r THE VISION OF JUDGMENT REVIVED. -*: V>--: 1 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT REVIVED. %^ M^ 7^ \^^'° Entorod according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by Clarence F. Cohu. in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Prefacr", 10th paragraph, for "confidant" read confidante. Page 7, 2d cohiuin, 3il verse, for — " To our Poet till now. Oh! I wonder," Head- To our Poet till now, oh ! I wonder. Page S, 2d column, 2d ^erse, for 'kept" read keep. Page 8, 2d column, 6th verse, for " strife " read stripe. Page 9, 2d c(dumn, 6th verse, for "endeavors" read endeavor. P;ige 11, 1st column, 6th verse, last line, for "were" read was. Page 16, 2d cjlumn, 1st verse, for "nay" read then. Page 16, 2d column, 6th verse, for 'your" read my. Note — Page 16, 1st column, 3d verse: Not the best grammar in the world, but the reader must leave us a little margin for the "license." S^ ^ i^"^ IPE-EIPJVOB. This rough rhyme was written to be read heforo a literary society of tliis city; then to bo destroyod. It was writteu very hastily. The wiiter's financial status was (and is) such that he had but few books of his own to refer to — an old battered copy of Byron and Scott's History of Napoleon being his entire stocli. All who have ever written can bear him witness that it is exceedingly embarrassing, even in writing anything so com- . mon-place as this rh_\Tne, to be unable to refer to a grammar, a dictionary, an encyclopaedia, and the various works which may bear ou the subject or sentiments in hand. Many may think that the lady who is the butt of the rhyme, having been torn to pieces by the great majority of the papers of the day for her outrageous article, should now be permitted to dwindle into her own nothingness and die. My old aunt had a favorite canary, and a favorite cat, who ate the canary one day. The old lady, in a rage, with a broom-stick, broke the feline's back, and left her in agony in the wood-shed: but a humane gentle- man, seeing the misery of the canary-eating, broken-backed cat, cut otf her head. Some (I fear most all) will think the language of the rhyme is at times inelegant; and so it is; but would it not look strange to see a scavenger working in filth with his liands shod with Jouvin's kids? Byron was morally a bad man ; but from the days of Homer down to these of Tennyson. Meredith, Long- fellow, Whittier, Lowell, Holmes, and last, though not least, the hairy-throated warbler who pipes a note about "Lilac Time," he was one of the greatest, if not the greatest Poet. He married : he and his wife disagreed ; they parted ; he plunged into every kind of vice, and died prema- turely. Miss Milbanke knew, ere she accepted the man, that he was a drunkaid and a libertine. She knew that his friends had advised him to marry to assist reformation. Enoiviag all this, she consented to marry, not Noel Byron, but the author of "Cliilde Harold." Nine tenths of tlie fa.shionable young men of that day were morally of Byron's stripe, aping the vicious habits of the Prince; and after they wedded, it was part of the wife's melancholy duties to reform the husband. Many were thus reformed. If a woman is wedded to a good man — good. If to a bad man, and she reforms him — better It would be interesting to see an unengaged woman who could not love a perfect man. We know Byron's generous nature. Reasoning from such knowledge, we cannot but think that, had his wife clung to him with the tenacity of love, she would in time have reformed him. Her silence for years when his assailants were driving him to desperation, instead of stilling tlie matter, kept it ever boiling. She could have at any time proved his adultery, and, under the wliolesome English law, have obtained a divorce from him. But did she? No. No one could li ive l>ei'n prouder than she of being even the neglected and abiised wife of the Poetical wonder of the centuiy — aye, of all centui;ies. It seems strange that a lady of her social standing slioalil have gone o\it of her sphere to make a confi- dant of an adventuress; and we have got to see sound, solid proofs ere we wiU believe tliat .slie did. If (as Stowe says) Lady Bj-ron believed her husband was inclined to insanity, what a Iiorrible thing it is to think of a wife, "for better or worse, in sickness and health." trumpeting to the world the evil deeds of a dead husband who, when living, was afflicted with the most terrible scourge in Pandora's box — in.sanity. I humbly and .sincerely tiust that my object in this rhyme will be understood by all who deign to read it. I despi.se and loatlie Byron's piivate character: but I admire his poetry. I h;in>ile Mrs. Stowe without gloves, which may Iciok ungalhuit : were she a ra.an, my nttack would have been even more severe. Argument has been wasted: I l;ave herein tried what Satire will do. BBOC. Washlngtox, D. C, .Tuly 31, 1870. THE VISION OF JUDGMENT REVIVED; IN TWO CANTOS. CJ^JSTTO 1. T :im no poet, but T once coiiltl rhyme; 1 »niinfr my school-days I conhl, on jiiiper, Put words to jingle well in tune, and time, Bnt the sentiment was a mere vapor, ."Which could hardly he seeji in verse or line — I oft' ran tinjrers by niidniuht taper. And T stiived after iian,i;ht, bnt whilst inditiuK, My air-castles rose: I thought 'twas <;<)od writing'. My co])y of r.yniii 1 always read. Kacli si)are moment at school or vacation, I'litil my young, gi'een, iuid admiring head. Was always ready with a (juotation. Which cultivated sloth, and perhaps led Me to the classes foot, sans lotation, p And I think it was the general admission That I did not e'en excel in com])osition. In tlie course of time I ])assed from the school And entered Newton University; I'.ut then the war, which caused study to cool, Drew me in f'oi- Imdc or adversity ; And I enlisted for a shooting tool: The more I tliink of it the woi'se I see The vexed questiut liis verse; scan ev'ry balanced line ; Mark the true turning of each rounded thought ; See the sentiment plain, yet touched so fine. That it thrills like a faint harpstring when caught By woman's Ught finger ; then dropped in time For the soft note to tremble into naught; Tlien gh)wing o'er with beautiful description ; Tet in Westminster he has no inscription. 'Tis well 'tis so. Etcli Ms name on the stone Within the walls of that historic tonih, And soon 'twould gleam in solitude— alone ! All others would fade in modesty's gloom, ■WTiilst his forever in true grandeur shone, All o'er the world, from out his narrow room : And millions gazing into the silent vaults, Would admire his genius, and forget his faults. I can't like his moi'als — neither can Stowe ; But if I saw the Kohinoor glisten On a dung-hill's heap, would I not bend low To clutch the prize ? or would I not listen To a soft, sweet strain from cat's guts and how? If the scraper were low, shoiild I hiss him ? Still I must admit 'tis hard to comprehend, Why, despising his faults, you still love your friend. If Stowe had been born beneath India's sun, And had been taught to do as women there Do, could we now blame her if she had gone To the banks of the Ganges with her heir, And tossed the babe into the river dun — (Or both, if she had been blessed with a pair?) A dainty light meal for a huge crocodile — Would she think, by that, she was sinning the while ? If a boy raised and bred at the Five Points, To pick a pocket or to crack a head. Or to dance with minstrels with supple joints. Or to carry a billy tilled with lead, And to cnil liis soap locks, which he annoints With far more care than his stomach is fed: Could that boy make a morality teacher, Or till Plymouth church like Henry Ward Beecher ? If he did turn Preacher, oh ! God forbid That he should e'er unite in matrimony. Whilst the husband to the Tomb's cell is li-d, The seduced and the seducer for money; Then ask God's blessing on each sinner's head, Sugared o'er with words all flowing like honey; Thanking, in earnest prayer, that his sinful brother, And the wrong'd wife, were as they were to each other. Away, false teacher, drop the Holy Kood ! If one of your num'rous congregation Should err, promiited by love or passion, would Ton not bellow it forth to the nation ? Look on yourself.