v %, . ■ O POEMS BY jf N. M'JILTON. •• c BOSTON: OTIS BROADERS St CO. NEW YORK WTLEY AND TITNAM } l'HlLADELHIlA HENRY RSKIHI BALTIMORE CISHING AND BROTHER. 1840. .Mi? WOODS AND CRANE, PRINTERS, EALT. TO MY EARLY AND ESTEEMED FRIEND, DAVID CREAMER, WITH WHOM I HAVE BEEN INTIMATELY ASSOCIATED IN LITERARY PURSUITS, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED PREFACE. The poems here recorded, have been the pro- duction of a few leisure hours, snatched at inter- vals from a life of hurry and concern ; and they are collected, less in the hope of gaining even a poet's immortality, than with the view of obliging several friends, who, for some time have insisted on their publication. In fact, had it not been for the threat of one, for whom the author entertains a high regard, that he would publish upon his own responsibility such of his pieces as he could collect, it is highly probable that the public would have been spared the infliction of the present volume and the author the disasters that await the scrib- bler, who in the season of storm, dares venture his bark upon the troubled waves of a literary sea. 1* VI PREFACE. While engaged in writing the poems, no thought of future fame obtruded to mar the pleasures of composition, which have been adequate to the labor expended in their production. They are the off- springs of the heart ; their errors those of an inof- fensive muse, which however, is as independent as unpretending, and presents its efforts alike to "cor- morant and commoner," expecting each without "favor or affection" to dispose of them according to his pleasure. CONTENTS pa<;e. Tricmpii of Liberty,— pronounced before the Associated Literary and Scientific Societies of Baltimore— at their anniversary, celebrated on the Fourth of July, 1838, 13 The Sires of Seventy-Six, .... 44 Gcenever,— in two parts— a ballad in the style of the old English writers. Part I. ... 45 Part II. . • M My First New Hat, 66 The American Eagle, • 69 Tomb of Bozzaris, . . • • • ' * Retrospection, . . • • • .78 Beech Hill 84 Yo Heave ! ...-•• 8 7 The Maiden's Test, ... 90 My Absent Sister, . . • • .93 The Night of Death, 97 God Walks in Judgment, . .98 Time, .... • m The Past, the Present, and the Future, . • 104 Brutus, 106 Love's Appeal, . . • .107 V1U CONTENTS. The Mount of Faith, 109 Niagara, ..... . 112 The Stars. 116 Joy, ...... . 118 Spring, ..... 119 To a Musquito, .... • 120 The Aching Tooth, .... 123 Death may wreathe the 'Cup to-morrow, • 126 A Name, ..... 128 Love, ...... . 130 To a Playful Boy, .... 131 The Harper's Dying Strains, • • 133 Stanzas, ..... 136 The Sword of Washington, . 137 Toast, ...... 139 Childhood's Hopes, • • 140 The Land we Love, 141 The Amazon, ..... . 142 Lelia go not to the Ball to-night, 143 May Flowers, . . 145 Song of the Fairies, 147 The Estranged, ..... . 148 My Father made them all, 149 A Thought, ..... ■ 151 Life — A Garden, .... 152 The Grave, ..... . 153 To an Album, • • . . 154 The Blight, ..... • 156 Flag of Texas, .... 157 Thou Speakest Still, .... • 158 Queries, ..... 160 Soitow, ...... . 162 Festival of the Tombs, 163 Yon Starry Worlds, .... . 167 CONTENTS. IX The Fall, ..... 168 The Old Elm, . • 169 Midnight, ..... 173 Millenial, .... • 174 Confidence, . 176 Childish Speculations, . • 179 Then sing the Song I love, 181 The Deep— Deep Snow, . 182 Christmas Morning, 184 Death of Murat, . . 186 Kings Pass Away, .... 190 Song of the Sailor, . . . . . 191 Away and leave the Brimming Bowl, 193 She's Dead, . • 194 Change, . 195 Lelia's Choice, . . 197 To the Unknown .... 198 Who shall be First, . . . . . 199 Our Hope, ..... 201 Rest thee, Sleeper. • ■ 202 I will not Murmur, 203 Fall of the Indian Warrior, . 207 To my Sister Jane, . 209 The Student's Burial, . . 212 Summer Eve, . . • . 216 Human Glory, ... . 217 To Weep, ..... '222 Home, ...... . 223 The Battle Monument, 224 Death and the Warrior, . 22S The Drunkard's Toast, 231 We pass Away, .... . 233 Death was at the Feast, .... 234 The Dead Child, . 236 CONTENTS. Sad when Alone, .... -240 The Dead, ...-...• 241 Unbelief, • 242 Dust, .......... 244 Bear out the Dead, ...-.- 245 The weary Crusader, 248 To the Potomac, •••.... 249 The Ploughboy, ........ 250 To Alexzena, •••....• 253 To Charlotte— The Past, 254 A Sad Hour, ....... 256 Procrastination, 257 Thy Love, . 260 The Sea Boy's Love, ...... 262 To the Patapsco ......... 263 Musings in Mount Auburn, . 265 She Faded, 270 Southern Flowers, 271 The Rose that never Fades, .... 273 The Sister's Appeal, ....... 275 I'll think of Thee, 277 A Mother's Love, • 278 Thou art Away, ....... 280 To Elvira, . 282 Time's Impress, . 284 Southern Lasses, •••.«.• 286 Ellen's Rose, ........ 288 Death of the Christian Soldier, .... 291 My Soul is Sad, ..... 293 Revelation, 296 Life, . 297 O give me back my Hope, ..... 299 The Pilgrim's Rest, ...... 300 Scepticism, 303 CONTENTS. XI First Sabbath of the New Born Year, . . 306 Memories, 309 Night Scene, ........ 314 I have no Father there, ...... 317 God, 318 Lov'stThou Me, ....... 319 Nature's Gratitude 323 Helen, ... 325 The Battle, • 326 The Doom of Youth, ...... 327 Death of Pike, . 328 Revenge, 329 The Heart's Changes, 330 Think of Me, 331 The Winter of the Tomb, 332 The Spring beyond the Tomb, .... 333 Serenade, 334 The Sea Bird, . • -336 Years Pass, 337 The Minstrel's last Dirge, . . . .338 Just Seventeen, 342 The Joy of Age, ■ 343 Infant Memories, 344 Crush not the Worm, 346 The Sea, 348 To Muse at Night, 350 Devotion, . . . . . . . 351 Emma, 353 The Sea of Sorrow, 356 Girlhood, 358 Silent we Gazed, 359 POEMS TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. How many centuries yon glorious sun. His annual circuit through the skies has run, Since Tyranny his ebon flag unfurled, And waved it proudly o'er a prostrate world ( How many rivers of life's crimson rain. Have warmly gushed from bosoms of the slain, And stained the dismal standard as it bore, Its gloomy folds the kneeling nations o'er I When first beside the sparkling Euphrates, Where flowers their perfume shed upon the breeze, Man rose in strength matured — creation's lord. Earth's thousands bowed obedient to his word ; The nations of the sea, the flocks of heaven. And tribes of earth into his hands were given: Sole sovereign o'er them all he nobly reigned, In virtue of the right from God obtained. He stood in nature's primal freedom then. To represent a distant race of men, All equal with himself; he wore no crown, No regal emblem spoke of his renown — No costly gems he bore, embossed in gold — No badge of servitude, of slavery told ; 14 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. He stood the prince of nature — free as wind, True representative of man and mind. His progeny increased, and soon the thirst Of pride, begat desire of being first Ic power and preferment, thence arose The "Rule despotic," with its train of woes. Thus early in the history of man, The reign of Terror, its career began, And o'er the wilderness in wrath it strode — Its earliest effort bore the stain of blood. On Shinar's plain, Ambition left his tent, To build his way to heav'n, — the toil was spent Of countless thousands in the vain essay, The pomp of human power to display, When from his throne, the Everlasting saw, And thundered his severe, but righteous law. Mysterious changes o'er the senses came, Men stood aghast and blushed in deepest shame. Confusion sat upon each clam'rous tongue, With jargon wild the sinning Babel rung; The laborers confounded, shook with dread, Gave up their hopes and from each other fled. And frightened refugees fatigued and sore, Left home and kindred to return no more. A band of wanderers after months of toil, Found an asylum on Assyria's soil ; Though few and feeble at the first they were. The means of life their constant— -only care ; T K I I' M P H OF LIBKRTV. 1 8 Vet when into importance they had grown, They founded empire and built up a throne. Nineveh and Babylon in strength uprose, And princes preyed upon the people's woes; Kings wore the honors by their subjects gained — Their subjects wept o'er titles they sustained, 'Till discontent into excitement grew. And prince and people in disorder threw ; Faction displayed her desolating arm — Aroused the passions to their fiercest storm ; Of boasted victory, was blood the price, And freely flowed in horrid sacrifice ; On history's page it poured the hideous stain, Till even Babylon mourned her mightiest slain. Adorned with jewels when the world was young, Egyptia, on the Nile's rich valley sprung; — The famous Nile, whose waves of silver came. From some far forest, still unknown to fame, To bear vast treasures on their crests of snow, To distant seas, as onward they should flow Through groves of fadeless beauty, broad and fair And plains of ever during verdure, where The fertile soil gave forth spontaneous flowers, And crown'd the em'rald shore with clustering bowers. The narrow vale, then glowing in its pride, Another Eden by the river's side, In all its native excellence arrayed, — Woo'd the worn trav'ler to its peaceful shade: Beneath the rich and ripening fruits he knelt On the delightful sward, and much he felt 16 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Of nature's rapture in that silent hour, When none was near him to dispute the pow'r He claimed o'er field and forest — all were his, — He gazed in fancy from the mount of bliss On years of pleasure that invited him, Their endless ocean of delight to swim. Friends gathered near the pleasures to divide ; They roamed the valley — climbed the mountain side, And like the zephyrs that around them played, Free o'er the flowers in their joy they strayed. As years wore on, improvement's tread was seen, Art sprung upon the plains and valleys green ; Like magic, palaces were seen to rise, And temples laved their summits in the skies ; While workmen from the mountain's towering crown Rich marble quarried and conveyed it down. Upon the river's banks and by the wood, Cities assumed the place of solitude ; Propitious Fortune from her throne on high, Watched o'er their labors with an anxious eye — Induced them onward by her fond caress, And stamped their noblest efforts with success. When o'er the hills man's industry had moved, Moulding the wilds of nature, which he loved, To suit his pleasure, he displayed his skill, And showed the symptoms of usurping will. Distinction came — the despot hailed its dawn, And by his hand the hated line was drawn That marked the prince's and the subject's place, Gave some to honor — others to disgrace. TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 17 The shepherd left his flocks upon the plain, Seized on the sceptre and commenced his reign ; His place among the mountains he resigned, The will of thousands, by his own, to bind. With gentle guile his cautious course began — The king was scarcely known above the man : His people and himself in interest one, They hardly knew that he possessed a throne ; Close friendship he affected — then with i Withdrew their liberties by slow degrees. Triumph was his — the mask was laid aside. The people's pleasure and their will defied ; He held the rod, — his honors to display, And ruled the nation with tyrannic sway. Usurping Pharaohs in rich splendor sate, All glitt'ring in their princely robes of state ; A favored race of proud empurpled knaves, Soon held dominion o'er unmanly slaves. Darkness hath, like a shadow o'er the sun, Its path of ages, over Egypt run ; Her star of greatness has gone down in gloom Artists and warriors share oblivion's doom: The light has faded from her jewelled brow, Temples nor pyramids have builders now. Fair Greece arose, — a burning diadem Upon the brow of earth, — each island gem. That floated in her circlet, seemed a star. That threw its lustre on the seas afar. 18 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Adventurers admired the beauteous land, And crowned their prows upon the sparkling strand ; On Sicyon's plain, and Argos' glittering vale, Phoenicean hands inscribed fame's early tale ; The fearless strangers left their flowery coves, To seek new homes among the verdant groves That hung in silence on the sunlit shore, Or bowed in majesty the breeze before. The deathless history that tells of these, Tells of Inachus and Egialtes, Cecrops and Theseus, and of thousands more, Whose deeds shed lustre on the names they bore. Athens leapt forth,' — child of the sun and sea, And Argonaut and bold Heraclidss, Of daring schemes and mighty ruin told, Ere Greece in enterprise or years was old : And Cadmus, like a morn of hallowed light, Dawned o'er the gloom and shade of mental night. The spark he struck on Thebes in splendor grew, And round his name immortal honors threw. That spark ethereal, over Grecia spread — Her march of letters and of greatness led, And heralded the morning of renown, Which on her hills from heav'n was looking down; — It came, the shadows of barbarian night, To hide forever in its orlorious light, And show the workings of immortal mind, Which circumstance may rule, but never bind ; Others, like Cadmus, had as brilliant shone, Who lived neglected, and who died unknown, — TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 19 But for the sad reverses that await — The certain ministers of uncertain fate, About the path of the aspiring soul, And seek its towering efforts to control. And men of every age the dupes have been Of fickle Fortune, while her hand unseen, Hath led them through the labyrinthine maze, Up to her temple, and held out the bays, As if she meant to crown them for their might, But held them till they withered in their sight. The throngs that worship at Ambition's shrine, And for the favors of her friendship pine, Ere from her lips, a single smile they gain, Are doomed of disappointment to complain. Many have labored both in truth and guile, The good have been successful, — so the vile; And trait'rous heads high honors have arrayed, While noble souls have slumbered in the shade. Princes have fallen from their place of pride, And humbler spirits have been dignified With all the titles that the great have worn — With wreaths of fame from aching temples torn : Bui he that for a cot exchanged his throne. Was happier far, than he that gained the crown. Mind hath no titles — greatness is her dower, And hers the claim of universal power. She nourished Greece in her maternal arms, And won her confidence with nameless charms — 20 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. She humbled kings — the peasant's might displayed, — She lifted talent to its place, and made Accessible to all, the path of fame, Till kings of Greece, were only kings in name. Codrus his sceptre with his life resigned, Athens his titles in his tomb confined ; The name of king she banished from the state, And in his place the humbler Archon sate, — Not Archon by especial grace from heav'n, But by free suffrage from the people giv'n — The people ! — from whose midst the wise were those Who high in honor as in purpose rose — Lycurgus like, who joined the public cause, And gave his life to give the nation laws ; — Or like stern Draco whose decrees of blood, Essayed to turn aside the foaming flood Of vice, that threatened in its maddened rush, The hopes of virtue and of peace to crush ; — Or Solon, with his precepts firm, yet mild, That might have left grey hairs, in guilt a child. Such were the sons of Greece, and such their claim To lofty places on the scroll of Fame; — Of different views and yet of equal zeal, Their only efforts for the public weal. To boasted eminence proud Greece went up, By Fortune favored, until full her cup Of glorious triumph, both in arms and arts, Sustained by thousands of the boldest hearts That throbbed for freedom in the early time, When kings were sometimes fortunate in crime. TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 21 Stern hearts of freemen, full of patriot fire, Burning alike in son and hoary sire, The noble bulwark formed, that shielded Greece, And gave prosperity in war and peace. At Marathon, the haughty Persian tried — And Salamis — to humble Grecian pride, And break that bulwark dow r n ; as well the waves They might have chained, as of the Greeks made slaves. The daring spirit of Themistocles, Equalled in valor of Miltiades, And countless numbers of the sons of Fame, Humbler in fortune, but in soul the same, Not all the thunderbolts of war could move, Nor fright them from their home of hope and love. Alas for Greece, that e'er domestic feuds, In hostile form arrayed her multitudes ! That ever faction and unholy lust, Trampled her well-earned laurels in the dust. The same Ambition that enthroned the king, Rendered proud Greece, a poor forsaken thing : Spoiled of her conquests and of greatness shorn, By inward strifes and outward quarrels torn, She seemed, while splendid ruin were her doom, And blighted glory, beautiful in gloom, Like vultures for the feast, Rome's cohorts came. And matchless Greece was only Greece in name. Fall'n was the land of j^reat Thucvdides, But glorious in her fall, — she still was Greece. 22 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. In dust was princely Greece, the Roman heel Was on her jewelled neck — the gloomy seal Of utter subjugation ; — at her fall Rome snatched the light-encircled coronal From her yet lovely brow — where it had shone For centuries, and placed it on her own. Not long in native pride it flourished there, For it had borne the flowers of Freedom fair, That grew when Greece was free, for Greeks to prize But might not bloom beneath despotic skies. Rome spread her arms abroad, — from sea to sea, She robbed the nations of their liberty — And wore the laurels other states had won, But soon the race of glory she had run ; She reared her throne to overlook the world, And from that throne to darkness soon was hurled. And where is Rome, and where her conquests now ? Honors that were oppressive to her brow, Wrought her destruction, and she sleeps in dust ; And o'er her mighty dead oblivion's rust Relentless Time had scattered, — had they not Been linked with deeds that could not be forgot. And Time, in his resistless march hath strode- O'er Rome's proud Caesars and their robes of blood. Rome ravaged Greece and revelled in her gloom, The world hath wept for Greece ; but who for Rome? Unnumbered kingdoms in the times of yore, Fluttered a brief hour and were seen no more ; They passed away — the kingdom, king and crown, Like stars they rose, and like the stars went down. TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 2'3 And few may tell of Lydia's wealth and pride. And of her kings, who reigned awhile and died Like other kings, — perchance like other men. Wept for a time, — to be forgotten then. And Lydia's sister kingdoms ; where are they ? The galaxy that glittered once so gay ! What pen of steel their princely deeds may write. To call them from their sleep of endless night ! What tongue of fire may the proud doings tell. Of states that flourished for a time and fell I — Of Media, — from Assyria's arms released, That rose in power and in might increased, Cyrus the Great, her proudest, noblest son, Laid other kingdoms which his valor won, As brilliant trophies at her princely feet ; — He made the Caspian's wealth with India's meet To do her homage ; and the Persian's toil Gave willing tribute for his fertile soil. Of Sicily, — that looked up from the wave. As thouffh she meant her em'rald brow to lave Jn the pure sunlight ; — 'twas on her fair breast. The great Archimedes in death found It Which life denied him long, — Marcellus' sword. Thrust by the soldier at the tyrant's word, Sent the philosopher from study deep. To join his comrades in their last, lone sleep. Despots in madness and relentless hate. Ravaged the land and left it desolate — 24 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. The brightness of philosophy obscured, Revenging wrongs they never had endured. — Of honors green that blooming Syria wore, The palm of praise the Syro-median bore — Of Parthia and the cunning Parthian's skill, Whose rage, awhile, not even Rome could still, And of his fall at last — his utter fall And loss of fame — of country — name — of all. — Of many a kingdom unto Fame scarce known, Whose petty tyrant from his little throne Announced his will, and if it were the thrall Of prince — philosopher, or stately hall, — The minions of his pow'r, — a pliant band, Hasted to execute his high command. — The very shadow of imperial might, Hath buried in the dust, all human right ; And since the stars first sang creation's birth, Tyrants have made a slaughter-house of earth. Thus mused the Genius fair of Liberty, As on a rock she stood, washed by the sea, Anear a little port to fame unknown, That gave its tribute to the Spanish throne. The winds that wafted o'er the Paloese, Filled the white canvass on the bounding seas ; The rushing waters and the gentle roar Of the light waves that played upon the shore, TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Aroused the Genius from her dreams of pain. And in her bosom, hope revived again. On a broad pier, in crowds, the people stood, And banners gaily on the breezes flowed : A thousand voices o'er the silence broke — A thousand echoes o'er the glad hills woke. And met in music on the rock-bound shore. That shook in concert with the welcome roar ; The Genius started as she turned her eye, For gallant barques were floating proudly by ; She saw the streamer and the stiffened sail. Sweeping in majesty before the gale, — 'Twas mind that struggled for a victory more. And sought new worlds upon an unknown shore ; Pleased at the prospect, from the rock she leapt, Her flowing robes, around her light form swept : She left the gazers on the crowded strand. To guard Columbus and his daring band Over the dreary and untravelled wave. In search of glory, or a glorious grave. Spreading her pinions, o'er the gallant er She dropped a tear and bade Old Spain adieu. Success becomes the province of the man. Whose skill may execute what mind may plan — Whose lofty courage in the cause he loves. No threatening terror daunts — no peril moves. Genoa's son, the noblest of his line. Whose name in Science will for ever shine, — 3 26 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Saw the bright path, Philosophy illumed. And sought the pow'r that princes had assumed To tread its starry heights, — the toil of years. Deceit of kings, and the insulting sneers Of envious ignorance, he calmly bore, Till opposition he had triumphed o'er, And gain'd permission to adventure life — To dare the ocean's and the tempest's strife.. And envy's dark and despicable frown, To fix a jewel in a monarch's crown. Their country's flag th' adventurers unfurled, In triumph o'er the new discovered world ; For Spain's proud monarch in the name of God. They claimed possession of the flowery sod. Columbus cried, exultingly, "We've found A world of forests by the ocean bound, A land of beauty and embowering vines — Of oaks majestic and of towering pines — Of verdant valleys and their rivers clear. Princes might revel in rich splendors here." "Not princes," cried the Genius, who each word. The great Explorer spoke, distinctly heard, "Not princes e'er shall mar this lovely zone, This land shall ne'er behold a despot's throne. Her hills and valleys chainless as yon sea Shall give their treasures to the brave and free." For many years o'er varying vale and wood, The Genius wandered in her solitude ; I HUMPH OF LIBERTY. 