• LIBRARY OF COiXGRESS. |^ 
 
 |lv.ip. .- :^opi|ngM :\'o J jf 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMKIJICA ^ 
 
THE 
 
 poem:s 
 
 OP THE LATE 
 
 JAMES C. DOOLITTLE. 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 ^, MRS. J. C. DOOLITTLE. 
 
 
 TOLEDO, OHIO : 
 
 DAILT COMMERCIAL STEAM PRINT. 
 1858. 
 
^A^ 
 
 f^'.> 
 
 Entered, according to act of Congress, In the year one thousand 
 eight handred and fifty eight, BY MRS. J. C. DOOLITTLE, in 
 the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Northern District 
 of Ohio. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Bread ! Give me Bread, 29 
 
 Blue Bird, 86 
 
 Campaign Songs, 87 
 
 Carriers' Address, 1S53, 41 
 
 1S54, 44 
 
 1855, 48 
 
 " " " 1856, 51 
 
 " " 1857, 55 
 
 1858, 58 
 
 Dirge of Winter, 11 
 
 Dream of Life, 16 
 
 Dream of the Past, 19 
 
 I am not what I seem, 7 
 
 Life Picture 6 
 
 Life's Future 24 
 
 Life's Changeful Scenes, 27 
 
 Life— A Simile 29 
 
 Laurel and Willow, 62 
 
 Life's Scenes, 83 
 
 My Grave, 63 
 
 My Boyhood's Home, 84 
 
 Nature's Request, 20 
 
 Obituary, 64 
 
POEMS. 
 
 (Me to Nijiht, . 
 
 On visiting a SlsUr 18 
 
 Spirits iin<l MimHiuik 21 
 
 Bliun the Bowl, 23 
 
 Sftiiors Ahoy, 8S 
 
 The Poet's Dream, 6 
 
 The Rill.' Bird 9 
 
 The Last Hope, 10 
 
 The Farewell, 62 
 
 The Victim's last Boon U 
 
 The Lone Grave, 25 
 
 The Blight of Folly 26 
 
 The Prisoner's Lament for Christmus 29 
 
 The Indian's Request, 32 
 
 The Voyajre of Life, f 88 
 
 The Rich Irish Brogue 87 
 
 Wafhlngton's Birth Day, ir> 
 
 80 
 
POEMS. 
 
 THR POET'S DREAM. 
 
 In drowsy lidded sleep ho lay, while vapors wild and fair 
 Stole o'er his brain with lightning speed, like wizards of the air ; 
 And in their changefiil drift of thought they wafted far and wide, 
 To plains of blood where carnage reigned, far o'er the swelling tide. 
 
 And then the scenes that childhood knew, sweet laughter's merry 
 
 note, 
 The flow'ry mead, the babbling brook, bright o'er his vision float; 
 But soon the flowers grew pallid there, the snn was clouded o'er, 
 And mournful thought transferred the scene far from his native 
 
 shore. 
 
 And then again false fancy's spell, when led by gloomy Dis, 
 Has lured him to some slimy rock, o'erhanging dark abyss ; 
 The spider's web, his brittle hold suspended in mid air, 
 And trembling for the fatal stroke, to hurl him to despair. 
 
 And then again the sc«ne was changed ; high on the billowy deep, 
 Where lightnings flash and thunders roar, the tempest's vigils keep; 
 The little bark that bore him up had yielded to the strife- 
 One shivered plank was all he held In that dread test for life. 
 
 And then he strayed o'er barren plains, on tropic's burning sands — 
 Some cooling draught his parched tongue from charity demands ; 
 Some shade to shield his melting form, some pillow for his head ; 
 The cheerless wastes are all his bower, the serpent's lair his bed. 
 
 On, on he roams, dame Fortune's sport, bright Fame his beacon 
 
 now; 
 On bended knee, at that cold shrine, he makes the sacred vow ; 
 He clutches at the diadem, and hugs the fickle sprite — 
 Some unseen hand had daubed the dame, she's haggard In his sight. 
 
 Still dreams ho on, by Fancy led, as false as she is fair ; 
 
 Italia's plains some goddess names as gemmed with beauties rare ; 
 
 He seeks the gentlo land of song, he breathes the fragrant air. 
 
6 POF.MB. 
 
 PiMir nnrftling of the wizard band, ho conrto drrftf^ iEtrin's iro. 
 Am! P«'OkK for f;pin»t<» (U»rk hih mind oVr ton' 
 On brow of ilire abyi<!i he stamls; the trt'iiiMi' "> 
 
 (slides 'iieath his feet — un* )ilth> shrub ju^t etayp umi n-'m i'^. »unib. 
 
 U,, ^),..i I -o ....,1 ^vf^kesiIl horror wild, tut fiincy "'■-•■•i •'< » '- .ir......^; 
 
 Tilt' — hih boyhood's hiiiiif. !ind j'oi 
 
 All, n ne; still ^rlooin lojiiiitaiiUMl her f: 
 
 IIm Bei^evl the liiti; in fVantic Zftft, iind brenthe<l this iduiiitivt; btruiu: 
 
 Too long the bard has slumbered ; too long the hRi[i hii^ lain ; 
 Too \(>n-4. the teciidng brain withheld the wiM and tender strain; ^ 
 But now with harp and lute attuned, he eorne» to Join the choir, 
 And claims from melody one note to wake his lyre. 
 
 LIFE PICTURE. 
 
 I saw him in his cradle bed, 
 
 A smiling infant boy ; 
 Peace waved her garland o'er hie head — 
 
 A father's hojie, a mother's joy. 
 
 YearH passed — I saw him in his childish irU r. 
 
 Just on the verge of youth, 
 Keceiving at his matron's knee 
 
 Instructions of unsullied truth. 
 
 Tears passed — 1 saw him in his manly nrido, 
 Hope's gushini.' fount was bubbling o er ; 
 
 lie floated down life's joyous tide, 
 While fortune plied the dripping oar. 
 
 Years pa.ssed — I saw him once again, 
 
 In thouchtless agitation wild, 
 Out from the common roll of men. 
 
 Misfortune's wandering child. 
 
 He roamed alone, unfriended now, 
 Un.strlcken by the hand of time; 
 
 Care's blighted plume hung o'er his brow, 
 Like ivy on the ruined snrine. 
 
POBMS. 
 
 The fatal bowl had chilled his blood, 
 And reason knelt at passion's shrine, 
 
 The sport of chance, on fate's dark flood, 
 He whirled along the shores of time. 
 
 Years passed — I saw a new-made mound, 
 Obscure, alone, in stranger land ; 
 
 A cbalk mark told the simple tale, 
 His shroud was furled by stranger's hands. 
 
 I AM NOT WHAT I SEEM. 
 
 I fain would be all that I seem, but fate has wove the web ; 
 The spinster clouded in the woof my frail and brittle thread ; 
 And though I wear a gleeful smile, 'tis like the twilight gleam, 
 Light glimmering up to fade iu night— I am not what I seem. 
 
 'Tis true, I wear the ready smile, and happy seem to all; 
 But ah ! that smile betokes the lie, 'tis but the gilded pall 
 That curtains o'er my sadness, and flashes into light 
 Despondently to sink again, in all the gloom of night. 
 
 I've sought the halls of revelry, and echoed in the song — 
 Joined in the laugh of merriment, the gayest of the throng ; 
 But ah ! the smile belies me, 'twas the gleam derision gave, 
 Like the last bright ray of sun-light o'er the ocean tempest wave. 
 
 When spring puts on her verdure, and all nature seems to smile, 
 
 Oft in her vernal arbors I the weary hours beguile ; 
 
 I admire its lovely grandeur and court the gaudy scene. 
 
 Bat its beauties are as fleeting and delusive as a dream. 
 
 Like the hope that lit me onward in the early morn of life, 
 Ere fate had strewed my pathway with thorns and cares of strife. 
 Is the smile that lights my features — 'tis but tinsel gives the gleam; 
 Beneath is gloom and sadness — I am not what I seem. 
 
 By one fond heart adored, one youthful form loves me; 
 My heart responsive beats to them, they welcome me with glee ; 
 But when I wear my sadness, I mark tho starting tear, 
 Thou clear my brow and force a smile— false mockery of cheer, 
 
P0BM8. 
 
 All Nftturo'8 fiUr, wliy am I sad T tho gav may ask in vain; 
 Perclmruo thy brow, dothed In Ms emifofi, veils dark and fi,\oomj 
 
 "Tia Nature's plan tlmt orrinKinan bhould feel tho weight of jrloom, 
 To utuuip upon tho hoart'b deep core — th!« earth b not our home. 
 
 THE BLUE BIRD. 
 
 Welcome, bwcot bird of early spring, 
 
 I bear thy cherished notes ; 
 While on t"he air their echoes ring. 
 
 To Heaven thy musio floats. 
 
 Thou com'st, quaint harbinger, arrayed 
 In love's aoft tints of modest hue. 
 
 Thy plumage, like the ethereal shade, 
 Id blended in tho brightest blue. 
 
 Tiiou hast played the truant, petted one. 
 And been a rover far, I ween ; 
 
 But now the cruel winter's gone. 
 Thou hust returned to grace the scone. 
 
 Go fetch thy fellow from the brake, 
 And summer solstice spend with mo ; 
 
 A long siesta we'll purtuke. 
 Make thia thy own bright panoply. 
 
 Thy tones melodious hero I'll greet, 
 Ilorc shall thy tledglinL's bo secure, 
 
 No meshes laid to triok their feet, 
 By truant's hand, or fulconer's lure. 
 
 And when thy nurslings learn to lly, 
 Clothed in tlieir uziire tinted gear, 
 
 I'll bid thee th«n u short good-bye, 
 To hull thco in tho coming your. 
 
rOBMS. 
 
 ODE TO NIGHT. 
 
 'Tis nija;lit I and the shadows are curtained around, 
 Dread silence prevails, in the darknesH profound. 
 Save yon glittering crescent, and her courtier band, 
 That sparkle' like diamonds in the fair distant land ; 
 Save the screech of the night-bird, or the owl's lonely note, 
 Or the time-telling clock, with its hoarse iron throat," 
 Ho sound breaks tho stillness, no ray lights the pall — 
 Tis the empire of slumber— night reigns over all. 
 
 When night weaves her meshes, and the soul sinks to rest, 
 And the wild weirds of passion are rankling the breast ; 
 When the mind roams unfettered from its casement of clay 
 'Neath the summer's warm sunshine, or winter's cold sway. 
 Oft drinking sweet nectar from the flower yielding plain, 
 Or tossed by the tempest on the billov/y main 
 Each breast fills its measure of bloom and of blight — 
 That revels untramelled, in the dream giving night. 
 
 Here, clad in his ermine, on a soft bed of down. 
 Lies the king of a realm, firmly clasping his crown ; 
 He writhes in his anguish; that couch knoAvs no rest ; 
 The fires of dread ^tna are pent in his breast ; 
 And there, on the straw mat, lies a loid of the soil ; 
 His slumber is sweetened by the day's cheerful toil ; 
 No soul chilling phantoms are torturing his bed, 
 But the solace of midnight around him is spread. 
 
 Unroofed and uncared for, a poor starA^eling lies here, 
 His mind one was brilliant, his heart once loved cheer ; 
 But the glow of the wine cup has fevered his brain. 
 Still he dreams of his childhood ne'er to know it again. 
 On yon lone couch lies a miser, fiercely clutching his gold, 
 Slumber gives him no dream, as he ne'er had a soul ; 
 His lank, meagre visage from Satan was wrung — 
 With the waters of Lethe night cools his parched tongue. 
 
 There sleeps a gay blossom, with light heaving breast. 
 Quaffing deep at love's fountain in innocent zest ; 
 In fragrance and beauty, fancy paints the sweet dream — 
 Wake, sleepers 1 awake, ere the morn change tho scene. 
 That once lovely form now lies dreamless in death, 
 Night cooled her hot pillow and drank her last breath; 
 And her cold corse was laid In the midnight's deep gloom, 
 In darkne^ and sadness, in the lone, silent tomb. 
 
10 roSMS. 
 
 THK LAST HOPE. 
 
 I've stood beside thy couch, Ilonry, and watched thee d»y by day 
 And klssod the hectic on thy ohook, the tiii "■• '■•' >-'"•• '!-'-<iy ; 
 I've ninrked the stritlcs *>( pale disease, s.i ;ter tear<<, 
 
 O'er thy lovi'd forni, in lontly niicht, with li uudfeara. 
 
 You tell me tales of by-gone days, the sweet delights of yere. 
 And paint, within tlie lapse of years, bright happiness in store, 
 When we o^ftin can wander forth to view the opening Uowers, 
 xVud breathe the incense of the morn amidst the fragrant bowers. 
 
 You said when winter storms were o'er, and gentle Spring would 
 
 come, 
 Its breath would fan the vital spark and health resume her throne ; 
 But now the rotsy Spring is here, and perfume fills the air, 
 And still the cot of pain is there, fond nuislin;,' of my care. 
 
 You said when little birds would come, and chant their matin lay, 
 That we would take our 'customed walk, the gayest of the gay ; 
 But now the warbling choir is hero, sweet anthems greet the morn, 
 And still the fatal blight is on thy loved and wasting tbrm. 
 
 Indulgent hope e'er lends her charm, and oftimes hast thou said 
 The genial warmth of Summer's sun will yield the potent aid. 
 And Autumn's bland and cheering smile will ease thy couch of pain. 
 And give me back, (Oh, grant it, Ileaveu ! ) my loved to health 
 again. 
 
 But when the gifts of Autunm come, and bring no balm for thee, 
 Mv last laiiit hope will withering full, like leaves from yonder tree. 
 I Ael that my poor heart will break 1 One boon of Heaven 1 crave ; 
 As I liuvw shared life's scones with thee, I too would sliare thy 
 grnvel 
 
POEMS. 11 
 
 DIRGE OF WINTBR. 
 
 The pearly ray of April's sun, 
 
 Proclaims the tyrant's race is run : 
 
 Old Winter, in the lap of Spring 
 
 Is dying, now, a pow'rless thing ;! 
 
 Boisterous his life, though brief his reign, 
 
 No tear npon his tomb I deign. 
 
 No solace to his death -bed bring— 
 
 My muse his blustering life shall sing. 
 
 I knew him er« his reign begun, 
 
 A precedent his sires had run ; 
 
 I knew him in his natal hour, 
 
 A cruel tj-^rant, born to power. 
 
 'Twas midnight's gloom when he was born, 
 
 His very birth produced a storm ; 
 
 No puling infant, as of earth ; 
 
 A monstrous giant at his birth. 
 
 His reign of terror quickly known, 
 
 Eevealed the blusterer on his throne. 
 
 Old Boreas, forth ! he quickly cried. 
 
 Go hurl your blastS;, the tempest ride, 
 
 Arouse the whirlwind ; shake the deep, 
 
 Wake Mermaids from their dreamy sleep— 
 
 Shive every sail that floats the main, 
 
 Proclaim aloud 'tis Winter's reign, 
 
 Bind up the streams, Snow ! clothe the earth. 
 
 Breathe death to all of summer birth ; 
 
 Bid shivering nature seek the fire, 
 
 Or dread the vengeance of my ire. 
 
 Old ocean by the beard he took 
 
 And every fibre in him shook. 
 
 Proud crafts of Art in vain essayed 
 
 To live the tempest he had made ; 
 
 But powerless all, in disport driven, 
 
 Stout masts and studded bolts were riven, 
 
 And wreck on wreck thrown on the strand, 
 
 Like pebbles from a giant's hand. 
 
 How many hearts with life blood warm 
 
 Have froze beneath his icy arm ? 
 
 Their coffin shroud the coral shell. 
 
 Old ocean groans their requiem knell 
 
 Their monuments, the billow's swell. 
 
 In oozy beds they sleep. 
 