— turn to your Bible — could Tou but once drop an egot's inflation. Fairly read the good book, and there too plainly see You've committed adult'ry for a marriage fee. If a negro born on Africa's coast Takes to eating, with a vim, his man-pie ; Has a hundred wives and children a host ; Still it would ill become me to stand by, And talk of his soul which is being lost. I'd rather not uitrude on his land; I Would conclude 'twas the fault of liis savage nation That has gone before, and his wild education. We must all, then, come to the conclusion That man, a creature of circumstances, Is apt in fids world to meet delusion ; As he must take Ms good or bad chances. Please mind: I don't tMnk conscience's a fusion Of nonsense : no, I Uke her sharj) lances ; But would tliere be so much sin amongst men, If our nature could choose its origin? Must we always condemn our brother man AVlio, surrounded by sin, is but sinning I Over the scarlet spots, oh ! tell me, can We not spread the mantle ; and thus winning Our way to the heart, endeavor to fan Conscience into a glow ; and thus spinning A web, strong as steel, to waft us above. By Charity's aid, into reahns of love ? Our good Poet, when he first left college. Plunged headlong into London society ; He had some reputation for knowledge ; His purse was filled e'en to satiety. He was hand.some and young; just of an age To catch maid's eye ; had some notoriety For wilting verses — a recommendation In old England then, a lit'rary nation. At that time aU the young lords like BjTon Led, as he said, a "devil of a life;" Wliich tlissipatiou caused each to try on Two or thiee mistres.ses besides a wife ; And 'mongst them all there were none to fie on Bad, immoral tricks, causing fam'ly strife. But perhaps morals would not have stooped so low If you had flourished at that time, Mrs. Stowe. Why should we then wonder at Bvi'on's fall, Eucom]>assed with sin and dire temptations As he was? Why should we not rather call On wonder if he did not ? The nation's Pet at roUing Poetry's graceful ball Was spoiled by the too constant laudations. Turn to your hist'ry, madam, warlike and civil-^ Was he the only man thus sent to the de^'il? Ho fell : But oue thiug we may say in triitli, He ue'er atteniiitetl to shield his dark sin, Either in the hot love-days of his youth Or when tliii'ty-six years shone on his pen. But I pray you reader, tell me, in sooth, Who has not sinned, or who wont sin again ? He stands: let the earth's multitude pass one by one, And he who is pure and guiltless cast the first stone. He died as he lived — a sacrilice great. The continent mourned ; so did Ids own isle At losing the treasure, and even hate. Which he ever met with satire's broad snule, Turned to sorrow, and hmig a heavy weight On all who could well appreciate, while The broad ripple of sorrow passed o'ei' the main. And was then caught up by the New World again. In \iewing a diamond fron\ India's mine What care I who lifted it from its bed, So the i)ure jewel will brilliantly shine. And thiow from iinger, a neck or a head, Beauteous sparks-in many a dazzling line ? Our language was the mine, ami Byron led The life of a miner ; and if he was filthy, AVith rare Jewels is not his song bright and wealthy ? His verse is full of iumioralities : In admitting his sins you see I'm frank. Tor, by moral's strict technicalities, I can't explain them away : yet I'd thank < )ur gossiping She (a foul gal it is) To stop raking from out the garliage rank. The nastiest tale that e'er sullied a page, To shock the readers of tliis enlightened age. Out woman ! Must you thus forget your sex, And spit this venom for ten cents a line, Then gloss it over with the faint pi'etext Of haxiug justice done? Fore'er you'll shine, Easily found by mem'ry's clear index. As one who first wallowed in the thick slime Of fam'ly quarrels ; and 'though you kept on the fence, For gold's sake iu)W you thus ^'iolate confidence. Go not again to the fair southern land, Or, if you will, I pray, journey by lail ; Venture not on Atlantic's bosom and The Gulf Stream's curious tide, for fear you'd ail From sea-.sickness : so, whilst your brow was fanned By salt breezes, you'd retch, and scarcely fail To spew your bile into the sea, and the spiinkle Would sicken our good world by the sj)reading wrmkle Shun tlie sunny South — cling to the cold iSTorth — Ke'er place your polhiting foot on the shore Of bright Florida ; for her florid worth Would moulder to ashes — rot to the core — Tuin to sterilty her beauteous earth — Plunge her into dense gloom forevermore; And with shame her licli fruit would all blush scarlet In the presence of a lit'rary harlot. Float not on the bosom of her river — Rest not beneath the shade of her fair grove — Breathe not her balmy air, (thus forever Pois'ning it) — list not to her cooing dove — Eat not her golden fruit, if your liver Does need such 'ministering — never love Man again ; but down, down to hell, and there forge Anew your black lies, and on dark scandals gorge. If it had ])leased God to have granted life To our Poet till now. Oh ! I wonder If he'd answer this cat's-paw of liis wife, And rattle at her his Muse's thunder? Or would he iu)t stoop to such a cheap strife For a dime a line — lit 'rary plunder ; Or would he launch something on her lep'rous head, Like '■ born in the garret — in the kitchen bred?" Shepenn'd "Uncle Tom's Cabin;" then penn'd "Dred;" The first succeeded; the last a failure; She then threatened to punch poor Jewett's head, For not paying more for the first tale. You're Assured this is all true, because Tin led To believe my friend, young Mr. Tayleure. Further proof I have, for Jewett tells me so. And his good word further than her oath will go. I believe she's wi'itten for magazine. But not enough for the woild to know her ; Sufficient to keep her writing machine From rusting ; but this last stuff did lower Her in our estimation ; 'though she's queen Of diction, in the light of her brother — The doubly renown'd Di\nne, Henry Ward Beeclier, Mentioned above as the other fam'ly feature. Did you think, Mrs. Stowe, wliilst inditing This sland'rous stuff, 'tho' oui' Poet's dead and gone, That some one, who is given to writing. Would Uft pen in his cause, 'though it look'd forlorn ? Ko ; if you had so thought, without 'lighting. Tour indecent flight you'd have continued on. And scanned your chances, like a lit'rary crow, To pounce on unwatched carrion Ijang below. Peiliai)s you'll say tlie lady was attacked, And 'twas your duty to vindicate her ; So, when you found her good name being blacked, You deemed 'twas time for you to relate her Story, as 'twas told you, as a fixed fact ! I pray that He above — the Creator — Ma J' dissolve this globe — turn broad day iuto uight, 'Ere equity reads, "two -wiongs can make (me right." " The ambitious youth who fired the Ephcsian dome,'" So sang the young assassin, John Wilkes Booth : He paid the dread ijenalty — is now dead and gone ; But it occurs to us that the rash youth Sinn'd far less than you ; because you eagerly from A piejudieed party received as truth, A vile story from heated imagination, And joyfully joined iu the infatuation. Then taking care to 'wait till the still grave Had closed o'er the Lady, Lord, aud Sister, Not till then, tricky .slanderess, you gave Mouth to it. Did not your furred tongue blister To feel 'twas then wagging as gossip's slave? Or must you be fi-eed by such a clyster ? Booth sent a good man to Peace : then wept the Nation : Tou robbed your dead Sister of her reputation. And did you egotistically think The great public would gulp the story down, "Without pausing, before taking the drink. To inquire if 'twas true ? or that the town. En masse, would lift j^ou o'er fame's dang'rous brink To niche seciue, without a doubting tiown From a single, skeptical disbeliever, Thej' being the givers, you the receiver ? No! Far from such an unjust decision, The Public all joined in one