87 The fleets of nations she had witnessed oft, With glowing canvass and their flags aloft, Crowded with mariners — the stout — the brave. Moving all proudly o'er the ocean wave. The hirelings of princes, they came to fight. And plunder princes of inferior might, Who boasting honors of a royal name, ssion held by precedence of claim : War's deaf ning thunders o'er the billows swept, And echoes wild, from rugged mountains leapt ; The widespread forest quivered 'mid the din, — The soil, its floods of human gore drank in : — Tin.' opening flow r ers received the purple stain. Vnd mount and valley hid the thousands slain. The Genius wept; — the land she would have crown 'd With Freedom's chaplet, was the battle ground. Where bauds of friendship and the brother's steel, Were raised against the friendly heart and heel : And kings contended by the "Grace of God" To rule their subjects with an iron rod. Again upon the sea she spread her wings, — \u r ain in grief, she sought the home of kings : O'er Albion's snowy dill's, her way she sped, To hold communion with the princely dead, in an old Abbey's venerated aisle. The dead on either hand, she mused awhile. Ala* tor man ! alas for Godlike mind, That e'er a despot rose among his kind. — That e'er a lawless and unrighteous thing, Transcended law. and called himself a king. 28 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. God made men free, — free as the bounding waves, Faction oppressed them first — then made them slaves, At feudal pride, the fief indignant felt, And murmured much, but at its nod he knelt, And kissed the foot of the usurping lord, Whose might was right, and whose all powerful word Was law supreme, — e'en to the very death, He claimed the right to measure human breath — Aye — claimed authority to say how free, Immortal mind, that God had made, should be. What is the king, and what the crown he wore ? The golden sceptre that in pride he bore ? When like his poorest subject he is left, To blanch in death, of all his pride bereft l Here it were wise, the monarch in his crown, Should stand, and on his ancestry look down; The curtained heads that friendly hands have laid, Slumber as harmless as the solemn shade That sheds its deep and soul-subduing gloom Above the deeper darkness of the tomb. No despot loves to look into the dust, To view the worm, — the canker and the rust, Which soon may cluster 'round the jewelled brow- So rich in beauty and in honor now. Here he may read the haughty prince's doom, — This pathway of the dead — the death-like gloom, That hangs in desolation o'er the place, Where mouldering sleep a proud imperial race, Should teach the sceptred rulers of the State, That death and dust must be their humbling fate. TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. '-i9 And some there are, so quietly that sleep, In death's eternal midnight, still and deep. When they assumed the sceptre and the pow'r, Fair Liberty had thought the morning hour Of her success, had dawned upon the sky. Attracting nations to its light on high ; But soon their haughty and imperious sway, Exceeded all before, that passed away, And what on coronation day they swore Was little thought, and never heard of more. Freedom for years had sought a lowly spot To plant her standard; but she found it not — For the vast globe could show no spot of ground But where the tyrant's foot-prints might be found. Her cause was dark, but 'twas not yet despair, Tyrants she knew could never chain the air. The winds are still, — adown the purple west, The evening sun is sinking to his rest ; Voices are on the breeze, glad songs arise J 11 holy anthems to the list'ning skies. What forms are these, that cluster in the grove, And greet each other with the grasp of love: They meet for worship and the greenwoods ring With the sweet notes of gratitude they sin". Now strains of measured sadness soft ami low, In plaintive music on the breezes flow: And now upon the dewy sward they kneel. Their flowing tears may tell how deep they feel ; 3* 30 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Stern silence throws its awe around them there, And humble hearts breathe forth the lowly prayer. Poor hunted fugitives, the pilgrim few, By kings insulted, to the shade withdrew, To tell their woes, and worship God once more, Ere they departed for a distant shore, Where they might bow beneath a favoring sky, And pay their homage unto God most high. The Genius saw the weeping pilgrims bow, She heard their song of praise and solemn vow ; And knew if Freedom's temple they might rear, Upon a faith so fervent — so sincere, — Protected by the Great Eternal's arm No earthly power could ever do it harm. In prospect high, she saw that temple rise, Until its lofty summit touched the skies ; Her matchless throne upon the radiant height, She saw enwrapped in heaven's own glorious light. The pilgrims soon a common fortune shared, Together Ocean's dangers nobly dared ; The light barque sped across the billows' crest, And reached their port in the uncultured west. Virginia's winding streams and Plymouth's rock, Tell how in bands that little, fearless flock — In Freedom's hallowed enterprise the van — A mighty nation's history began. In the dread name of Freedom's God they swore, The tyrant's fetters they would wear no more ; TBI M PB OF LIBERTY. 31 As with a single voice the word was passed — The ocean heard — valley and mountain vast, Jn the ripe spring's reviving greenness crowned, With eager joy, joined in the glad'ning sound. Till every foot of land from sea to sea, The pledge responded of the nobly free. On Plymouth rock — where Freedom's waves had rolled In majesty for ages — uncontrolled, — In calm. — as lovely as the azure steep, That mirrored in its bosom vast and deep : In storm, — tremendous — awfully sublime — Sweeping in terror with the upper clime, Harmonious 'mid the elemental fight As in the peaee of nature clear and bright — ( >n Plymouth rock, Ocean's rich coronet. The Genius Liberty rejoicing met Her sister of Columbia — saint-like pair ! They hailed and fondly kissed each other there: Hand firmly clasped in hand and heart to heart. The vow was made, the twain should never part. But wing in endless friendship on the wind. Till man was free, — and free immortal mind. The weary pilgrims gathered on the shore, Which ne'er the name of God had heard before; Amid the group arose a man of age ; 1 lis silver locks betokened him the sage : 32 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. His voice though feeble was distinctly heard, For breathless silence waited on each word. "Friends of the Cross," with outstretch'd arms, he cried, "Why sit ye here the slumbering waves beside, If not to mingle prayer with fervent praise To Him who will attend our humble lays ? Far from the prince and the oppressor now, Low in his presence we may fearless bow, Unwatched by spies, among these clustering trees, And breathe our deep thanksgiving on the breeze." Heart beat to heart as quickened now by hope. To worship God the company stood up, And for a while forgetful of their wrongs, They shook the wilderness with thankful songs, Then on the green, beneath the oaks they bent, And grateful service to their God they sent. Years rolled in light away, the log huts rude, Which rose amid the lonely solitude ; And villages that glittered in the glade, Or hid their beauty in the valley's shade, Before improvement's progress disappeared, And cities gay, were in their places reared, The stricken few, upon the shining sands, That stood to worship with uplifted hands, Had multiplied to thousands ; the rich soil, Gave great abundance to the farmer's toil ; — The winds were pure, the people bless'd with health Pursued the liow'ry way that led to wealth ; TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 88 Strangers and friends from other lands came o'er, In search of homes upon the vine-clad shore ; And where the forests with their foliage green, And savage hunters with their hows were seen. Fair Commerce moved amid the busy mart.. And skill exposed her specimens of Art. The stately cities of Columbia grew, And nourished 'neath the stainless arch of blue.. Which o'er them spread, all beautiful and bright, And poured upon their crowns, rich iloods of light. About their borders, robed in living green, The groves of nature, and the fields were seen — The cultured valley and the wooded hill, All glowing in their pristine splendors still. No walls of stone or towers uprearing high, Exposed their strength, the efforts to defy Of hostile nations and their warlike arts, Their mighty bulwarks were — united hearts. Thick in their midst the swelling domes appealed. And brazen steeples in the sunlight reared Their burning summits to the glowing sky. As pointing mankind to their homes on high. Twas morning in the season of the spring, When flowers had bloomed and birds began to sing ; The wind blew gently and the waves were still. And sunlight slept on city, plain and hill. A shadow passed a moment o'er the morn — Sounds as of rushing waters, swift were borne 34 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Upon the sluggish aether ; and appeared A form majestic, with a front upreared, And wings of brilliant plumage. From the clime Where Freedom nourished in the olden time, The dark brown Eagle, then her champion bold, Came to renew their friendship as of old. As through the soft empyrean he sailed, A serpent's frightful folds behind him trailed, — Fierce Despotism, the curse of man and mind, That many a nation to its doom consigned, Had closely followed in the Eagle's wake, The noble purpose of his soul to shake ; The mighty bird, unmindful of his foe, Pursued his way, the blue expanse below, Until he found a pleasant spot to light, Upon the Alleghany's top-most height ; Thence East he looked, as with a glance of fire, Upon the flashing dome and blazing spire — The marble pile that sweetly smiled below, With pillared front and frieze of spotless snow ; — And West upon the pathless forests wild, And mountain grandeurs o'er their bosoms piled, And rivers vast that hurried down their sides, Of deeper floods, the tributary tides; The scenes around, called up the mighty Eld, And ancient kingdoms he again beheld In all their primal glory; — then the blood Gushed from his heart anew, and as he stood — His broad beak red'ning in the flush of pride, He raised his wing with power from his side, TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 88 As if in fierce defiance of the foe, That ere should dare the peace to overthrow, Which far and wide, like sacred Sabbath spread. And over all the land its beauty shed. He gazed upon the serpent, as he lay, Coiled oeath a rock and waiting for his prey, And spread his fearful talons in his strength, At the dark thought, the snake might wind his length. Around the beautiful — the blooming shores, And pour his poison into all their stores. It was to guard the treasures of the free. The Eagle made his journey o'er the sea : And that bright morning as he stood alone. A more than monarch on the lofty throne. That Nature's hand, on Alleghany high, I fad reared anear the never changing sky. il<- made the firm resolve, that Freedom's land. Should never wear the despot's burning brand. And he, amid the silence of that hour Invoked the aid of heaven — the mighty pow'r Of the Omniscient and Eternal God, That he might be the guard of sea and sod. And stand, commissioned by his holv deed. So shield the new-born nation in its need. The little cloud, less than a human hand. That hung at first above the western land, In glorious excellence began to rise, \nd mixed its brilliance with the burning skies: 36 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. It spread in beauty tiU the azure height, Enrobed Columbia in its deathless light, The hallowed baldrick from Atlantic's breast, Spanned the broad heav'ns to the far distant west,-^- It lighted up the dark Pacific's wave, And in the brightness yet her waters lave, — Waiting in peace, until the busy throng, Shall wake their silence to perpetual song. The light streamed forth afar, and quickly came, In slime ensluiced to blur the sacred flame, The serpent Despotism. Upon his form He held the trophies dark of many a storm, And on his crown the withered laurels bore, That prosperous nations in their greenness wore : He waved his blood-stained tongue, and as he spoke In deaf'ning peals, his dreadful thunders broke, And horrid bolts of war in vengeance red, Flamed fearfully around Columbia's head. Her Genius looked and trembled, — well she knew The blood of patriots would the soil bedew, And every blooming vale, and hill, and plain, Display the ghastly corses of the slain. She stood in grief and gazed upon the gloom, That gathered 'round her hopes, so like the doom That over other nations threw its pall, And held them down, in darkness and in thrall. A thunder-peal she heard, — its fall she felt, A change came o'er her spirit and she knelt Beside a dying warrior on the field, — His blood the sacred sacrifice had sealed TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. 31 Of human liberty, and ere he died, He raised his streaming hands to heaven and cried, ••I fall victorious, if my death shall be The honored deed that rallies brave and tree Around their country's standard, there to fall, Or save Columbia from the tyrant's thrall." The warrior spake no more, but gently laid His fevered hands across his fainting head, Weltering in the libation, from his breast, That flowed so pure, — he sunk away to rest. Thus fell, deserving of a world's applause, The first great martyr in a glorious cause." Another change, — the weeping Genius stood, Upon Mount Vernon's summit, near a wood. That wound its way from the Potomac's side As though it meant the chosen spot to hide From flowery hills beyond, that lifted high Their green and glowing bosoms to the sky. The hour was calm, nor blew the slightest breeze. To stir the foliage of the lofty trees ; And Nature seemed as sending from the sod. Her deep thanksgiving to the throne of God. A rustling of the leaves and sudden bound, Aroused the Genius, and she gazed around; — Two forms, the parting hushes half revealed. And yet the clustering foliage half concealed : — Her sister Liberty was standing there, And by her side a warrior, young and fair: W.irren. 38 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. The warrior's arm her left hand gently grasped, And in her right, a parchment sheet she clasped. Columbia trembled, but no word she spoke, And thus fair Liberty, the silence broke. Darkness hath gathered over us, And fierce oppression's hand, Hath fixed its deadly grasp upon This bright and blooming land. The hungry despot stalks abroad, Amid the light of day, Through cities and the wilderness — A serpent for his prey. We trace his footsteps by the sea, And through the silent wood ; And on the rivers shaded banks, His path is stained with blood. We hear his thunder o'er the hill, The distant, dreadful roar ; And weep that e'er his foot had marred, The green — delightful shore. The armies of the free are here, With nervous arms and strong ; Not Rome's mailed cohorts fiercer were. In the redress of wrong. In silence and in gloom they wait, A warrior stern and brave, To lead them to the fields of war — To glory, or the grave. TRIUMPH or LIBERTY. W I've wandered from Atlantic's wave, West, to Pacific's shore ; The pathless mountain rough and wild, And vale I've travelled o'er. Amid the city full I've searched, And through the quiet glen, And every spot of this bright land, That hath a home for men. And here amid Mount Vernon's shade, I find the chieftain true ; The more than Roman who may lead, The glorious struggle through. Look on his tall, commanding form, — His forehead high and fair ; For God's unerring hand hath writ. Triumph already there. Look on his cheek where nobleness, And manly firmness glow ; His lip, that ne'er hath quivered ye But for a country's woe. Read, in the smile of sternness there, — Purpose that may not change : The index of a faithful heart, A throne may not estrange. He hath no mail about him bound, "No helmet on his brow ; But there he stands, without his pride Greater than Coosar now'. 40 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. He fights not for the purple robe — Nor for the diadem ; Behold yon millions of the free, — He conquers but for them. We call him from these flow'ry paths, — The grove and sunlit field; Through danger we must walk with him, His buckler and his shield. Columbia! take him to your arms, Your noblest, — dearest son ; Together we will be the guard, Of matchless Washington. This burning parchment that I hold, f will consign to thee ; O shield the spotless — priceless, sheet — The birthright of the free. And may your borders roll in blood, — Yourself in gloom be laid, Ere from the sacred instrument, A single line may fade. And thou, first champion in the cause, Of human liberty ! Be not discouraged though that cause, In darkness yet may be. The storm will spread, and deeper gloom, Shall over it be cast ; But light from heaven's eternal halls, Shall brighten it at last. 1RUMIMI or LIBERTY. 41 I place this banner in thy hand, Columbia's stripes it bears ; Go! wave it 'mid the battle's heat, And cover it with stars. Go chieftain brave ! the battle waits, The burning soil to stain ; And many a gloomy hour shall pass, Ere we shall meet again. But we shall meet — aye meet again, When war's fierce rage is done, — When furious clouds that gather now. Around our sky have gone. ( 'olumbia weeps ! warrior away ! When triumph is complete, Return with laurels thou may'st win. And lay them at her feet. The chieftain grasped his sword, — to battle sped, The banner's folds amid the smoke he spread : High on the winds the crimson stripes they bore, And many a field unharmed it wafted o'er. The tempest gathered, — darker still it grew. In fitful streams the vivid lightnings threw Their fiery arrows o'er the fearful night ; They flashed a moment 'mid the tempest's might, And then a deeper desolation dealt — And thicker darkness that was even felt. 42 TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. Doubt long upon the dreary contest hung, Till from her den, infernal Treachery sprung* In aid of Despotism, she touched the scale — The balance trembled, and the mournful wail Of injured thousands, swept upon the air, From hearts that felt the horrors of despair. The storm raged fiercely when the traitor crept, In midnight darkness, while the army slept, And like a robber from the chieftain's bed, Bore off the sword that hung beside his head. The shining falchion to the foe he sold, The price of the detested deed, — was gold. When morning flashed upon the tent-crowned hill, Confounded stood Columbia's hosts, and still ; A monarch's mighty ships, at anchor lay With troops on board, before them in the bay. And they had sailed the bounding billows o'er, To bear the chief a prisoner from his shore, — Who had defied the tyrant's mad decree, And boldly led the hosts that dared be free. Oppression's ranks marched forward in their might, With swords unsheathed and ready for the fight ; The broadest blade amid the throngs that shone. Was the victorious steel of Washington. Then drooped Columbia's banner on the wind ; She feared her glory all would be consigned With the high prospects of her children brave, To the deep gloom of dark oblivion's grave. * Arnold's treason. TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY. UJ The toe advanced, and in the sunlight flashed Ten thousand scymetars; in air they clashed, And the tumultuous — the deafening clang, Seemed as if Freedom's knell it fiercely rang ; The forest bright of steel, in terror gleamed, A phalanx wild of fire, on high it streamed. The nation was betrayed and bowed in grief, She mourned the danger of her dauntless chief; l T nnumbered hearts with sorrow were inflamed. — His stolen sword, at his own heart was aimed — The serpent's sting was quivering o'er his head. His swollen fangs for his bare breast were spread, And his enormous length was firmly wound, The snow white base of Freedom's temple round. Jit- paused a moment, ere he struck the blow. Destined to lay the hopes of Freedom low — A moment for exulting in his might ; And shook his horrid jaws in wild delight, A signal was that pause, of death to him, His head shrunk back and his fierce gaze grew dim. The scream of joy was made a dreadful shriek, — He writhed in death in the brown Eagle's beak. Then from the hero's heart his sword was caught, Ere the dread deed of darkness it had wrought The Genius saw the storm the warrior braved, And to his rescue came; — millions were saved. Foul Treason's triumph, was as base as brief, His stolen Bword, Boon Pound the anxious chief; And by his hands were other laurels won Of high renown, to bind its hilt upon. 44 SIRES OF SEVENTY-SIX. The tyrant's race upon Columbia's plains, Gained him but little honor for his pains. In eager haste he hurried from the shore, That by his treach'rous deeds was stained in gore. The blood of patriot hearts his armies shed, The soil had drank from bosoms of the dead, 'Twas Freedom's baptism sanctified by Fame, That gave to Glory fair Columbia's name. The shouts of the brave went over the sea, The Chieftain has Conquered, — Columbia is Free. THE SIRES OF 'SEVENTY- SIX.' The chain that links the free to other years, — Remembered years of danger and of blood, Remains unsevered ; yet among us move Like suns amid the systems of the skies, — Points of attraction for the wondring throngs, A few of those who perilled life and fame, And nobly dared the thunderbolts of war, To wrest a nation from a tyrant's grasp. Their eyes looked on the Revolution's smoke — They saw the starry banner of the free, Waving in beauty 'mid the battle's blaze, And heard the shout its high success that cheered And they have told the tale of glorious deeds, Their sons may boast for centuries to come. GUENEVER. 