 The forest oak within his grasp 
 Yields up its life-strings to the blast- 
 Uprooted, thrown wide o'er the heath, 
 A bubble in his powerful breath. 
 Th« mountain crest, reared in the cloud 
 l8 forced for aye to wear his shroud, 
 
1 2 rOBMB. 
 
 Tho fertile plain, robed In )i\t, rpat, 
 
 Yi''i<i - n,.n.->it <,!' lir.. »),,■ ti, nrl to cbccr; 
 
 E: rlh 
 
 Tl • tn Mrth. 
 
 If. 
 
 Tl 
 
 W hb iro to 
 
 Oil' , :: i>ct of n)i: 
 
 Boucd ilown in ileatli nt his cold fihriuo ; 
 
 By ilay 1 watched tho hoaut«!oufl flower, 
 
 But In tho mldnleht's etormy hour. 
 
 One moment left It to his powt-r, 
 
 Tivim ,\n\<\ 
 
 How many sons, In crlef ftnd woc, 
 ThrouRhout tho trackless fields of 8now, 
 ~ Their cryetnl corses there entombed, 
 Deep in the enow curlb' icy womb, 
 Have sunk beneath hit^ ruthless sway, 
 No more to feel the genial raj-, 
 No more to taste the ewoots of morn. 
 Or hear the welcome of return. 
 Not yet sufficed ; his cold envenom 'd dart, 
 I'nstrung tlie ^vidow'8 and the orphan's heart. 
 Even Innocence, with cradled care, 
 A portion of his bane must share ; 
 His searching blasts made woo the haunt 
 Of pining poverty and needy want; 
 The pent up folds M'ore made to feel. 
 The lashingd of hio crystal bteol ; 
 Tho forest beasts in nature's cure, 
 Have quaking fled down to their lair ; 
 The crt36ted pino of livinc green, 
 That proudlj' waves its iraudy sheon, 
 Was cleft by one resistlei*s twine, 
 And driven from Its mountain shrine. 
 Huge mounts of enow ho reared on high. 
 On Alpino cliffs to mock the sky, 
 Then reft them from their rocky brow — 
 Dark gleame<l his eye in eherishod vow, 
 Swift aa a shaft from anchored bow. 
 He hurled them on the world below. 
 
 And die<l. 
 
POEMS. ^3 
 
 ON VISITING A SISTER. 
 
 Again I clasp thy form of truth, 
 And passive kneel at childhood'a shrine, 
 
 Awake each slumbering thought of youth — 
 A sisters hand again is mine. 
 
 I've wandered far o'er countries fair, 
 
 And revelled in the halls of glee ; 
 But cherished memory was there 
 
 In bright and tender thought for thee. 
 
 Each little scene our childhood knew, 
 
 On flowery ban!c and shaded stream, 
 Has pass'd in bright perspective view 
 
 In fancy's sweet, illusive dream. 
 
 Thy tiny palm wafi clasped to mine, 
 
 'together hand in hand we strayed, 
 Together sat beneath the vine 
 
 And prattled in its pleasant shade. 
 
 But many years have passed away 
 
 Since life and all its joys were new, 
 But ah ! it seems but yesterday, 
 
 Save when I mark the change in you. 
 
 Thy cheek, once like the blushing rose, 
 
 Now wears the lily's sickly hue, 
 Time's withering blight too plainly showa 
 
 On all the scenes my childhood knew. 
 
 And that bright smile has fled thee, now. 
 That wont to mark thy youthful prime, 
 
 Care's blighted plume hangs o'er thy brow, 
 Like ivy on the ruined shrine. 
 
 My parent's voice, I hear it not 
 
 Come echoing through the social hall ; 
 'Tis true I'm in my native cot. 
 
 But now it seeiTis so lone by all. 
 
 Sister, what means that bitter sigh 
 
 At the bare mention of their name ? 
 That whispered prayer and upcast eye, 
 
 That points me to the angel train t 
 
 A 
 
11 P0KM8. 
 
 I fnarnl U nil ; tb^ flnrlc jrrrcn «ioi| 
 
 ()". I ImmI, 
 
 Bt'ri. iumI, 
 
 Oil, I 
 
 THE VICTIM'S LAST BOON. 
 
 Honco, honce wnnilerin^' thoui;ht.s! |.'o wend your way, 
 Ere the sun sips the tUw or the hirk sings her lay, 
 And bring me sweet numbers, britrht frems of the brnln, 
 Both si|>aiklinir and burning, to trarnish my strain: 
 " liriu^' lines from the rainb<iw, brintr the bnttertly's wing — 
 Bring the briirht giutrlinsi fouutAiu and the zephyrs of Hprinp — 
 Clip the braids froni the mermaid, cull me pearls from the de^p; 
 Go woo the sweet muses, briiifr iiw dreams from their sleep. 
 Bring the rivulet's ripple and the hoarse oct-ans roar. 
 And the clouds' pearly wreath when the tempest is o'er; 
 Then bring iije tne heart that has never known guile. 
 Closely veil in it perfunn.- from India's fair Isle ; 
 Brins the temple of Virtue, encase in its shrine 
 This eem of brisflit beauty— Ah ! (mce it was mine; 
 But the erui'l Despoiler has polluted the bowers. 
 And his breath, like the simoon, has withered the flowers. 
 By stealth he lirst trained it : like a serpent he crept 
 And prej-ed upon Virtue while Innocence slept. 
 .VII the lairy scene changed : Desolation's black storm 
 S|>rfad the "cold, witherlnL' blisht of loathing and scorn. 
 Bat the Victor has tied, and thr seotfs of the world 
 On the head of the Victim, with Venom, were hurled ! 
 Shunning all, shunned by all, in cold scorn and neglect, 
 Courting darkness to hide the hot tears of regret. 
 Till njy poor shattered form mentally yields to the bln*t. 
 And one bright ray of reason tells t6e' conflict is past! 
 But my i)ooi- sorrowing heart craves one Ions; ann last boon. 
 To pletlge my Destroyer, ere I sink to the tomb : — 
 Take from poor wceiiini.' Virtue one link from the chain — 
 (Oh ! would 'twere tht- last that deception could gain!) 
 All defiled and polluted lot it rust in unre^st. 
 In the casket of trophies, proudly hugffed to his breast! 
 Brim: tlie pale withered tlowers, from that arbor once fair, 
 Ere the serpent had entt«red and j)oisoned the air; 
 Brin;: the dark mystic meshes of the vile tempter's art. 
 And <leception's false visage of the liasalisk's heart; 
 Bring the blood of the serpent, drawn cold from his veins. 
 
POEMS. 15 
 
 That poisoned his Victim— the wreck of his aims : 
 
 Go probe the dark dungeon 1 from its inmate bring tears, 
 
 That have cankered and eaten her visage for years : 
 
 And bring me the sighs, that have stifled the air, 
 
 From the child of seduction, tlie type of despair ! 
 
 Ope the gray marble casement; bring groans from its womli, 
 
 To curse the Despoiler that clothed them in gloom ! 
 
 At night's murky noon, seek the murderer's l3reast , 
 
 Bring the fiends that are reveling in his mockery of rest , 
 
 From the toad get his venom, from the asp get his sting, 
 
 From despair's poisoned chalice the black opiate bring ! 
 
 Bring lightnings from lieaven, bring earth's direst bane — 
 
 Bring the shrieks of the damn'd, Virtue sanctions the claim ; 
 
 Bring them one ! bring them all ! 'tis the Victim's last booii, 
 
 That I pledge to the demon, ero I sink to the tomb ; 
 
 May he deep drain the lees — may it poison his zone, 
 
 When the Child of Seduction shall cease to be known. 
 
 WASHINGTON'S BIRTH DAY. 
 
 A star from the zenith descended to earth, 
 'Twas the star of our freedom, at Washington's birth ; 
 He flitted his sphere, from the bright dappled sky, 
 On the cold breast of earth, for a moment to lie. " 
 
 Bright emblem of truth, ever hail we the day, 
 Kind Heaven descended to halo our way ; 
 Our heart-strings shall cling to the day of his birth, 
 As the roots of the mountain e'er cling to tliu eartli. 
 
 Tho" his.eyes are now sealed, yet the bard, with his nuiul)crs, 
 Shall garland the urn, that pillows his slumbers. 
 And the muse shall bring gems, bright thoughts of the brain, 
 To herald sweet anthems o'er the mountain and plain. 
 
 And the vine tresseled arbor shall yield its perfume, 
 Breathed in soft silvery dew drops, to garnish hi.s tomb ; 
 And the air-warbling songsters shall answer tliu lyn- 
 On the river's "bright border," where slumbers our sire. 
 
 Though death sealed his eyes, yet his image is here, 
 To brighten our fireside with the richest of cheer. 
 Behold him in commerce, floating wide o'er the earth, 
 In the stars ou our ensign, that shone at his birth. 
 
16 POEMS. 
 
 Go paze on yon fallow, on the trreen wnvlriff corn, 
 At the flocks on the hill-side, of tlu'tr thi-cos unehorn ; 
 Then opt'H the fmriuT.% oVrllowirur with (rrain. 
 And (fuzo ou hia liuago, the fruits of his rt-ijrn. 
 
 Go paze on yon cattle, that so Tnj'sticAlly sprung 
 
 From the couch of onoluuitiufnt. when tho hattlo waa wyn 
 
 ^Tia the imliUT of freedom, his iiii!it.'e is there. 
 
 Floating ll;;ht on the siiriLeuins. like a spirit of air. 
 
 E'en the lowiieet threshold is as sacred and pure. 
 As the marble and fresco, with the oak carven door. 
 Not the foot of pollution dare cross o'er that shrine — 
 He guards the low portals, with bis image divine. 
 
 A bard the suWlinest, if not sweetest has sun? 
 "God never created but one Washiiiiitou," 
 And gazed on this treasure, as an infant he lay. 
 And deemed him too pure for earth's common clay. 
 
 Ills eyes are now sealed ; lowly bend we the knee 
 
 At the tomb where he slumbers, the shrine of the free, 
 
 And weave we a chaplet, to laurel the grave 
 
 Of the "sage and the chieftain, the sire and the brave." 
 
 DREAM Ut L11''E. 
 
 Could we renew our youthful years, 
 
 Again to taste the joys and fears. 
 
 And feel the sweet paternal rays. 
 
 That wanned our chihlhood's wayward ways. 
 
 Again would folly guide our Jife 
 
 In thorny paths of care ami strife. 
 
 Is ofttiine asked by Banl and >uge, 
 
 And been tlin til. ■III.- ..f iiiiiny a page. 
 
 ^ >t none can tell. 
 
 -My dreamy muse shall court the theme, 
 And claim the aid of Melpomene, 
 Portrayed by lile. First take the youth 
 Keared' up lu virtue and m truth, 
 
POEMS. 17 
 
 The dazzling phantoms of the world 
 In all their gaudeous hues unfurled ; 
 Ills yonthf\il breast by love inflamed, 
 Some charming object, there enchained, 
 Makes downy pillows sweet with dreams 
 And rolling rivers, purling streams ; 
 Makes earth an arbor, gemmed with flowers, 
 And life's bright pathway through the bowers. 
 He bares his breast to Oupid's dart. 
 And clasps tije trophy to his heart ; 
 All now is bright, a cloudless sua 
 Beams bright o'er all the race he's run, 
 He dreams. 
 
 Let but an object come between 
 The airy phantom of his dream, 
 Let one dark cloud obscure the ray 
 Of fancy's disk that lit his way — 
 Wild reels his brain — the gloomy pall 
 Of murky night o'ershadows all. 
 The air built castles of the world 
 On desolation's shore are hurled ; 
 The cherished minion's gilded dart 
 Gives back no thrill to glad the heart. 
 Each flattering hope, each phantom fair 
 Have winged their flight down to despair, 
 Delusive fancy's flower strewed way 
 By one fell blast is swept away, 
 And w'ithering at his feet they lay. 
 He wakes. 
 
 Oh ! could he sleep, and sleep r.gain, — 
 'Tis waking gives the dreamer pain, — 
 The wierds of night oft steal tha brain. 
 Which morn returns surcharged with pain ; 
 But mid-day dreams, at fancy's call. 
 Steal mind, and sense, and reas.>u all ; 
 But this is life — a bubble blown 
 By fate. But give him back h;s youthful zone, 
 Paint every scene his life has k aown. 
 Would he not seek the self sarr e bowers. 
 That strewed his path with withered flowers ? 
 Would he not clasp the self saiae dart. 
 And hug the shaft that pierced his heart ? 
 Would he not sleep, and paint vhe scene. 
 And wake, and find it all a dream '? 
 Would he not run the self sam> round? 
 Say Bard, saj- Sage, ea}' men profound. 
 Go viev/ him in the deadly strii'e 
 Where fame is bouglit with human life. 
 Where blood and carnage rule the daj, 
 
18 poaiis. 
 
 And heaps, on heaps. In col<l deutb lay— 
 Ami thiinilt-riii^' cfintion tloul" the onr, 
 With lirave hreast bared <li'fyirii.' fi-ur; 
 And Sfc the warrior's tlashinj^ ey»-. 
 His i:!irnu'iit.>* stained in crlniKon dye. 
 K.'d, rceklns; red, he 'bite.s the dust." 
 Karlli pillows up her hunored trust, 
 While, wiilluwini^ in his bloody L'rave, 
 Like Triton in the foniniug wave. 
 Wiiat heart but weens at war's alarms, 
 But weeps in vain while fame wears ami:*? 
 I oriee have heard a warrior say, 
 Who olt had stood the battle's fray, 
 With laurels tfreen fresh from the strife — 
 Wlm'd counted up the roll of life, 
 Tliat fell beneath his powerful ndght, 
 <)M many a hlood-red field of nirhl— 
 Thai never more he'd light for lame. — 
 'Twas but a phantom, false ;te vain; 
 And, like a hero, dropp'd a tear 
 O'er honored worth, a soldier's bier. 
 Kejuvinato that warrior's life, 
 Make fame the boon of deadly strife, 
 Go sound the war's alarm again. 
 And shake the earth with tread of men; 
 Wake slumbering cannon from their ease, 
 hhake out the banner to the breeze, 
 Forth to the charge, the bnglc sound. 
 Deal death, destruction all around — 
 Full soon he'd clasp the glitteriHi.' .•»teel 
 'To try the valor of the gael," 
 AL'ain to drench the earth in gore 
 And count his victims by the score ; 
 Again the widow's heart should bleed, 
 And all for fame, a warrior's meed. 
 Would ho not seek the self same round i 
 Say Bard, say Sage, say men profound. 
 The ])oor inebriato at his bowl, 
 Who fiuatt's the poison to his soul, 
 Predoomed by fate the lees to drain, 
 That cloud the reason, .>>teal the brain, 
 Tran.-iform the human form to benst. 
 To revel in the demon's feast, 
 And wallow in the mire of earth, 
 Ignoble man, polluting birth, 
 "Till devlLs, in their awful dread, 
 pour boiling lava on his head, 
 .\Md his-,ing seriieuts, battling round, 
 And nameless fiends with hideoun sound, 
 Quick hurl him down despair's dark wave, 
 To lowly doom, a drunkard's gra\c. 
 
POEMS. 19 
 
 Resuscitate that ghastly form, 
 Give back the hopes of young life's morn, 
 Let truthful nature paint the scene 
 Of Bacchus in his drunken dream. 
 The ills, the woes, despair of soul, 
 That all must feel who lift the bowl, 
 The certain doom, the fiends, the fears, 
 That follow in that vale of tears ; 
 Of all the woes, paint all the scenes, 
 And hold them up, ere yet he dreams, — 
 Would he not seize the self same bowl, 
 That poured the poison to his soul, 
 And, like the swine, back to the stye, 
 When nature heralds ''drink and die," 
 Would he not seek the self same round ? 
 Say Bard, say Sage, say men profound. 
 Precocioiis youth ! great nature's plan 
 Is, study reason, study man. 
 
 DREAM OF THE PAST. 
 
