listening while the Lesbian Maid, 
 With finest touch of passion swayed 
 
 Her own .ffiolian lute." 
 
 The Sapphic poems are an expression of genuine and human 
 passion ; and everlastingly recorded in them, is a necessary step in the 
 imaginative progress of the soul to the ultimate mystery of Love ; in 
 which the appetites shall be consumed by the spiritual affections, for 
 the sake of which they exist, and to which in our present condition 
 they are intended to minister. 
 
228 NOTES. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 FOR THE TOMB OF PHILANIS ; DYING UNMARRIED. 
 
 BY THE VIRGIN ANYTE. 
 
 Page 139. 
 
 A beautiful epicedium ! and most interesting, as a proof how incon- 
 solable then was a mother's grief; — and why 7 — that it was hopeless, or 
 at least cheerless, while such bereaved thought of that pale river and 
 that mournful land of the shades, by light and warmth unvisited, by 
 loveless, joyless, restless wanderers flitted over — ^unsubstantial inhabit- 
 ants of vacuity, inheritors of disappointment, possessors of emptiness. 
 As this affecting inscription expresses the love-yearning of Greek 
 mothers, so that which follows may exemplify the loyalty, the tender- 
 ness, and the delicacy of Greek daughters. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ON A FAVOURITE HOUND, BY ANYTE. 
 
 Page 141. 
 
 A delightful thing that occurs to the student of the Anthology is the 
 unfolding in these little poems of the more delicate traits and domestic 
 habits, feelings, and pleasures of the Greeks, such as escape the grave 
 historian nor appear in the higher poetry. Thus, the female fondness 
 for pet animals is exquisitely displayed in some of the elegiac epigrams, 
 in which the death of these favourites is lamented with a charming 
 grief— half play, half passion, and altogether poetical. That on a fa- 
 vourite hound, by Anyte, is of a somewhat higher character even; 
 the interest half human ; (for a dog is a sort of a friend, and the type 
 among instinctive natures of that moral fidelity, which is grounded in 
 the free will, and is man's spiritual attribute,) while the vivid painting 
 of the spot and of the fatal incident are extremely poetical. 
 
NOTES. 229 
 
 XIX. 
 
 AN INSCRIPTION. BY MYRO. 
 
 Page 144. 
 
 " Entwining many Lilies of Anyte, and of Maero many 
 Lilies, and of Sappho few indeed, but Roses." 
 
 Such is the motto from the " Garland" of Meleager which the author 
 has prefixed to the translations from the female Poets. The Lilies of 
 Anyte and the Roses of Sappho chiefly compose this slender wreath, 
 but Myro, the elegant Byzantine, is not quite passed over ; and " a 
 myrrh-breathing, well-flowered Iris of Nossis, on whose tablets Love 
 softened the wax^^ and ' a sweet, unsullied Crocus of Erinna," contri- 
 bute to it their unwasted fragrance and imperishable bloom. 
 
 XX. 
 
 •' To meditate how once was glorified 
 In hymns forgotten He whom we adore." 
 
 Page ISL 
 
 The ancient hymns of the Western Catholic Church. — Whether it is 
 to be regretted or not, that our Reformers did not attempt to translate 
 our ancient hymns as well as our collects, it is hard to decide. Cer- 
 tain it is, that we have greatly suffered for the want of them. The 
 hymns published by the authority of our General Convention, and 
 " aUowed to be sung" in our churches, were forced upon us by the ne- 
 cessity of the times, as is well known to those acquainted with the 
 secret history of our ecclesiastical legislation. The reluctance of our 
 leading Bishops was very great; but in fact, unauthorized collections 
 were beginning to be used, and would soon have been extensively in- 
 troduced, and it was deemed expedient in order to arrest the evil to set 
 forth a collection by authority. Considering the sources from which 
 many of these effusions are derived, it is matter of devout thankfulness 
 to God that they contain so little that is positively objectionable, 
 although it must be confessed that not unfrequently they are unchas- 
 u 
 
230 NOTES. 
 
 tened in expression, and unsuited in sentiment and tone to the pui^ioses 
 of worship. 
 