45 GUENEVER B A. I. LAD PART Guenever was Kinge Arthur's queene, She dweltc in mcrrie Carlicle ; And she was verie faire I weene, A light and a glcesome chile. The red rose ripened on her cheeke, The cherrie on her sweet lip ; And on her steed, coal blacke and sleeke, She oft through the chase did whip. All in her crimson sarke so gay, She rode with the ladyes bright ; The loveliest of all that rode by day — The fairest that rode by night. Kin^e Arthur loved his winsome bride, With love as strong as could be ; He thought in all the worlde beside, There was none so faire as she. 46 GUENEVER. He bantered every knighte and squire, A ladye as faire to bringe ; And swore the browne-eyed winner's hire Should be the hearte of a kinge. Away on their steedes, white, blacke, and browne. Flew a thousande knightes and more ; And well they searched through everie towne, Till they reached a river's shore — The waves whereof so darke and colde, Wore a hue of sicklie greene ; And of those waves, strange tales where told — Strange beings among them seene. Sir Cradocke, asked his comrades brave, And he asked them one and all, If they'd go with him o'er the wave, Or turn eache backe to his halle. They answered one, and answered alle, "Sir Cradocke we'd rather go Eache one backe to his princelie halle, Than sinke the darke wave below." "Then hie thee knightes, full swifte," he cried, "Away to Kinge Arthur's court; And ask if his oath he will abide 1 Or means with his knightes to sport ? gui: n 1: VKR. "Tell him Sir Cradocke shall returne \ ver to his castle more, 'Till his heart for the laireste ladye burne, Or the worlde be travel o'er." He plunged into the darksome floode, And soone from the other side To his comrade knightes he called aloude, ••The faire queene shall be my bride." 'Twas then he spurred his milke white steede. Over hill and dale away : Never was made such vvinde-like speede, By knighte in Kinge Arthur's day : Through town and forestc travelled he, For two hundred days and two. When he tied his steede to a tall rowne tree, And his bugle loud he blew Shrill o'er the mountaine wente the blaste, And while there Sir Cradocke stoode, A band of four-score men full i'aste Came trampling through the darke woode. Then cried Dyke-lira, the leader bolde, "Sir Knighte, say what dost thou here Among these holley rownes so old ' My brave men dost thou not lea re '" i: 48 GUENEVER. "Brave spirits never feare the brave," Sir Cradocke did quicke replie, "Nor I'd turn my heel my head to save For no woman's heart have I ; "And I have travelled many a mile, For a ladye faire to finde — Fairer than any in Carliele, That I have left me behinde." Dyke-lin then started with surprise, "What!" he exclaimed, "hast thou, Rode on this steede ayont Carliele From Arthur's court until now ?" "I sweare me by thy bugle's throate, The old fairie's friende thou art ; Or thou hadst lain in her rowne boate, And she had roasted thy heart. "Come say Sir Knighte what saide the weife As thou didst pass the cold streame ? Didst hear some victim's stifled griefe ? Didst hear the old witche's screame V "I left my comrades, bolde Dyke-lin, Standing the river beside, And plunged the dark green waves within, Resolving for my queene bride. GUENEVER. 49 '•I saw the boate, but never hearde The sadde victim's smotherde sighes, But as the warblinge of a birde, Faintlie did sweete music rise. •'Louder and louder on the breeze, It hurriede so faste and free : It causde to dance the verie trees, In their joyous extasie. "It cheerde me through the gloomy tide. And my steede dancde with delighte, When on the rlowerie banks this side, Fairie forms in robes of white. "Stoode up in rankes to guarde us bie. The borders of the goblin shade. Where the dark witche's murder crie. For many centuries has staide. "We passde full swifte the shining thronge, As they sported on the greene : Before was never hearde such songe, Never was such beautie scene." "I knowe from this," then Dyke-lin saide, "The fairie is a friende to thee : And thy goodlie spcede hath made Thee, friends of my goode men and me." 50 GUENEVER. "Know then, Sir Knighte, that e'er hath passde, Nor steede nor his rider bolde, The ferrie where the fairies caste, Their nettes with fastninges of golde." "Unless his conscience has remainde Untaintede by crime and w T hite ; Unless his honor were unstainde By a solitarie blighte. "And thou'rt the verie, verie knighte, I've tarriede long to beholde ; Look ye upon yon turrette brighte, On the hill so bleake and colde. "'Tis the castle of an Earlie talle, Who ownes alle these fertile landes ; An hundrede men he holdes in thralle, And his golde is as the sandes. "His daughter is a maidene faire, Not more faire to him than deare, Her eyes are brighte and browne her haire, None can match her, far nor neare. "The fairie of Caliza sate, When the Earlie's babe was borne, A watcher at the castle gate, For the firste red streake of morne. GUENEV I. K. '•And when it ilashde upon the skie, She, the tiny prattler namde, And in the wordes of destinie, Thus alouclc her will proclaimde. <4 The noble Earlie's matchless chile. If by common eve not seene, Shall o'er the kingdome of Carliele Reign the brighte and beauteous queene. "And he that wins her lillie hande, Muste have honor pure as lighte ; He, on Caliza's banks muste stande, Harmless of the goblin's blightc. "And now Sir Knighte, it is thyselfe, Who the fairies test hath stoode: Ghost shall harm, nor goblin elfe, One of such untaintede bloode. "Then follow thou these sturdie men — These free heartede men of mine; And do thou thinke of Dvke-lin when The faire Mardia shall be thine." Then, shoutede Dykc-lin's men foure-score, • \ lie joy to Dyke-lin the great !" And then Sir Cradocke they quicklie bore Up to the old Earlie's gate. 51 52 GUENEVER. They rappde full loude — but rappde not longe, * When the castle's doores flew wide : The prieste that nighte 'mid laugh and songe, Made Mardia, Sir Cradocke's bride. Sir Cradocke with the Earlie stayde, Till the feaste and fun were o'er ; When with his bride and steede he made For his loved Carliele once more. Soon spreade the lovelie Mardia's fame Through the kingdome of Carleile ; And all the knights and ladyes came To Kinge Arthur's Courte ere-while. And many a knighte that caught a glance, At beautiful Mardia's cheeke : Full quicklie turnde his eye askance, And to hide himself did seeke. Proude as erst of his Guenever, Kinge Arthur he chose the time, When the knightede hoste shoulde matche with her, The ladyes of everie clime. 'Twas night — a thousande torches blazde ' In the castle of the kinge, And each glad knighte in rapture gazde On the faire bride he did bringe. GUE NEVER. 51 Arthur shoutede with mad delighte, When in his owne brilliante halle, 'Tvvas hie each ladye said, and knighte — "Guenever is faireste of alle." "Make way, make way," was hearde a calle, "vSir Cradocke comes, make waye;" He leads into Kinge Arthur's halle, A ladye most fair and gaye. Then with a peale, a mightye pcale Of applause the halle did ringe ; The knightede thronge cried out, "we yielde, The faireste doth Cradocke bringe." The color lefte Kinge Arthur's face, And pale he turnde verie soone : Guenever telle frome her princelie place ; Upon the floore in a swoone. Sir Cradocke cried, "I crossdc Calize, The faireste ladye to bringe ; And no we do I demande the prize. The bearte of Carliele's proude kinge." 5* 54 GUENEVER. GUENEVER A L LA D . PART II Guenever wepte in the princelie halle, She wepte in her chamber lone ; 'Twere worse to her than deathe's grim palle, — The deede Kinge Arthur had done. The rose fulle soone frome her cheeke did fade, And her cheeke grew wan and pale ; The red cherrie on her lip that laide, As soone from her lip did faile. Her crimsone sarke on the closete laye, Neglectede and coverde with duste ; 'Twas neither worne by nighte nor daye, But lefte alone in its ruste. Her noble steede so shininge and blacke, Was heeded bie her no more ; She strokde not his side, nor mounted his backe, To ride in the chase as before. GUE NEVER. 56 Jt were a sighte one's griefe to stir, To looke on her swollene eye ; And thinke there were none coulde comfort e her, None her saite teares that coulde drie. She wepte not, that Sir Cradocke had founde, A lovelier bride than she ; But she wepte that Kinge Arthur had bounde Himselfe bie a pledge so free. The pledge to every knighte and squire, A fairer than she to bringe, A pledge that the browne-eyed winner's hire, Should be the hearte of a kinge. Full well she knew that no kinge's hearte. But his owne had Arthur to give; And it, in life or deathe was her parte, Wiihoute it she coulde not live. The ladyes alle in merrie Carliele, Scornde at the griefe of the queene ; Theyc callde her a lighte and foolishe chile, That once too happie had beene. And bie the side of knighte and squire, Theye boastedc Guenever's paine, Sayinge, "her rose had borne a brier, And woulde not a rose againe." 56 GUENEVER. Midste of their joye, in Carliele parke, Once they assemblede for glee ; On a pole they hunge a crimsone sarke, In mockerie sporting free. Loud did theye crie "Guenever thou, Art a winsome queene no more ; The brooches of thie rich sarke nowe From thie proude bosome are tore. "Then come thee downe from thie castle talle, From thie castle talle come downe ; Kinge Arthur, he has had a greate falle, His ladye has crackde her crowne. "'Twas over his wine that Arthur swore, His owne kinglie hearte awaye ; The price of his oathe Sir Cradocke bore, The hearte must be his this daye. "Go up Sir Cradocke, the palme is thine, Go up Sir Cradocke the brave ; At thie bride's feete shall Guenever whine, When Arthur is in his grave." They dancde and shoutede till paste midnighte When a talle old hag came bie ; With her foldede armes she stoode uprighte, And thus to the thronge did crie : GUE NEVER. 57 ••I have a tale for ye, fair ladyes, I've a tale for ye one and alle ; To listen well to't ye muste please, Or under mie vengeance lalle. "For sporte ye came to this parkc yestreene, Your heartes were alle gleesome then ; And I heardc your mirthe of Arthur's queene , Awaye in mie own darke den. "It were shame, ye winsome ones, 'twere shame, To mocke at a sister's griefe ; For this foule deede ye are muchc to blame. And muste seeke your ownc reliefe. "One of you or her knighte muste ride, To Caliza's fairie grim : And get release for Kinge Arthur's bride, And get release for him. "Or bie the mirthe ye have had to-nighte, Bie the mirthe ye had yestreene ; Shalle come on ye alle a deadlier blighte, Than ever befelle the queene. "For the heartes of your proude lordes shall be, Torne oute before youre eyes ; And with youre children's — one, two, three, Theye shalle broile amid youre cries." 58 GUENEVER. Then screamde the hag an unearthlie screame, Her armes flew open the while ; Among the darke shades a lighte did gleanie. And down felle the heart of a chile. A flame of pale blue environde it rounde, Brisklie it broilde in the fire ; And the headless chile dancde on the grounde, Shriekinge in paine and in ire. "This is mie proofe," the old hag criede, "This is mie proof to-nighte ; And ere nine suns over heade have hiede, Mie wordes shall be finishde quite." She graspde the chile and hurriede awaye, Swift through the woode on the aire : Leaving the ladyes so in dismaye, Theye coulde not telle how or where. /While the ladyes were holdinge their sporte In the lone and distant place ; Some of the knightes returnde frome Courte, And some returnde from the chase. One rappde loude at his chamber doore, And one rappde longe at his halle ; Their shouts were repeatede o'er and o'er, But no one answerde the calle. GUE NEVER. 58 Nothinge was hearde but the rappe and shoute, In all Carliele that nightc ; The lordes supposde theye were boltede oute By their ladyes faire for spite. The sound of Sir Cradocke's bugle shrille. Its notes over Carliele threwe: The sounde passde oft" and all was stille, Then an hundrede bugles blewe. The knightes then met in Sir Cradocke's halle, Each with his belte and sworde : And there theye swore to perish or calle, Sir Cradocke their kinge and lorde. Their bolted halles and their ladyes faire, Were soone forgotten in joye — In their huntinge suites theye revellde there With none their &\ee to annove. Right hartie theye laughde at Arthur's pride, Theye callde him a foolishe thinge, That he for a fairer than his bride, Shoulde pledge the hearte of a kinge. Right heartie they laughde — the wine they pas*•'{ Never was scene bie ladye or kniglite. In Carliele, or the worlde, tille then ; Ladyes set forth in such wondrouse sighte, Bie far they outstrippde the men. Repentede then did JSir Cradocke's hearte, 1 le mountede his milke white steede : And startede soone after theye did starte, To catche theni he rode with speede. When he came up, he criede "ladyes faire, 1 praye ye turne youre steedes backe; And 1 will to the fairie repair, For welle I do knovve the tracke." Welle pleasdc were theyc alle, and shoutedc theye, ••To Sir Cradocke alle successe, If he dothe ride in our steade to-daye, The fairie the deede shalle blesse." Then Sir ( 'radocke his white steede spurrde, And rode to the river's brinkc : There, when the crie of a chile he hearde, His hearte withine him did sinke. He thought of Mardia and the tale, She tolde of the hag in the parke ; Then did his courage beeine t<> faile. For the woodes arounde grewe darke. 64 'GUENEVER. Not longe bie the river's brinke he stoode, When the rowne boate floatede bie ; Then raisde his haire and froze his bloode, A sighte on the bottom did lie. The hag with a hundrede heartes, sat there, With life alle quiveringe yete ; She wipede offe the bloode with her mattede haire And then a broade knife she whete. Shriekinge with joye she cut them in twaine, And into the fire, them threwe ; Thrice greater became Sir Cradocke's paine, As close to the shore she drewe. She sprinklede the ashes on the shore, An hundrede fairie formes rose ; Theye stoode alle up Sir Cradocke before, And soothde his feares to repose. Then callinge upon Sir Cradocke's name, Quicke boundinge over the wave ; The fairie of Caliza came, And the hundrede formes she drave ! "Sir Cradocke," said she «nowe mounte thie steede, And haste thee backe to Carliele, Haste thee backe to Carliele with speede, For thou shalt be kinge awhile. GV I. M.\ E R. 85 "Thou shalt be kinge but a single daye, Then the hearte of a kinge is thine ; And thou shalt yeilde to Arthur straightwaye, The pledge he made when in wine. •'Then shalt thou save the heartes from paine Of childer and ladyes faire ; And Carliele shalle be merrie againe, The glee againe shall be there." Soone on his steede Sir Cradocke sprunge, And hurriede baeke to Carliele ; Where joye was shoutede bie everie tongue, And he was kinge for the while. And then kinge Arthur again was kinge, And ( ruenever, she was queene ; Never before or since such a ringe Of joye, in Carliele hathe beene. Kinge Arthur dwelte in his castle high, In favore withe alle his knightes; And Guenever, the pride of his eye, With her ladyes joinde in delightes. This lesson the kinge and knightes welle learnde. Never to pledge when in wine ; And this goode advice the ladyes earnde, Not to speak ill of theire kine. 6« MY FIRST NEW HAT !■ J remember well the day, 'Tis like a dream just passed away — When my first hat was bought; 1 laid it on the chair and stood, With folded arms in pompous mood, Wrapt up in glorious thought. As proud as any lord was I, And thought myself full five feet high, Too tall to play with toys; Awhile I stood to ape the man, Then snatched my hat and off I ran, To show it to the boys. And many a hand that hat passed through, I watched them all, said I, "'tis new, Take care ! don't soil the crown ; For if you do my pa I'll tell, And he'll come out and trounce you well, Or else I'll knock you down." MY FIRST NEW HAT. ('»? A score of hats were soon pulled on', — A score of youngsters tried to scoff, Each vowed his hat was best ; "And only see," said Barker's Jim, "How much mine has a broader brim, Worth more than all the rest." Said I, "mine's newest, and of course, For wearing can be none the worse, And must be best of all ; Just see the crown, how high it is, None has a higher crown than this, Take care ! don't let it fall," "I care not," said another voice, "For Barker's Jim, nor all the boys, Nor do I wish to boast : If mine's not best, I'll never move, And by the hatter I can prove, That it has cost the most." "Its very strange," said I, "that Jim, Should call this lower part the bri?n, The like I never heard : Its rim, my papa told me so, And by the spelling book I'll show. That, he's miscalled the word." 68 MY FIRST NEW HAT. "Its rim," "its brim," the urchin crew, All shouted out ; each swore he knew, And said he learned at school, — To spell it rim, and spell it brim ; So right, and wrong, was Barker's Jim, And each clung to his rule. Then rant and tear, to fight we went, To settle fairly the event, iVnd spell the word aright ; And many a ragged vest and shirt, And many a face besmeared with dirt, Resulted from the fight. Revenge was pictured in each eye, Each one resolved to do or die, And high his wrath did foam ; Into the ring, I foremost dashed, My hat was all to flinders smashed, And I went bawling home. Now, circumstances since have shown, That men are children — older grown, And quarrel yet o'er words ; They beat and bruise each other sore, Wreak petty vengeance o'er and o'er, For they would all be lords. THE AMERICAN EAGLE. Away from the beautiful earth I fly, Through the ambient air alone ; To lave in the light of yon deep blue sky. And bask in the blaze of the sun, The day-king's beams, like an angel's gaze. Burning on jasper and gold ; — Shall illumine my path with his brilliant blaze. And the tale of his glory unfold. Philosophy tells of his aulick reign, Where immensity's lights grow dim ; And gaily I'll ride on his rays to gain, A closer communion with him. With a bounding heart in the golden tide Of his beams, my stern beak I'll dip ; With the myriad worlds through space that ride. I shall ride in companionship. 