 The day had passed— the gleam of eve was setting on the plain, 
 The vesper bell told out its chimes, far echoing o'er the main. 
 When Morpheus, in his blandest smile, embraced my feeble form, 
 And lulled me into gentle sleep, to tarry till the morn. 
 
 The dim remembrance of the past came creeping o'er my soul, 
 And in my dream I clasp'd the pen, to draw the feeble scroll. 
 Some tonic for a fever'd mind, the frenzied brain required ; 
 My muse held forth the sparkling bowl— 'twas all the heart desired. 
 
 I tipp'd the brim— the chart of thought lay spread before my eyes. 
 And fancy, with her myriad train, came fluttering from the skies; 
 The glittering coronet of item.s, that bound the bi-ow of hope, 
 Like stars in "yon bright zone unveiled within my vision's scope. 
 
 The labyrinthian path of youth I gaily trod again, 
 And every charm that childhood knew, was flowing in the ken ; 
 A Father's and a Mother's voice fell sweetly on my ear, 
 And gentle Sister's prattling tones were melody to hear. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 My Rchonlboy dayn wcr<* pictured there, an*! • ly form, 
 
 TliBt I w&n fuudly wont tu ^rret-t, in youtho I lor iu<<rn ; 
 
 And e"en tlie l)eauteous i.rbor, where lovc tlr&l .. .rv, ,,iy lay. 
 And pli^'hted vows were Interchanged, beneuth pale (Jybtblaii ray. 
 
 IntoxicAto with melting jov, I revelled In thes^one, 
 
 Eui'h dnv to yt-ars .<*oenied fenpthoned out, so 'luring wo» the dream; 
 
 But, as ileceftful as the ndst, that gilds, in rainbow hues, 
 
 The btorm-cloud in its wrathful tracks, to mock the sweetest mii9t» 
 
 That treacherous eun that beamed at noon, soon gleamed in yon far 
 
 west. 
 And spirits of a different form were rankling in my breast, 
 Like spider on his spiral web. .'•uspended in mid air, 
 Awaiting for the fatal twang, to hurl me to despasr. 
 
 I roamed alone, through foggy fens, through cold, and drought, and 
 
 snow,' 
 Whirled in the drift of gloomy thonght, M-here sluggish streamleta 
 
 flow; 
 The tleshless hand was on the wall, the fatal scroll was drawn ; 
 With clammy sweat my couch was drenched, long e'er the opening 
 
 dawn. 
 
 I fain would sleep to dream again, if no dread sequel came ; 
 . But those fantastic wierds of night, with pleasure mingle pain ; 
 No dowiiy bed of feathery form, with Cupid's tlow'rets strown. 
 But find some thorn beneath tlic* rose, that willful fate harh sown. 
 
 The following lines were written on hearing that the rouncil in 
 tended to remove the Old Grave Yard to make room for street iui 
 proveuient. They are respectfully dedicated to the Common Coun 
 cil of Toledo: 
 
 NATURE'S REQUEST. 
 
 Forbear thy hand ; touch not that spot, 'tis consecrated ground ; 
 There sleep tlie withered tluwers of youth, and there the sage pi" 
 
 found ; 
 And there the smiling infant bud, torn from it« mothers breast, 
 Ere scarce it sipp'd the goblets brim, wa^^ cnwlled to its re^t, 
 The matron and the hoary sire, there shiinbcr side b.\ »i<le. 
 Oh, ue"er disturb tU'.'ir peaceful dust. ''wLuui >.eath could not di- 
 vide." 
 
POEMS. 21 
 
 Forbear thy hand ; touch not that spot ; death owns the little mine. 
 Who dare escheat that silent claim, by any base desigrn ? 
 Death's sacred gems are hoarded there ; let no intruder's hand 
 Hyena-like pollute the urn, or w^ave the leveling wand ; 
 Biit press sweet flowers around their tombs; there let the willow 
 
 wave, 
 Lone emblem of departed worth, to droop above the grave; 
 There let the foliage of the oak expand on its broad wings; 
 Green be those little mounds of yore that fond remembrance brings. 
 
 Cursed be the hand that mars that spot. Tis nature's frail request — 
 Ope not the bleeding Avounds afresh, that time has calmed to rest. 
 Wake not the dead, vain man of clay , thy doom ere long will come. 
 WoukVst have thy ashes strewn o'er earth forth from their peaceful 
 
 tomb? 
 Those silent members of that lawn were once like you and I — 
 Light beat their hearts with ardent hope, gay beamed the sparkling 
 
 eye, 
 But, "earth to earth" dread fate's decree— break not their peaceful 
 
 rest ; 
 Eob not the grave of sacred mould, 'tis nature's last request, 
 
 SPIRITS AND MEDIUMS. 
 Respectfully Dedicated to the Eapplng Fraternity. 
 
 Hence, go we hence — the grave, the shroud — 
 O'er all the earth hangs death's black cloud ; 
 No glimpse peeps through the sacred gloom 
 That overhangs the silent tomb. 
 Where go we then, to what fair clime ? 
 The wisest sage could not divine ; 
 No sibyl from enchantment's dell 
 Our spirits' home shall ever tell. 
 In Hiro that gave our clay its form 
 We trust for shelter in the storm. 
 No stroke of chance e'er formed this earth ; 
 That Mighty Being gave it birth. 
 Who holds and plays it in its sphere, 
 Like bubbles in the limpid air. 
 Though millions kneel at Holy Shrine, 
 None ever saw that form divine ; 
 Nor will he waft on wings of night 
 To gloomy earth a heavenly sprite. 
 Will He that bade the weary rest, 
 E'er tear us from our parent's breast ? 
 Is there no peace beyond the tomb ? 
 Are our poor spirits doomed to roam 
 
 B 
 
91 fOBMS. 
 
 In vapory ahrouds, and flit their sphere 
 
 For this cold eurth's unjoyous cheer. 
 
 In midnight rant to vent their ep]e«D 
 
 On maudlin mun. unsi^'ht, unseen ? 
 
 Think ye that He whoM- nuL'hty hand 
 
 Ten tliou^nd world'; h'lldsnt command, 
 
 Will viold Hib pjiliri to thl- ruul urt 
 
 That ^uman juf,'?lers wouil impart, 
 
 As messengers from thiit far zone 
 
 Where rest the dead — that dark unknown, 
 
 High Impcri:J o'er the throne 
 
 Great Nature dwells? 
 
 Poor nursling of fanatic sties. 
 
 Thy ken can never reach the skieo; 
 
 The darkened mazes thou would'st scan. 
 
 Will ne'er be oped to mortal man. 
 
 None ever broke the seal of death ; 
 
 From that dread b(jurne who e'er returned f 
 
 Who e'er conversed with dust inurned ? 
 
 Ye talk of spirits in the air; 
 
 Where came they from ? Yes, tell me where. 
 
 Come they from Heaven with tldinKS glad. 
 
 Or up from Hell with torments mad? 
 
 Do they assume death's livid form ? 
 
 Come they in sunshine or In storm ? 
 
 Bide they on wintrs of pearly day. 
 
 Or 'neath the moonlight's mellow ray, 
 
 Or in the murky ujidnisfht's hour? 
 
 Hold they some medium in their power — 
 
 The scum of earth, by isnoiance driven — 
 
 To probe the secrets of high Heaven ? 
 
 'Tis fantasy of human brain, 
 
 An igniH fatuu^ holds the rein. 
 
 If Jove e'er grants to this cold earth 
 
 Bright messengers of celestial birth. 
 
 In dazzling light their forms will beam. 
 
 And stars at noon av irem the scene. 
 
 No lurid lightning's vivid glare, 
 
 With sulphury forms will taint the air; 
 
 Nor incantation's ])utrid maw, 
 
 Purged of Its spawn, will break the law 
 
 Kind nature made. 
 
 When Titans and the blood v Mars 
 
 Against the gods waged cruel wars, 
 
 With giant forms, and magic might. 
 
 Piled Oesa on Pel ion's height, 
 
 The steep they mount, the clouds are riven ; 
 
 But ere they scale the walls of Heaven, 
 
 Jove's thunder breaks their magic spell, 
 
 And hurls the demons back to Hell, 
 
 In direful torments there to dwell 
 
 Forever. 
 
POEMS. 23 
 
 SHUN THE BOWL. 
 
 I drank ; I lik'd it not ; 'twas rage, 'twas noise, 
 
 An airy scene of transitory joys. 
 
 In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl 
 
 Would banish sorrow and enlarge the soul. 
 
 To the late revel and protracted feast 
 
 Wild dreams succeeded and disordered rest. 
 
 Pkiob. 
 
 Cursed be the bowl, the fatal bowl ; drain not the lees of wine ; 
 Too long the scorpion's fatal coil has held me in his twine. 
 I've felt the deadly aspen's sting, quaffed from the social bowl, 
 As poignant as when ''Egypt's Queen" gave back her guilty soul. 
 
 Some little freak of early life perchance has gloomed my way, — 
 
 I've revelled in the fatal bowl, to drive the cloud away ; 
 
 But artificial scenes of life are false as folly's dream, 
 
 They end in sorrow, pain and strife — delusions mock the scene. 
 
 I feel that I am immature ; untimely I am old ; 
 Scarce half the tale allotted man to me has yet been told ; — 
 But Oh, what weight of early blight is resting on my brow, 
 Those raven locks that crowned my head are snowy emblems now. 
 
 The little that I love of life is centered in two forms ; 
 
 For them I'd brave the battle's strife, and spurn the howling 
 
 storms ; , 
 
 For them I'd mount the deadly breach, when carnage spreads the 
 
 pall ; 
 For them I'll shun the sparkling bowl, the deadliest bane of all. 
 
 A ccursed the hand that rears the cup forth to his neighbor's lip. 
 Cursed be that sparkling goblet, that tempted me to sip — 
 Jove's thunders rest upon that head, of Bacchanalian birth, 
 That first trod out the purple bane, to make a Hell of Earth. 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 LIFE'S FUTURE. 
 
 In the lap of the ftUure, where rich bcautlou lay 
 
 Veilft' ' •' ■ ' ■■' ''■•'■• "- -'-ory flprny, 
 
 Earli k«n, 
 
 Aud g' . , '} b'»">- 
 
 Lol the youth of linht pjiirits, boumlinc ovor life's sea, 
 Looks back on sweet chililhood as a rook on his lee. 
 On ! on ! for the future ; press presM the white eail — 
 For that far hidden future he brciwts the rough gale. 
 
 'Twas a star lured him onward; no light-house was near, 
 Through the long stormy night, yet no moorings appear ; 
 On — onward ho pressed : "for the. future I" he crieu ; 
 False echo responded, " the future," and died. 
 
 See yon beauteous Argo, just entering the peas, 
 Like a rose scarce unfolding its loaves to the breeze; 
 How smoothly she glides, in the zephyrs of youth. 
 Freighted deep with hope's tinsel for the future, forsooth. 
 
 " But where is that future?" tlie frail being cries, 
 " 1 had dreamed in my childhood it lived in tlie skies; 
 But this earth is so beauteous, where — where's that bright zone, 
 • Where joys cloy on joys? in this present there's none." 
 
 " I will on to the future," the fair one replied ; 
 " I will seek for those joys In the charms of a bride ; 
 In that haven of hope, I will furl the white sail, 
 Aud trust to that future, to ride out the gale." 
 
 When joys cloy on joya — ah ! my beautiful one. 
 
 Thy day dream's a dew drop, qu'lcklv quaffed by the sun ; 
 
 Thou cans"t not repose on that coucu at thy eaa'e, 
 
 For life's pleasures are false, as the billowy seats. 
 
 And thy beauty will fade like the roses in June. 
 "Leaf by leaf fall away, as they lose their i>ertumo," 
 Yet sate with enchantment, press on to the goal, 
 On the false fleeting future, is thy ''fullness of soul." 
 
 E'en the sire at four-score, tottering down to tlie grave ; 
 Courts the false fabled fountain, his aged liml>s to lave, 
 And probes the deep future, for hopes tlattering aid. 
 In his vain dream at eighty, future prospects are laid. 
 
POEMS. 25 
 
 I once knew a dame with five score on her head ; 
 
 Her life seemed a phantom, so quickly it sped. 
 
 Little dreamed she of death; like a Stoic she bore 
 
 Thia lauk load of " yesterdays " and etill sighed for more. 
 
 Frail models of clay I as ye flit through this sphere, 
 Quaff the joys that are passing, 'tis life's only cheer ; 
 Those by and by pleasures, like to-morrow, are where — 
 As we grasp at the phantom, 'tis a bubble of air. 
 
 THE LONE GRAVE. 
 
 I've wandered in the graye-yard, I've stoo 1 beside the tomb 
 Where sleeps the love of other years, cut down in early bloom ; 
 I gazed upon the sculptured slab, I scanned the simple lay 
 That told of innocence and truth, in youth's bright summer day. 
 
 And close beside that Parian pile was reared a little mound — 
 A sullied lily's drooping leaves the mellow greensward crowned : 
 No stranger notes the lonely spot, no stone proclaims her birth, 
 In shame she sleeps in that cold shrine a blighted flower of earth. 
 
 Her youthful form was beaming fair, her heart as sparkling bright, 
 As the star-bespangled coronet, that decks the brow of night ; 
 Her life was one wild round of joy, enwovo with fancy's spell, 
 The wily serpent sought her bower — by treacherous arts she fell ! 
 
 7on cone that rears its sculptured head, is her destroyer's grave — 
 A Brother's hand avenged the wrongs a Sister's weakness gave ; 
 (Jo scan the lines — deep chiseled there, pale mockery of gloom — 
 It speaks of virtue there enshrined, in that cold serpent's tomb ! 
 
 Read we the lay — 'tis passing sweet — 'tfe friendship's tender strain- 
 Here sleeps the gifted son of worth, a model of fair fame ; 
 His life was chaste, his virtues rare, no shadow dimmed his way — 
 If yon lone grave could tell the tale, as false as hell this lay. 
 
 Full oft I've road the well told tale, inscribed to hoary age. 
 But never saw one vice proclaimed upon tlxe marble page ; 
 The miser, who for glittering gold, would bed in serpent's lair, 
 Sleeps 'neath somo ponderous lettered stone, proclaiming virtues 
 rare. 
 
26 POBMB. 
 
 Why murk, the spot whore dust to dust responsive doth return ? 
 Why wreath the polished pyramid, why falsify the urn? 
 BfoVath it.H bu."»e no treasur*- lies, "tis biit a <'lay-rold form. 
 Whose bpirlt took iu airy tllght on dt^uth's dark diiimal morn. 
 
 THE BLIGHT OF FOLLY. 
 
 My looks are fcroy. my limbs are weak ; and vet I am not old, 
 I'ngenerous tiim- nascriinped my brow, ereliulf my davt* are told; 
 Pale Autumn's gloom la round me cast, e'er Spring l\-e scarcely 
 
 known. 
 And onlj' sipped nt manliood's fount, in tAvilight's dewy zone. 
 
 'Tls trno, I drew in thoughtless youth, larire drafts on coralns time, 
 And little dreamed the ruthless knave would protest manoood's 
 
 prime ; 
 The date I'd forged to ripened ago, when weakness called on death 
 To canetl all the dues of life, in one last gtisping breath. 
 
 Poor fooli.«h man ! the Siren's lure had clouded reason's throne ; 
 Dread fates licentious reins were loose^ her coursers wreathed in 
 
 foam. 
 On, dashed they — on, with frightful speed, when fancy led the train, 
 'Till weuping nature curbed the steeds, and seized the slackened 
 
 rein. 
 
 It seems to me 'twere yesterday I was a blooming youth. 
 My matron's voice, (I fiear it still,) oh, would it were a truth ; 
 But all! she'd scarcely kuow me now. those jetty locks are white, 
 Vet I'm not old in tale of years, 'tis folly's early blight. 
 