e.iruest cry : " Why hold th" Sister up to derision. The finger of scorn, and the loathing eye ? Bring the proof, woman, drawn with precision ; Cross not your breast, nor stand thus idly by ; In great fear and trembling stand not thus aloof; Away with your ' Vindicarion :' we want proof!" It can't be believed that your narrow mind Supposed, e'en within itself, it could qTiench The influence of his writings on mankind : The more you stir it the greater the stench ! Down, down to your grave, but you've left behind The nastiest slander e'er gossiped by wench : "Down to the dust ; and as th(ra rott'st away. E'en worms shall perish on thy pois'nous clay." It appears to you that his writings cause Our youth to all forget their good breeding-; To run far away from moral's sound laws. And plunge into gross sin without heeding Ad\ice; and gloat their eyes aud wag their jaws, Over our good Poet's lines, exceeding All his fellows in his wonderful description ; To preveut which your woik is the great prescrijjtion. If his bad Muse has such an efiect on you. Why should you then risk perusing his page? If your virtue's like wax, kept it bright and new; Away from his fire — save it for old age ; But let us hope that such frail women are few Compared to the number ; but I'll engage None of your quack nostrums ; gorge them all yourself, K that's the way you drown youi- passions' bad elf. Let our youtli all read our Pf)et's great song ; We'll risk the bad effect on their morals; Let them admire his Muse's flight so strong, Aud graceful withal. His fam'lj- quarrels Have been too severe, and have been too long ; But they have passed, and now the bright laurels Hang all grandly about his ))oetic fame. If his private life did bear the mark of fhame. Suppose, Mrs. Stowe, this old, rehashed tale Were true : why should you now reheaise it? Tou listened only to the widow's wad, Aud dropped in suggestions foul to nurse it. Then, after she died, you sold at retail The confidence placed in you. Ear worse it Seems to us than any paper of this age ; But you fobbed your good fee for it, I'll engage. Ev'ry fam'ly has a skeleton heir, Stowed away in closet oi' garret dim ; But how would it read to creep up the stair, Aud .stand face to face with the dry bones, grim And mouldy with years, siurounded with air Dami) and heavy; then make it wag its chin Aud tell its old hist'ry of ciime, wrong, and woe Aud then publish for gold, my dear Mrs. Stowe? The slander is told and .scattered broadcast. O'er all the breadth of oui- good coiuitry's bounds; May we not hope that t'will remain the last Of your i)roductions ? And that the fieire hounds Of your stiife, who hotlj' follow so fast This dirty trail, thro' Scandal's dark grounds, !May rest content o'er your loathsome narration Whilst you're crowned 'heroiue of thelast sensation." i •I'm ill iiHTi' b(i.\ ill years; su let me iiHk ill' woijian has not ^one to the altar To aasnnie the good wife's difflcult task, Aiul strap on tialit the cojinnbial halter; Knowing full well that she can never bask In husband's love, yet she does not falter. For all time in this life, to ehanne her condition — Not for love she bears, but for a big position? Good Lady Byron, we trust, is in heaven ; From our Poet .she snfi'ered ninch on earth ; But before her fair hand to him was given. Did she not know what his morals were worth? Or was she into the life compact di-iven ? He pro])Osed to her twice ; siiiely no dearth Of time intervened ei'e .she said yea or nay ; Then she jiromised to Love, Honor, and Obey. The papers say Dickens from his good wife Has parted : then there's another nut for Tou to crack. AVhy not meddle with that strife, And prove to the vvoild that the rigid law Of Morality should idunge its .sharp knife Thro' his wicked neck ? but before you claw The horrid snitject with so nioch ado, We'll put a few .simple questions to yon. vsuppose you should prove him all in the wrong; ' Prove hiiu of bad mind and wicked habit : I ove hiin ('though he's most sixty he's still strong) As given to letdi'ry as a buck rabbit ; •ove him rev'ling in dark sin, vile and long; Prove him catching Innocence to stab it: ove him, in short, a diabolical fellow ; Wouldn't we .still laugh at Pickwick and Sam Wellei Shakspeare was not happy with his good spouse : No wonder, as she was eight years older Than he. What would tend more to keep a house In a row than that? 'though, as a scolder, She did not excel : as still as a mouse, Johnson hints she was. If he'd spoken bolder On the subject, we'd know more of it, of course ; But he don't express the opinion with force. Perhaps, nay, very likely, the dramatist Treated his elder, his wife, very badly. Well, suppose he did ; could we e'en then desist From iierusing his work ? or would we sadly Brush from oui' eyes the rising, pitying mist, And close the wise volume ? Would we not gladly Drink in his words, forgetting the fact or libel. Knowing the book was only next to our Bible ? 3 Milton married thrice; his wife number one He parted from. Suppose he did — what then? Perhaps he abused her; some have e'en gone To much pains to prove tliat he did; but men Still place on his brow the laurels he won. As they have always done, and will again. And you may bet your life that for all future time, The very word ' jyiiltonic " will still mean sublime. Shelley, you'll grant, with true genius did burn. But he believed not in the maniage vow. What matters that? Will that prompt us to turn From his work in disgust ' No ! we'd e'en bow In sorrow o'er his ashes in the urn, And weave laui'el for his poetic brow — If we could not subscribe to all of "Queeu Mab," About his private morals we would not blab. Didst ever .see Keau — I mean Eduiuud the great? (I ne'er did, he died ere I was tinished.) What wond'ious expression of Fear, Love, or Hate, He could assume at will. Undiminished Still his good tame is: but I have heard of late, That his niiual character was blemished. What matters that? Away vile detractor: Condemn the man — I admire the ictor. Old Booth, you'll say, was always drunk or crazy, And treated his first wife outrageously — Was given to flesh and, off the boards, lazy; But he handled his text courageou.sly, And had such mastery over his face he Looked like a fiend incarnate — graciously You'll admit that? Yes. Well, that's all I want, Without being sickened by Moral's cant. And since he died in eighteen fifty-three, A Tragic Actor his not trod our boards; Vandenhoff, Davenport, Wallack, and the Host of others, (I must handle my words Carefully to make them ihj-nie here, or be Condemned by the critics,) only affords An opportunity to squ.arely say That our Tragic stage ^t the present day Is just nowhere. The Booths, Forrest. Murdoch, Neil Warner— bat there ! Why should I name them \ Perhaps ynu may like them, and I may shock Yon, if my Muse endeavors to shame them; But I miLst mention just one ere I lock This MS. in form ; Fvn weak to lame them All — go and see Dillon, well supported, in Lear, And for once you'll forget the critic's heartless sneer. 