70 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. Like them, for awhile, upon high I shall soar, Unmindful of danger or dread ; My purpose, the regions of space to explore, By the light of those regions led. Far, far from the beautiful world I go, Through the ocean of aether to swim ; I'll sweep for yon cloud of crystal and snow, And bathe in the light of its rim. Where nought but the cloud is wandering now,. Shall be my heavenward way ; Its halo of glory shall circle my brow While my breast on its bosom I lay. Where the flood-gate of heaven its beauty unbars, I shall soar on the strength of my wing ; And watched by the sun or the clustering stars, My song in their light I shall sing. My wings become restless, — I must away, To scream o'er the skies in m y mirth ; Adieu fair Columbia — adieu for a day, Farewell for awhile, beauteous earth. TOMB OF BOZZAHIS. "No monumental marble emblazons his deeds and fame; a few round Stones piled over his head are all that mark his grave." — Stevens. The Suliote laid his chieftain's head Beside the ruins of his home ; With stones unhewn he marked his bed. While rifled fane and fallen dome Lav strewn around the hallowed spot. To tell the Greek who there might tread. How deep had been the damning blot. The hated Moslem's hand had made. Tho' scattered round were base and frieze, He would not make his tomb of these. Why rear the monumental stone, To tell of triumph — such as his ' Not Missilonghi's plain alone. Could be a tomb for Bozzaris, 72 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. His mangled body Greece may claim, And on her breast his bones may sleep ; But to the world belongs his fame — The world will his memorial keep. On history's deathless page 'tis writ, Nor time, nor change may darken it. Whose hand, of a dishonored race, Shall rear the sculptured pile to tell The honored earthly resting place, Where the brave Suliote's ashes dwell ? What monarch's tread 1— what foot of slave, That hurries at a monarch's nod, Shall touch the glorious martyr's grave — Shall desecrate the sacred sod That hides the hero's blanching form, From nature's and the tyrant's storm ? For Greece, her matchless chieftain drew His sabre from its gilded sheath: — For her in vengeance swift he flew, A meteor 'mid the ranks of death. His single arm upraised in wrath, Made havoc of the Pacha's train; It hewed for him a bloody path, And piled his passage with the slain. Behold him, Greece, — your gallant son, For you, hath all but freedom won. TOMB OF BOZZARIS. And many years o'er Greece must fly, Ere she that freedom may obtain : And many a valiant head must lie, As low as her Bozzaris slain, — Before the laurel circlet clasp Her brow, so mangled now — so torn, Still bleeding in the tyrant's grasp As though no jewels it had worn. She trembles at the tyrant's will, But Greece in gloom is honored still. And Greece hath ever had a deed, That might redeem her darkest hour, — That in her day of deepest need, Hath wounded her oppressor's power ; — And Greece hath ever had a son, Who dared to strike for liberty, — As well may witness Marathon, And witness dark Thermopylae. And she hath shown in battle's rage, A Miltiades for every age. She brought him forth when Persian feet In millions o'er her mountains spread. To force them back in swift retreat, And strew their pathway with the dead : — She brought him forth when Turkish knaves. Upon her ruined temples stood; And bade him teach the worst of slaves, • Her price for liberty was blood. 7 74 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. The first one humbled Persian pride, The last for Greece and Freedom died. The children of the Suliote's heart ! The wife ! more dear to him than they, Though death be in the hour they part, He tears his hopes from them away, And flings them 'mid the battle's ire, Where falls the thunder's dreadful peal, And flames the lightning's lurid fire ; — The roaring gun — the clang of steel, And sabre ringing 'gainst the shield, His only welcome to the field. The smoking rock — the gory plain, The hearth-stone and the home must be Of him who rises, right to gain, — Who treads war's tempest to be free. And who is there could stand unmoved, And gaze on desolation made, By ruthless hands on scenes he loved — And see his home in ashes laid, Nor feel the passion-swell begin, The workings of a storm within ? Voices from Missilonghi call ! The mountains echo and the sea ; "How many with Bozzaris fall, To make their bleeding country free ?" TOMB OF BOZZAKIS. 75 Two thousand answer, "side by side, We follow where our chief may lead." No — for the base Mustapha's pride, Two thousand Suliotes shall not bleed ; What to the pass the Spartan bore, Three hundred, — we may ask no more. 1 Three hundred Suliotes leagued for Greece, And eacli a new Leonidas ! Ere the proud Moslem conquers these, The last one's life-stream stains the pass. Their hearts are beating warm and hisjh. And theirs are sinews stern and strong ; They've registered their oaths to die,— Die rather than endure the wrong The heartless Turk designed should be The Greek's unchancjinsj destiny. (D CD J When midnight like a mantle spread O'er Missilonghi, — and her foes Were sleeping, silent as the dead, Secure amid their deep repose, — Loud rang the voice of Bozzaris, "When my fierce bugle's blast is spent, ( >n for the fight, — if me ye miss, Ye'll find me in the Pacha's tent." ' Tli. Snliote army numtareil two thousand men, Bozzaris demanded of everj- QM who was willing t.. U lid to (lie sacrifice, to ailvaiu M and meet him ; they advanced to a man. "These" said he, "are too many to be sacrificed,' 3 and he chose three hundred from their ranks. 76 TOMB OF BOZZARIS. They found him there — the Moslem's lead. Had cleft his heart and cleft his head.* So died the brave — and who had not In such a cause as nobly died ? He left his name without a blot, The orphan's boast — the widow's pride. The Suliote's and the Spartan's name, And Greeks that fell at Marathon, The cup hath filled of Grecian fame, With deeds by valor nobly won ; Nor time, that rifles tower and tomb, The glory of those deeds shall gloom. O Greece? thou hast indeed a name, — A glory that may never fade ; Though past may be thy years of fame, Thy heroes in the tomb be laid, Yet still there is a majesty About thy being — live that must, - When nations that have trampled thee, Are mingled with Oblivion's dust. There is in thy proud sun though set, A grandeur that doth gild thee yet. * The sound of Bozzaris' bugle was the signal for the fight ; he told his men that as soon as he had sounded, to rush to the attack, if they lost sight of him to seek him in the pacha's tent. After he had made prisoner of the pacha a ball entered his loins ; he still continued with his arms upraised to cheer and animate his countrymen ; a second ball struck him on the head,— he fell and expired. TOMB OF BOZZARIS. 77 Go Suliote ! venerate the dust, That hides thy chieftain from thee now ; If wear the Moslem's chain thou must, Wear it not on thy manly brow. The Turk his banner hath unfurled, ( Per thy own blood-besprinkled plains : But tell the Turk, and tell the world, That thou wilt e'en be free in chains. Thy heart may mourn their dark control, But tyrants cannot bind thy soul. When evening throws her twilight round, And thou thy daily task hast wrought; Go forth and seek the sacred mound Which Suliote feet have often sought ; — Away from toil and taskmen steal, To think on your Bozzaris true ; And bending o'er his ashes feel, In thought and soul a freeman too. Thy loved Bozzaris — proudly, free, Breathed out his life for liberty. His kindred of Columbia's land, Who bared the breast — and bared the brow ; And rushed at Freedom's stern command, Are slumbering with the Suliote now : The grave has won them — safe they rest, Beneath the soil they sanctified : The millions they in dying blest, And gave to Freedom when they died — Unhappy Greece, shall claim thy son, The kindred of their Washington. RETROSPECTION. 1 am not old, though it may be, that years Have twined a few white strans among the locks, That cluster on my crown quite thickly yet; And there may be athwart my brow, perchance A line or two, — not made by joyous youth, And a slight furrow on my sunburnt cheek, Which may betray a secret known to few, — That I have had companionship with care ; — Aye, with care, for rude winds that sometimes blow Over this beautiful, but changing world, Have swept their dreary and their chilling course Across my heart, and borne its hopes away. But yet the blood flows free, and fresh, and warm, And fevered too, at times that finds its way . So punctually through my well bound veins. And though not very many dreary years Have I been journeying over this green earth, Yet I have seen the foot-marks of old Time, And mourned the devastation thev have left. RETROSPECTION. 78 In thought, I sometimes travel to the scenes Of other years, and other distant lands, Where Time, like water o'er a rock of flint, Pouring incessantly and by slow degrees, Wearing its stern solidity away, — Or like the fierce ungovernable rush Of the resistless avalanche, — has borne The proudest specimens of human skill, With their projectors, — both the prince and sage, To long and lowly resting in the dust That covers them forever ; well they sleep, Empire and Emperor in Oblivion's depths. And where's the human intellect can tell, Where sleep the cities of the years of Eld, — Those mighty cities whose proud names we know, — Whose memory had laded from the mind, As their magnificence from the face of earth, But for the tongue of history, which speaks From age to age through centuries of time ; Telling the rise of nations — and their fall, — I low men and empires flourish, — how they fade. I left in youth the homestead of my heart, That stood in hearing of the city's bells, Anear the broad Fatapsco, whose bright waves, Flowed on and on in beauty, bearing up The laden fleets that o'er her bosom swept. 'Twas pleasure to my young and bounding heart. To sit me down upon sonic grassy slope, 80 RETROSPECTION. Or mount the branches of the towering elm, And watch the white sails glide like spirits by. There's music in the mild and gentle rush, The ship's prow makes in cutting through the wave ; The gradual swell of waters, raising high, Like mimic billows upon either side, Breaking in particles of pearl like foam, Splashing and sparkling — tingling as they fall, — Subsiding to their level with the tide. My play ground on the river's sloping banks, And birch canoe I paddled on the tide, Fortune took from me, when she marked the path For manhood's more responsible career. And I remember well the summer morn, That robbed me of the sports I loved as life, — The morn that robbed me of my boy's glad heart. And the high hopes that hung like little stars All brilliant in the future. Ah the sports ! The heart and hopes of boyhood ! — like the flowers That wooed and won them, they have faded all, — Faded forever, not a vestige now Of all their lustre or their light remains. In speechless grief, I left my happy home. When friends, to bear me from its pleasant scenes, Came with their smiles and promises of wealth, I wept, and shunned them, and the river sought, To tell my sorrows to the waves I loved. I stood awhile upon the verdant slope, RETROSPECTION. 81 And in the bitterness of a breaking heart, Gazed on the bounding waters as they swept In seeming sympathy with my sad soul. Then came the rush of long Imprisoned griefs; I felt the burning tear-drop leave my heart, And sear its passage to my wo-worn cheek ; And had I been alone, I would have sprung In utter recklessness, into the boat That waited on the waves, and loosed the cords That bound her to the smooth and sparkling shore, And with her swept, 1 knew not, — cared not where. But friends soon gathered round me, and I dashed The tell-tale of my feelings from my cheek, And wept in silence as I followed them. Years passed away, — dark and unhappy years Of grief and bitterness they were to me ; 'Tis true, hopes clustered round them and they shone With brilliancy at times, but the dark fiend Of disappointment, like a serpent came, And trailed a deadly poison o'er them all. Like summer flowers beneath the tempest's touch. They drooped and died; woes their successors were. And they have faithful to their purpose been. They're gone and with the dveds of earlier years, Slumber in the deep shadows of the past. T would bleed my heart afresh, to tell them now : Stay memory ! stir them not, I would that they Might sleep forever in Oblivion's shade. 82 RETROSPECTION. Again I sought the homestead, and the shore, The flowery slope — the trees — the river's bend, The thousand things familiar to my youth ; As well I might for Babylon or Tyre, Improvement's Vandal march, had been o'er them, And busy hands had marked and marred them all. The elms had fall'n beneath the woodman's stroke; The sloping bank was levelled to a plain ; Houses were reared upon it, and the crowds Were wrestling in the bustling mart for wealth. The shore no longer showed its yellow sands — The river's bend was shortened; now a wharf Straight, high and strong, built on a granite wall, With ships of every size moored at its side, ■ And railways on its summit, — told how great — How sure, had been the enterprise of man. I sought the mansion house ; it too was gone, — The very eminence on which it stood — The time worn relic of a century, Alone in all its elegance and pride, Was levelled with the vale, and a broad street, •With high and spacious stores on either hand, Stood frowning on the venerated spot ; And eager multitudes were thronging there, Contending fiercely for the gilded prize. The search for gold, that wasted other lands, And stained the pathway of the great with blood, Had hurled the homestead from its throne of years, And ruined it forever ; thus doth man / RETROSPECTION. 83 Seek the far solitude where nature reigns, In silence and in beauty ; and his hands Rear high amid the long sequestered wilds, A place for traffic and a noisy home. Strange feelings came upon me as I thought Again o'er seasons of the faded past; — The bliss — the beauty — the unhappy blight Which chequer life's impetuous career. The change that comes o'er all we prize below, May be the high rewards of thought and toil, But they are like the treasures of the deep — The gathered jewels that the sea bird weeps — Brilliant and beautiful, — but the price of tears. No thing I saw of all I once held dear That could be recognized, save the blue waves Of the Patapsco, sweeping gladly by, Unfettered — free as in their day of prime. I gaze upon her bosom, as I gazed in youth, On her bright waters sweeping sweetly now — As gay — as glorious as in other years. — And gazing on her features, I forget The griefs that gather at my aching heart. And almost feel myself a boy again. BEECH HILL Beech Hill is the country residence of Robert Gilmor, Esq. situated at the western extremity of Saratoga street, Baltimore] an engraving of which was presented to the author. How many scenes of seasons past, The picture doth renew ! The flowery scenes of love and truth, As vivid and as true As when their burning light was on My youthful heart and brow: And though they sleep with buried years, They're memory's treasures now. 'Tis pleasure still in thought to view The landscape's light and shade ; And trace the spots where youthful feet, In sunnier hours have strayed. I trace them here so fresh — so full Of happiness and hope ; The brightest and the best of life, On Beech Hill's flowery slope. BEECH HILL. 85 And many a fond, familiar face, In memory's glass I see ; Well I recall each feature now, So full of childish glee. But those that wore them, O what change And chance they've had to stem ; And Time, that scatters all of earth, Well hath he scattered them. The hands of men, the face have marred Of nature all around ; And thou Beech Hill art standing yet, A favored spot of ground. The hills that once about thee bloomed, Are levelled with the plain : Their pride has fallen, and they may Ne'er bloom like thee again. The home of my once happy heart, The joys that clustered there : w in its love and joy delighting; The cup may wear A joyous air, But friendship sinks beneath its blighting. Then fill not high the mantling bowl, Its curse lull many a heart is breaking; And that curse will cloud the soul, Too constant of the wine partaking. Fill no gublet to the brim, Beneath the draught are dregs of sorrow, And though delight, Should gild the night, Stern death may wreathe the cup to-morrow. A NAME Why doth yon anxious student toil Beside his nickering light, So oft, till Time rings in his ears The solemn noon of night. With constant, persevering care, And ever watchful mind, He scans the philosophic page Its hidden truths to find. And why ascends the rostrum's height, With firm, unfaltering tread, The man of proud commanding form, In Science deeply read 1 The thoughts that course his studious brain, Have channelled cheek and brow ; They are in safe memorial stored, His mental treasures now. The crowds assembled at his feet, In silent order stand, Attentive to his pleasant speech, They wait his high command. — A NAME. 129 They list his fervid eloquence, And high their voices raise, Answering his ready bursts of thought With fitful shouts of praise. How like a sea-bird moves yon ship Upon the dark blue sea ? A nation's banner from her prow, Is waving gallantly. A nation's honor, is her freight, And in a nation's name, She carries to a distant port, Her Admiralty's fame. Upon yon held, her robes of green, Hath bounteous Nature spread ; And on the flowery vesture now, Contending armies tread, A thousand falchions flaming there, Like lightning furies Hash: Stars of the awful tempest — on In terrors fierce, they dash. The summer leaves and flowers are crushed 'Neath bodies of the slain : And long will that ensanguined field Wear on its front, the stain Of blood, — that kingly arrogance, In heated passion Eihed; — Long may the feuda of nations mourn Their millions of the dead. 130 LOVE. Above the reeking plain of war Glittering on thrones of gold ; The king of either army sits, To view his warriors bold, — Who for the meed of high renown, Fight with unflinching nerve- Renown — that gilds the chains they wear, And sceptre that they serve. Thus millions of the busy world, With one intent and aim, Seek with their energy and might, That gilded thing — a name. But ah ! how few amid the throngs O'er life's arena driven, Who seek in deeds of righteousness, A name for endless Heaven. LOVE. Love is like a jug of ale, Or bottle of Poughkeepsie porter ; While you keep the cork in, 'twill Be cool as any cool spring water ; — But draw the cork, and wo betide The wight who waits the jug beside. TO A PLAYFUL BOY. I love to look upon thy face. Thou careless boy ; The mimic oi' the man to trace. And read thy joy. Thy heart hath never known a blight, Nor care thy brow : But thou in pleasure's sunny light. Art laughing now. Thou dost not heed the flight of time. Nor ask its stay ; The days — the hours are but the chime Of holiday. Thy life is but a lively race, 'Neath a clear sky ; Thy love, thy live-long day to chase The butterfly. Many like thee, thou beauteous one, In life's young hours ; After the gossamer have run O'er summer flowers. 132 TO A PLAYFUL BOY. But summer could not always last, Cold winter came ; And they, with care around them cast, Were not the same. Years are before thee, boy — their light, Awaits thy tread ; And they have shadows, dark as night, For thy young head. With smiles, the world doth mingle tears, And know dear child ; That sorrows with increasing years, Come fast and wild. I would that I might roses strew Along thy way ; That might unfading be, and true For manhood's day, But woes like weeds o'er all life's path Spontaneous spring, There's not a flow'r that blooms, but hath Its thorn to sting. O then in God's high kingdom, boy, Seek treasures fair ; And thou may'st bloom in light and joy, Forever there. THE HARPERS DYING STRAINS "The old man hung over his harp, which seemed to be as time- worn as himself; thoughtful and sad, he appeared to drink into his very soul the music it had sung in years gone by." Old time-worn harp, how sweetly swells Thy wild — wild strain ? Of other days and hopes it tells ; My heart would drain Its last red drop ere thy low peal, Should tell the cold world how I feel, — How pains in lightning pulses steal Through every vein. Speak but again ; this fevered brow The time will keep To every note thou sweepest now ; Its throbbings deep So move my restless — reeling brain. It never may be still again. But roll on in continual pain : I cannot weep. 12 134 the harper's dying strains. Sing of the past, sweet harp — I love The hallowed past, — That restless deep, whose mysteries move In visions fast, Amid the stern unyielding tide Where mirrored memories side by side, In living beauty ever glide, By gloom o'ercast. The loved of youth ! harp, where are they ? Answer thou me ! Speak, if indeed the bright array May throng on thee. Soft — softly, let the music play, From other years the wild tones stray, The loved — the lost are far away ; So let it be. And manhood's friendships — proud and high ; Speak thou of these ; Tell where the tall — the noble lie, If in the seas On sapphire pillows, they repose, Or, where the weeping grave-moss grows, While o'er their rest at evening blows, The whispering breeze. O many a hope that richly shone Upon the sky, In those bright years, have blushed and flown Forever by. THE HARPER'S DYING STRAINS. 1 .'to They were like early stars that sped Their passage up the steep and fled ; In dust and silence, with the dead, Calmly they lie. Disturb them not, their lowly sleep So sacred is, That over them, pure angels keep Vigils of bliss; And guard them in their llowery home, So sweetly resting : they may roam Care-worn no mure, 'till J Ik shall come Who claims them Ins. Life wanes apace, the day is near, When I may sleep; And who shall call my memory dear? And who shall weep ' When I am laid, my harp beside, Where dust and darkness e'er abide, And dreariness and shadows hide The charnel deep. Then let me fall ; — harp strike once more Thy failing string, Stir up the sleeping deeds of yore, — l'p, let them wing : Lei head and heart sink down to rest, 'Mid scenes their early hopes that blest! 