 'Tis folly's blight Precocious youth ! touch not yon sparkling 
 
 wine, 
 Its lees are draft*, endorsed by fate, on manhood's early prime. 
 Trust not to time, the lying elf; she has no balm for pain ; 
 Kach day she adds some nauseous drug to her droad cup of bane. 
 
 Where Is the Sinn's treacherous hire, that bid me loose the rein ? 
 And where the promised morrow's balm, to soothe the breast of 
 
 y)ain ? 
 All, all, is false, a wreck am I, yet hope's my beacon light; 
 No time can e'er restore my loss, that curse of folly's blight. 
 
P0HM3. 2^ 
 
 LIFE'S CHANGEFUL SCENES. 
 
 Like nature's plants I'm wasting, with a slow but stire decay ; 
 
 The flowing tide that bore my bark is ebbing fast away ; 
 
 Those tender strains that cheered my youth were but the siren's 
 
 song; 
 The withered flowers of manhood's pride are given to the storm, 
 
 I've gazed upon the flowery mead, gemmed with the pearly dew, 
 
 And drank the richest goblet that Floras' fountain drew. 
 
 And I have basked beneath the oak whilst the v.arblers sung the 
 
 'ay, 
 In love s enchaniing nulody, to hail the ue w-born day. 
 
 I'Te stood iipon the battle field when blood In streamlets flowed, 
 And watched the direful carnage that fiendish hate bestowed, 
 And I have marked the quivering nei-ves when life-blood cancelled 
 
 life ; 
 In awe I viewed the fearful scenes, and cuned the deadly strife. 
 
 I've gazed upon old Neptune's couch, and trod the pebbly shore, 
 
 Where tempests shake the mighty deep, and howling thunders 
 roar, 
 
 Where mermaids mount the rocky steep, woke from their sea- 
 weed bed — 
 
 An ignis fatuus of the main, that countless thousands dread. 
 
 I've gazed upon the avalanche, just tottering on the brow 
 
 Of Alpine's mighty towering cliff, and marked dame nature's vow, 
 
 To hurl it from the dread abyss, high from its airy sphere; 
 
 In awe I gazed on scenes like these, with mingled joy and fear. 
 
 I've stood on Etna's fearful brink, where Pluto reigns supreme, 
 And gazed into its murky depth, a gloomy, frightful scene ; 
 And I have tottered down the steep, where molten lava flowed. 
 And as 1 viewed this type of Hell, with awe my bosom glowed. 
 
 The dull stale waste of sameness never bore a charm for me ; 
 I'd sooner breast the mountain rill, sent foaming to the sea, 
 Than lave my feet in fetid pools, whose surface knows no change, 
 And run the same routine of life throughout its fitful range. 
 
28 P0RM8. 
 
 THE PRISONERS LAMENT FOR CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Ilnrk! hark! I hear Uio cbimtng pcaU, 'tis Chrlelmoit' hallow- 
 
 morn : 
 Now merry croctinjrs (lU the oar, pftjj crown the coii|ou» horn ; 
 But ah, to ino no thei-rin-r Sounds theso rifteil rocks {>ri>cluiin, 
 Theao nuuwive walls prciH-nt no gifts in Iriendijbip's tender nam 
 
 IIuw oft I've hailed this hallowed morn, when youthful vk-' 
 
 plowt'<i. 
 And eaifor sought the Uttle gifts portntal hands bestowed ; 
 Hut i»h, the charms of youth luive flown, the fond delight* of yoi. 
 That bluHh of childlike innocence with guilt is crimsoned o'er. 
 
 This day the festive br.. nod with ■ 
 
 And fiif'nds partake in the merry 
 
 Hut 1 Ml bcrelt Ot" ull lilr .> b»< ii.~. of home Uim mi nipmj. ..v.ii, 
 
 A prison's lonely solitude is my unjoyous cheer. 
 
 This day the bridal WTeath is bound on Hymen's holy shrine. 
 And tlie fairest, loveliest ones of earth, the golden chain entwin. 
 But my bridal link is broken by the vitreous wave of crinio: 
 The green-sward mantles o'er her grave, a living sepulchre is min 
 
 This day five years have cycled o'er since first .,she was my bride, 
 "We plighted sacred truth to each, let weal or woe i»etide; 
 The blighting blast of fate swept o'er, slie withered in the storm, 
 And I am left a victim now to a world's coM cruel scorn. 
 
 Farewell, ye favored ones of earth ; farewell, ray hallowed days. 
 My morning's sun was fair as yours, though clouded now it« my 
 My parent's voice is stilled in death, my loved of all is gone. 
 My frantic brain is reeling now, and reason haves her throne. 
 
FOEMS. 29 
 
 BREAD I GIVE ME BREAD I 
 
 As in my silent musing a voice I chanced to hear, 
 'Twas hunger's eager wailing fell on my listening ear; 
 Look on this shattered fabric ; behold my sunken eye ; 
 Bread ! give me bread ! for 1 languish and sigh. 
 
 I'm charged with cruel poverty, she murmured with a tear, 
 Give me a simple pittance of life preserving cheer ; 
 No crime, however small, but wears a deeper die ; 
 Bread ! give me bread 1 for 1 languish and sigh. 
 
 I pass the halls of plenty, I hear their gleeful lays ; 
 Those tones my lightsome heart once rung in youth's bright hal- 
 lowed days ; 
 Of wealth I ask in famished tones the crumbs cast to your sty ; 
 Bread ! give me bread 1 for I languish to die. 
 
 Two lovely babes lie shivering, couched on their straw cold bed. 
 Their soft and feeble voices are crying now for bread ; 
 Untutored in their innocence, Oh, must they starve and die ? 
 Bread I give me bread I for I languish and sigh. 
 
 Thy garner's stored with plenty, oh must I pine in want? 
 Must lear eye'd hunger's ghastly form my lowly cottage haunt ? 
 I plead for soft compassion, is mercy's fountain dry ? 
 Bread ! give me bread ! for 1 languish to die. 
 
 LIFE—A SIMILE. 
 
 'Tis spring tide, and our sails are spread on life's uncertain sea, 
 Our little bark is buoyed up with spirits light and free ; 
 Hope Alls the sails, all nature's fair, no cloud obscures the scene, 
 JSio shadow dims the gladsome eye, to mar our youthful dream. 
 
 Bright Phcebus paints the early dawn ; at eve soft zephyrs play, 
 Like fairies at a bridal couch, or sea-nymphs in the spray ; 
 Each bursting bud, each opening flower, and every joy we know 
 Was sweeter than the blushing rose, when gemmed in pearly dew. 
 
 
 
30 poncB. 
 
 O'er fleeting spring came Bommer's sun. In yonthftil vision paw'd ; 
 Yet sumtner woro the p;orpcous robes that waninc: spring had ca«t. 
 Our life was mirrored i:i the scene, snrina: lime ana youth were one; 
 Our cherished hopes were mominB nowers, kissed by the noon-tide 
 eun. 
 
 Bv laughing rill, in leafy bowers, we pass'd the summer time, 
 Tnrew onek the past, the giddy past, back t<> its natal clime ; 
 Kach little sweet that fancy oiavod, by nature"** hand was crowned 
 'Till summertime and maiihood's prime had told their little round. 
 
 O'er dying beauty autumn wept, robed in her golden hue; 
 Her lovely sisters both had flttwn, like gems of early dew ; 
 The web of spring and summer's woof, gay tinted for the loom, 
 i"alse fancy laid, and autumn wove a.shroud to wrap the tomb. 
 
 "When bleak November's hoary frost is ripening on the plain. 
 Old time tells o'er his score of sheaves, and gathers in tne grain; 
 The cherished flowers of early spring, that blight that autumn gave. 
 Are Nature's flrst, last gifts to us, the cradle and the grave. 
 
 A cheerless winter reigns supreme, the tempest's driving past, 
 Kach little flower thatdecked the earth, is given to the blast; 
 And human mould like nature's plant<5, are gathered to the fold; 
 Then, what is life? a season's round, a tale that's quickly told. 
 
 WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Ope, ope the wide portals, Ve hail the glad dawn ! 
 
 'Tis the voice of rejoicing that heralds the morn; 
 
 'Tis a tribute to greatness that gave Freedom its birth. 
 
 And Columbia an altar the purest on earth, 
 
 Where t)ie poor and the humble cau kneel on this day, 
 
 In the suusnineof Freedom, jus ^ homage to pay 
 
 To worth never equalled, to glory's bright sheen. 
 
 While Truth, Love and Mercy proudly smile on the scene. 
 
 The grave has closed o'er hinfi, yet the dav of his birth 
 Shall beam as unclouded as his'honor and worth ; 
 And the genius of Liberty, from her eyrie on high. 
 On light floating pinions shall mount to the sky. 
 And wave her broad wings o'er the wide spreading land, 
 From main unto main 'twas the gift of his hand. 
 And the waves of the ocean shall re-echo his noma 
 To millions unborn, on the brignt list of famei 
 
POEMS. 31 
 
 O'er his ashes Inurned, let the Incense burn bright 
 As his helmet and shield in the days of his might— 
 Not the rust of neglect, nor time's ruthless band, 
 Nor ' pollution's foul footsteps,' nor disunion's rude brandy 
 Shall erase from our bosoms the love that he bore, 
 In the home that he gave us on Freedom's fair shore ; 
 Not a nation on earth — not a clime 'neath the sun. 
 But shall honor the name of the Great Washington ! 
 
 He still lives, and shall live, while the sun's light shall shine, 
 
 As the sire of our freedom, the gem of our shrine. 
 
 He still lives, and shall live, as the chieftain that bore 
 
 Our bark through that vista to the haven of yore ; 
 
 As the sage whose wise counsels held t3rrants at bay ; 
 
 As the statesman whose wisdom illumined the way, 
 
 In the day when men's souls were tried as by fire, 
 
 When the Lions of Britain were vaunting their ire ; 
 
 In the day when vile Hessians polluted our land. 
 
 On Camden's red plains with the sword and the brand; 
 
 In the day when Cornwallis. old England's proud boast, 
 
 Keluctant, at Yorktown, delivered his host; 
 
 In the day, when, discharging his conquering band, 
 
 He laid down the sceptre like a sage of the land, 
 
 And returned to his homestead, a loved nation's worth. 
 
 Great Nature's fair model, unequalled of earth. 
 
 He lives, and shall live while the axis shall roll. 
 
 In Columbia's vitals, the heart and the soul ; 
 
 He shall live while one gem of our freedom remains, 
 
 While one fragrant flower shall bloom on our plains ; 
 
 While a rivulet flows down the green mountain side, 
 
 While a wave of the ocean shall swell in a tide , 
 
 While one germ of Nature shall awaken to birth, 
 
 The name of our Hero shall emblazon the earth. 
 
 He lives, and shall live till time is no more ; 
 
 When ruin and chaos shall darken our shore, 
 
 Even then his loved form shall hover above 
 
 The gem he gave Freedom, the land of his love. 
 
32 poiMS. 
 
 THE INDIAN S REQUEST. 
 
 Tht-y'vc polluti.'.! .,.., _ <■ ; .....1 forced me to roam, 
 
 Th»<y buvf ffllod tht- twll uiik fr.iin my <!«'iir fortat bom«: 
 
 Ni>t a shfeM of iLs sihuilow Hint Invltiiij^ly lay 
 
 Oil the yrevri-tufu-d curnet, but hub fft'lod awiiy : 
 
 Anil ihf groven wo hel«l siuTed, \>y th.* britrht habbliog brook, 
 
 When- our Chiefs, In t«i»:e ei'imcif, of the otferln>? parUiuk, 
 
 Are shorn of their leiillets, of their ylory bereft; 
 
 Not u jtliimo of their <rriinileiir by the jiftle-face Is lefL 
 
 E'en the bWeot bloouiinL' tlowers <>n the jxreeU velvet lawn, 
 
 Breutbint; frairriiuce and i)eautv, out-blushing the morn. 
 
 Are wruni; from tlieir moss beds and scattered atrhast. 
 
 Like the maidens that tressed them, the sport of the blast. 
 
 One poor human tluwret, the briirht fawn of our race, 
 
 That mot me witli smiles when returned from the chase, 
 
 And f^ildcd the watnpum in vsild fancy's pride, 
 
 A gay zone for her lover, my fair Indian bride. 
 
 She sleeps in the spirit land — she's gone to her rest ; 
 
 Death-robed in the ffirdle — 'twas her last, last rt^quest — 
 
 'Tls the symbol of truth — list ye i)ale raee of men ; 
 
 You have rifled the ca.^liet, touch not this bright geml 
 
 You have murdered my sire, mv cabin you've burned, 
 
 The cries of my fair one and infants ye spurned ; 
 
 Like a tiger, insatiate, you scent for my blood. 
 
 And follow my fo«Ksteps o'er the dark western flood. 
 
 But farther I will not. No ! here let me rest 
 
 On the river's wild border — 'tis my last, last request. 
 
 Oh, cruel despoilers ! where would ye I'd go ? 
 
 To yon cheerless mountains, all curtained in snow? 
 
 That would not suffice thee ; back, back is the word 
 
 Proclaimed in thy connitils, and sealed by the sword ! 
 
 I've courted thy proffers, meekly bowed al thy will ; 
 
 But thy charms are the serpent's — they lure but to kill; 
 
 Like ice-gems that vanish neath the sun's peerless ray, 
 
 One by one all our nations are melting awayl 
 
 Like the grave, ye cry " Give ! " in the foul lust of soul — 
 
 Having drained the last nectAr, would now crush the bowl. 
 
 For the fate of my brethren, in anguish I mourn. 
 
 And you, ye proud nations, shall mourn in your turn 
 
 When the war-trump shall sound, and the battle's rude strife 
 
 Call the sons and tl>e sires to the contest for life ; 
 
 And the death-dealing cannon their slumbers shall wake 1 
 
 Promethean furies, in ilread missions of hate. 
 
 Howl their requieiri notes o'er tliy wide-sjireading land; 
 
 Dest)lation and ruin, with the sword and the brand, 
 
 Shall scathe o'er thy plains like the storm-driven clou<l. 
 
 Niirht-palling the Ileavens with their smoke-wreathingenroud; 
 
 And the war shout shall horror thy couch and thy rest, 
 
 With infants torn reeking from their «iead mother's breast. 
 
 WheQ thii pLiuMi' and iUl- I'.irniiu! siiall min-rle th.-ir throfS, 
 
 / 
 
^ POEMS. 33 
 
 Ask not at the altar the cause of thy woes ; 
 
 But ask in thy prayers the vengeance ye gave— 
 
 Ask rapine and murder, an unhallowed grave ; 
 
 Ask the snow-cloud for shelter from the cold winter's blast, 
 
 And the granite for food from starvation's dread fast — 
 
 Ask the wild driving tempest its fury to calm, 
 
 And the ice-cliffs for sunbeams, thy chilled lioibs to warm ; 
 
 Ask the caves for a covert from the foemen's dire foe, 
 
 And the nnrift flint-rock to pillow thy woe ; 
 
 Then ask of thy victors in the cold earth to rest, 
 
 In some wild barren nook, as a last, last request: 
 
 And when in wild anguish, thy spirit shall sink, 
 
 Think, then of the red man — let thy curse be to think ; 
 
 Th«se the boons that ye meted : all, all shall be given — 
 
 '* For thy G-od is my God " — Justice reigns in Heaven. 
 
 LIFE SCENES. 
 
 I've courted Life's pleasures, I've clasped at the form. 
 But the substance proved fleeting as the dewdrops of morn ; 
 Like the rose in its beauty, when plucked from its stem, 
 Leaf by leaf falls away as we fondle the gem : 
 'Tis thus with life's pleasures, evanescent as rare. 
 Oast their perfume and beauty to waste on the air ; 
 While we woo the fair goddess she's flitting away, 
 And deceit lies in ambush to lure us astray. 
 