10 111 Comedy we're good — of which we're pioud : Brougham, Owens, Jefferson, John S. Clarke, "We'll gather together — a merry crowd Of laughing sprites; and 'though yoiu' life looks dark, Tou'll forget it all, and laugh long and loud. Unless hope is extinguished — every spark. Another name we have : I'll just tack it To this verse— Jack Falstaft— Mr. Haekett. John Owens : I recollect him so well In Baltimore not many years ago ; But since then he has clambered up the lull, Aud now can comjjlacently look below On the profesvsiou ; ever ready still To lend a hand or a dollar or two. You've succeeded, John, and have money in bank — You've travelled, John— tell us all about Mt. Blanc. And, you son of Comus, you well deserve Your success. When you returned from Europe "With your panorama, (did you preserve It till now ?) we had just placed a new rope On the old drop-curtain, and a broad curve, A rainbow, in water colors, Dulope Had just retouched, on it. Do you recollect, John ? It has faded from your mind, I exjiect* And we welcomed you with a little dinner At Guy's ; and you made us a little speech, And told us all about your trip, you sinner ; How you scrambled up Mt. Blanc, like a leech Crawling o'er a huge lump of ice. Whose been there Since whom you, John, could not thoroughly teach To weave what thej- saw into a good story, To narrate when returned— and that's the glory ' And fun of all trav'ling. You told us h,.w You slid down long hills on your old slouch hat. Clear from the tops, covered with endless snow. Into the valleys, stretching a dead Hat ; And, 'though all this occurred some years ago. You told it so comically and "pat," That it seems to have transpired but yesterday— But "time was, time is, time's past," the head did say And I recollect well, too, Joe Jefterson In Schnapps, with Briggs as Sir Kupert and Mis. Phillips as the Queen. We thought ere we'd begun That engagement that Jefferson's distresses Would carry him to his grave ere we had run It twenty-five nights. His bad cough and retches Were sad to listen to ; but he's over that. And now is looking well and even quite fat. For which God be iiraised ! I'm doubly sincere In this expres.sion, for we know full well That we could not fill his place ; so he's dear To us. I admire his genius, and speU Bound liave watched his acting until the tear Would sparkle brightly on my shirt-front's frill, Till 'twould ghsten keener than the gem I wore — One was mere carbon, the other my heart's core. "All the world's a stage," (vide Shakspeare,) "And all the men and women merely players;" And yet does it not seem more than queer (•' Tis passing strange," I fain would say, but there' The rhyme to make) that naught but a sneer Greets an Actor, notwithstanding his cares, From a certain large class called "Puritanical?" Than whom hell itself is not more tyrannical. AH the woild is a stage, but oh ! how few stars ! Throw your eye back on hist'ry and count them ; Strain it into the depths of the past as far's It can reach ; go to the steps and mount them Into the Temple of Fame ; shake off your bars Of prejudice ; see their fame aiouud them : Count them all, and you may find a large number; But oh ! how many millions of "Supes" .slumber All unknown? And perhaps 'tis well 'tis so; If the bell sliould tinkle, and the curtain Rise aud disclose a theatrical sliow — Evry actor a Richard, as certain 01' success as Ed. Kean — why who would go To see it ? I believe Billy Burton Would laugh at this versi> — call it allegoiical ; Perhaps it is ; but is it not liistoi ical ? Byron, a star of the first magnitude. Died for Greece — ergo, he (Ued for mankind. I, in my own small self, more than once stood. As a Private, where the fierce action's wind Was strewn thick with death, and the brave and goi Plunged into the hell of battle to find A soldiers death and immortality — Without romance — 'twas all reality. I've fought and seen my companions shattered By cruel shot, sinking, with a low moan, j Into a shapeless mass, torn and battered I Out of all resemblance ; and the stay-at-home Birds in our rear industriously chattered " Glory !" but the maimed replied with a groan : Have seen enough to know that the death rattles Take "Glory" from A'ictory's bloody battles. 11 I've nursed in liospltal raaing fevers ; I've frozen on picket anil starved in eamps — Have seen tlie i>aymasters with tlie levers That must move all armies — we called them Stamjis : Have heard the foul oaths of disbelievers — Wild, wicked young fellows, but daring scamps ; And succeeded well in keeping from the vices Of camps ; but was not so lucky with the lice-s ! I could eat my rations and play at blutf — Could keep my acccmtrements in order, x\nd whilst on vidette was quite sharp enough To hide from any rebel marauder — In short, I may say I was "up to snulf." Exce])ting when I was on the border Of the 'sacred soil.'' When the magazine Blew up at Fort Lyon, I was between Heaven and earth awhile — nearer, I maj' say. The former than I ever expect to Be again. I thought the " devil was to pay " For an instant; and when I returned, you Woidd not have known me: I know not the waj' I escaped — a miracle; but I do Know I returned to earth yelling loUder Than did the rejiort of the gunpowder. If tliere's a sjx'cial Providence in tbe fall Of the little bird we call a sparrow. Why then my escape was no wonder at all : It cnuld not, in fact, be called a narrow One. 1 alighted with a most graceful sjn-awl In the yielding nuid, which I did harrow. Providence ! I'd liave cracked my bones and sjiilled my If I had not hai>pcned to alight in the mud. [bhiod, I've marched under the burning southern sun — Have i)oliced camps and been detailed as cook — Have seen malingering practised by some Who dared not on the lively "Johnnies" look. And swear by all that the day had now ctmie, When their names should be ])laced on the sick book. And slyly sidle otf; but not from fear- But under a pressure, the diarrhea. I've been detailed, too, to bury the dead. And have been oftentimes detached to guard Prisoners ; and I have likewise bravely led " Masterly retreats,'' where all soldiers cared Only for number one : we were oft' fed By such false bulletins. The Generals shared In the "(rlory " of such "masterly retreat," Which were known by soldiers to be a defeat. I have helped to throw up fortifications, And, like the wild Bedouins, have folded tents, And cre])t away without notifications To the surrounding foe ; have stolen fence Rails to boil my coffee. Jollifications We oftentimes had in camp, of course ; -hence .\ soldier's may be called a .jolly life, xVlthough he is mixed up in murd'rous strife. I have lived and fattened on " horse " and " hard tack,' Have seen brave Mars more fond of she-niggers Tlian they were of scenting the enemy's track, And palling at him the hostile triggers — Ha\e often read when we were forced to fall back The lying bulletin's lying figures ; And have seen many a newspaper's cub lick The Commander's boots for news for the public. And tliix is Glory without its polLsh! Oh! Alexander. Ctesar, Bonaparte — I'itch in, my brave cut-throats, and demolish Towns, cities, countrie-< ; but I have no heai't To try it again. When things look squallish Hereafter, I will try the doctor's art. And get an exemption — be as deaf as a log: I've had quite enough, I thank you, and I'm no hog. But that is but one side of the picture: We fought for the Union, and saved it too! The foregoing, being a i)layful stricture. Must not be read in earnest, e'en by you Who'll hate these verses. A little lecture Like that may be out of place here, although Most men, when they don any uniform, Turn to devils, 'though they were saints at home. We savfed the Republic, and subdued the Most gigantic; rebellion kno\vn to all Hist'ry; and now the starry flag is free To wave from the cabin or proudest hall, As tlu! glorious banner of liberty: AUliough the philo.soi)her once did call It a "shroud for the slave" and a "flaunting lie;" And so 'twas ; but, thank God, that day has gone by. Soldiers of the Union army ! oh, list To me, and follow to the burial ground Where sleep our dead comrades in endless rest. Only marked by the bead-board, and green mound Inclosing each martial, but now stilled, breast ; And as you all sadly gather around A more carefully placed and conspicuous gTave, Wherein fast moulders to dust some fallen brave; 12 And we talk of bis deeds and his biaveiy ; Perfectly fearless in all kinds of danger ; How he rattled down the Gods of Sla\ery, And how he shared his rations with the stranger ; How he gazed at death without a quiver ; he Never attempted to get out of range, or Thought of anything hut his stern, iron duty, And that alone, without an idea of booty. And whilst o'er the gxave of the beljiless dead We bend, a "trumpeter" should mount a stand. And open the aperture in his head. And bellow forth, so 'twoidd reach o'er the laud, That the brave had often wallowed in bed With his sister — will not each of our band Rush with our " ten weapons" on the tattling wretcl Who eudt-avors to pro\'e his sister a b hi Byron was one of us. He died for what We fought — for Mankind ! foi- Libertj', and yet His enemies in Europe stiU hold that He only wished to imitate Lafayette ! Without giving such idea the he flat, ^\'e"ll say he was sincere in helping the (ireek ; And 'though he died ere he obtained what he sought, He nevertheless died for what we all fought ! O^^ItTTO 2. Tou say with crossed hands and eyes npUfted That the case now lies 'twixt yon and your God: Must we tlien h^ave the story unsifted And 'gainst all evidence helieve your word ? No! We'll clutch the dark veil and uidift it. And let both sides of the story be heard ; And since you've shown yourself all reeking with gaU And money getting, we wont hear you at all. 