'Tis done ! upon this grief torn breast No more thou'lt sing. STANZAS I saw a brilliant meteor sweep Across the evening's tranquil sky ; Majestic through the upper deep, It sped, all beautiful and high. I turned a sudden glance upon The moon, just verging from the sea : I turned again, the flame was gone — Had faded in immensity. Thus, often hath Hope's meteor gleamed Athwart the changing sky of life ; So vivid have its beauties seemed — With such resplendent colors rife — That I had thought it might not fade, But in increasing lustre bloom ; Vain thought — in disappointment's shade The glowing thing was lost in gloom. THE SWORD OF WASHINGTON On Fame's proud summit, there it glows, All glittering in its pride : The honored steel that clung in war Close to the hero's side. Thrice honored still, the proudest blade That warrior ever drew : In Virtue's name 'twas sanctified, To Virtue erer true. It rose the Revolution's light. A glowing, burning star ; And rayed its lustre far above The stormy tide of war. From Bunker's hill to Yorktown's heights, A fearful flame it spread: And Freedom's phalanx, firmly joined, ' To victory it led. The tyrant and the hireling troops, That swept, — a furious flood ; By strength and stratagem essayed To quench its light in blood. 138 THE SWORD OF WASHINGTON. As well the vapours of the deep, By furious whirlwinds driven, Might seek behind their wrath and ire To hide the light of heaven. Proud steel ! the warrior hand that drew Thee, shining from thy sheath, Baptized thy edge in Freedom's fane, For Liberty or Death. The warrior soul that gave thee fame, At Freedom's altar caught The hallowed zeal that bore him through The storm with perils fraught. He waved thee o'er the little band, Whose bloody foot-prints told, In freemen's nerves were better trust, Than in a despot's gold. He waved thee o'er the injured few, That dared the despot's frown ; And sought beneath the stripes and stars, A holier renown. Thou art a star in freedom's sky, The world's keen gaze is on The land that thou hast lifted up, — Whose honors thou hast won. TOAST. 139 Still may she hold her envied height, 'Till others nations join Beneath the flag of Liberty, To rear their freedom-shrine. Star of the brave, the storm is past, And Freedom, now at ease, Looks on thee, and the flag that floats In triumph on the breeze. TOAST. Fill up, fill up, the shining cup ! Come ! till it to the brim ; Upon the overflowing top Let not a feather swim. Fill it quickly, let us drink, And banish care and sorrow ; 'Tis summer now, we'll sport and think Of wintry care — to-morrow. Away with melancholy now . And woe's unwelcome tone ; Ai Pleasure's laughing shrine we'll bow While joy shall fill the throne. Fill up, fill up, the shining cup ! Let intervals be shorter ! Come ! fill it brimming to the top, But let the draught be — water. CHILDHOOD'S HOPES Like the rosy tints of morning, Laughing twilight into day, Ere richer hues the sky adorning, Paint the day-god's glorious way. Like the beauteous clouds that travel Slowly o'er the summer sky ; Truant breezes break their revel, And the playful vapours fly ; — Such are childhood's fleeting hopes. Like the bubble on the river, Rising as the waters flow ; Plays a moment — then forever, Sinks the gliding wave below. Like the radiant bow that lingers, On the cloud, as though it were, Pencilled by a seraph's fingers, — Brightly, briefly glowing there ; — Such are childhood's fleeting hopes. THE LAND WE LOVE. The land we love is free — old lar — The land we love is free ; From Behring's straits — To ocean's gates — 'Tis chainless as the sea. There's not a power on earth — old tar, There's not a power on earth. That dares defame Columbia's name, The place of Freedom's birth. It was Oppression's scourge — old tar — It was Oppression's scourge, By tyrants laid On Freedom's head. That did this nation urge To strike in Freedom's cause — old tar, To strike in Freedom's cause ; With flag unfurled, To dare the world To violate her laws. 142 THE AMAZON. Nor shall the Frenchmen now — old tar Nor shall the Frenchmen now, Seek to enslave The free, the brave; — We boys will show them how To fight for home and friends — old tar, To fight for home and friends ; With flag on high — We'll do or die, And there the matter ends. THE AMAZON. Flow on thou Mississippi of the South! Thy brilliant waters through the mines of gold, Which from the lofty Andes to the sea Enrich the favored clime, — have rolled for years A wonder to the savage as he stood In Nature's majesty upon thy shores, Mingling his voice with thy tremendous roar, In worship of the Spirit of the wilds. Proud stream ! the cultured mind may look on thee, And like the savage feel the gush of praise Rise with the endless anthem of thy waves, And learn to worship Nature's mighty God. LELIA, GO NOT TO THE BALL TO-NIGHT! Lelia, go not to the ball to-night, Nor join with the heedless crowd ; Though brows may look cheerful and hearts seem light- King Itevel may ride through the hall in his might, And the joke and the laugh may be loud : Yet the summon of death. J u a single breath. May the hopes of that revel encloud. The giddy group on the snow-white iloor, May stand up — a chosen sci ; The music in happiest strains may pour, To a partner each may be handed o'er, And hands may already have met ; Vet the summon of death, In a single breath, .May till the whole group with regret. 144 LELIA, GO NOT TO THE BALL TO-NIGHT. Death is a tyrant that heeds not place, Nor doth for circumstance care ; He never hath passed by a beautiful face, All, all feel alike to his cold embrace, Both the monster and maiden fair, At the summon of death, In a single breath, To the region of gloom must repair. He sometimes waits in the gilded hall, Where none but the happy meet, And ere a foot in the dance may fall, On the youngest — the loveliest he may call, — Her form may be low at his feet ; Aye the summon of death, In a single breath The lightest, the loveliest may greet. Lelia, go not to the ball to-night, Nor join with the giddy crowd, Health on thy cheek may seem blooming and bright, Thy heart may be ready to burst with delight, And thy joy may have no cloud ; But the summon of death, In a single breath, May stiffen thy form for its shroud. MAY FLOWERS Go weave thee a garland of May flowers, child ! Go weave thee a garland fair ! 'Tis the season of bloom when the zephyrs mild, From the sunny south, in their sportings wild. Come laden with incense rare ; Our spirits now should be gladsome and gay, For the Frost-King of winter has hastened away. O soft as gold on the gossamer's wing! And as rich, is the burden the breezes bring; And grateful to all, the sweet odours they fling, When the May-sun warms the air. In his chariot of glare the proud day-god comes, And aether trembles in light ; Rich fragrance distils from the spheres he illumes, His beams are displayed thro' a thousand perfumes That swim in the colours bright. The clouds swiftly rush from his burning raj s, All melted, they waste in the brilliant blaze : O the glory that shrouds him, w hat eye can behold ' His pathway is varied with crimson and gold, He rides his high circuit in splendour untold, In majesty and in might. 13 146 MAY FLOWERS. Winter's rude storms have all hushed them to rest — The snows have melted and gone ; The wild swans skim light o'er the lake's tranquil breast, The swallow is seeking a place for her nest, — The soil, like another zone, Is lifting to verdure the warmth it receives, And crowning the boughs in their beautiful leaves. O the fields and the forests are shining in green ! It is time the sweet flowers were glowing between, And the lovers of spring had arrayed their May Queen In her crown on her grassy throne. Go weave thee a garland of flowers so sweet ! A garland all glowing and fair ! Haste away, child, to thy garden retreat, In the arbour there on its moss-covered seat, Weave a fine garland my dear : Cull out the fine bunches so careful, and bind The fairest May coronal that ever was twined; Thy forehead, my dear, shall the garland endow, — O gladly I'd weave a May-crown for my brow, But mother I happen to think of it now, May has no flowers this year. * * Spring, 1835. SONG OF THE FAIRIES Away and away ! O'er plain and o'er valley Away ! — We'll hide in the blackberry bush, 'Till the tempest has passed from the sky, And soon as the sun shall blush, Our wings in his light w r e'll try, — Away and away ! O'er prairie and mountain, Away! We'll drink of the crystal tlood, As it flows from the mountain-side ; And resting awhile in the wood. Again on the winds we will glide — Away and away ! O'er land and the ocean Away ! To lave in the light blue sea, And bask in the burning sun, Will be sweet, — and we'll flutter free, 'Till our brilliant course is done ! Away and away ! On the wild summer breezes Away I THE ESTRANGED. I bound thee in a brother's love, Firm to this faithful heart ; And once I thought the rocks might move, Ere thou and I could part. I've watched each anxious wish of thine, And oft to soothe thy care, I've made thy bosom-sorrows mine, And felt how keen they were. If dark affliction's Upas spell, Upon a heart that prest, Hath ever found responding swell Within another's breast — That breast was mine, and full it throbbed To woes that made thee bow, But ah ! some reptile thing hath robbed Me of thy friendship now. Farewell ! thy name in faithful prayer Shall ever offered be ; And though I never more may share Affection's feast with thee — My love about thy path to fame, Shall gather as a spell — Shall wrap thee in its deathless flame ; Speed on — speed on — farewell ! MY FATHER MADE THEM ALL While yonder sparkling orbs of night, Are rising from the deep ; Rolling in silence and in light, Up the cerulean steep— I steal from men — alone to muse On shore and shining sea ; And on those bright aud burning worlds That swim immensity. Wisdom her glorious name hath writ On ocean — earth and air ; No thing in Nature's wide domain, But doth the impress bear, Here, on the sands, the crystal waves With playful winds that meet ; Witness her universal sway, In music at my feet. How green — how grand yon woodland slope I How beautiful the vale, Where summers flowers profusely spread Their odours on the gale f . 13* 150 MY FATHER MADE THEM ALL. The streamlet winding through the mead, The mountain's rocky height ; Pictures of varied loveliness, How they enchain the sight ? Monarch of waters, — ocean rolls Unfettered, free and wild ; Majestic in his hour of calm, And gentle as a child — Majestic, if his surface sweep, By tempests rudely driven, Or mirror in his shining depths, The myriads of heaven. Yon orbs of beauty — all are wrought With most amazing skill ; The power by which we count them o'er, Is more amazing still. High o'er them shines the attribute By which their ways we scan, Vast work of the eternal mind, — The intellect of man. To the unsinning throngs that sail The shoreless deep of heaven, God, in his dispensations wise, No attribute hath given Of such commanding excellence As the proud gift of mind, Which to the likeness of himself Doth elevate mankind. A THOUGHT. 151 Mysterious power ! — in thought I turn Aside the vaulting blue, And gaze beyond, where worlds of light, Are swimming in my view. There I behold the the isles of bliss, By angels only trod ; Bright amaranthine paradise — The residence of God. The intellect — of deathless joys Only immortal heir, May look beyond these starry worlds, And claim its portion there. On all — Intelligence may gaze, While yet in earthly thrall ; And in exultant hope exclaim, "My Father made them all." A THOUGHT. The Sabbath sun — the Sabbath sun Is blushing o'er the sea ; — The Sabbath bells are chiming on Right merrily. But ere the sun may fade behind The flower scented lea, The peal of death may on the wind Float drearily. LIFE — A GARDEN. This little laughing world of ours, Is a fair garden strewn with flowers ; — Some blooming — beautiful and rare, And other some, not quite so fair ; Rude thorns among the boughs abide, As though they meant their points to hide ; And those who walk the garden through, Are sure to get a sting or two. Sometimes in shade — sometimes in sun, The posey seekers wander on ; — Their cheeks in gloom or lips in smiles, They wander through the perfumed aisles ; With care, the freshest blossoms choosing, The faded and the pale refusing, As though it were, the only aim To weave a garland for each name — To weave it of the choicest flowers That bloom among the garden bowers. The good — the great — the wise — the brave, 'Mid fops and fools their garlands weave ; Each seeking with the utmost care, A flower, than the rest more fair — THE GRAVE. 153 A blossom — brightest of the train That nourish on the verdant plain. — See how they on each other press ! The flower they seek is happiness. Briskly they move from bough to bough, Though cool at first, — with fervor now. They hurry on from place to place, To compass all the varied space, Ere age may throw his pall of gloom, O'er posey bright, and check of bloom. Long have they searched from bower to bower, And lew have gained the favored flower, And those who have, its folds between, Have found the sharp thorns intervene, Wounded alas ! they turn to fly, But fall upon the spot and die. The flower they strive so hard to save Blooms fairest near the seeker's grave. THE GRAVE. Within its depths are safely sleeping, Myriads of the wasting dead : Angel watehcrs now are keeping Guard, o'er many a lowly head. The silent tenants of the tomb, Are resting sweetly in its gloom. TO AN ALBUM. Eidolon of beauty ! among thy leaves Varied in hue, untouched and stainless now, The friend, the stranger and the passer by, Their names may register, and each a line Expressive of regret or joy write down. — Relationships as sacred as the love, In one vast brotherhood, that binds mankind, May be rehearsed upon thy spotless sheets ; And thou may'st be in distant years to come, To other hearts than those that know thee now, The lovely messenger of good or ill. The friend will give the wayward smile and tear, As they may pass upon his heart, to thee ; The smile, — the sweetest that belongs to earth, Which shines the brightest sunshine of the heart And gilds life's changes with its heavenly rays. — The tear — the bitterest e'er sorrow shed ; For human feelings never yet have flowed Up from a deeper fount than may be touched By broken faith, or violated vow. The bow of beauty ne'er adorns the cloud, That hangs o'er blighted friendship ; once that cloud TO AN ALBUM. 155 Spreads in thick darkness o'er the smitten heart. It rains and rains forever ; no fair sun, May e'er ascend to pierce the pall-like gloom, And throw his beams upon the falling drops, To raise the radiant Iris of content, Which oft doth rear itself upon the mind At peace with friendship and with the wide world, Bright as the arch that crowns the stormy heavens. To thee, the stranger may his feeling tell ; How when among the giddy and the gay, Where lute and song their notes to gladness lent, He stood a sad and solitary one ; Nor saw the sporting crowd that danced around. Nor hoard the merry laugh and shout of joy ; His heart, in the glad revel mingled not, Twas with his best beloved far, far away. The passer by, will give a random thought So like himself, a truant, to thy page : And when away, perhaps by Fortune called — Perhaps by Pleasure, to some foreign shore. To sport in other climes, as he did here. That thought, his memory may bring up anew ; And it may be, some lovely mourner's heart Touched by its wildness, may a tear give forth. 1 [allowed by remembrance of some pleasure past. — Some joy departed, which may not again, Ruffle the sea offeeting, which doth sleep, Unmoved in sluggish and vexatious calm. 156 THE BLIGHT. Perchance, there may be one to write on thee, The story of his pure abiding love, Which thou may'st bear in safety to the loved, And in the deed high happiness confer, That time nor circumstance may ever mar ; If so, thy hallowed embassy will make A richer treasure of thee, than the mines, Whose golden bosoms give the world its wealth. And when thy last fair page is written o'er, And death, on all who leave their signets here, Has thrown his pall of darkness ; when they all — The stranger and the friend, with him who came, And in the same bright moment went his way, Shall pass from life and pleasure here below, — In bliss and beauty may they meet again, To mingle ever in the better world. THE BLIGHT. She left her wild-rose blooming fair, And came again within an hour ; Alas ! the rude winds had been there, And withered was the lovely flow'r. 'Tis vain to place the trusting heart, On joys but for the moment given : 'Twere wise, to choose the better part, And fix the hopes on endless heaven. FLAG OF TEXAS. Float on thou bright young banner, Unfolded by the free, When at the cannon's mouth they swore, For death or liberty. Child of the storm ! the stripes that date Thy yet unwritten story. May gather stars and wave o'er fields Where freemen fight for glory. The breeze of heaven shall bear thee Up on its sunny wing. Until the triumph of thy star. The dove of peace shall bring. Thy birth-place was the field of blood, And War's terrific thunder, Did cradle thee, 'till thou hast broke Oppression's bonds asunder. Among the flags of nations, There is a place for thee, Flaunt up thou bright young banner, Flaunt proudly o'er the free. The stripes and stars shall lead thee on, That o'er Columbia wave j — Float on in sweet companionship, Proud banners of the brave ! 1 I THOU SPEAKEST STILL. In memory of Rev. J. Mc G. Dale, late of St. James' parish, Balti- more county, Md. Thou speakest still ! — thy voice I hear, In tones as audible — as clear, As when in days gone by, We wandered on the green-hill side ; Or 'neath the elm trees spreading wide, We spoke of Him on high. And when alone, or 'mid the crowd, Where pleasure's laugh rings light and loud, Thou speakest still. Thou speakest still ! — the summer flowers, That freshen in the morning showers, And droop their heads at even, Remind me of thy manly bloom So soon a trophy for the tomb — So soon removed to heaven, Upon the fragrant breath of morn Thy well known — welcome voice is borne, Thou speakest still. THOU SPEAKEST STILL. 159 Thou speakest still ! — when day beams fade, I seek alone the wild-wood shade. Once to us both so dear ; My temples bathe in balmy air, And oft I fancy thou art there, Thou seemest always near. And when the evening's fragrant breeze, Wafts gently through the stately trees, Thou speakest still. Thou speakest still ! — the prayer, the praise That moved thy lips in other days, O'er memory's waters steal ; And if the temple's courts I tread, Or at its altar bow my head, The soothing power I feel. And when the sacred band I meet, To mingle at the mercy-seat, Thou speakest still. Thou speakest still ! — though dust is now A pillow for thy blanching brow Beneath the flowery sod ; Thy deathless spirit has upflown, To share, in light anear his throne, The glory of its God. Amid the high and happy throngs That fill celestial courts with songs, Thou speakest still. QUERIES. And have ye fled forever, Scenes of the happy past ? And shall your beauties never, On life again be cast? Must memory's mingled pages, Alone the traces bear ? And tell that by-gone ages, Are living only there ? Where are the golden glories, That gladden'd childhood's brow ?- The age of sports and stories — Jts joys ; — where are they now ? And where the loved of childhood ? The little giddy throng, That wandered in the wildwood, The silent shades among? Where are the crowds — so gaily That gambolled on the plain, The merry friends that daily, Met in the smiling train ? QUERIES. 161 And they whose locks were whitened, That laughed to see them gay — Whose care the mirth had lightened, The aged, — where are they ? Has life, that all with flowers Arrayed their morning sky, Followed its suns with showers, And swept their pleasures by ? Or are they sweetly sleeping, Upon the green earth's breast, While the lone winds are sweeping Around their lowly rest? Where is the village steeple That rose a snowy tower ? The bell that warned the people Of worship's holy hour ? The school-house in the valley, The careless, urchin throng, That through the flowery alley Their wild sports led along. The cot beneath the mountain, In the valley prized so dear? The shelving cove — the fountain, The streamlet running clear ? — The arbor on the heather, Where the wild-brier grew, — And the old and young togethei In merry dances flew ? 