 I've sought the halls where the dance and the song, 
 And the wine's sparkling glow had entwined the throng ; 
 And I watched each fair breast as it rose and it fell, 
 In joy's playful dalliance and pride's mystic spell: 
 The pearl and the diamond proudly bore ofl' the prize, 
 Eclipsing fair Virtue, and dazzling all eyes, 
 ■Till the brain reeled insatiate in beauty's bright gleam. 
 And delusion's false mirage o'erclouded the scene. 
 
 Then I've wandered away to the low cabin door, 
 And gazed o'er the threshold of the needy and poor ; 
 No wine-cheering banquet was spread for their fare — 
 No rubies nor pearls, nor diamond's false glare ; 
 But the mock of a shelter from the night's piercing storm, 
 And hunger's harsh cravings were stamped on each form, 
 And the infant's low wail, as it slumbered in pain. 
 Darkly painted the contrast that palsied the brain. 
 
Si POEMB. 
 
 Then my nlght-tmant footsteps sadly wandered away 
 To the halls of debauch, whore, the mind led astray, 
 An infbrluto was revflliii(ir In the lust of the bowl — 
 In the dir. -i.i • •i',,, lutlon that poisons the soul; 
 And I f^av .1 form of a genius once rare, 
 
 Dr:»iniritr. i mI w:in, the diirk cup of despair, 
 
 Till the uiHgncL ol" nnujon was l««st In the gloom, 
 And the wreck of the gifted lowly sank to th« tomb. 
 
 And I said in my heart, as I left the sad scene, 
 
 " How unstable an<l rteeting is life's happiest dream 1" 
 
 In youth's rosy uiornini.', with prospects elate, 
 
 Hope spreads her bright banner to battle with fate, 
 
 B'lt the siren of pleasure, false — false as she's fair. 
 
 Leads her votaries onward to the cliff of despair. 
 
 And the beacon that flittered on the storm-stricken height, 
 
 lb lost in the gloom, like the meteor's light 
 
 MY BOYHOOD'S HOME. 
 
 Oh ! could I but my boyhood's days in life again renew, 
 And share thaf sweet paternal smile, as I was wont to do. 
 E'er f-incy's wild delusions had tempted me to roam, 
 And leave the sweetest spot on earth, my home, my boyhood's 
 home 1 
 
 I've roamed In search of happiness, I've wandered long in vain, 
 I've sought it in the social hail, and on the flowery plain ; 
 Its every charm has proved a blank, its pleasures'are but lone, 
 Compared to those loved scenes of youth, my home, my boyhood'a 
 home. 
 
 IVe r amed the giddy mountain's height, and in the lonely glen. 
 And soucht for rest in solitude, far from the haunts of men; 
 There, liuesome lonely hermit, unknowing and unknown, 
 I've freighted every breeze with sighs for home, my boyhood's 
 home. 
 
 When first my truant feet would roam, a father's hand I prest. 
 And marked the deep commotion that throbbed a parent's bre»st. 
 That mother's eye, so sweetly bright, in love it ever shone; 
 No smile can e er repay that glance t my home, my boyhood's 
 home. 
 
fosMs. 35 
 
 Full oft 1 view that hallowed spot in fancy's fitful dream; 
 The garden walk, the cooling grot, and eke the crystal stream, 
 Ah I for that lovely cottage, where my best days were known ; 
 There smiling peace forever reigned : my home, my boyhood'8 
 hornet 
 
 Alas 1 that lo»ely arbour, once gemmed with sweetest flowers, ' 
 Tressed by a Sister's gentle hand, it shone like fairy bowers ; 
 Bat now the beauteous alcove, with moss 'tis overgrown; 
 The hand of Time has revelled there — my home, my boyhood's 
 home I 
 
 BLUE BIRD. 
 
 I've watched for thee, my pretty bird, 
 Long ere the buds had decked the bowers ; 
 
 Thou hast redeemed thy plighted word, 
 True herald of the fragrant flowers. 
 
 Where hast thou wandered ? what far clime 
 Has held thee captive, say, my fair, 
 
 Since last I fondly called thee mine. 
 And nurtured thee with tender care ? 
 
 Hence went ye forth with joyous brood, 
 
 Four singing seraphs of the air ; 
 Thou now return'st in lonely mood ; 
 
 Where are thy birdUngs ? — tell me where. 
 
 There's one per chance has found a home, 
 And kindred mate in some fair isle : 
 
 And one mayhap is doomed to roam 
 Far from his kin, a lone exile. 
 
 Two yet remain ; where, where are they ? 
 
 Has fate transfixed them with its shaft ? 
 Thy voice proclaims in mournful lay, 
 
 They perished in the wintry blast. 
 
 Like househould group, one hallowed form 
 Gave life to all, and cherished food. 
 
 But when exposed to life's cold storm, 
 They're scattered like thy feathered brood. 
 
86 POKMS. 
 
 jj„t .1. ., .1 1 r...... 1 . .,, tl... «,,»,«,^ 
 
 No - 
 
 Bwcet luoeMUgcf oi' tiurl) opriiig. 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 My boyhood's on the riff^*" • '♦- n-n, I'm floa'-"-' ^'"^ *^- ♦■■' • - 
 Green nmssy hniiksjiiiii 'Wersari U^ 
 
 The ilriuping our, ull ri' _'s, and I't. . 
 
 In purple tints of early ^priilg, and violet* ou iLe law i, 
 
 Thp tiny bark elides smoothly on, the streamlet 1. * \ an- ; 
 
 Unskillful ytmlh (ii>car(ls th.- oar, and rears the !' ' ; 
 
 The chart is spreail, each di-pth and shoal is Lea' Uf eye. 
 
 Rich freighted with delusive hopes, beneath the azure eky. 
 
 Full soon the stream In volumes swell, the yodth to manhood"* 
 
 trrown. 
 The Zephyr's soft and 'lurini? voice still breathes its merry tone ; 
 The dark blue sea's expansive waste, isoradlejj in the view. 
 And every thanu lies bucied there, that liuicy's minion drew. 
 
 Rich gaudy plumage of the main, is flutterinfi: in the ken. 
 Each crested mast its bauncr waves, to crown their little gen» ; 
 Swan-like fii)ortinir in the breeze, as Ind iusjiicy vales. 
 In wantonness supintdy sleeps, reckless of coming gales. 
 
 The mirrowed deep, like heaving breasts by fHghtftil visions torn, 
 "VN'ild undulatinc in its couch, dread spirits of the storm 
 Are writliinp in its oozy womb, pent neath the Tridont's swav. 
 Full soon to burst in wrathful pride, and wreath the foaming ."prny 
 
 Yon little cloud of sable brow, dread me?«!»enirer of fate. 
 Torn treinl-ling from its tempest lair, i.y hate 
 
 Is hoverins o'er the vast expanse, the 1 h 
 
 In fitful glare begrims the scene, like t^^i^ - ^^ i^i.. t.v.v. v. ..<.atht 
 
 The feathered couch of silvery form, that 'lured the flowing sail, 
 And bore upon its bosom soft, that little craft f^o frail ; 
 Surged by the mijrhty Storm Kind's ^^Tath, bi;:h a^01ympu^l'8^v»•ll, 
 And fickle fate in sportive mood chants chorus to the- knclL 
 
 Where now the beauteous argo, that entered on the tide — 
 The mos.^v banks and tower, that spread so far and wide ? 
 The surf-bound shore and crairgy clitfs, are all that meet the eye; 
 And such is Life— a wild routine, one fatal cast of die. 
 
CAMPAIGN SONGS, 
 
 WmiTEN DTTEING THE PEESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN OP 1852. 
 
 "THAT KICH IRISH BROGUE." 
 Am — .Exiles of Erin. 
 
 There comes to our shore a voice o'er old Erie, 
 'Tis Doinocracy's anthems that herald our ears. 
 
 Sad discord to Whigjjery, and the sons of old Erin, 
 Inhale the soft zcjjhyrs. with shouts of " three cheers.' 
 
 Alas ! for that cabin, reared high on the clay bank, 
 ^ The flag that once floated. is"tattered and torn, 
 The cabin's degraded by foul whig pollution. 
 And the notes in its recess are sad and forlorn. 
 
 Oh, should they degrade the loved creed of our Fathers; 
 
 Should the cabin polluted e'er echo its theme ; 
 Forgive it, kind Heaven. Waft not o'er the waters 
 
 One foul breath of its actor's political scheme. 
 
 Like the fable of old, in false robes they're roaming, 
 And vibrate their notes on Religion and wrong; 
 
 But list not ! oh, list not I to political sirens. 
 They would sell our poor birth-right for less than a song. 
 
 They have rung every change on the " rich brogue " of Erin, 
 And the Germanic accent" is sweet music to hear, 
 
 But the digits protrude from the head of the lion. 
 And the brogue of his braying is unjoyous cheer. 
 
 Sons of Erin, arouse ye ! Shake off the infection 
 Hypocritical demons have dared to proclaim ; 
 
 Profane not the altar, it • precepts are sacred. 
 And free from pollution let it ever remain. 
 
 D 
 
38 POBMB. 
 
 One nigh for old Erin, lt» wrongp nnA nppre*lon«, 
 Tho theme that wo cherish, shall l' >•« a home ; 
 
 May the star that eVr (fnl<lc'<l a Orn iwQiet, 
 
 Bo the beacon to ll^rht uo whorevc .^.u. 
 
 SAILORS AHOYI 
 
 DKMOCRATIO RALLY. 
 
 We are a great and mighty Nation ; we extend from Sea to Sea, 
 We're the brightest orb in nature, of all that's great and free; 
 Then cherish well this freedom ; finllute not the Stripes and Stars- 
 Yield not the palm of victory to any Son of Maks. 
 In wisdom rally to the polls, and cost a freeman's mite. 
 The golden fleece of Col<his one party would obtain. 
 But tlie hand of honest iudubtry my muse shall e'er proclaim. 
 
 We're a noble band of Brothers, the power is in our hands; 
 Then, let us up the glittering height, where freedom's altiir stands. 
 There have we sworn, by Jlim who reigns, ne'er to pollute it« 
 
 shrine, 
 Nor couch beneath a despot's sway, while yon bright orb shall 
 
 shine. 
 Then rally, freemen rally I that oath you must fulfil ; 
 Cast not your vote for despot*, thatKTE is on you still — 
 That eye paternal e'er shall smile, if wisdoui guides your way. 
 Nor the clouded sun of despotism o'ershadow free<lom*8 day. 
 
 We're a Democratic Nation ; Tyrants tremble on the throne. 
 
 For the wave is wafting onward, that shall reach from Zone to 
 
 Zone. 
 And the puryde robes of Tyranny shall be shivered in the blast, 
 And the Stripes and Stars of Liberty be nailed to every mast 
 Then rally, freeman rally ! cast not your votes away; 
 Oh ! the silken ^love of Whiggcry, it ne'r shall uvlt. the day. 
 For we're the bone and sinew; we toil through cold and rain ; 
 In the Abk ok True Demooracv our rights we will maintain. 
 
 We're a great commercial Nation ; we traverse every Sea, 
 And the ensign floating o'er us, is an emblem of the free ; 
 No Tyrant diaru molest it, nor obliterate one gem, 
 
?0BM8. 39 
 
 Of the diamond stars that glitter in this glorious diadem. 
 Then, rally, freemen rally ! be foremost in the fight, 
 In the fickle storm of Whiggery, behold our beacon light ! 
 In the Haven of Democracy your anchorage is sure, 
 And the rights of every Seaman shall ever be secure. 
 
 You're a noble band of Mariners ! brave nurslings of the blast! 
 May the Ocean King protect you, when the tempest's driving fast ; 
 May kind' Neptiine hover near you and assuage the cruel storms ! 
 But beware of fickle Nereus, he'assumes a thousand forms. 
 Then, rally, Seamen rally ! Nereus rides upon the storm, 
 Clad in the cloak of Whiggery, behold his demon form; 
 His light is false, delusive'; there's breakers on the strand, 
 But the light of true Democracy lies on the starboard hand. 
 
 We're a noble band of freemen ; we fraternize the land, 
 
 And the oppressed of every nation receive a friendly hand. 
 
 Though Europe sends her millions, we've lands and homes for all ; 
 
 The Eagle of Democracy no Despot shall appal. 
 
 Then, rally, freemen rally ! each adopted son of Earth, 
 
 We extend the hand of welcome, no matter where your birth ; 
 
 For the principle we cherish, is equality to all. 
 
 And o'er cruel Whig restriction, we cast the fimeral pall. 
 
CARRIERS' ADDRESSES 
 
 VmiTTl^yi FOE TQE TOLEDO EEPXTBLICAN A'ND DAILY COMMEECIAL. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1853. 
 
 y?.t last, 'tis come, the requiem bell 
 Night's stillness brealcs ; Old Year, farewell I 
 Scarce thirteen moons have waned away, 
 "We hailed thy birth, a New Year day; 
 But soon, full soon, thy race is run, 
 Thy talc is told, the song is sung — 
 And many and various changes rung 
 On human destiny. 
 
 The brightest stars within our sphere 
 Have paled and died with thee, Old Year; 
 Our Webster's gone, our Clay's no more, 
 Whose fixme has spread from shore to shore. 
 Farewell ! they sleep; but deathless fame 
 Shall ever herald fortli the name 
 Of Clay and Webster. 
 
 But now thy lay, Old Yeai*, to sing, 
 Deep draughts irom memory's fount I'll bring, 
 And take a brief perspective view, 
 First of the old world, then the new. 
 There's much to mar my mnse's strain 
 When painting Hungary and its pain ; 
 But, not regarding Austrian might, 
 The truth sliall glow in freedom's light. 
 Kossuth — a meteor from Hungarian skies, 
 Where freedom's germ in embryo lies — 
 He came, Columbia's honored guest, 
 To claim a patriot's high behest ; 
 One Eaglet's plume he^pluck'd and wore, 
 When first he pressed fair freedom's shore, 
 And asked of freedom's sons that plume 
 To stay his Fatherhxnd from doom. 
 Our Eagle's plumes when dip'd in gall 
 Can every Tyrant monarch pall — 
 In gall they yet shall cross the main, 
 To tyranny a deadly banc. 
 
i% POIMB. 
 
 H«p«btirph >>*wnr^» rnnnif Esel*»« soar, 
 
 T ■■■■■:■■ -^ shore; 
 
 uvrm, 
 
 i ... ,. .. ... ......;.; ..:;u. 
 
 <»iir EaKle'« eve is ju-erctl on Ihoo, 
 Thou|,'h wiile'lt.s fli;;ht o'er mount and sea; 
 But, like the tenira-st-lmlen cloud, 
 Ita beuk shall furl tin- funeriil shroud 
 Oct Aubtriau tyranny. 
 
 Chance wo (he theme, but not the lay, 
 Whore other tyraiit.s hold the sway — 
 To sunny France, that hind of mirth 
 That claims Naiioleonj barring birth, 
 Now crouched bcneatli a Despot's sway — 
 More dark than Kobe^llerian day. 
 Louis! thy 8un's meridian lit.'ht 
 Shall .set in dark and trloomy night ! 
 Frnnce .shall aroii.-e, no tyrant's hand 
 Bhall hold the sway in that fair land. 
 Frenchmen, be free I yield not the right 
 To any Despot's conqueretl might ! 
 Marseilles ! Marseilles ! Oh let it ring 
 From shore to shore, that glorious hymn 1 
 True herald of a signet vow 
 To lav the proud usurper low. 
 To otlier themes, I change the lay, 
 Where Spanish tyrants hold the sway — 
 To Cuba's coral girded Isle, 
 Where nature wears her blandest smile; 
 But nature smiles for her in vain 
 "While tyrants wield the galling chain ; 
 But Cuba yet a gem shall be. 
 And Wear the emblem of the free. 
 Lopez ! for thee we grant the tear, 
 Though folly brought thy earlj' bier ; 
 Thy motive just, thy cau.se was good. 
 Though sunk in gloomy scenes of blood ; 
 Thy death of shame shall yet be crowned, 
 And Cuba yet shall rear a "mound 
 To Lopez's name. 
 