 The idea of a hymn is a form of adoration, which is exemplified in 
 the Catholic hymns, and especially in those doxological compositions 
 in which the mystery of the Holy Trinity is contemplated and adored. 
 How far removed our modern hymns are from fulfilling this idea need 
 not be said. The rubric does not permit their use unless a portion of 
 the metrical psalms be sung on the same occasion of worship, (a judi- 
 cious restriction upon their use,) and in practice the greater part of them 
 are never used at all. Gradually, it is hoped, by translations from the 
 ancient hymns, like that beautiful one in the ordinal, of the Veni Crea- 
 tor, and by native English hymns composed under the influence of that 
 more primitive and Catholic spirit of devotion, which now appears to 
 be reviving, the way may be prepared for supplanting the present ano- 
 malous collection by one more in harmony with our Apostolical origin, 
 our Catholic theology, and primitive ritual. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN ; FROM THE BREVIARY. 
 
 Page 185. 
 
 The translated portion of the hymn so entitled, ends with the first 
 line of the penultimate stanza ; the remainder was added by the trans- 
 lator, the manuscript of his version breaking off at this line, and the 
 original not being at hand when this volume was preparing for the 
 press. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 A HYMN FOR BOTH VESPERS ON THE FEAST OP THE MOST HOLY TRINITY. 
 
 Page 189. 
 
 That is, for the vespers of Trinity Sunday and of the eve; on both 
 which the hymns anciently, as the collects now, in the English church, 
 were wont to be used. 
 
NOTES. 231 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 HYMN FOR COMPLINE. 
 
 Page 190. 
 
 Compline or Completorium is the name of the seventh daily service 
 of the Western Church ; it was used at bed-time. 
 
 J. P. Wright, Printer, 
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 PROFESSOR LIEBIG'S NEW WORK. 
 
 ANIMAL CHEMISTRY; 
 
 OR 
 
 ORGANIC CHEMISTRY; 
 
 IN ITS APPLICATION TO PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY. 
 
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 PART I. 
 
 Distinction between animal and vegetable 
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 PART II. 
 
 THE METAMORPHOSIS OF TISSUES. 
 
 Discovery of Proteine — Theory of chymifica- 
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 flesh — Origin of bile in the Carnivora and Her- 
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 PART III. 
 The phenomena of motion in the animal or- 
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 APPENDIX. 
 
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 PROFESSOR JOHNSTON'S AGRICULTURAL WORKS. 
 
 LECTURES 
 
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 AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY AND GEOLOGY, 
 
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 ON THE ORGANIC CONSTITUENTS OF PLANTS. 
 
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 TO WHICH are added, 
 
 SUGGESTIONS FOR EXPERIMENTS IN PRACTICAL AGRICULTURE 
 
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 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 ELEMENTS 
 
 Lecture VI. Into what substances the food 
 is changed in the interior of plants — Substances 
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 BY JAMES F. W. JOHNSTON, F. R. S. 
 
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 CONTENTS : 
 
 Chapter I. Distinction between Organic 
 and Inorganic Substances — The Ash of Plants 
 — Constitution of the Orgaiiic Parts of Plants — 
 Preparation and Properties of Carbon, Oxygen, 
 Hydrogen, and Nitrogen — Meaning of Chemical 
 Combination. 
 
 Chapter II. Form in which these different 
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 Chapter HI. Structure of Plants — Mode in 
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 Chapter VIII. Of the improvement of the 
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 Chapter IX. Animal Manures — Their rela- 
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 Chapter X. The products of Vegetation — 
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 of Food yielded by different Crops — Principles 
 on •which the Feeding of Animals depends — 
 Theoretical and experimental value of different 
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 Observations. 
 
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