11- 162 SORROW. The narrow pathway winding About the mountain's side ? — The flowery bridges binding Its slopes so steep and wide ? The ravine o'er whose bosom Rolled the rapid waterfall ? — The summer's bud and blossom, Its fruits — where are they all ? Why in the past's deep ocean Does thought still love to lave ; Though in its wild commotion, It drives with every wave 1 Why flows the flood of feeling, With recollection fast ? And why does memory stealing Still settle on the past. SORROW Roll on thou dark unfathomable flood ! Roll while thou may'st, — for a day will come When tyrant as thou art, thy swelling waves Shall find a shore they seek not ; the reft hearts Thou whelmest in thy waters, soon may be Beyond thy surges, in the shades of death. Roll on ! there is a port beyond thy seas, Where thou shalt cease to trouble, and the head Bowed in its weariness, forever rest. FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. "Thousands of the persecuted Jews continue piously to celebrate the 'Festival of the Tombs,' in the valley of Jehoshaphat. There, where their kings have paid adoration to the Almighty, and their prophets became inspired, the whole Jewish population, by permission of thru Turkish masters, periodically assemble to perform the solemn cere- mony." — Letter from the Holy Lund. Where Judah's kingly sons have bowed, Unsceptrcd in the dust, To Him who saw their empire's doom, Its glory and its rust — The scattered remnants of the land, From humbler homes repair, To mingle in the holy place Their sacrifice of prayer. Oh, did the God that raised thee up, Thou boasted of his name, — Did he in anger swear that thou, Shouldst wander forth in shame I Say, was it thy unfaithfulness, That urged the dread decree; And with a deeper brand than Cam's Impressed thine infamy I 164 FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. Thy heirdom was the sunny shores, That caught the honeyed dew ; — Thy people once a countless host, Now dwindled to a few, — Are driven from the peaceful shades, Where oft they met to sing, And sound on harp and lyre, the praise Of God, their matchless King. A thousand seas, as many years, Have swept their giant waves Between the stricken wanderers, And the ancestral graves That hide on mount — in sunny groves, And in the flowery vale ; Where the wild requiem of the dead, Wafts with the passing gale. Where hung the cross on Calvary's brow, And bled the Son of God, Where Jesus taught, and prayed, and wept,- The Turkish banners nod. The Moslem rears his shrine of lust, Where Jesus told his love ; And barters for an endless hell, His hopes of bliss above. And does the God-like martyr look, From thrones of light on high, On spots his blood hath crimsoned o'er And hallowed in the dye ? FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 166 And does he gaze on flowery climes, For which he suffered death, Whose gently wafting breezes bear A foul impostor's breath ? Thy sins, thou dear, apostate land, Have clad thy shores in gloom: — Like pyramids they've gathered up And frown in lasting doom. Fate's dreary pages have revealed This dreadful truth to thee, — A common curse is not the price Of black idolatry. The haughty Saracen hath fixed His fetters on the throne That David reared, when Israel's pride In primal splendour shone ; Jerusalem's ashes, jewels are. That cluster on his name ; The lovely temple's ruins now Are pillars for his tame. The helpless tribes from every land, Looked tovv'rds their rifled home, And in their hearts they longed, once more Its pleasant fields to roam. They asked the tyrant fur his leave That they in peace might meet, To weep and worship on the soil, At their Redeemer's feet. 166 FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. What heartless despot could have spurned The homeless Jews away — Who asked, upon their fatherland A little spot to pray — Could point up to the Crescent's folds That opened to the breeze And to Mahomet's hated shrine, And say, "Kneel worship these ?" 'Tis Turkish mercy gives the boon, A fierce barbarian's hate, Could not refuse an exile race, So rent and desolate. And where their prophets' forms were laid, And yet in peace repose ; The wronged — the wretched, meet and mourn Their mountain weight of woes. There is a tie death cannot break — Stronger than seals of blood ; It binds, whatever be their creed, Believers to their God. 'Tis like the love the wanderer feels, Misfortune dooms to roam, When sickness brings in distant lands, The memories of home. It brings the banished — bleeding Jews, Back to their smitten vales, Where the infernal crescent waves In scorn among the gales, — FESTIVAL OF THE TOMBS. 167 And while the Turk "II Allah IV shouts, And high his Sonnah rears, The kneeling pilgrims celebrate Their gloomy Feast of Tears. Weep bitter floods ye multitudes, That impious pseans raise, And fiends sweep o'er the prophets' dust, A mad usurper's praise, — Weep, 'till the faithful, all shall meet In happier worlds above; And mingle in the happy shout Of everlasting love. YON STARRY WORLDS Yon starry worlds, how calmly bright They move along the sky? Pearls in the coronal of night. They glitter upon high. Bright islands of the upper deep, How brilliantly they glow : Like diamonds ocean-eagles weep; — Gems on a sea of snow. THE FALL. A world — all beautiful and bright VVas basking in the brilliant light That came from heav'n ; 'Twas like a living thing and fair, — A spirit rising from its rest, And lightly tripping through the air ; — Or star reclining on the breast Of lovely ev'n. 'Twas spotless as the burning rays, That wrapped it in their glorious blaze Of purity. With genial suns and freshning showers, The sphere, a garden fragrance gained- Was soon arrayed in lovely flowers ; But ere their glories had attained Maturity, A serpent saw them in their bloom, And sweeping from his den of gloom, With venom fraught, And purpose for destruction fell ; He crossed its vales and mountains fair, And left his horrid trail to tell What deep — what deadly ruin there O'er all he wrought. THE OLD ELM. Thou standest on the forest's edge, Proud monarch of the wood ; Thy sturdy form, the goings forth. Of many a storm hath stood. Age doth not seem to weaken thee, Thy greenness doth not fail ; And years to come thy hoary head. Shall battle with the gale. Thou art a faithful sentinel. And Time hath fixed thee there, To mark the flight of fleeting years, As ever on they wear ; And though the winter's sweeping blasts Thy leaves have often slain; The flowering summer hath renewed Thy emerald robes again. Like a true friend, old favored elm, To me thy form appears ; Strange visions of wild phantasy. Come up from other years 15 170 THEOLDELM. And shades of dark mysterious gloom, Are o'er my senses cast, While musing o'er the varied scenes, That crowd the fertile past. How many young and happy hearts, Have thrilled in wild delight, Anticipating richer bliss, In manhood's glorious might, — Trusting the world's bright promises, More bright alas ! than true, Beneath the deep and ample shade, Thy towering branches threw ? And many forms of fairest mould, And cheeks of youthful bloom, Have passed to manhood and to age, And to the dreary tomb, Since thou wert waving in thy pride, A prince among the trees, With all thy glowing pinions spread, In beauty on the breeze. Oft thou hast seen the flaxen locks, On childhood's brow of snow. Uplifted by the slightest breeze, In graceful ringlets flow, — , Hast seen them thicken and assume, A darker, sterner hue, Until the hand of age, at length, The silver o'er them threw. THE OLD ELM. 171 And thou hast marked the ruddy check. And forehead high and lair. Before Time's iron hand had writ. On them a line of care : The cheek before thy sight has blanched. The forehead furrowed o'er, And both were laid, beneath the sod, To bloom and blanch no more. My grandsire, when a thoughtless boy, Beneath thy boughs has played : And forms of helpless infancy, Were cradled in thy shade; And thou hast seen life's chan^inii; ilood. Full often o'er them sweep; Now sheltered from the winter's blast, And w r atched by thee, they deep. And 1, the wayward youth, — the man, Have wandered near thy side ; Matured in strength before thee now, I stand in manhood's pride; Beside the dead, a narrow place, Untenanted I see ; Soon with my fathers I may rest, That place is left for me. Ere long, the greensward at thy base, Shall show another grave ; And over me, as green as now, Shall thy long branches wave. 172 THE OLD ELM. And other feet shall wander here, And other hearts be gay, When I, like my ancestral race, From earth have passed away. Strange thoughts are running through my mind, Strange feelings move my heart ; And from the ruptured fount of grief, J feel the warm tears start. — I think how many seasons yet, Thy beauty shall return, When I have fed the hated worm, In the sepulchral urn. And summer suns shall roll on high, As brilliantly as e'er ; — And summer skies, as broad — as blue — As beautiful — as clear, Shall shine above the busy world, When life with me is done, And few, ah very few indeed, Will know that I have gone. MIDNIGHT. How like is midnight to the solemn hush Of soundless solitude ? All nature seems Breathless and still, and a subduing power Broods omnioptent o'er the sleeping throngs That people night's dominions ; when the day Like the rough storm that tossed the billowed sea Hath passed, and left all quiet in its rear, The weary multitudes by toil worn down, Seek to renew their energies in sleep, And of success to-morrow, dream the while. The city, like the sleeping sea, is calm, The waves that troubled it, have left it now; But heavy hearts that in its tumult throbbed Are beating still on many a couch of care. As swollen rivers when the tempest dies, Rage on, until their fury all is spent, — So bosoms, worried in the busy strife, Repose not, till the passion-swell subsides. How do the wretched hail the stilly hour, And kneel in misery's rapture in its shade, And feel amid their sorrows that the gloom Doth temper witli their passion I — 'balmy sleep' Seldom d<'th visit them, and every stroke Of Time, that falls upon their anxious ears, Sounds like the knell of happiness. l.V MILLENIAL. Traveller, look ! the morn is breaking, Nature from her sleep is waking ; See her sun rise glorious up ! On life's sea his bright beams throwing, Gladly now the waves are glowing, v And its world of waters flowing, Lustred by immortal hope. Hail the bright, the beauteous morning, All the moral waste adorning, Strewing brilliance every where ! Soft the light through aether spreading, Slowly on the darkness treading, — Chasing gloom, and glory shedding, Richly on the ambient air. From God's high throne in clusters beaming, Rainbow hued the rays are streaming, Sainted spirits side by side In shining ranks are now advancing, Lightly on the splendours dancing, — Glittering hosts, with tread entrancing ! See them on the radiant tide. MILLENIAL. 175 Holy harps in sweetest numbers, Waking sleepers from their slumbers, Sweep the richest notes of song ; The vaulted 1k.\i\ ens ring with praises, Loud the mighty anthem raises, — Sainted lips in sweetest phrases, Bear the sacred sounds along. The banner of the Cross unfurling, Bloodless on the air is curling, — Spreads its folds of deathless fame ; Before it Sin's proud flag is falling, Allah's honors high, are thralling, — Jew and Moslem, — all are calling On the true [Messiah's name. Jesus is in power descending, All the blood-washed throng attending, See him seize the sceptre now ! High the angel hosts arc winging, Seraphim their incense flinging, — Cherubim new honors bringing, Bind them on Messiah's brow. From blessed throngs sweet notes are breaking, Heaven :\\u\ earth to joy are waking, All to climes of bliss repair; Millions who in WO were weeping, — Millions who in death were sleeping, With the throngs redeemed, are keeping. Holy, happy Sabbath there. CONFIDENCE. The Spirit of the Tempest shook His wings of raven hue Above the sea, and hollow winds Howled o'er the waters blue. Uprose the mountain billows high, And swept a stormy path ; Darkness and terror mingled there Their ministry of wrath. A lonely bark, by bounding seas Tossed wildly to and fro, Dashed o'er the billows foaming brow, To fearful depths below. Crash echoed crash ! — the quivering spars Broke o'er the leaning side, And left the bark a shattered wreck, The stormy waves to ride. The sturdy seamen struggled hard To hold the yielding helm, And keep the ship's prow to the surge, That threatened to o'erwhelm. CONFIDENCE. 177 And when the plunging ruin spurned Their impotent control, They madly flew to drown their tears In the accursed bowl. Upon the raging ocean then Helpless was left the bark. To the wild mercy of the waves, Amid the tempest dark. Upon the deck, alone, there stood A man of courage high; — A hero, from whose bosom fear Had never drawn a sigh. With folded arms, erect he stood, His countenance was mild ; And camly gazing on the scene, He bowed his head and smiled. A wild shriek from the cabin rose — Up rushed his beauteous bride ; With locks dishevelled, and in tears, She trembled at his side. "0 why my love, upon thy lip," She cried, "doth play that smile, When all is gloom and terror here, And I must weep the while V 178 CONFIDENCE. No word the warrior spoke, — but he Drew from beneath his vest A poignard bright, and placed its point Against her heaving breast. She started not, nor shrieked in dread, As she had shrieked before ; But stood astonished, and surveyed His tranquil features o'er. "Now why," he asked, "dost thou not start 1 May not thy blood be spilt ?" With sweet composure she replied, " My husband holds the hilt /" "Dost wonder, then, that I am calm ? That fear shakes not my form ? I ne'er can tremble while I know My God directs the storm /" CHILDISH SPECULATIONS I wonder what the sky is made of, Glowing in such princely blue : Is it solid substance painted \ Or is it light that bounds the view ' If painted — what a mighty painter, Must have thrown his pencil there ! li' light — how matchless the Creator — That spread such glories every where. Yon sun — is it a globe of fire, Whose beams the boundless space illume ? If so, how could it burn forever ! Why doth its substance not consume ? But may-be its a world like this, By a horizon bounded too : I wonder what the color rs, If orange, or like ours, of blue. Quere if the moon's a warrior's shield All shining in its height sublime ' Or if it be a country chees That changes in the milking time ' 180 CHILDISH SPECULATIONS. She looks a good deal like a shield Of silver, hung upon the sky; Yet she may be a peopled world, Rolling in majesty on high. The stars ! — I wonder if they're holes Bored in the canopy of blue — "Gimblet holes," as poets say Made "to let the glory through !" It may be they are angel eyes, All gazing from their glory down ; What matchless jewels they would make To ornament a monarch's crown ! What if the glittering galaxies That gem the azure arch of night, Are worlds inhabited — and walk Like spirits through their halls of light ! What if an angel's eye on each, Is watching from some heaven of bliss, Guarding the sparklers as they rove In thousands through the wide abyss ! In thinking on these wond'rous things, What mysteries to the mind arise ? — What oceans of uncertainty, Confounding, even to the wise ? The works of the infinite God, Are mysteries to finite man ; And we can only stand and gaze, And wonder where we dare not scan. THEN SING THE SONG I LOVE. O not when in the festive hall We mingle with the thoughtless throng: There Pleasure's footsteps lightly fall, And wild delight holds hearts in thrall:— There Revel reigns, and wine and song The fleeting hours of night prolong; But thoughtless moments are not Love's, Nor revel, wine nor minstrelsy The deep recess of feeling moves, Which Love reserves for him and thee: If Pleasure's light and laughing strain, A single wish of thine shall gain. Then sing no song for me. But if the world, its shadows throw Between thee and thy happy sun ; If weariness of all below Shall plunge thy spirit deep in wo ;— If Pleasure's latest sands seem run. And all that once was joy is done :— If sorn.w en thy sense is stealing And in its darkened mystery Is wrapped thy bosom's fondest feeling ; — Then, If there seems no hope for thee. And Revel's light and laughing strain Doth pierce thee with more pungent pain, Then sing the sung I love. 16 THE DEEP— DEEP SNOW The snow, the snow, the deep, deep snow ! Fields of unbroken white ; Like silver in the sun they glow All glorious to my sight. I gaze upon the boundless plain, As I gazed years ago ; And wish I was a boy again, To wrestle in the snow. The snow, the snow, the spotless snow ! Pure as the day it seems ; And endless as the floods that flow Of light in glory-dreams. And brilliant as the stars of night, The frosted crystals shine — That sparkle in the world of white Like diamonds in the mine. The snow, the snow, the pearly snow ! Thou'rt like a jewelled sea, All in the sunbeams sparkling so I love to look on thee. i II I d !• I P — D i: ii' SM <) w , 183 Thou mind'st me of my boyhood time, Care had touched my brow; When life was in its morning prime, And li< r hl as thou art now. The snow, the snow, the radiant snow ! Bright mirror of the past ; The hours ofyoutii — their easy flow. Seem on thy bosom cast. I see my purest joys in thee, Ere I knew ought oi' guilt; My all of bliss they were to me. And melted as thou wilt. The snow, the snow, the glorious snow Thou tcllest of the bands WIiii wrestled on thy stainless brow, And wrung their aching hands. For some of them I have a tear, They lie as cold as thou; In Death's unwelcome valley drear, They're sleeping silent now. The snow, the snow, the deep, deep snow! Thou'rt welcome still to me ; As BWift alike through life we go, Friends may we ever be. We hail thee from the distant west, Thou child of cloud and storm ; Thou art the winter's shining vest, To keep earth's bosom warm. CHRISTMAS MORNING. Hail hallowed morning ; at thy glorious dawn Man dates redemption from the tyrant's power, And wakes to new existence. In thy light, Beaming in beauty from the throne of God, He views the fetters that have bound his soul To grovelling purpose — whose debasing touch Had worn and wasted it, until its strength, That towered in its majesty tow'rds heaven, Was humbled to the dust ; and from the gloom — The utter, and malignant gloom of sin, He looks in hope to thee, as to the star, That points to climes of never ending joy. Hail hallowed morning ; when the sunlight broke Fresh from thy forehead on Judea's hills, The shepherds saw thee, and with songs of praise, Chanted thy welcome on the early breeze ; And while the mighty trembled, and the wise Watched thee in terror, anxious angels swept In beauty over Bethlehem— and told With harp and song, in strains of purest love, That the eternal Sun of Righteousness, Had risen there, "with healing in his wings." CHRISTMAS MORNING. 185 For ages, on his throne, the tyrant Sin, Had reigned triumphant and engloomed the world In moral desolation ; Eden's bowers, Once so delightful, and bo robed in bliss, Felt the Destroyer 9 ! touch; dread ruin thrilled Through all her borders, and her flowery head, Bowed in its loveliness and kissed the dust. The deed that doomed her. doomed the spotless world, And doomed mankind to everlasting death. Heaven saw the danger and gave up her king ; The first begotten of the glorious God, Laid down his sceptre at his Father's feet ; His regal robes, a season he resigned, And the frail covering of human llesh, Wore as a lowly garment in their stead. Son of mortality, that weareth pride As a rich diadem upon thy brow, Throw oil' the tinsel: with the angel group, Haste thee to Bethlehem and behold thy God, An humble infant by his mother's side In the low manger sleeping. 16* DEATH OF MURAT Forth from his prison cell, they led With solemn steps and slow, The man whose locks, the storms of war, Had whitened as the snow. He passed the dungeon's dreary walls, With heart and limb enchained ; Condemned to expiate the deeds More hands than his that stained. Dark thoughts of terror and of death, Had cleft their passage through The fevered substance of his brain, And written on his brow Their history of blood and wo— Of glory and despair ; And scenes of shame and high renown Were graven deeply there. His eye retained its vigorous gaze, Ev'n in that hour of doom, That danger in his day of pride, In vain essayed to gloom, DEATH OF MURAT. 1*7 Though all life's early promises, And hopes were lost to him, — The lightning fires were flashing still, That death could hardly dim. Beside the men of war he marched Up to the fated ground; And when in their humanity, His eyes, they would have bound ; — Their proffered sympathy he spurned, And with unchanging brow, Cried "death I've dared a thousand ways, Nor fear to face it now !" Awhile in mental agony Before the crowd he stood; His thoughts went back to by-gone years Of battle and of blood. The hall of State, — the changing scenes Of fortune and of need, Retold the terrors to his heart, Of many a fearful deed. Again o'er Egypt's flowery soil, He wandered in his pride; — Again the Turks at Aboukir Were slaughtered at his side; — Again he heard the clashing steel, And saw the rushing crowd, Whose flight had left him all he asked, — The palace of St. Cloud. 188 DEATH OF MURAT. Again in all the pomp of war, He trode Marengo's plain ; — AH crimsoned with the tide of life, And covered with the slain. The throne of Naples at his feet, Its treasures seemed to fling ; The crown pressed on his aching head, Once more he felt a king. He thought upon his palace home — He wandered through its halls, Where pictured kings and conquerors Looked on him from the walls ; — Shouts of the splendid festival, And laugh of princely glee, Rang through his ears in silver tones Of wildest mockery. A moment and the mirth is done ; — Still is each shining hall, And on the captive's quickened sense Familiar voices fall ; — Around a chamber's cheerful hearth A little group appears ; — Companions in the gilded scenes Of other — brighter years. And one was there — the fairest star, About his eourt that shone ; The dearest jewel in his crown — The partner of his throne, DEATH OF MURAT. 