 To Northern skies my muse shall go. 
 Where gleams eternal frost and snow; 
 Where vitreous frowning Icebergs reign 
 The mighty giants of the main. 
 Midst floating mountains of the sea 
 We dread, 8tT John, to think of thee; 
 And for thy con.stant Lady true 
 All that a pitying world can do 
 Is done. 
 
POBMS. 43 
 
 But more; while one bright ray of hope shall shine, 
 
 We'll traverse every northern clime, 
 
 Nor ever yield a hope for thee, 
 
 Until we know thy destiny. 
 
 Lady ! hope on, thy hope, not bright. 
 
 Like Cynthia's ray, is borrowed light ; 
 
 Thy constancy through earth is crowned, 
 
 Of woman's love the world renowned. 
 
 And now to freedom's gifted shore 
 The muse his richest strain shall pour. 
 Land of my birth ! land of my strain 1 
 Here no foul despot's hand can reign; 
 Here no oppressor brands our land — 
 "We are the people, and command ; 
 . We are the brightest glorious gem, 
 That any mortal mind can ken ; — 
 Here Heaven's richest blessings shower, 
 Here Earth pours forth her richest store. 
 Here feel we no despot's power 
 The poor to brand. 
 
 Here man's a man, though not a lord ; 
 We feel no government of sword, 
 " Grant equal rights," is our watchword 
 In this fair land. 
 
 Two Sister States have reared themselves, 
 
 On wild Pacific's coast ; 
 
 The " Golden Land" and Oregon, 
 
 Of these, we proudly boast. 
 
 There's Mexico that now is ruled 
 
 In most disgraceful manner, 
 
 Should guarded be by Uncle Sam, 
 
 And shielded by his banner. 
 
 We've Canada upon the north, 
 
 Crying for Annexation, 
 With this spliced on, we'd surely be 
 
 A mighty thriving nation. 
 
 Our yarn's most spun, so now for fun ; 
 
 We'll talk of things in vogue — 
 Election's o'er, we'll say no more 
 
 'Bout that " RICH IRISH BKOGITE ; " 
 
 No more we greet the accent sweet 
 Of whiggery's columned troop ! 
 
 The party muss of " faint " and " fuss ' 
 Have paused to take their " soup." 
 
44 POEMS. 
 
 Ahont th<'8o tlriT^- '-■'■ '"'-'linz rhymes 
 
 E.illroods arc . 
 Yo»i nci-d not 1: Idrrapli 
 
 Will soon \>o much Lou slow. 
 Stfumboats of late arc out of date. 
 
 Ye roviM< ' ■' '.if) ; 
 
 'Tlsbuta^ :i- a rido 
 
 Upon th< ' train. 
 
 We'll all agree In flfly-thre© 
 
 Inv(-ntions will be made; 
 Old jinslir? bras?, Payne's water gas 
 
 "Will all be in the shade. 
 Goodrich A Co., with canes to go, 
 
 And engines by Ericson: 
 "Whose Caloric ship, is bound to whip, 
 
 Each other " Yankee lijcin. " 
 
 Thfsc busy days weVe many ways. 
 
 To chcor an honest man; 
 So ?reet with joy the Carrier Boy, 
 
 And aid him what you can. 
 It is but fair, if y(»u should spare, 
 
 The '• Boys "' a little '* tin ; ' 
 'Twixt you and nie, thoy love to coo. 
 
 Those shining wheels roll in. 
 
 CARRIERS' ADDRESS OF 18r.4. 
 
 Old TEAn— Upon thy hoary head 
 The funeral pali at Inst is spread ; 
 But scarcely had'st thou dolled the crown, 
 And feebly laid the sceptre down. 
 Ere rnlins Time with < r.n.'selc'^e round, 
 Anotlier New Year day had crowned. 
 And sUunpod thy lifu a fleeting .scene. 
 That vanished lih'j the twi ijjht gleuin, 
 In gloomy night 
 
 But one good friend of ihino. Old Year, 
 Will chant thy i: ;:r. 
 
 Though I no git 
 In mellow strui...:, w. , ... , Lj ^,11^;, 
 
POEMS. 45 
 
 Tet I will tell when thou wert born — 
 'Twas on a cloudless winter's morn ; 
 The circling snow-flakes clothed the earth, 
 When joy proclaimed a New Year's birth ; 
 Youth, manhood, and old age for thee. 
 Joined in the song with happy glee. 
 Spring followed early in thy reign, 
 With countless beauties in its train; 
 And Summer's suns beamed o'er the plain, 
 And Autumn, with its golden grain, 
 Made glad the heart. 
 
 Eaise we the pall to light the gloom, 
 And strew these chaplets o'er thy tomb ; 
 But as I chant thy lay, Old Year, 
 My muse shall wipe the falling tear. 
 There's many a theme Td fain forego, 
 Deep stained in dies of human woe. 
 Wild raging war, on foreign shore, 
 Now feeds her soil with crimson gore ; 
 Proud turbaned Turks, from harems fair. 
 Have nobly braved the Eussian Bear; 
 Already France, for conflict rife, 
 Unsheaths the sword for deadly strife ; 
 And England, too, prompt to her call, 
 Will proudly stand or nobly fall. 
 
 One barking cur the strife foregoes, 
 Bars helping friends, or braving foes, 
 
 But like the wolf, when shepherds sleep, 
 
 Would ponnce upon defenceless sheep. 
 
 False Austria, thy midway stand 
 
 Shall crouch beneath the giant's hand! 
 
 One taper-match M'-ould light the mine, 
 
 To hurl thee from thy guilty shrine I 
 
 Oh, for the fabled dragon's tooth. 
 
 To cast upon thy plains, forsooth, 
 
 When bristling with its crops of men, 
 
 To beard the lion in his den, 
 
 Hungarians' wrongs, Hungarians' woes, 
 
 Should then be felt by Hungary's foes. 
 
 Poor, bleeding Hungary, I chant thy lay 
 
 In bitter abscynth of delay : 
 
 Thou art sleeping now, and o'er thy grave 
 
 The willow and the cypress wave ; 
 
 Dream yet awhile—bide well your time— 
 
 A torch, lit up at Freedom's shrine, 
 
 Wide o'er thy blood-stained realm shall shine, 
 
 And Liberty shall yet be thine, 
 In Fatherland. 
 
 Prophetic muse I thy strain proclaims, 
 Ere summer's sun to autumn wanes, 
 
 E 
 
46 poius. 
 
 That blood shall flow on Eiiroj%f > plains, 
 
 Like liivR froui " '" — 
 
 Aii'I xiiow-cltiil ; I streama, 
 
 >hull itIio with ;... ,. ..t;>; 
 
 And tottoiiric throiio stiull rail to t-arth, 
 liisiirniiis of unholy worili; 
 Ami troubled Europe's pent up firo« 
 Burst forth in Oaiiies on kinjily ^ire.<^ 
 To shako the etirtU. 
 
 Italia — bright Inml of song, 
 Thou long hast felt tho oppressor's wrong — 
 Predestined by dread fato to be 
 The sport of future destiny. 
 AVhen Europe's fires shall fiercely bum, 
 In Fortune's wheel thou too shalt turn. 
 And with tho nations of the earth, 
 Aspire to freemen's noble worth! 
 Naj\ seize the right— 'twas thine of yore ; 
 At Freedom's shrine ye swore before. 
 No tyrant's foot should brand the shore 
 Of Italy. 
 
 "Wild roams my muse to Erin's shore. 
 
 But nature smiles for her no more; 
 
 Green Isle of Fate, thy sons in vain 
 
 Have strove for years to ease thy pain. 
 
 But Tara's harp on Tara's walb 
 
 Hangs mute and dumb midst withered palls; 
 
 The sweetest strains that bards e'er sung. 
 
 Have powerless on thy tyrants rung — 
 
 Tho deepest lore failed to impart 
 
 One gem of hope to cheer thy heart. 
 
 Oh, England, would thy sons'but see 
 
 One haff of Ireland's misery — 
 
 Could you but feel one yearning pang 
 
 That hunger gives to starving man — 
 
 No more you'd rant on Afrie's pains. 
 
 Of slavery and ibj galling chains. 
 
 When at your door more evil lies. 
 
 More needy want, more wailing cries. 
 
 Than any Africs on our shore 
 
 Have ever known or ever bore. 
 
 Be patient, Ireland — wait your hour ; 
 
 Though now within the tyrant's power. 
 
 Thy sires of old look down on thee, 
 
 And plaintive mourn thy misery; 
 
 Kind, pitying Heaven sees thy woes, 
 
 Aud bares the arm to stay thy foes. , 
 
 Wait, then — thou yet shalt be 
 
 As bright a gem as decks the sea ; 
 
JPOBMS. 47 
 
 And thy sweet bards, in melting strains, 
 Shall tune the harp on Erin's plains, 
 And tyranny shall loose its chains 
 O'er thy green isle. 
 
 Great Nature, in thy earliest plan, 
 Was it ordained that lordling man 
 Should, by his blood of Mngly birth, 
 Crush down his fellow man to earth ? 
 Did Heaven decree that mind and right 
 Should bend the knee to wrong and might ? 
 No, tyrants, no ! the truth deny — 
 The stars and stripes give back the lie ! 
 Behold this gem, this glorious gem — 
 Columbia's freeman's diadem ! 
 It floats aloft o'er mount and sea, 
 The proud, prized emblem of the free. 
 .'Twas bought with blood — bought, did I say ' 
 No, wrenched from a tyrant's grasp away. 
 Fierce was the conflict, dire the gloom, 
 That gave to us this priceless boon — 
 The richest boon that mortal man 
 Or human mind can ever scan. 
 And here we swear, on bended knee, 
 To lop no branch from this proud tree. 
 No flrebrand from old Europe thrown. 
 Shall e'er molest our peaceful zone : 
 No tyrant shall pollute our land, 
 While Freedom's sons can raise a hand. 
 
 Kind Patrons all — may you enjoy 
 This effort of the Carrier Boy : 
 May this bright dawn of this New Year 
 O'erflow your board with happy cheer ; 
 May Spring soon follow in the train. 
 And Summer's sun shine o'er the plain, 
 And Autumn, with its golden grain, 
 Make glad the heart. 
 
46 P0XU8. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1855. 
 
 With raeajiiircd niirabers* chiming notes, 
 Back o'er tlio past stale memory floatA, 
 Back (>t<r the year that's just laiil down 
 His ho:iry head and hon": ' ; 
 
 Back to tliosu sci-ni'.^ — cv 
 
 "With battled hopes has v, : i> ,<hrine, 
 
 And gloomed the jrems of houseiiuld cheer, 
 In death's black pall and silent bier; 
 And curtained in the Momb of earth 
 Full many a tlower that hulled his birth ; 
 And many a bud told I'air to bloom, 
 Beneath his frosts sunk to the tomb. 
 His palsied hand the sceptre swayed, 
 Till Earth her utmost tithe had paid. 
 No feathered shaft or quivering bow, 
 "VN'ith fatal twang hus laid him low; 
 All silvered oer with honored age. 
 His sphere was filled. Kest, honored sage , 
 Another leaf on nature's page, 
 Is turned. 
 
 Through all the vale of by-gone time 
 Each circling year knellschunge of chime ; 
 Each household notes the chaMgoful scenes 
 And Seeks lor charms in folly's dreams, 
 Each fleeting joy (for joys are brief,) 
 Are leavened with the' yeast of grief. 
 How many human flowers of earth, 
 That bloom to-day in beauty's birth, 
 Bhall breathe their fragrance in this sphere 
 "When time shall tell another year? 
 Proplietic past ! from thee we learn 
 The dread decree that opes the urn. 
 Gaze we on thee — scarce yetinurned, 
 / id scan the page that's 'iiist been turned- 
 1 ?t on the list comes war's alarms, 
 Tue neigh of steeds and din of arms; 
 The cannon's roar, aud battle'? strife. 
 "Where fame is bought with human lifb, 
 "Where blood and carnage roiirn supreme, 
 And grim "VS'^oives howl and "^'ultui-es scream; 
 "Where warriors die in bloody graves, 
 Plumes lor their Kings — poor tyrants' slaves. 
 My wandering muse shall cross the flood, 
 To Crimea's plains, to fields of blood; 
 There to behold war's naked form — 
 The child of Mars, cursed e'er 'twas born. 
 "While wandering o'er the crimsoned pUin, 
 "We'll gather trophies from the slain ; 
 
POBMS. 49 
 
 Quake not. though horrors shake thy soul— 
 'Tis Mars that's reveling in the bowl : 
 Clip from this brow one lock of hair, 
 'Tis stiff with gore, it once was fair; 
 Transmit it to his widowed wife ; 
 Bid her not weep, 'twas hers in life ; 
 And weave it in her weeds of woe. 
 The last poor boon she e'er can know. 
 'Tear from that wrist that auburn braid ; 
 'Twas wove with pearls by Scotia's maid; 
 Those pearls were tears 'twere vain to weep, 
 No pearly tears can wake his sleep. 
 The golden zone that gems yon hand 
 Was girdled there in foreign land ; 
 To them 'twill bear his bloody doom 
 And sink their grey hairs to the tomb. 
 On yon cold neck's a gilded chain ; 
 That signet tells from whence he came ; 
 A lock of hair encased in gold ; 
 'Twas hers— 'twas hers— the story's told. 
 A star is glittering on yon breast 
 Bedimmed with blood ; but let it rest ; 
 I cannot tear that gem away, 
 My heart is sick— it mars my lay. 
 For England's Queen, one casket close 
 With headless trunks of her proud foes. 
 These are her Trophies from the field. 
 The brightest gems that war can yield. 
 
 Proud France may claim a like behest; 
 Grim visions slain shall haunt his rest ; 
 Wars beauteous charms shall shake his soul. 
 
 And blood drops tinge the sparkling bowl. 
 Why yields the earth its bounteous store, 
 When every seed is tinged with gore ? 
 Why don't the sun hold back his light; 
 Why beams the glorious moon at night, 
 
 When fiends of earth, in bloody strife, 
 
 Go forth to combat, life for life ? 
 
 For victory's boon loud prayers are given, 
 
 A stigma on thy throne, just heaven. 
 
 Two mighty nations, hand to hand, 
 
 Have joined their hosts to gloom the land ; 
 
 But when this bloody war is o'er 
 
 The scene will change to Britain's shore ; 
 
 And Britain's sons be made to feel 
 
 The valor of their allied " gael." 
 
 Think ye, proud England ! think of yore ; 
 
 Weep o'er the wrongs a monarch bore. 
 
 Think on yon barren sea girt isle, 
 
 Where nature never deigned a smile, 
 
 Then think on France; think, on her sire, 
 
50 posus. 
 
 And dread volcanic pent up Are, 
 That bide« \ts time to vent its ire 
 
 And lay theo low. 
 
 Think yo that France forgets her wrongs; 
 The Biren lured thee with a song. 
 Thou art sold — tho direful hand is-on the wall, 
 And venjreful wiilts to spreail thy pall. 
 Kre half another century's noon, 
 Thy brilliant sun shall set in frloom; 
 Night — Plutonian night, shall tibadow o'er 
 All that contains thv Lion's roar; 
 Thy wooden walls s'hall crumble down 
 Runeath the monarch's vengeful frown; 
 Proud France will then assert her claiuj 
 O'er half of nil thy vast domain; 
 Thy iirovinces shall hail the day, 
 And bid farewoll to tyrants' sway; 
 Poor Ireland thon, though crushed to earth. 
 Shall re-assert her free-born birth; 
 And Tara's halls shall ring airam. 
 And their sweet bards shall briatho the Btrain, 
 And Ireland free, flower of tho main, 
 Shall bloom. 
 