'Twas midnight: I heard the regular tramp Of the faithful watchman on hi.s dull round, And across the wide street the city lamp Shed its too feeble ray o'er the wet ground. 1 closed the window to escape the damp. And then fell to musing long and profound : I drojiped my pen so weary — I slept — then did dieam, In which a truly beautiful vision was seen. Methought I difd — was coffined and buried, And my .sonl shook itself free from this clay; And upward, though mighty space, 'twas hurried Through a bright path of everlasting day ; And I gazed around in my flight; for hid From me was nothing on that beauteous way: Through trackless space I span, trembling with fear, To Judgment's seat, with a case none too clear. When first I started, our grand mother Earth AVas enveloped in darkne.ss; but quite soon The sun shone brightly, gleainiug from God's hearth, And blazed with all the broad .splender of noon ; Then it faded away as the great birth Of other solar systems began to loom On my stupefied gaze, and around rolled Beautifu^l worlds, with their numbers untold. I would near a planet with wond'rou.s speed, And 'twould grow and spread in its dimensions; Then I'd .spin past it, and soon 'twcmld be hid By other worlds of greater pretensions. Onward and upward my ru.shing flight led. Through forests of wot Ids, as Milton mentions ; And ever and anon I would meet a new world. Fresh from the Maker's hand, as into space 'twas hurl'd. Space surrounded ! Oh ! such a wond'rous space ! No East, no West, no South, no North, no bounds; Yet I viewed in all in that endless race. Down, Atheist I look about you, and your grounds Of argument crumble. Oh ! slant your f ice To Heav'n — the Firmament ! how it abounds With His vast creations ; then pause and wonder That He crushes you not with His wrath's thunder. He who deigned to breathe life into mankind, And gave the creature a crowning glory — A soul — a part of His being — a mind — A conscience — to keep him from acts gory With sin, and follow its pro?nptings, and find His way to pure Peace, as intended ; He Who causes the vast worlds to endlessly roll. Rejoices in the saving of one poor soul. Oh, Atheist ! with your reasons scientific, Why deny the existence of your God ? But as I am not very prolific In argument, I point you to His Word, And beg you to read and ponder; if it Convinces not, then let reason be heard ; And whene'er your nature tempts you to sin, List to the still small voice speaking within. There's a man, not a thousand miles from here — A real paragon of learning, they say — Has been known to go to the shore, and there Gather curious shells, in barrels, all day. He was well learned in Europe, and we fear He argues so well we'll yield to his sway ; And so astonishingly great his knowledge is That he professes in one of our colleges. He can take a rib of some extinct fish, And tell from what long lost species it came: He can take a sea-shell, formed like a dish, And from it make a trump to blow his fame To the world: and he has but one deep wish. That is, for all men to forget God's name ; And he opes his wise eyes with a deeply learned glance, And tries to convince us that all things came by chance ! 14 Oh ! wonderful Chance, to have made the world— Ita mountains, its oceans, valleys and hills — Never let this savant's banner be furled : 'Tis Chance that gives life, and 'tis Chance that kills ; 'Tis Chance that causes planets to be hurled Into space about us ; 'Tis Chance that wills All things ! If he begets it, may Chance come to pass That, instead of a child, he'll siie a long-eared ass. If a man disbelieves God by learning So much, he'd far better remain a fool: Let him drop his studies, and cease burning His midnight oil, and keep his judgment cool By fair exercise, ajad think his turning Point in life was when he viewed Nature's school: Show me a deep student, all wise and dyspeptic, And I'll go no further to shov^ you a skeptic. "A little learning is a dang'rous thing;" So sang the forgotten poetic dwarf. He wanted you to gulp down the whole spring, "Without awaiting to gTadually quaff From Wisdom's deep cup, (perhaps /may bring A sentiment in here to cause a Inugh,) A little learning is far better than none — To gain big prizes small ones must first be won. A little learning is a dang'rous thing? Tell me who it is that disbelieves God ? Is't the savage man — the wild Indian king? Is't he who's too ignorant to read His Word ? Is't the African o'er his parched spiing? Is't the Esquimaux, who has never heard Of the Almighty's wond'rous plan of salvation 1 Is't not the pampered scholar of civ'lized nation ? I think Pope's sentiment is quite muddy : Ton must be a fool or a Solomon ; It strikes at the very root of study ; But I won't abuse him ; he's dead and gone : His mind was fair, though dwarfed was his body ; His mistress forsook him and he, forlorn, Wandered alone, proud, diseased, and in grief. Till death came to the little man's relief. It really seems to be the general bane Of all who get fame or gold by writing, To make some error by signing their name To some production, by merely 'lighting On the surface, without again and again WeU studying the subject, and fighting 'Gainst prejudices to get at stubborn things [kings. Called Pacts ; let's crown them ; thej' are hist'ry's true Sir Walter did well in his tales and rhyme — Pope did well till he touched Billy Shakspeare, (And others I'd mention if I had time To brush up my old readings, which, I fear, Have dwindled away to a point so fine, That they are nearly forgotten ; howe'er I will read more hereafter, and amends I'll thus make with my books, the best of friends.) But if Sir Walter Scott had lived till now. And could read his hist'ry of the Emp'ror; With deep shame and chagrin would he not bow His head on his breast? or would his temper And prejudice still influence him ? or how '; Would he feel if his valet he'd send for i The latest gazette, and from it the first glance \ Would show him Napoleon still ruling in France ? Abbott did well, but yet he did poorly— i I mean to say he over-did; but stiU I His hist'ry is better than Scott's, for surely Platt'ry is more truthfid than Hate ; I will Tell you how to get at the facts purely. In Napoleon's case, if you've time to kill; Read both hist'ries. (I mean one at a time,) And when you're through, strike your di^ddiug line. In my youthful way I've often wondered Why some honest historian of our day Don't follow where Scott and Abbott blundered, And treat Napoleon in an lionest way. I know that several Frenchmen thundered His deeds to the world ; but I think 'twould pay For Motley to take his good pen in hand, And give us a liist'ry to grace oui- land. God bless Motley ! He is a reg'lar brick- Clear-headed, sans prejudice, digging truth Out of old records, whereon dust lies thick, And giving us his labors for our youth To study, and for our older heads to "Stick" (Vide Sumner) o'er ev'ry line, and loth To lay down the volume till reaching the end : He who pens a good work is Solitude's friend. Prescott I blind Prescott I whose poor sightless eyes Gazed farther, clearer into ages past Than others blessed with vision ; the archives, Ancient and musty, all had to at last Yield to his search ; and on facts he relies To draw his sketch, whilst he never would cast A single shade in to deepen the