189 He heard with mingled wo and joy Her lips pronounce liis name; And knew thai she who brought him wealth, Must share his deepest shame. The chord was touched — a bleeding heart Its bitter tribute gave ; Remembered love, revealed the tear That had defied the grave. The heart that danger ne'er could shake, Nor Terror's tempest move, Bowed to affection's memory, And broke for woman's love. Stern voices rent his fevered dream, And made the captive start ; He woke ; — the instruments of death, Were levelled at his heart. And many a war-worn soldier's eye, Upon him there that gazed, Quivered before the sterner fires, 'Neath his dark brows that blazed. Silence as deep as death came o'er That moment fraught with dread, — The fearful pause that passed between The living and the dead. A life-time in that moment swept Its pleasures and its gloom : And memory thronged with faded things, Fresh from their sleep of doom. 190 KINGS PASS AWAY. One thought — the dearest — best of all, Leapt from its tomb of years, — His wife ! — beloved in weal and wo, The same in smiles and tears. He raised his fettered hand and drew, From underneath his vest The image of the loved, — he kissed And laid it on his breast. The word went forth — the muskets pealed, The death pang soon was o'er ; The Allies had a foe the less, The grave a victim more. The history of the man of war, In life — in death may prove, How fondly may a warrior's heart. Cling to a woman's love. KINGS PASS AWAY. The princes of the earth, like other men Pass in succession o'er the path of life ; In crowns they glitter, and repose on thrones, But king, and crown, and throne, must sleep in dust. No king endureth but the King of Kings — No crown but that upon his glorious brow ; — No throne remains forever, but his throne. SONG OF THE SAILOR. Our home shall bo on ihe bright blue sea, Where the sweeping surges ride ; And winds in their wild — wild revelry, Wake up the slumbering tide. — Where sea nymphs sport on the sunny spray That sprinkles the billows with snow ; Then rolls in the swell of the sea away The restless waters below. Away o'er the ocean. Tossed by its tide, With its wild motion, So gaily we'll ride. When the dawn is red, and the sun from his bed Arises in glory there, By some inscrutable impulse led, To illumine the sea and the air, — We'll gaze on his light as his crown he dips Deep in the mirroring wave ; Like a fire-ball thrown from a crater's lips To sink in some bright sea-cave. Away o'er the ocean. Swift on its foam. Dashed with its motion, So gaily we'll roam. 192 SONG OF THE SAILOR. The watch we'll keep as he sinks to sleep The watery world behind ; — When his brilliant beams o'er the surface sweep, All eddying in the wind. We'll join with the waves in their lullaby, And the sea-bird's song, as she soars In the golden flood, o'er the sea and the sky, That the setting monarch pours. Away o'er the ocean, Swept by its might; We'll hail its commotion, At morn and at night. When our voyage is o'er, we'll spring on the shore, To spend a short season there ; We'll sport with the crowd and pay off the score, And again for the sea prepare. The beautiful throng, with the laugh and the song, Dance round us, a glittering train ; But our highest joys to the ocean belong, We'll away to the ocean again. Away o'er the ocean, Tossed by its tide, With its wild motion, So gaily we'll ride. AWAY! AND LEAVE THE BRIMMING BOWL. Away and leave the brimming bowl ! 7 Tis sparkling with the rosy wine ; But the rich draught may reach the soul, — Its curse of fire may soon be thine. There's witchery in the wine I know, But those that wail its dark control, Were once delighted with its flow ; — Away nor touch the brimming bowl ! Turn from the tempter — turn away ! Its brilliant form in beauty glows ; But trouble not the bowl to-day. For its bright cd^e with ^rief o'erflows. Stain not the sideboard's polished top, Though bubbles on the brandy play ; Let conscience triumph — spurn the drop. Turn from the tempter — turn away! O let the poisoned draught alone ! And from its bright allurements turn ; List but a moment at the moan Of murdered millions, now that burn, — Who drank of the accursed draught, 'Till reason tottered from her throne, And then the cup of hell they quailed ; O let the poisoned draught alone ! 17 SHE'S DEAD. The blood that flowed so free is stayed, Its last pulse told ; Her form upon the board is laid, Senseless and cold. Cold are her hands, and cold her head, Enveiled in gloom ; Her cheek, no longer flushed and red, Glows in its bloom ; — She's dead ! Her skin seems quite transparent now, It feels like pearl ; And white as marble is her brow; The beauteous girl ! — She is as lovely in her shroud, As when she moved The happiest of the happy crowd, The most beloved ; — She's dead ! Upon her form so light, so fair, Death's chilling spell Passed like the blighting Upas air, And she sleeps well. Her limbs are still — she may not stir : Her features seem So calm, — death must have been to her A gentle dream ; — She's dead ! CHANGE. If by my childhood's humble home I chance to wander now ; Or through the grove with brambles grown Where cedars used to bow, In search of something that I loved — Some little trifling thing To mind me of my early days, When life was in its spring, — I find on every thing I see A something new and strange ; Time's iron hand on them and me Hath plainly written — Change. My pulse beats slower than it did When childhood's ruddy glow Was on my cheek, and calmer now Doth life's red current flow. The stars I gazed with rapture on, When youthful hopes were high, With sterner years have seemed to change Their places in the sky. And moonlit nights are plenty now Though few they seemed to me, When with the light,— the laughing throng, I shouted o'er the lea. 196 CHANGE. I've sought the places where we played Our boyish "hide and call ;" Alas ! the tyrant Change has made A common stock of all — And bartered for a place of graves The lawn and all its bloom; O how T upon the walls I wept, To think of Change and Doom. The lovely spot where roses grew, Is strewn with gravestones o'er ; And half my little playmate crew Have slept to wake no more, — 'Till Change itself shall cease to be, And one successive scene Of steadfastness immutable Remain where Change hath been. It may sometimes make old hearts glad, To see the young at play ; But always doth my own grow sad, When thoughts of their decay Come rushing with the memories Of what my own hopes were — When Carroll's waters and my youth Did mutual friendship share. LELIA'S CHOICE. Lelia, seated in her bower, Resting from her morning walk, Saw a richly colored flower Bending on its slender stalk, — "Oh !" said she, "were I the flower, To bloom so fair in this sweet bower !" Rested, Lelia flew again, A pleasure seeking wanderer ; Over rock and lea and glen 'Till a stream attracted her, — "Oh !" she cried, "were I the stream, To steal away so like a dream !" The summer winds blew softly by, And Lelia stood by stream and bower ; Alas ! for her, the stream was dry, And withered was the lovely flower "Parched shores!" she cried, "and wasting stem, I'm glad I was not one of them !" 17^ TO THE UNKNOWN. WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM. Fair lady, when you read these lines, With heart and brow from sorrow free, Think of the distant hand that twines This wreath, for Friendship and for thee. They are not Learning's living flowers That here for thee "The Stranger" weaves ; No gem from scientific bowers, May sparkle 'mid the fadeless leaves. Nor may its folds be studded o'er, With glittering jewels rare and fine Collected from the burning shore, Where proud Golconda's metals shine. My chaplet binds a rarer gem, Than all the mines of earth can bring ; The proudest monarch's diadem Boasts not a purer — fairer thing. 'Tis Friendship — pearl of price unmeasured, That sparkles on the chaplet's rim, Fair lady — if the gift be treasured, The donor — sometimes think of him. WHO SHALL BE FIRST. Written immediately after the dedication of Green Mount Cemetery. Who shall be first in snowy shroud, To rest beneath the pall and plume ; — Silent amid the weeping crowd, A lonely tenant for the tomb ? Borne silently along the wood. Some lonely sleeper soon must be ; To rest in dreamless solitude, 'Neath lowly shrub, or lofty tree. Who shall be first — the man of years, Or matron of the silv'ry crown ; — Who, tired of life — its toil and tears, Would gladly in the grave lie down? O many a head hath bowed in grief, That years have covered with their snow : And many a heart hath sought relief From care, the crumbling sod below. Who shall be first — the man of prime, The maiden cast in beauty's mould : Cut down in loveliness, ere Time But half their happy years had told ! 200 WHO SHALL BE FIRST. Not manhood's strength, nor beauty's form, The tyrant's ruthless arm can stay : The heart where health beats high and warm, He humbles with its kindred clay. Who shall be first ? — the thoughtless youth, That boundeth o'er the grassy plain; Whose heart of innocence and truth, Hath never known guilt's gloomy stain ? From youthful cheeks, the ruddy glow Of blooming health, alas, may fade ; And lovely forms beneath the blow Of dark, relentless Death be laid. Who shall be first ? — the sinless one That sits upon its mother's knee ; Whose race of life is but begun, Alike from care and error free ? The cheek that ne'er hath blushed in guile, The lip that never knew deceit ; May blanch in death and wear the smile Of beauty, at the monster's feet. Who shall be first ? — who shall it be, That broken-hearted friends may weep While bearing to the cemetry, To leave in their last, lonely sleep? If from the happy throngs — or those The tempests of the world have driven, May all who here in peace repose, The first — the last — all meet in heaven. OUR HOPE How like a bright, illusive star, Doth human hope appear ? — A something shining from afar, Its brilliance always near. So clear around us beams the light, So palpable — so plain, That earnestly we gaze, a sight Of substance to obtain. Forth from the orbs, night's arch that stud, Unnumbered rays are given ; They mingle with the beauteous flood, That radiates from heaven ; A single planet may be paled, Other bright orbs amid ; Her disk by clouds may be enveiled, Or in the distance hid. Thus dimmed and darkened by the shades, That often intervene ; Our hope's deceitful lustre fades, Bright as it may have been. Yet to the false — the fading gleam, We cling while life may last : — Our all of happiness doth seem On the delusion cast. REST THEE, SLEEPER Rest thee, sleeper, — rest in peace ! Death's cold fetters now have bound thee, And his hand is on thy head ; Cold may be the earth around thee, And winds may sweep above thy bed, — Storms may weep their oceans o'er thee, Lightning terrors leap on high, But thou art safe ; — while we deplore thee, Angels lead thee through the sky. Rest thee, sleeper, — rest in peace ! Shadows of the grave have won thee, And the worm is at thy side ; Dust and darkness press upon thee ; — But God hath chose thee for his bride ; While the loved of earth may weep thee, Thou art free from every pain ; Jesus, best of friends, will keep thee, 'Till thou shalt meet them all again. I WILL NOT MURMUR I will not murmur, — though my heart Is sorrowful and sore ; Affliction's depths within are stirred — The bitter waters pour. I weep not, though my sun of joy, That high its brilliance cast Upon my life, is faded now, And buried in the past. I will not murmur, — though my cup Of bliss, was full and bright ; But ere my lips had touched its rim, 'Twas broken in my sight. — 'Twas broken — and the brilliant flood With rainbow hues replete ; All glittering as it rolled away, Was wasted at my feet. I will not murmur, — that my hopes While struggling into bloom, Before they ripened into bliss, Were trophies for the tomb. 204 I WILL NOT MURMUR. The wrecks are strewn o'er mind's dark stream, And rise before me now : They've left long furrows on my cheek, — Deep wrinkles on my brow. I will not murmur, — early friends Have fallen one by one, — Have slept the dreamless sleep of death And left me here alone. The tide of thronging memories, Is rushing through my mind ; Deep in my bosom's holy place The loved ones are enshrined. I will not murmur, — they have reached The regions of the blest ; The wicked cease from troubling there, — The weary are at rest. The bitter pains that pierced them here And wore their lives away, Reach not the pleasant fields on high, Through which they ever stray. I will not murmur, — high and full, Rolls Sorrow's ceaseless tide ; And bleeds my heart, as when my friends Were taken from my side. It needed not the rush of woes My wearied soul to bow ; I wept the loved ones when they fell, I kneel and weep them now. I WILL NOT MURMUR. '205 I will not murmur, — the dear home, In youth I loved so well, Has faded — fallen to the dust, And ruin like a spell Is brooding o'er the pleasant shade, — The shining hall is dim ; The owl sits where the happy sung, And shrieks his evening hymn. I will not murmur, — voices sleep. Silent as death, and still ; That swept in music where the bats Now scream the requiem shrill O'er all the glories, gathered — gone, The gladness passed away; — Where is the lute — the harp — the song — The happy — where are they. I will not murmur — all I see Reminds me of the past ; The images of other years, Are marked on memory's waste. The garden shade with clustering grapes, And flowers blooming fair ! What is it now 1 — go ask the dead That slumber sweetly there. I will not murmur, — that they rest, Among the fruits and flowers, They loved so well, and cherished, when Life lent them rosy hours. 18 206 I WILL NOT MURMUR. Full many a summer zephyr sweet. Has sported in the shade, Since the fair cheeks they often fanned. In its deep peace were laid. I will not murmur, — withered leaves, By Autumn's breezes blown, Rustle the requiem o'er their rest, And wake the solemn moan Of Nature, for the sleeping throngs, That on her bosom lay — The lovely and the lonely dead, That in her arms decay. I will not murmur — bitter tears, Will soon be wiped away, And one more sleeper, in that shade His weary limbs shall lay. Roll on — roll on thou dreary life ! The last sad drops that wring From riven spirits here below, An endless peace may bring. FALL OF THE INDIAN WARRIOR. 'Twas a dreary night and the storm roared loud, From the sky the lightning was gleaming; And fiercely it swept with the fiery cloud, O'er the height of the tempest streaming. It flashed in its might o'er the crimson plain, For a moment the red turf revealing; And leaving the field in its darkness again, The ravage of battle concealing. Manoreh's proud chieftains that day had bled And many an Indian spirit, Away in the midst of its glory had fled To the land their fathers inherit. Manoreh's young wife the battle shout' heard, Deep and wild was the spell that bound her ; She searched for her robe and spoke not a word, But fled as she gathered it round her. Elohama searched for the fated spot, Where shrill on the night-wind broke o'er her The groaning of hundreds, she heeded them not, But hurried away to Manoreh. 208 FALL OF THE INDIAN WARRIOR. Weeping, she clasped to her bosom his form, As it Jay on the cold turf bleeding; The warmth of his body was chilled by the storm, And the coldness of death was succeeding. She laid her soft hand on his shivering brow, And up from the damp sod he started, Saying, "where are the braves — my stern warriors now, The tall, and the valiant-hearted. "Where is my war-horse," in anguish he cried, "That reared his proud mane in the battle? Swift from the hand of Manoreh he hied, I heard in his throat the death rattle. "Elohama kneel, the spirits have met, In the wide council-cloud they assemble ; A seat for his ghost in the midst they have set When Manoreh his last shall tremble." Elohama hung by the warrior's side, Chafed his temples haggard and gory ; She shrieked out her last with Manoreh and died With the chief on his turf-couch of glory. TO MY SISTER— JANE Why did you from the starry west, So like a stranger come, To spend a month with those you love — Friends of your early home ? A little month — how like a dream, Of loveliness it passed ? Visions of bliss the shadows were, Too beautiful to last. Why did you bring that cherub child, To win us with its charms, And when we loved it tenderly, To tear it from our arms ? 'Tis hard to realize her loss, And oft when evening falls ; I startle yet as though I heard The little Fanny's calls. I seek her in the grapevine bower, And 'neath the plum trees' shade ; And through the garden where with her, Again a child I've played. 18* 210 TO MY SISTER JANE. I find her not, and from the place, In disappointment stray, To sit in solitude, and think Of Fanny — far away. Absence hath hours of deepest wo, For those that truly love ; And you its utter loneliness, As well as I may prove. I know my sister, that thy heart From care would sometimes steal, And seek, like mine, a solitude, Its bitterness to feel. But doubtless in thy distant home With those who love thee well ; There's pleasure that the heart may know, But tongue may never tell. And friends may cluster at your side, Among the sunny vales, Where flowers grow and odours waft Upon the evening gales. O what a thing omnipotent, A husband's love, — to gain From every other earthly tie, And the warm heart to chain — Of one so young, so full of hope, By friendships so entwined ; — "Twould seem almost a miracle A heart like thine to bind. — TO MY SISTER JANE. 211 To win it from the years of love, And happiness, that shone The morning-light of life, to us, On childhood's thoughtless throne. 'Tis little pleasure now to think That sterner years have come, With less of light, and less of love To lead us from our home. Fortune a cruel thing doth seem, A friendless ocean tide, — Where fretted billows intervene, The doating to divide. And many wrecks of buoyant hope, Among the wild waves roll ; They missed the star that started them, For Fortune's glittering goal. Thy sea has ne'er been stormy yet, Thy sky was always clear ; Nor has misfortune's chilling winds Thy gilded bark come near. O sister, may thy brilliant sun Up to the zenith rise — To shine in shadeless splendour there And set in cloudless skies. THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. Inscribed to the memory of George H. A. Ellison, of Washington, N. C, one of the senior class at the University of Maryland, in 1834. There lay the dead, and in his snowy robes, Seemed like ensculptured marble — pale and cold — And beautiful as the well finished work, Fresh from the artist's chissel, teeming there, With nature's high perfections, — all but life. But yesterday we looked upon his cheek, Wearing the flush of manhood, and his brow, Glowing in pride of intellectual strength ; — We heard his voice among us, and his laugh Rang merrily amid the happy group, That met for pastime in the lofty hall. And little deemed we, in that hour of joy, That Death's dark angel was so near our ranks, Sweeping his wing in silence o'er our heads ; — Little deemed we, that the bright cheek and brow Of him we loved as comrade and as friend, Should blanch within its shadow, — and the voice That cheered us with its mirth, be hushed and still. THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. *213 We waited at his bier, a smitten band, And bitterly we wept his early fall, Wondering amid our sorrow at his side, That his proud spirit, ere it reached its prime. So like our own when happy, should thus soon, Forsake a form, so manlike in its youth, And leave it here to slumber in the dust. We gazed upon his features, as he lay, And then upon each other, and we thought How strange is death, with what mysterious power, He treads the busy avenues of life, Stealing the young amid their joys away. And bearing off the beautiful in their pride, To shadows deep and darkness of the grave. We stood, companions at the bier of death, But bore the hurt alone ; deeply we felt The humbling solitude of aching hearts Which turns away from fellowship and friends, And jealous of the gloom it would conceal, Preys like the fabled scorpion on itself. 'Tis hard to bow the human spirit down In meek submission to the hidden grief Which channelleth its passages of wo Within the heart, and poureth waters there, That seethe in silence, and that flow not forth, To tell the depths of bitterness they hide. The moments swept ; — we noted not their flight, Nor heard their fall, — until the saddest came, 214 the student's burial. And warned us to the lone and last adieu, That leaves the dead forever ; not a sound Disturbed the reigning silence, save the sighs, That gushed at intervals amid the gloom. Slowly the ranks divided, and there came With solemn pace, a light and graceful form,* That seemed to measure grief with every step. To breathe a sad farewell upon the dead, She sought a passage through the mournful crowd ; Like a fair spirit o'er the sheeted bier, She bent in meekness, and a moment stood Motionless as a statue, then she placed Her soft white hand upon the sleeper's breast, And gently twined her fingers in the robes That spread in snowy folds upon his form. Sweet minister of mercy, at his couch, In the brief hour of sickness, she had stood, And watched with anxious care his swift decline ; In the still midnight, she had knelt beside The patient sufferer, and her fair hand Had bathed his fevered lips, and wiped away The last cold sweat drops from his sinking brow. She closed his eyes in death, and on his cheek Before the throng whose sympathies were her's, The last sad offering of her pity shed. "'Tis over now," she sighed, and turned. away, And as she hurried from the sacred place, * Sister Ambrosia ; — one of the Sisters of Charity in attendance at the Baltimore Infirmary. THE STUDENT'S BURIAL. 