 As yon tall oak tho tempest shakes, 
 All Euro[»o in commotion quakes. 
 The Magyar chiefs, forced from their honae, 
 On foreign lands in exile roam. 
 Poor Hungary in servile chains; 
 Dismembered Poland groans with pains; 
 And weeping It^ly bowed to earth 
 Forgets her noble Roman birth ; 
 But e're this bloody banner's furled 
 All Europe in one maelstrom whirled. 
 While war's loud thunders shake the world, 
 For weal or woe. 
 
 My muse has wandered long in vain 
 With naught to cheer, but much to pain, 
 Bright land of worth, to thee I come ; 
 Europia's plains are not my home. 
 Those purple robes that tyrants wear, 
 I loathe them a^J tlie serj)ent*s lair. 
 Columbia I thy peaceful fireside claims 
 Tho happiest sphere on earth's domains. 
 Whose life blood does not chill his veins, 
 To hear the woes on foreign plains? 
 And whose cold heart don't thrill in glee 
 To breathe the pure air of the free ? 
 Prophetic as uiy xuus« may seem— 
 
POEMS. 51 
 
 In wandering thoughts perchance I dream ; 
 But fain would bleep, and dream again, 
 If dreams could smooth the conch of pain ; 
 But are there dreams beyond this sphere ? 
 What dreams can soothe yon corse's ear ? 
 For worthless fame ye gild the shield 
 And talk of glory in the field. 
 In war's dread theme I find no worth ; 
 'Twas hell engendered and accursed at birth, 
 The tyrants footstool and the curse of earth. 
 In lengthened ode, kind patrons all. 
 O'er ail that's past we spread the pall. 
 Perchance my theme may seem too cold ; 
 Perchance my prophecies too bold ; 
 But take them, patrons, as they are. 
 The truthful horrors of the scenes of War. 
 
 ADDRESS FOB 1856. 
 
 Etch we another year to Time, 
 
 In circling strides and constant chime, 
 
 Changing, unchanged; 
 That brilliant orb, the god of day, 
 Unchanged, beams forth his genial ray ; 
 The stately Queen that rules the night, 
 Casts forth the same rich, mellow light ; 
 Those astral gems that stud the sky, 
 In radiant luster greet the eye ; 
 All things unchanged in Nature's sphere, 
 Save Time's rude hand on thee, Old Year, 
 
 Has spread the pall. 
 
 Muse we on thee, and musing, learn 
 With Scotia's bard, that all must mourn. 
 What ills, what woes, what scenes of strife. 
 Thy thirteen moons have waked to life ; 
 The sighs, the wails, on mount and plain, 
 On fields of blood and billowy main. 
 My muse shall scan. 
 
 When first thou entered on the sphere. 
 All hailed thee as a happy year ; 
 The festive board with dainties crowned. 
 And joyful glee did loud resound ; 
 
52 poim. 
 
 Th» lyre foT tbee was newly strnng, 
 And every note In concert runt;. 
 With ills thy blrc had (larked our mind, 
 For thee we proudly cast behind ; 
 Thoti wast our hope, the past wua gone— 
 A brittle reed wo leant upon. 
 Scarce hadst thou doffed thy swaddling clothea, 
 Thy sky was chanced, dark storms arose, 
 And every breeze hroueht froi» ufur 
 The thnndcrinii, ilonth-tVaueht blasts of war; 
 Not war alone, a triple scourge, 
 "War, flood, and nlapiie, with mighty surge. 
 Swept o er the earth. 
 
 In low, thatched cot, and palace fair, 
 "Was heard the wail of deep despair; 
 "Pread pestilence wide o'er the land, 
 "With fatal blight had waved the wand; 
 Its clammy coils, when once entwined, 
 No power could loose, or art unbind ; 
 No flight outstrip, no cave could nide 
 Its victim from the giant's stride. 
 The rumbling hearse night's stillness broke, 
 And morning's dawn ntw fears awoke ; 
 The bravest quailed, fear compassed all ; 
 The shroud, the grave, the funeral pall, 
 Spread deepest gloom. 
 
 The deep blue sea's insatiate womb 
 lias hurled its thousands to the tomb; 
 Midst pearls they lie, no stransrer's tread, 
 No cenotaph reared o"er tlK-ir head ; 
 No lettered slab their virtues name. 
 No earth-bound friend their tomb can claim ; 
 In ooze they sleep ; their requiem knell. 
 The billowy ocean's mournful swell ; 
 The mermai<ls in their stormy sphere 
 For them shall woave the sea-weed bier, 
 And desolation drop a tear 
 
 O'er their lone graves. 
 
 Sir John, thy fate at last is known ; 
 Thy death-bed laid in ice-bound zone ; 
 No fragrant tlowers, reared o'er thy tomb 
 Bj' friendship's hand, shall ever bloom; 
 No Weeping willow round thy irravc 
 Ita mournful branches e'er shall wave ; 
 The whistling winds, and glooujy irlare 
 Of snow-clad wastes fore'er shall share 
 Thy crystal bed. 
 
POEMS. B3 
 
 All Enrope clanks with battle roar, 
 All eyes are turned on Europe's shore ; 
 E'en England quakes, though loud her boats — 
 She counted costs without her host. 
 Tell me, ye wise, deep skilled in lore, 
 Why England battles on that shore ? 
 Why France maintains against the Czar - 
 Her legions in this bloody war ? 
 Is it for Turkey and her cause. 
 Her church and its fanatic laws ; 
 Or is the Turkey's goblin tones 
 Less frightful than the Bear's harsh groans ? 
 My muse in reason claims the theme, 
 That under current bloods the stream : 
 'Tis Turkish realms the barriers give 
 To India's plains, lets Turkey live ; 
 Could Nicholas one foothold gain 
 Across that stormy inland main. 
 The Nile were his, and England's gold 
 On India's shores were bought and sold. 
 'Tis that the Lion dreads the Bear, 
 When creeping from his icy lair. • 
 
 'Tis to the proud usurper's name, 
 High aspirations for Napoleon's fame. 
 Makes France unfurl in this dread war 
 Her banner to the sons of Mars ; 
 With her proud foe she clasps the hand, ' 
 Their legions join in hostile band, 
 To conquer on a foreign land, 
 Or die. 
 
 To conquer ! oh, 'twas dear bought gain, 
 Such victory as on Alma's plain ; 
 As Greece once said, thrice of the same, 
 WoiTld bring defeat, retreat and shame. 
 At Inkerman, oh, bloody field. 
 Though Eussia's sons were forced to yield. 
 They slew upon the battle-field. 
 The pride of England, 
 
 The brand, the red man's lighted brand. 
 Has broke the peace of this fair land ; 
 Emerging from their rocky henge. 
 In dark pursuit of stern revenge, 
 The tomahawk and scalping knife 
 Eeek with the blood of human life. 
 They plead their wrongs : we little know 
 The wrongs the red man must forego ; 
 Poor injured race, their tale is told ; 
 Their heritage is bought and sold ; 
 A mess of pottage scarce they drew, 
 
 F 
 
&4 PoncB. 
 
 For richest realms the world e'er knew. 
 One century rnoro, you scarce shall trace 
 One tribe of all the Indian race; 
 Crushed to the earth, there to remain, 
 Save as the Bard shall chant their name ; 
 Save as some otTsprins's hau^jhty brow 
 Bhall knit in gloum with cheribhed vow, 
 To curse, yes curse, the ruthle?3 bund 
 That took by stealth his sires broad land, 
 And forced thora from their vernal homes 
 To rocky cliffs and barren zones. 
 To chant their dirge in mournful tones. 
 And pass away. 
 
 One moment more, sweet Mnse, I claim. 
 And ask of thee thy richest strain : 
 Columbia's sons claim at thy hand 
 A tribute duo no foreigm land. 
 No sculptured marble's giddy height 
 Proclaims to us a tyrant's might ; 
 We bend no knee at despot's nod. 
 We reverence no lords but God ; 
 Our altar on yon towering height. 
 Is Freedom's emblem— freemen's might 
 The soaring eagle's eyrie's there. 
 Her birdling's safe from fowler's snare ; 
 With wings expanded broad and free, 
 Bhe covers all from sea to sea ; 
 And doubt not, skeptic, when full grown, 
 Will span the earth from zone to zone. 
 The world — the world looks on in pride 
 To see Columbia's onward stride ; 
 Pride, did I say ? nay, nay, 'tis fear ; 
 The curtain drawn, they see their bier; 
 They hear the click, the mystic loom 
 That weaves the web to shroud their tomb ; 
 Each tottering throne that crumbles down, 
 Ah! never more shall rear a crown ; 
 The sacred mandate loud proclaims 
 That tyranny shall loose its chains: 
 The star-gemmed ensign here unfurled, 
 Shall change the aspect of the world. 
 And tyrants from their thrones be hurled. 
 To fraternize the earth. 
 
 Kind Patrons all, my tale is o'er; 
 I've led you on from shore to shore ; 
 Each little theme that memory drew, 
 I've faintly painted up to view. 
 May health and hapi)ines3 your homes surround. 
 And every festive ooard be crowned. 
 With dainties rich and rare. 
 
POEMS. 56 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1857. 
 
 Ungenerous Time's relentless hand, 
 Again has waved the ruthless wand . 
 His thirteen moons have waned away, 
 And earth hath zoned the God of Day. 
 Again the Bard has oped the scroll, 
 And notes the cycles as they roll. 
 How little think the thoughtless gay, 
 Whilst heralding this New Year day, 
 That each successive round will tell 
 Bad tales of woe, with doleful knell — 
 That every dying ye^n- will score 
 On beauty's brow one furrow more — 
 That every drooping lily's head 
 Beneath yon mounds where sleep the dead, 
 Have hailed alike the New Year day, 
 And Bards unnumbered tuned the lay, 
 In mournful strains, and passed away, 
 Forever ! 
 
 Tell me, ye wise, "deep skilled in lore," 
 Why gaze in transport on yon shore ? 
 Why eager press toward the tomb. 
 And court the flowers that ne'er shall bloom ! 
 On — on ye press, for gold and fame — 
 Worthless alike, and false as vain ! 
 For ere ye clasp the diadem. 
 The bubble bursts, and false the gem ! 
 But such is life : within yon pale 
 There's hidden sweets. But draw the veil — 
 Those sweets are gall 1 Scan well the past. 
 Their fragrance to the air is cast. 
 And withered flowers freight every blast 
 That blows. 
 
 Poor fickle man, learn well this moral, 
 That wreaths of night-shade are not laurel. 
 My dreaming muse shall scan the past. 
 And note the flowers that freight the blast ; 
 Each hollow gale that sweeps around. 
 Weaves drooping flowers o'er every mound. 
 That potent opiate, playful chance, 
 Like siren's lure, gives back no glance ; 
 But charming hope's blue laughing eye, 
 With sable clouds oft shroud the sky : 
 False mirage of deceitful time, 
 Like gilded serpent's luring chime ; 
 With magic wand points to yon vale, 
 In dimpled smiles, like sybil's tale ; 
 And simple nature quaffa tlie bowl, 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 Mild lotion for the panting soul : 
 But e'er it soothes tlie aching breast. 
 Grim vultures to our tortured rest, 
 And, like the past, a false behest 
 Is all the boon. 
 
 Etherial strife ! no power can stand 
 The lashings of thy ;;iant hand; 
 The mermaids, fearful of thy foam, 
 In terror seek sc-me <;ocky dome ; 
 The mighty monsters of the main, 
 Deep, deep beneath thy wrath remain ; 
 The surge-bound shore" by thee is strown 
 With mastless wrecks, like pebbles thrown. 
 In oozy chambers of the deep. 
 On pearly beds, what thousands sleep ! 
 Can gems of pearl soothe their lone gravo ? 
 Go ask grim f riton of the wave. 
 His funeral car, war freighted o'er 
 ■ With mariners for that dread shore : 
 Clouds, tempest-laden in their gloom. 
 In fury burst, to shroud their tomb. 
 Chant we their lay '' nay — nay, 'tis tolled 
 By mountain billows foaming rolled; 
 Etched by the coral be their stone, 
 Low in their sea-weed wreathing zone — 
 While weeds of woe shall shroud the homo 
 They once have loved I 
 
 E'en that proud craft, pride of the West, 
 Bunk' down in dames on Erie's breast; 
 And Erie's waves in silverj- spray. 
 Chants o'er that gem the requiem lay. 
 End we not here, for every gale 
 Wafts on its wings some doleful tale 
 Of disport on the mi^^hty wave, 
 Of anguish and a billowy grave, 
 While art vies art in vain to save 
 
 The nurslings of the storm. 
 
 Rest — pale victims of the blast. 
 Thy tale is told, thy anguish past; 
 Calumny and its loathsome form. 
 With its vile slime liuve fed the storm — 
 But clouds of strife are sv.-cpt amain, 
 And peaceful sunshine beams again. 
 Sage fathers of Columbia's land, 
 Thy foresight stayed disunion's hand. 
 No realm within earth's wide domains 
 Scarce ever cliango thy courser's reins. 
 But direful discord shakes their plains, 
 With blood and cai*nage. 
 
POEMS. 57 
 
 Our reins are changed ! and Wheatland's sage 
 Now mounts the car the courser's gage, 
 And,history shall note the page 
 For good or evil. 
 
 War's lurid storms on Europe's shore 
 Have drenched her plains in crimson gore ; 
 But now the direful contest past, 
 And weeping willows freight the blast. 
 In low thatched cot, and palace halls, 
 The scarfs of mourning drape the wall ; 
 Yon widow, robed in sable gear, 
 Wears gems that palled the bloody bier — 
 That sculptured mound that rears its head, 
 Speaks anguish for the honored dead. 
 Yon hoary head and tottering form, 
 In silence weeps for his fl.rst-born ; 
 And mother's wails, and orphan's cries. 
 In clouded vapors fill the skies. 
 Can chiseled lines and glowing strains, 
 Yield soothing balm for rankling pains ? 
 No melting strain from minstrel^s lay. 
 Can wreathe one smile on death's cold clay. 
 The Bard may chant, and towers may rise 
 With gilded domes to mock the skies : 
 Cold in the grave the treasure lies 
 None can restore. 
 
 Columbia's sire! loved, honored name, 
 Thy chaplets wave in spotless fame : 
 Yon eagles wings e'er bear the plume, 
 And proudly hovers o'er thy tomb. 
 This glorious land — wide world renowned, 
 Within the urn by thee is crowned. 
 From spirit land gi'ant this request. 
 That o'er our realm thy eye may rest — 
 That vile disunion ne'er may wave 
 Its bloody banner o'er thy gi-ave ; 
 Accursed the hand that rears the blade 
 To mar the tranquil of thy shade ! 
 From snow-clad mount, and teeming plain. 
 Thy priceless gift, all— all proclaim. 
 Each hamlet of the farthest West, 
 Chants anthems for thy spirit's rest. 
 Then rest thee, chieftain ! on thy grave 
 The greenest laurels e'er shall wave. 
 No purple robe or diamond gem 
 E'er seared thy brow ! thy diadem 
 Is Liberty. 
 
 Is there a soul of form divine 
 
 Dare desecrate fair freedom's shrine f 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 If there's a wretch beneath the sky, 
 Would e'er dissolve our sacred tie — 
 Let hydra sernents fonu hid bed ; 
 Cast burning lava on his head ; 
 Borne cavern in the loneliest dell, 
 In depths below the lowest Hell, 
 With fiends and demons, let him dwell 
 Forever. 
 
 My muse has ranpcd in frlooniy bowers — 
 My pencil painted withered flowers: 
 Biit sparkling eyes, and beauty's smile. 
 On this bright day all cares beguile ; 
 With health and happiness, may all be gay, 
 And all enjoy this New- Year's day. 
 
 ADDRESS FOR 1858. 
 
 The sable plumes that deck yon bier 
 Nod requiems o'er the silent" year; 
 His airy spirit took its flight 
 To yon dread bourne at noon of night; 
 "Twas yesterday, beside his bed, 
 We gently raised his feeble head ; 
 To-day he slumbers with the dead, 
 A thing that's past. 
 