mj'st'ry, Or make a god of a man : he wrote hist'ry. 15 He's gone to his reward. Perhaps a tear Dropped to his mem'ry, whilst it is still green, May not be out of place ; and yet, I fear. That 'twill be shed in silence, and not seen By the busy world ; and yet 'tis sincere ; Then o'er his grave let us silently lean, And for once forget all life, hope, and gladness. And mingle with his dust the tear of sadness. Student untiring, ripe scholar, and good man, Accept this briny token of our soiTow, So crj'stal clear, sparkling bright; and yet it can Be no purer than our grief Could we borrow "Woman's melting eyes, and her spirit to fan Grief into loud lamentations, we'd harrow Tip all the surroundings of your quiet tomb, But as rough men we can but silently mourn. Your works live not in monuments of brass ; Nor bright gilded urn ; nor proud cenotaph ; Nor massive tomb inviting all who pass To stay their stejis and read the epitaph; Nor title's bauble, to be handed down as Generations come and gO; but you did quaff Deep of the spring, and now, on oui' libraries' shelves. They stand as classical as the classics themselves. Let us throw oui' fancy across the mam To our mother-land, the gem of the sea, England ! Heaven bless her again and again ; We are justly, doubly proud to know that we Sprang from such stock ; and we hope that no stain Will e'er blot her escutcheon, and that she May always look kindly on her stalwart sou. Quite a hundred years old — our hist'ry 's begun. Cai-lyle — the less said of him the better — Prejudice — prejudice — all prejudice ; But he labored, .scratched many a letter To write the work ; and though he fed you this Stuff for hist'ry, let's loosen the fetter Of judgment severe; on his head we wish The laurels to cling foi- the work he has done — Worthily labored for and gallantly won. He outabbotted Abbot in his work On Fred'rick, who long since was dubbed ' 'the Great;" But then he labored like a very Turk To get the fact.s — scribbled early and late ; And in giving facts ne'er wishes to shirk. A line can't be penned without showing hate Or love of the writer; but 'twould be better If they'd drop all that ere penning a letter. Macaulay : fair, honest king of diction, Flowing as free as his own judgment's thought: We honor his work, stranger than fiction, As facts always are ; a copy unbought Lay in ueighb'ring shop tiU last election Into my trashy purse some money brought. Which I di\aded, and for a " square meal" one half Went, the other bought his woi'k, second hand, in calf. Now, this new nation, the United States, /*■ behind its dam in lit'rary matters ; But we're struggling upwards, and, if the Fates Will assist, we hope all our men of letteis Will drop all foibles, dislikes, and strong hates. And turn to old England to find their betters In all walks of lit'rature, and thus improve Our current works, if their profession the3'^ love. The Waverleys we've read with admiration ; Our Cooper never attempted to compare With them, (poor Cooper was spoiled by laudation, Received in Europe, when he visited there — Returning then to Democratic nation With his foreign ways and a Frenchified air — " A tiavelled fool," we all bitterly dubbed him — Our children laugh'd at, and our wise men snubb'd him.) Dicken.s — the modern wonder in his line — Wilkie Collins, Reade, and many others ; Thackeray, now dead, with his humor so fine, And a host of other noy'list brothers — We cannot match here at the present time, Unless we mention the jirince of lovers. Whose plots are the same, who is paid by the job — The poor, ink-slinging jackass, Sylvanus Cobb. Mr.s, Browning and then Mrs. Norton We adiuiie, as we do Miss Hannah Moore, And others of tile soft sex, whose ftu'tune Threw their hjt.s outside our limits; all o'er Their fame we rejoice, as we should, nor suou Can we expect to equal them ; this door Of comparison we'll close, but first mention Southworth, 'though .she's not worth any attention. Turn to poets : Tennyson, Laureate, We can't touch; nor you, author of "Lucille;" And we will not attempt it, for we hate Comparisons odious, yet still we feel We should weave in a few lines for the pate That composed "Evangeline;" true as steel His sentiment is ; and one line for the Quaker, 'Tho', excepting in " bnow-bound,'' he but spoils paper. 16 But in hist'ry ! ah I '• that's jvist where we live ;" Blind Prescott dead, and Motlej' still living, "We'll hold up to view ; and by such means strive (Though we must admit 'tis up-hill strix-ing) To ask oui- good mother England to give (And she's too liberal to torn fiom giving When true merit's in the case) us due credit for These good historians, as ev'ry fail' editor Must admit they are. 'But T must return To my vision. Many millions of miles From earth, as I now am, I must needs burn With true genius (?) to bend t'wards earth witli smiles And chat about those who strived and did learn Ere I was brought into this world of wiles ; And to stop and gossip about them in this lace Is mancBuv'iing, I'm too sure, a good way from base. So on I span. Then a thought struck my mind: Whence came I — how came I — where goeth ? Then a soft answer echoed from behind : "Thou must soon reap e'en as thou soweth.' A just sentence, thought I, but will I find Mercy from Him who all things knoweth? "Tour body from earth returned to the sod, And your soul from God returns to its God," Was the answer. I murmured a short prayer 'Midst stupendous surroundings, and my flight Stayed not its progress ; I felt drawing near Me a strange influence : " He who doeth right ; He who shaped in His hand each passing sphere ; He who rules justly, and with endless might: He who launched this poor soul into wotld of woe, Oh ! have mercy on it where'er it may go. "He who sowed chaos with worlds without luimber : He who lighted His lamps and hung tlu-m where They awakened old djrkuess from her skimbcn-. And whirled the worlds with their life-giving air, Thro' their amazing rounds: naught can encumlier His wond'rous works. All trembling with just fear I feel my littleness ; yet one grain of sifted Sand is part of the vast globe from whence 'twas lifted. " He who deigned to step from yon high heaven, And with bones unbroken hung on the tree : But with bleeding side all torn and riven, He sprinkled His blood on Mt. Cahary : He from whom all perfect gifts are given, Will e'en turn in pity and smile on me : He who made and ttxed this endless, boundless space. Through which millions of planets tumble and chase. "Could have fllled it so full of His creations That l)right Saturn could no longer proudly gleam j Her golden rings : nay, the God of all nations. Of men and worlds, could His creative eye beam Down fiom His Almighty Throne, and the stations Of worlds would all tend to one grand centre (see^ By no human eye) and knead them all into one Stupendous sphere, and spin it thro' its course whe^ [done.^ "Nay, further: could have swelled thatgi'eat sphere's Rotundity, till space would be no more; [vast Then that awful space He could again cast Into farther proportions than before : And when 'twould exijand, the new sphere, at last, Would go its huge rounds, aiul from shore to shore Of that newly created sjjace would be so wide, That the new world would be unseen as it would glide "On its mission ! Oh! twards such a being My soul is drawing. Pity it, oh, God ! Crush not the worm thou 'mighty, All-Seeing, Wond'rous Creator ! Oh ! list to it. Lord ! 'Though from sin the body was ne'er fleeing, Drop on the soul but one merciful word : Admit it above with the heavenly host. Great Father, suflering Son, and Holy Ghost !" I ceased ; and a lake of celestial fire Shone aroiuid ; and then a melodious strain Of sweet music floated down from heaven's choir, And echoed through space again and again : But on my plunging race went : higher and higher My soul continued to mount. Without stain Expanse shone above in ethereal blue, Richer in color than crimson's soft hue. And then there burst upon my wond'ring sight HC'iven, with its portals extensive and vast; And a sun beamed above it, shedding light On aU its surroundings; and then it cast Bright beams down, down, down into endless night. To guide poor souls into this haven at last : Above each wide entrance I did behold "Peace," traced by God's hand in letters of gold. Whilst floating around in the ambient air On noiseless wing, all clad in raiments white, AU-favored Seraphim, num'rous and fair To look upon, were bathing in the light ! "Oh, truly," I murnuired to myself, "here Is heaven, indeed ! Would I had done aright In the flesh ! Useless wish — that is all past ; Tour flight is o'er, and Judgment's here at last!" 1 17 jL cannot describe Jerusalem new — "Peace'' tells the whole story — unless you turn To the Good Book, and then run your eye through Its blessed pages. Chapter twenty-one Of Revelation holds it up to view, As penned by Inspiration: there you'll learn, Past all jnst doubts, as 'tis told by the Serii>tnre, The length, breadth, and appearance of heav'u's .sfruc [ture. K'ear one of the twelve gates there was a stir And strange commotion among the twelve guards : And other angels, through the ambient air, Flocked to the spot ; (I wish I had a bard's Pino diction to describe what I saw there ; I'm clumsj' at .shuffling poetry's cards ; " I've half a notion to tumble to prose. But verse is more in fashion — so here goes.") The angels, as I've said, all docked around The gate, as I drew near and gazed ; and lo ! Just outside, raised a little on a mound. Sat, all gloomy and silent, Mrs. Stowe, With her green eyes fixed on the golden ground, Woud'ring how 'twas she did'nt go below: Amongst all the angels she looked .so poor — Like a dandelion amongst roses, I'm sure! Judgment was all ready: so in she passed, And stood before the Makei' on his throne, With a confident .smile ; and then she cast Her eyes all about her, from floor to dome ; Then the Recorder, with quick finger, at la.st Found her black page, with a pitiful groan, And read it aloud in thunder's deep tones. And all the angels then joined in his groans. But the madam stood there with a light smile Playing about each deceitful feature So prominent, and stamjied with awful guile — The Creator gazed on by a Beecher ! " jSTo shufHing there ;" 'twas all plain ; but e'en while The charge was being read, the she-teacher Of morality took from under her cloak Her "Vindication:" then the silence she broke. "/ camo from earth; J was raised in the school Tliat condemns all of Immorality's tricks; I succeeded, at least, in keeping cool Judgment from the good l:uly ; from that bad fix J rescued her, and, though man dubb'd me 'fool,' / expect justice hei e, or I'm ' good for nix ;' This copy you see /'ve brought to tiiis high station — So aU fold your wings, and read my ' Vindication !' " 5 Then a murmur so sad humm'd thro' the vast crowd, And a sliadow's shade seemed to drop o'er all, As there was wafted near her a little cloud, Pure as ivory pillar in marble hall ; It settled in front of her, and gently bowed Its soft whiteness, and then quickly did fall The snowy vapor: why does her false heart blister? There — there stands the lady and his slander'd sister! And the lady spake : " Daughter ot earth, Why didst thou thus slander my sinful loid ? Fiom the first day of my mortal birth Till death took me home, I ne'er .spake a word To thee on the subject — never I Dearth Must be thy excuses, and just is God: Tremble for thy sentence; oh, soon thou'lt hear it — See this angel, his sister's 'redeemed spirit!' " The .sister, with raiment as pure as snow, And brilliant wings out-spread, flew to the Throne, To ask mercy for the sordid wretch : low Did .she kneel as she touched the golden stone ; Could it be granted to the sland'ress? No ! Justice only, though aU the angels monrn; Justice — justice only to sinners is meted ; Without that germ Salvation would be defeated. The doom was pronounced, and the foul, lep'rous thing Gazed all about her, stupefied with horror; Then she rallied somewhat, and threw 'twards the King Her eye of hate, determined not to cower ; Her teeth she gnash'd not; her hands she did not wring; But putl''d with pride she showed no trace of sorrow; The sister bowed her head and bitterlj- wept, As the poor, hell-doomed sland'ress turned to the left. "A change came o'er the spirit of my dream" — Mrs. Stowe and I were in sp;ice once more : Down, down, down we went without a bright beam From sun; all was dark as Plutonian shore ; But I followed in her wake; though, if seen With her, my muse would die foi-evermore; Head over pannier, down, down, dowu she goes, With poor me foU'wing her, holding my nose. Past the stars we plunged, though they seemed asleep ; Then straight thro' the bright tail of a comet; Tlien a sickly light shone and I could keep With ease on her course, and I l,ept on it ; Determined (as I .saw the angel weep) To dive with her and see all the fun. It Really seemed, though, that her mercurial soul Was in needless haste, with hell for its goal. 18 We had not falleu long ere just below I recoo-nized the world f'lom whence we came, Though it seemed a mere foot-ball, aU aglow With a flood of light, poured from old Sol's flame, Enveloping it ; then it seemed to grow Larger and larger ; but our course of shame Stayed not its downfall, until we stopped stone still And the world seemed to come 'twards us with a will. And the madam spake: "My brother traveler" — "Don't ' brother' me, madam," I said, " if you please." " Why mis'ry," she said, "is a sure leveler" — (Just then I smelt brimstone, and began to sneeze) — "And you, too, are going tu the devil, or I'm greatly mistaken; 'twUl be a tight squeeze To force both of us, at the same time, on ' old Nick ' — Two such wiiters are enough to turn all hell sick !" "Just so," said I. She here cast her eyes down. And ahiiost swore she saw a chiu'ch-steeple, Which comforted her ; having lost heav'ns crown, She could, at least, return to her people. And hatch out more lies to hawk around town At ten cents a line ; and the aU-needful Dollars would flow grandly into her gorged purse — Hell-begotten gossiper and Scandal's nurse ! I feared a little for myself and felt That I, too, a great sin had conuiiitted In reading her tilth, and then haviug dwelt O'er my desk, and then having transmitted My first canto. I had better then knelt In prayer to have the She manumitted From her tricky pen, sordid soul, and false hejirt, (I'm severe, good reader, but just — so don't start.) As the earth neared us I really did think. (As did the madam,) that we'd laud safely yet: So from our gieit height I began to drink In the beautiful view. Below us no net Of clouds hung; and from the tirmament's brink Was showered a rich flood of golden light that Enveloped the magnificent spinning ball That was nearing us: we did not seem to fall. All things on its surface were plainly seen — Elvers, rivulets, great mountains, and hills; Prairies stretched below us. waving thefi' gTeen ; Then as old ocean upward turns, it fills The reach of the eye ; but the .silver .sheen Hardly flashes to oui- height ere the wheels That revolve the vast sphere turn once again, And drv land we see instead of the main. When the God of Day slowly sinks to rest. And the lengthen'd shades on earth's bo.soni stretch; As the sea of light is poured from the West, O'er mount and valley, o'er hillock and ditch, And the cat^kling fowl seeks her roost or nest, And sombre twilight slowly steals o'er each And ev'rythiug, we'll to tlie top of yon mountain. And catch the last drop of light fioin the daj's fountain. Oh, glorious oi-b I Oh, giand fountain of light! We blame not old tribes for having worshiped thee, And ha^■ing thought when clouds caused partial night That they had sinn'd and their bright god was angry, And kneeling in prayer ere stripping for fight. Feeling stronger from such adoration. We Do not worship thee, as we're a free thinker. But admire thee as miich as did the Inca. Thou art the gard'ner of this world of ours — Thy tears drop on it in the shape of rain. That calls forth the .shoot and bud ; then the flowers Will laugh in wild