 The past — the past — that dream-like shrine- 
 Where is the past ? Can sage divine ? 
 All blanks are filled that flood the rear, 
 The present is our only cheer, 
 And soon 'twill flit like yon old year 
 To dark unknown. 
 
 We'll muse awhile on life's past scenes, 
 
 And chronicle our various dreams ; 
 
 The age progressive simply scan, 
 
 That girts the earth with arts of man ; 
 
 But doubt we if this hue and strife 
 
 Adds happiness to human life. 
 
 The golden gem that's forced from earth, 
 
 To vile dissension gives its birth. 
 
 Probe deep the theme, Can glltteriog ore 
 
POEMS. 59. 
 
 The trembling breath of life restore t 
 One grain of corn will give more zest 
 To yon poor starveling's panting breast, 
 Than all that Croesus e'er possessed 
 
 Of glittering gold. 
 
 Why covet gold ? Tvhen nature's plants 
 More than satiate all human wants. 
 The medium to further art 
 la all that gold can e'er impart ; 
 Or, if transmitted far and near, 
 For diamond gems and gaudy gear, 
 'Tis bubbles in this transient sphere 
 
 That soon will burst. 
 
 E'en now convulsions fill the land, 
 Shook by that mighty giant's hand; 
 While he whose coffers are well stored, 
 Is courted, petted, as a lord, 
 'Tis gold— 'tis gold that bars the door 
 While mock intrinsic robs the poor. 
 The hands that reared yon marble walls, 
 Palatial piles and fresco halls, 
 That plough the main and till the soil, 
 And gain their bread bj' daily toil, , 
 And cater for these lords of earth. 
 Of purer blood and nobler birth, 
 Are deemed the scum, the stupid clan 
 To bend their back for fellow man. 
 Bend we the back, but not the knee, 
 To any lord, our G-od, but thee. 
 
 Yon little cot beside the hill, 
 
 Where bleats the flock and flows the rill. 
 
 Where sweet contentment spreads the board 
 
 And niggard wealth no treasures hoard : 
 
 Save treasures of an honest heart — 
 
 That glittering dross can ne'er impart ; 
 
 A sparkling eye and lovely form 
 
 To greet me when my toil is done. 
 
 Be that cot mine, the boon I crave, 
 
 I ask naught else this side the grave. 
 
 Wide o'er the plains Columbia's land, 
 Bears on her breast a rebel band ; 
 Base and polluted as the veriest beasts. 
 They glutton in their demon feasts. 
 Resolve this riddle, ye who can. 
 What is the vilest course of man ? 
 To sear with infamy angelic worth, 
 And make a hell of this feir earth — 
 
60 POEMS. 
 
 To mock at virtue's sacred fane 
 And prostitute that heavenly nmno; 
 Cull rrora their stems the sweetest flowers, 
 And wreathe them iu satanic bowers; 
 Divide their love 'niouK-t forms divine, 
 In brutal zest pollute that shrine — 
 That priceless gem of untold worth 
 That nature gave to cheer this earth. 
 Oh, woman — woman — though Eden's bane, 
 Not all are vile that bear thy name I 
 For thee we brave the battle's strife — 
 Without thee, what were human life? 
 One wild routine, with discord rife 
 
 Would gloom the earth. 
 
 One boon to that fanatic band 
 That blots the chart of this fair hind- 
 Some crevice in a flinty cave, 
 Midst slimy rocks that oceans lave. 
 While tempest furies shake the wave 
 
 To lull their rest. 
 
 Old Ocean, with Its mighty power, 
 Again hath claimed its two-fold dower ; 
 America, on that briny deep. 
 Reclined her head to dreamlesg sleep. 
 Not her alone, but countless more 
 Have sunk beneath the storm-king's roar. 
 What sighs, what wails, have filled the air, 
 From mourning homes, in dark despair ; 
 No lettered slab can mark their grave, 
 Deep, deep beneath the crested wave, 
 Around their couch the sea-weeds lave, 
 In silent dirge. 
 
 Celestial realms, thy t»le Is told ; 
 Thy iieritage is bought and sold. 
 The massive walls that girt thy shore 
 Will fall beneath the cannon's roar. 
 All Europe 'gainst thy crippled form, 
 'Bides but its time to'wake the storm, 
 And soon the lightning's vivid glare 
 Will brand thy throne a tyrant's lair; 
 Yes, soon tliycouch will 'ro<k with fear, 
 And mothers weep the scalding tear. 
 While maidens robed in sable gear 
 
 Will mourn thy dead- 
 
 A long farewell to all past scenes ; 
 We'll now repose in future dreams. 
 
POEMS. 61 
 
 New thoughts, bright views will fill the brain 
 With flattering hope's deceitful train. 
 Whoever turned the page of time 
 And found each note to yield its chime ? 
 That luring future, beaming bright, 
 Is false delusion's dawdling light. 
 Tile vail that shrouds the future's form 
 May prove the cloud to wake the storm. 
 Row many flowers, with laughing eye, 
 Ere Autuain's frosts will droop and diel 
 How many buds with petals rare, 
 Will cast their fragrance to the air! 
 How many in their manhood's bloom, 
 By force of fate will find a tomb — 
 And hoary heads and rev'rend forms 
 Will bid adieu to fill their urns ! 
 This is the page I Time's m3rstic hand 
 Holds forth a sure but wav'ring wand. 
 And paints each sheet from year to year 
 With months of grief for hours of cheer. 
 The soldier on the battle field, 
 Whose stalwart form is forced to yield 
 And give his life-blood to the plain. 
 Whilst writhing in delirious pain, 
 Dreams of his home, his loved ones there, 
 Fore'er bereft a father's care. 
 Feels anguish in that dreadful hour 
 No pen can paint, no mortal power 
 
 Can e'er conceive. 
 
 Yon mother, "side the cradle bed. 
 To soothe that drooping lily's head 
 And watch throughout the cheerless night 
 Till death shall cast its withering blight, 
 Feels pains at every flickering breath, 
 As poignant as the pangs of death. 
 All, all must yield to fate's decree, 
 And bend alike the pliant knee ; 
 Bat, Patrons, may no blight or sear. 
 E'er gloom thy pathway in this year ; 
 May health and friends'and cheer be thine, 
 And flow'rets sweet entwine the shrine 
 Of your loved home. 
 
62 POEMS. 
 
 LAUREL AND WILLOW. 
 
 'Neath the lone weeping willow I mourn o'er my fate. 
 O'er lost pleasures re[)inin2. 1 motirn but too late; 
 Like the iii'ick cliild offitncy on folly's wild sea, 
 I've exchanged the gieeu laurel foi- the lone willow tre«. 
 
 'Neath the shade of the laurel have I carolled my care, 
 "With spirits as buoyant as the pure ambient air; 
 But hushed are my numbers, no more sounds my glee, 
 I've exchanged the green laurel for the lone willow tree. 
 
 One y>lume plucked from Cupid, 'ncath th* -* - ' -plod sky, 
 With the laurel was blended in thiil briirh* - L-yeV. 
 
 One glance 'waked each life string, atturit-.; .-, 
 
 But iny harp bangs unstrung on the lone willow tree. 
 
 Youns life's gnrtrlinsr pleasures, translucent its streams, 
 (Jenlly lave at my feet in the mockery of dreams : 
 At the grey mistij of morning the bright phantoms all flee, 
 In the grave lie my hojics 'ne ath the lone willow tree. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell ! reluctantly I bid adieu, since we are doomed to part : 
 The seeds of friendship, deeply sown, shall bloom around the heart; 
 But soft upon my listening ear, hope, from her ivy den. 
 Breathes forth iii smiling accents sweet, that we may meet again. 
 
 Ohl shall we ever meet again beneath the blue arched sky? 
 When shall the tender buds of hope bloom on the loncring eye ? 
 How oft shall summers hoary frost launch on the wintry main — 
 '■ How many summer's sun's shall set ere we shall meet again ?" 
 
 If we should never meet again on life's tempe.'^tnons sea. 
 In memory's drafts on by-gone days, wilt sometime-' think of raeT 
 Throuiih all the changeful scenes of life, come weal or woe amain. 
 One friendly thought III store for thee, should we ne'er meet 
 again. 
 
POBMS. 63 
 
 MY GRAVE. 
 
 On the brow of yonder hill let my cold remains be laid, 
 
 Where the gathering flocks at noon-tide rest beneath the willow 
 
 shade ; 
 Where rich fragrance fills the zephyrs, and the robin cheers the 
 
 morn ; 
 And where sleep my Sire and Mother, near the cot where I was 
 
 born. 
 
 Decay has claimed the cottage, but the hill remains the same ; 
 No hand dare profanate that soil, it holds the sacred fane ; 
 Its time-worn spire still points aloft, with moss 'tis overgrown ; 
 Full three-score years of wasteful blight have rested on its dome. 
 
 No sculptured tablet would I have to desecrate tnis shade ; 
 Be mine the gi-een-sward canopy that nature's hand has laid. 
 I scorn the scribbled epitaph; proud wealth may laud the cone. 
 But I would sleep with friends I love, unblazoned by a stone. 
 
 When death hath shorn this fleece of life, and freed me from the 
 
 fold, 
 'Tis here 111 peacefully retire back to my native mould. 
 'Tis here I drew my infant breath ; this "earth first gave me form. 
 And here I'U sleep the sleep of death, near the cot where I was 
 
 born. 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 OBITUARY. 
 [From the Toledo Coninifrclftl, March 2d, 1858.] 
 
 DIED — At Manhattan, Sunday evening, Jambs C. Doolittle, 
 aged 46 3'ear8. 
 
 Poor fellow 1 We knew him, in better days, when bo was a 
 jocund, merry-hearted ecbool-boy, full of genius, with promise of 
 a bright future before him, and friends without number to cheer 
 him onward. Whatever his faults, none could deny to him the 
 possession of remarkable genius, and a social nature that boro evi- 
 dence of his fitness for a prouder station in life, than that which 
 fell to his lot. He could have fi^lied with credit any station; and 
 there are those who have known him long, that will, now that he 
 has gone, remember only his good qualities, and lament that one 
 80 gifted was not more favored in his earthly experience. But he 
 has gone — and with the man, let his errors be forgotten, while the 
 shining parts of his character only become the more prominent 
 It is of these alone that it b«fit'S us now to speak, and they were of 
 a quality to command both admiration and respect. "Sons of 
 Genius I Treud lightly upon his ashes, for he was akin to ye." 
 
POEMS. 65 
 
 THE PROFLIUATE'S PRAYER. 
 
 He lay on his death bed, on his poor mat of straw- 
 Brain tortured with pain ; form lean and lank, 
 No draft on the past could stale memory draw, 
 No hope for the present, the future a blank. 
 
 One lone solemn prayer— 'twas the first that he gave 
 To the God he had scorned in the days of his pride ; 
 No hope now could cheer, no penance could save, 
 That chill of remorse that his conscience betide. 
 
 Biit heprgjred for his home, for the days of his youth, 
 For that mother who bent o'er his calm infant bed, 
 When his heart was unstained and imsulliedhis truth, 
 E'er the marks of guilt o'er his pathway were spread. 
 
 And he prayed for that fair one— a maniac now- 
 Seduced and defamed by a serpent's false tongue ; 
 Memory painted the scene of the false plighted vow, 
 'Neath the vine tresseled shade where the dread deed was done. 
 
 Oh Heaven ! he cried, could thou pardon me now ? 
 Can that fiend of remorse from my bosom be staid , 
 Forgive, oh forgive me, that false plighted vow ! 
 And restore to her reason the maniac maid. 
 
 Oh, where is that syren that lured me to madness? 
 And where, where," is that pale form enshrined in woe, 
 On despair's gloomy cliff she now scoffs at my sadness— 
 And beckons tlie demons to hurl me below. 
 
 Wild gleams my dim vision, Death ! thou art nigh. 
 Grim master of fate, in thy cold clammy coils, 
 I yield up my heart with a profligate's sigh, 
 Ddsolation's dark fiend, my poor bosom embroib. 
 
 Earth slides from my hold ; Heaven's portals are closing; 
 The demons loud thunder now deafens my ears — 
 Hold ! hold ! 'twas a vision, now the billows uprising, 
 Tis Mary's poor arm hurls me down from the sphere. 
 
 Mercy lent her kind ear, hope beamed a mild ray ; 
 And the dread monster in his bosom was still, 
 May we hope that his prayer had softened the way, 
 To that bourne where the wicked cease from all ill. 
 
66 POEMS. 
 
 I LOVE THE SPRING. 
 
 I love the sprinjr, the early snrinfr, its trlrth ami beauty's Mooni, 
 "When nature bursts her icy WixIn free from her wintry tojiib; 
 And all the feathered songsters their meeting' strains iinjinrt, 
 With morn's refulL'cnt sunbeams to animate the heart. 
 
 I love the spring, tho balrny, the cem of beauty's birth. 
 When nature in her liver}' ;;reen, o'ercarpets all the earth. 
 And every chilled and stunted leaf, breaks from its leatless cell, 
 And swelfs to life and loveliness in oharius like fairy's spell. 
 
 I love the spring, the fragrant spring, when pcrfuiuA flHs the air, 
 When hyacinthen flowrets robe the nills and vallcj^ fair. 
 Each curglini; fount and ripidini: rill, in a cry.stal nectar (lows. 
 And evening's zephyrs watt the dew to glitter on the rose. 
 
 Not fancy's sketch can ever jirint the beauties of the spring. 
 Nor Shelley's Harp or Homans' Lute, its loveliness can sing. 
 Of all the charms that nature yields, give me the sylvan bowers 
 "Where life and joy and loveliness are wreathed in blooming flower- 
 
POEMS. 67 
 
 THE DYING CHILD'S REQUEST. 
 
 Don't lay ine in the grave-yard, mother; 'tis a lone and dreary 
 
 place, 
 Where every idle strayer's gaze, my epitaph can trace, 
 And say there lays a thing of naught — a mother's hope forforn — 
 An evanescent bud of night that withered ere the morn. 
 
 But lay me in the garden, mother, beside where Willie lays; 
 Where the soft and gentle zephyrs, its nightly vigil plays; 
 And It't no lettered slab, mother, betraj' our infant's tomb, 
 But o\m- the little mound, mother, let sweetest flowrets bloom. 
 
 I've peeped into life's cup, mother, and scarcely wet my lips, 
 But you have oftimes told me, mother, that innocence but sips; 
 Then do not chide the fate, mother, that wafts me from your side. 
 For I've felt no shaft, mother, that blooming years betide. 
 
 Insatiate death's a master, mother, he assumes a ghastly form ; 
 
 In innocence I smile on him ; he waves my smiles in scorn. 
 
 But you have ever told me, mother, there's a place where death 
 
 can't come. 
 And I will bid good night to earth, and seek that pleasant home. 
 
68 POEMS. 
 
 LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 This Album cluiins the following name, 
 
 Of early friendship, love and truth ; 
 When here let one inscribe his name, 
 
 That loved thee in thy early youth. 
 Though many years have passed away, 
 
 Since life and all its joys were new, 
 But ah, it seems but yesterday 
 
 When I those pleasant scenes re-visited. 
 Thv true palm was clasped to mine ; 
 
 'together hand in hand we stmyed— 
 Together strayed beneath the vine. 
 
 And prattled in its plea.sant shade. 
 And there we wandered hand in hand. 
 
 Poor nurslings of a worlds cold scorn , 
 Of many tlowers we have sipped the sweets. 
 
 But oh-times, too, we've felt the thorn — 
 Thee and I ; 
 We have wandered hand in hand 
 
 Among the flowers, and thought of life — 
 I ever deem the sweetest tlower 
 
 Is my dear wedded wile. 
 
 J.^-MtH C'. DOOLITTLE.