glee when thou once again Smilest on it; 'twas thy life-giving powers Tliat gave it this form after having lain. Without shape, in the deep darkness of night. Till thy Creator said : "Let there be light !" We stand in mute awe on this dizzy height. And gaze with blurred eyes on the molten gold. Whilst at our feet the vale is bathed in night. That slowly creeps up the mountain so bold. And we admire. Steeped in this streaming light, With eyes tuined to the West, we do behold Thy gradual sinking to rest, after haTOig run Thy daily race. Good night, good night, beaming sun " The curfew tolls the knell of parting day," (So warbled the sweetest poet of all. In the pure gem polished in such a way. That the luifairest critic could not call Into doubt its true prism and dazzling ray,) And now, as the twilight does geutlj' fall, And darkness steals ajiace, in the East, full soon Rolls in solemu grandeur the round silver moon. ^^ 19 ' The day's work is over and the good sire, Wearied w ith hours of toil, goes to his bed ; Tlie mother and little ones 'round the tire, Linger in glee, witliont a dozing head Amongst them all; and nestling close by her, A new babe from the fount of life is fed ; They resemble the father in a milder way, As bright moonht night looks like the broad glare of [day Worthy Bride of tlie Snn, as pure and chaste As snow, surrounded by myriads of twinkling Stai's, lend us thy matronly ear, and haste To tell us: Are not the .siiarks that are si)i-inkiiiig Yon "majestical roof," but chihlren cast Tliere l>y thee and thy lord? Give us an inkling Of thy majestical, endless, creative loves; Can mammoths love as tenderly as turtle doves? A moonlit night ! «bat a theme i'or a muse ! From tills mountain top the fields and meadows, Gently moistened by heaven's tears — the dew.s — Bathed in silver light and softer shadows, Stretch out beneath us like dim fairy views : Yonder lies the deep glassy lake that owes Its keen reflection to the sailing moon, And 'neath its .surface to nighingales' tune, ^^ Her twin sister sails; whilst each little star '^ Flashes a bright eye down into tlie diink That receives them like rain-drops from a far Oil' cloud ; but instead of wrinkles from brink To brink, answ'ring the shower, thro' the ambient air The gems are flashed back, and the stars all think. As they wond'ringly gaze on the dazzling show, I That another liiniament is stretched below ! The pearly vapor in the jeweled sky. Slobbered theie, as told in the old story, By the puling infant, seems from on high To appear as a night-rainbow glory ; But under improved telescopic eye, (To make which astronomers all worry) The millions of drops in the milky-way Turn each to a sun, the star-gazers say. A thread of silver adown in the vale — A mere rivulet^ — seems in its motion To murznur : "'I'm small and weak, but I .shall " Be big and strong ere I reach old ocean ; " "Whilst on these craggy sides the pine-trees tall Bend not to the breeze, as in devotion, But stand erect in the scaice moving air, On these rugged rocks of all else so bare, And seem to whisper in tones soft and low, Through the beautiful uight and limpid air ; Let us bend the knee and devoutly bow The form, and list — the old mount is at prayer! Whilst from afar down where the waters go The echoes float up and break on the ear, As a eat'ract, dancing in the moon's beams, Flashes its bright jewels in endless streams. The stream whilst gliding down kisses the stones; Each eddy seems to have num'rous lovers : But the whirlpool where the cataract groans beems to be more favored than the others: Tis there where the glad laughing water loans Its caresses to weave about the brothers, A soft mantle of velvet deep and green. Which beneath the waters is plainly seen. On the rocky bank a weeping willow, A perfect picture of old Nature's grace, Is seen thro' the moonlight soft and mellow Gently caressing the laughing brook's face, Whilst the distant hills, like the sea's billow, Grandly rise and fall without change of place, And from yonder farm the midnight chanticleer Crows, but the challenge hai'dly reaches the ear. To the chaste moon let's once more cast our eye And admire the bright sailing orb, but she Likes not the scrutiny, as from the sky She catches a fairy cloud, and forms the Veil to hide her blush, as it passes by ; But then from its soft fringe we plainly .see Many a bright little star slyly peep At us, as we stand on this dizzy steep. But the linirs i-wr\) l)y and the uight wears on, And the briy.ht orb slowly sink.s in the west; But ere she is hid by the liorizon, She sheds her pure light on this mountain crest; And just for an instant ere she is gone, She kisses the mount as she sinks to rest — Kisses the rough brow with a flood of light Ere she disappears — a royal "good night!" But I'lu wanilring again: some stanzas back, (If you'll trouble to count, about seventeen YouU find,) I was telling you of the track That Mrs. Stowe and I were on between Heaven and earth : I do not believe I lack Ideas to write on ; howe'er I must lean More t'wards my subject; but its being so filthy Makes me touch other things to make it Look healthy. 20 So then : Down we tumbled with one fell swoop, And I'm sure we'd have been crushed on the ground Had not the earth gaped open like a loop, (That's a sorry simile, but I'm bound Not to erase,) and we heard such a whoop That caused us to wond'ringly gaze ,around. And find that our flight, that hadn't ended well. Had landed us in Gahenna, now called heU. Jemini ! (that's the worst oath I ever Tet swore,) what a doubly hwiible sight ! Molten brimstone flowing like a river, Throwing its broad glare where all else was night ; Whilst on its surface we did discover Num'rous ferry boats, dancing in the light, Pull'd by grim ferrymen, with green, stretching wings- Clever devils perhaps, but odd-looking things. In the fiery river an island vast ■We saw, surmoimted by a huge black dome ; On which was fixed a throne. The madam cast Her green eye t' wards it : she here felt at home ; One of the boatmen beckoned us at last To take a ride, and the madam said " Come," To me, and I tremblingly obeyed : what a fix To be thus paddled over the hot river Styx! When we reached the island a monstrous crowd Of imps flocked down to the shore to greet us With direful welcomes, shouting long and loud. Like good devils ; they seemed glad to meet us. But the madam, with condescension, bowed ; They knew her then and threatened to beat us ; Then they ran from us — some into the river sunk ; I've seen a pack of hoimds scatter'd thus by a skunk ! -J So all alone we wended our way to Belzebub's throne. He was a quaint looking fish : I hav'nt time to describe him to you ; But yon may turn to Jack Milton, if you wish, (As you may be int'rested in him, too,) And read about this being so devilish — So huge in body and tall in stature — Tailed and split-hoofed and ugly in feature. A huge !N'orway pine was his walking stick ; The gentlcTnan of old whom David met. And cooly punched liis warlike head so quick, Was a mere pigmy to this thing, "you bet;" As the fumes rolled up from below so thick, I just hoped there was not a room to let ; But whilst I was thinking about the room. He ope'd his fiery maw, and this was our doom : " What ho, there ! My ever faithful minions ! Seize and bind fast this vile sland'rous woman, And carry her, as swift as your pinions Will permit, (and, whilst going, let no man Touch her scaled body, as our dominions Are foul enough noV, that is, if you can Prevent,) to the deepest pit and blackest rock — Manacle her with Muhlbach and Paul de Kock I" He then turned to me with his fiery eyes. And I shook like a trembling aspen leaf. And gave vent to my fear in sobs and sighs : "Ton," said he, "you! you poor lifrary thief: Your sins are as thick as green buzzing flies In the shambles: Now, list to me in grief; Nay, cross not your breast, and beat your frightened But ere he said more I awoke with a start, [heart" — Vas7mf(/ton, D. C, Jcaruarj' /9, /S70. BBOC. iV.^.n*?^ °'' CONGRESS tl:IHHUit;:|il 016 115 934 7