215 Her lips were quivering in the faithful prayer, That his departed soul might be at rest. The sun's departing rays had gilt the clouds That hung in beauty o'er his sinking crown, And twilight shades were gathering o'er the grave ; The winds were still, and Nature seemed to wait In calm and silence of respectful awe, As might a mother 'till the child she loved, And whose untimely fall she sorely wept, Were placed in slumber, on her peaceful breast. Beneath the branches of a fading tree, Whose yellow leaves were scattered on the ground, Emblem of his own premature decay, Upon the bosom of his mother earth, We gently laid, and left him ; there to sleep. In the deep peace of death ; no more to wake, Until the beauteous heavens are no more, And bloom and beauty from the flow'ry earth Fade in the cheerless winter of the tomb. The solemn rites pronounced, we turned away, And left our comrade in the dust of death ; And while his seat is vacant in the hall, He sleepeth sweetly in his humble rest. No more his voice among us may be heard, — His Alma Mater is the dreary grave ; In her deep solitude he must remain, Until her vast Alumni at the bar Of the Eternal Judge on high, shall meet, To gain their honors for his kingdom high, Or hear their doom for everlasting death. SUMMER EVE. How sweet is the hour of eve when it sheds, Its shades and soft hues o'er the sky ? On the last red gleam of the day it treads, O'er the hills and the heart, its twilight spreads, And thought gushes wild and free ; We dream of the deeds and the days gone by, — Of pleasures and perils unburied that lie, Though faded forever they be. 1 gaze on the world, in this beautiful hour, And think as the shadows appear, How often the sun and the freshening shower Gave fragrance and life to the bud and the flower. Which suddenly bloom and decay, — How all that is loved and prized by us here, Come like the flowers — a dull moment to cheer, Then pass like an evening away. The daylight of life grows dim in the west When the evening of age comes on : The sun and the shower, go down to their rest, And the hues, our cheeks in their prime that drest, Grow weary of reigning, and leave The paleness of death upon their fair throne; — I would when the glories of life are all gone, Pass away like a calm summer eve. HUMAN GLORY. A glimmering star is human glory Rising but to set again; Fading like some fabled story, Pictured on a dreamer's brain. It comes in pride, its lustre throwing, O'er the sky of life to sweep : Awhile in light and beauty glowing, Sinking into darkness deep. Where are prophets — kings and sages. Who have trod the paths of fame ? Crumbled in the dust of ages, Living only now in name. Side by side the great are sleeping, Cold the wasting turf beneath ; History alone is keeping Titles, deeds, and names, from death. Where are they who lived when Science Burst the fetters of the mind ? At the tyrants hurled defiance, Who had dared enslave mankind ! — 19 218 HUMAN GLOB F. Where the men whose chainless spirits, Soared, as to high worlds of bliss ? — Seized the treasures mind inherits, Brought them down as spoils to this ? Arts in orient climes that flourished, Kings that owned their mighty sway, Genius and the friends that cherished Its high efforts, — where are they ? Buried in their ruin splendid, Fragments scattered far and wide ; — Palaces and prisons blended, Tell how greatness lived and died. Pile on pile, her strength combining, Architecture raised her head ; Elegance and grace entwining, O'er the living and the dead. Then in her success uprearing, Her beauteous crown she sought to steep I n the clouds on high careering, Which above her glories weep. Many a hero, earth has numbered, Boasted of their deeds and name ; In their glory they have slumbered, — Perished 'mid their sounding fame. From the common masses singled, Honored with command they were ; Their monuments with them have mingled In the dusty sepulchre. HUMAN GLORY. 219 Ancient cities, Time has humbled, Ruins mingle throne and tomb ; Grecian greatness long has crumbled, On her gates is written — 'Doom.' Lovely temples once were laving Their tall summits in the sun ; — Over them the cypress waving Tells us what that doom has won. Athens seemed a nymph reposing, On a mount of stainless snow ; — Beauties unsurpassed disclosing To the world that watched below. Her marble in the sunlight flashing Dazzled from her spotless brow ; But the ruin-waves came dashing, And the gloom is on her now. Sparta in her beauty rising, Sent her fame o'er earth and sea ; Thebes came up the world surprising, — Shone a moment brilliantly. Like the stars those cities hurried To the zenith — down the west, Now in utter darkness buried Safely in its shades they rest. Rome arose a meteor sweeping Swiftly o'er the wond'ring world ; In tears and blood her banner steeping, Nations from their thrones, she hurled. 220 HUMAN GLORY. And to gain her boasted treasure, Seas of human blood she spilt ; Soon she filled the shining measure Of her glory and her guilt. Where is Rome ? and where her heroes ? Varied jewels in her crown ! Her Numas loved, and hated Neros, With her to the dust went down. Long have leaning columns pointed To the bare and barren sod — Plains by Caesar's blood anointed Where he once in triumph trod. Who to Nineveh shall render Praise, for might her kings arrayed ? Ruthless Time hath all her splendor, In eternal sackcloth laid. And Babylon w r ith her hanging bowers, Rising sweetly o'er the plain, Has faded like her world of flowers, And may never bloom again. Egypt in her beauty glowing, Once the pride of half the world ; In honor and in wealth o'erflowing, Was from her high station hurled, — Now the palace, low is blending With the worn and wasted soil, And the obelisk is bending To the ravager — a spoil. HUMAN GLORY. 221 Persia, with her monarchs glorious, Glowing in their robes of gold, Rushing on a time victorious — Has her tale of triumph told. Cambyses like a raging billow, Swept o'er mountains of the dead ; Darius scarce could find a pillow For his crownless — aching head. And Tyre glittering on the mountain, Like a jewel in the air, Delightful while the flower and fountain Sported in their beauty there ; — Gone are all the joys that crowned her, Dry is every pleasant stream; And the owls that gathered round her, Her's and Sidon's dirges scream. Capernaum that her prowess boasted, Raised to heaven her gilded brow ; Of her gems and gold exhausted Lies as low as Sodom now. Like the scenes of fabled story, Glimmering on a dreamer's brain, The flashes come of human glory, — Fade to nothingness again. 19* TO WEEP. To seek some wild — some lonely shade, When night's dim shadows lower ; And darkness like a pall is spread O'er every tree and flower ; — As if unconscious of the gloom, That thickens round thee there ; To feel thou art a thing of doom Low sinking in despair. Far from the busy world to steal, To some untrodden grot; The gush of burning woes to feel, Scarce wishing they were not. To stand in the dark solitude And feel the warm tears start ; Channelling in grief the bitter flood Wrung from an aching heart. To stand beside the bier of one, Loved tenderly and long ; And fancy thou'rt in grief alone Amid the weeping throng. — HOME. 223 O none the bitterness may know, That scalds the weary breast, Through which the hidden waters flow, That will not — cannot rest. To measure disappointment's tide, Through dreary years of pain, — See prospects blighted — thrown aside, Never to bloom again — O'er bruised and buried hopes to brood, While scalding sorrows sweep A ceaseless and exhaustless flood — O this, — this is to weep. HOME. Were you ever out on the foaming billow, Stationed on some tall ship's prow, Or snugly stowed on your hammock pillow, Thinking of home, as I do now ? if you were, you have wept I know, When you thought of the loved you left behind Your tears have mingled with waves below, Your sighs with the high and heedless wind. THE BATTLE MONUMENT Erected in memory of the brave defenders of Baltimore, who fell in the battle of September 12th, 1814 Marble remembrancer, And volume of enduring history, Writ for the nations ; kings the pages read, And turn in terror from the stern reproof, That stares the trembling despot in the teeth, And stings the fierce oppressor to the soul. The doom of diadems is in thy frown, And regal pride doth melt like wax away Before the splendors of that living flame, Which Nature — First Republic from her throne Of light eternal in her glorious heaven, Is ever pouring on thy honored head. A beacon thou of Freedom — bright and pure, — A Parian way-mark on the road that leads From the low shades of servitude and shame, Up to the sun-lit realm of Liberty. — That realm of equal principles and rights, Where princely robes no precedence receive ; And lords hereditary, never crave High claims to credit for their fathers' worth. THE BATTLE MONUMENT. 225 No proud escutcheonry its glitterance shows — Dating the risings of a noble race, From some ignoble deed ; nor titles there, But such as Honor to her votaries gives ; And these, more brilliant than the jewelled palm Are won and worn by virtue. — Nations yet Courage may seek, and confidence from thee, As forth they spring from Despotism's thrall, To walk the flowery terrace of the Free. The terror thou of tyrants ; — on thy rim Is written with the pen of steel, and thou Wilt ever bear its tracery of blood — "Resistance to the base usurper's law." The rights of men — their consecrated rights, Chartered by heaven and inalienable, Are chisselled on thy chaplet, — thou dost bear Witness of their anointing, and the blood That sprinkles thee in baptism, hath reared up A mighty battlement around these shores ; More firm than walls of adamantine strength, — More durable than marble, — a tower high, Built of affection, that may never fall. The mountain's granite crown, fierce storms may wear, And ever rolling waves may waste the rocks, 'Till they become as nothing ; but the winds, Nor sweeping waves, nor Time's eternal tooth, May touch the deeds affection makes her own. 226 THE BATTLE MONUMENT. The tale ensculptured on thy snowy frieze, Memory's immortal finger hath enscribed On hearts unnumbered, the high fortress now Of fadeless liberty forever fixed. Temple of Freedom ! in thy courts inurned, Are deathless deeds — done by the patriot band, That perilled life in the all-hallowed cause Of human right, they perished to sustain. While their enlaurelled heads in peace repose On glory's banners in the soldier's rest, Their names in golden blazonry appear Upon the fillet that entwines thy shaft, Binding the rods that beautifully close The marble fasces, as their blood cements The fabric fair of Freedom, which no thing Beneath the jewelled canopy may part. Deeds are the offspring of immortal mind, And like their sire, immortal, — they remain, When the proud heads that planned, — and hearts — and hands That brought them into being, sleep in dust, Cold as the cenotaph that tells them o'er. Fame hath her tongues of power ; in trumpet tones They tell of the departed, whose renown Is worthy of memorial ; heroes fall, The marble o'er their ashes proudly stands, As if its silent eloquence would bear Their tale of valor to the lofty skies ; THE BATTLE MONUMENT. 227 And while they sleep, youths cluster at the slab To read of greatness, and indulge the thrill That Patriotism sends through every vein: And age bends o'er the spot to feel anew The fevered pulses of its earlier years. The young blood tingles at the lightning touch. And longs for scenes of glorious enterprise, To test the sternness of its rising strength; And leaps the hoary heart with joy again, Struck in its feebleness, with quickening fire — Flashing in beauty from the soldier's urn. Thus, have the dead a voice ; — from the cold stone It speaks in words of more than mystery, And swift obedience claims from every heart. Thou art a sentinel, standing amid Civil contentions, and the waves have rolled In party feuds around thy lovely plinth ;* But they have fallen harmless ; light from thee In the fierce moment of commotion wild, Hath flashed, and all was peace. Still stand thou there, And when the voice of faction is upraised, If e'er it may be, frown it from thy base. And may the goddess of the city stand Forever in the sunlight on thy shaft, Wearing her mural crown, and holding high The laurel wreath which in her hand she bears. * Tow n hum tings, and those for party purposes, are generally held in Monument Square. DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. Siward, a celebrated warrior of the reign of Edward the Confessor — the same who had gained a lasting immortality for his name by becom. ing the destroyer of the infamous Macbeth — when he found his death approaching, ordered his attendants to clothe him in a suit of complete armour, and support him on his couch in the open field, with his shield on his arm and his spear in his hand. "In this position," said he, "the only one worthy of a warrior, I will meet the tyrant ; if I cannot con- quer I will at least face the combat." Bring me the warrior's iron-bound vest, That I wore in my youthful prime ; — The metal well-tempered that shielded my breast, In my deeds of the olden time. In hours of conflict, it covered me well, And unscathed I have stood in the fight; Though showers of iron that around me fell, Seemed to sweep with the whirlwind's might. Armies before me were scattered like hail, And war-fields, were strewed with the slain : O ! were I young, how I'd brighten my mail, And away to the battles again ! My brain grows wild when I think of the days When the race with the mighty I run ; — When my head was crowned with the warrior's bays, For the ghvy my valor had won. DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. 229 Those days have departed, so full of my fame, And though now of my strength I am shorn, Their light and their lustre encircles my name. And all brilliant through time shall be borne. Bring the helmet, as stern as a soldier's truth. That I bound to my boyish brow ; For I was a soldier, fearless in youth, Am a soldier as fearless now. There's an infidel's blood on that helmet's rim, That I drew with the well aimed blow Of my good right arm, when I hurried him To his home in the regions below. O! the loftiest chief on the battle plain, Was the chief I strove to brinsj down : And reeking in gore from the hearts of the slain, I have stood with my foot on his crown. He writhed in his agony under my feet, Ere he gasped out his quivering breath ; He sneered at me then, and his scorn it was sweet. For it curled on his dark lip in death. Bind fast to my wrist my old war-shattered shield, That I threw on the lance of my foe, When he aimed in his mi^ht on the battle field At my bosom the death dealing blow. 20 230 DEATH AND THE WARRIOR. This arm in its strength could a host subdue, And armies to conquest it led ; Whole nations unnumbered that overthrew, And pyramids built of the dead. I am toil-worn now and tortured with pains, And shorn of my strength and my skill ; The current of life travels slow in my veins, But my spirit is conquerless still. The sunlight of youth from the years of the past, Is beaming in brilliancy now ; The glory unfading — that ever may last, Shines full on my war-beaten brow. Bear my old form on its couch to yon shore, 'Neath the bright and beautiful sky ; Let me look on the sun and the sea once more, And then like a warrior die. Stern Death I have dared in the fierce war-storm, Where he laid his myriads low; And now that I'm old, and enfeebled my form, I'll fall with my face to my foe. THE DRUNKARD'S TOAST. One bumper mure, come fill it up ! — Up to the gilded rim ! By all my hopes were pledged the cup, To Death, — I'd drink to him. They say he's lurking in the wine, That runs so red and clear : Then let me drink, the deed is mine, I'll conquer cup and fear. The warrior on the tented field, That fights to win a name, Before him holds the brazen shield, That mocks the sabre's aim. But here unharnessed and unhelmed, I stand my cup beside ; I think of thousands overwhelmed, And quaff its radiant tide. What though a mother's voice should call, And curse me for the deed ; Like idle wind the words would fall, I've other things to heed. 232 the drunkard's toast. What though the bitterness and tears, Of her I've sworn to love, Should tell the joys of other years, Dost think my heart would move ? Nor wife's lament, nor mother's wail, Nor murdered children's moan ; Could make this valiant spirit fail, It moves for rum alone. Delightful drop ! I love thee well, Before thee, here I bow ; I'd drink thee if the flames of hell Were dancing on thee now. Come on my boys ! 'tis sparkling bright, Ha ! how it thrills me through ; Hurra ! I'm swimming in delight, Cup ! here's a health to you. Fill up again, — were souls my gift, I'd give them for my cup ; And did the dregs damnation lift, I'd drink the latest drop. WE PASS AWAY Why do the lovely flowers so soon Grow pale and fade 1 The bright — the beautiful at noon, At eve are dead. And why do pleasant moments fly So swift away '( A few short years go gladly by And we are grey. The blossoms in the shower and sun, Rear their heads high, But soon their brilliant race is run, — They droop and die. And like the lovely flowers, awhile On earth we bloom ; — Pass through the change of tear and smile Down to the tomb. 20* DEATH WAS AT THE FEAST I stood before the pictured walls, A sad and gloomy guest, Though hundreds through the lighted halls, Joined in the giddy feast. Light hearts met on the mansion floor, And sounds of joy pealed high ; But e'er that night of mirth was o'er, The wildest wished it by. Gay ones skipped through the dancing room, With light and playful tread ; Cheeks were flushed with the goblet's bloom,- Lips in its light were red. Filled to the brim was the shining cup, Its vapory fumes rose high ; Its gilded edge to the lip was up, — Its sparkling in the eye. And when the cup had passed around, Then came the thrilling song ; Sweet voices with enchanting sound, The wild notes bore alone:. DEATH WAS AT THE FEAST. 235 Hours flew swift through the glittering hall, Like meteors on the wind ; The bright came first at the festival. The gloomy were left behind. Where are the flowers that bound the brow. Of the beautiful and gay ? Alas ! the flowers have withered now — The beautiful passed away. And where are the lips that moved in sung ?— The hearts that danced in delight ? A cloud passed over the sporting throng, And left ih its rear a blight. No parting bowl to the brim was filled.. Music ceased on the air; The cup fell o'er and the wine was spilled, For trembling hearts were there. I hurried from the hall alone. With a burning on my breast ; For mournful songs came rolling on, And Death was at the Feast. THE DEAD CHILD "She clasped the dead infant to her heart, and carried it for days, and when at last the sailors determined to cast it into the sea, they were obliged to steal it from her arms while she slept." — Stories of the Sea. Fresh blew the breeze, the bounding barque, Went lightly o'er the shining sea ; The shoutings of the joyous crew, Swept with the breezes merrily. The sturdy seamen proudly strode The deck floors of their strong sea-home ; As gaily o'er the waves they sped, Awhile in distant lands to roam. 'Twas joy to watch the wild sea-foam, Tossing upon the billows' crest; Then sinking in the sea away, Like pearls upon the ocean's breast. 'Twas joy to watch the white-caps rise, And roll in myriads on the deep ; — To see the sea-birds in their glee, Above the swelling surges sweep. THE DEAD CHILD. 287 For days the bark went proudly on, Then with the rolling of the surge, Arose a fearful wail that seemed The swelling of an ocean dirge. Shrill o'er the winds and waves, it swept In sorrow's accents, sad and low, And seamen, w T ith suspicious looks, Asked, who should sleep the depths below. What means the sea-bird's solemn shriek As wildly on the wind she flies ? The monsters of the deep are near, That follow when a messmate dies. The troubled tars stood all aghast, — The wail of death was on the seas ; It swept below, — 'twas heard on high — It came on every passing breeze. Slowly and solemnly the crew Their long accustomed labors bore, Though they with merry hearts had done The same, a few short hours before. Although upon the mighty sea, No tempest could their souls subdue ; They gazed in dread upon the waves And startled wheu the low winds blew. 238 THE DEAD CHILD. The stout commander paced his room, x\nd pondered in his burning thought The scene of dark astonishment, That had such wild forebodings wrought. "All hands on deck !" he sternly cried, And hardy crew and ladies fair, With terror in their hearts and eyes, Rushed suddenly around him there. "Where is the dead? what sea-worm form, Or figure of the gentle maid Is wasting here and soon must in Its winding-sheet of waves be laid ? "Search for the sleeper, high and low, Search for the pale and fallen brow, That far away from home and friends, In death's deep gloom reposes now ?" The barque was swept from bow to stern, The search, the sturdiest onward led ; None in the hold or hatches slept, And still the wail was, "where's the dead?" Amid the crowd a mother moved, Whose heart of grief the scene had wrung ; Close to her breast she clasped her babe, And hurried through the throng and sung. THE DEAD CHILD. 239 She searched as if her soul's best hopes Were buried in some deep recess ; She would have wept but had no tears, Her speechless sorrow to express. She shrunk from those around, and gazed With anxious meaning on each eye; And clinging closer to the child. To soothe it, sung the lullaby. The cherub minded not the song, Nor felt the hearings of the breast That held it from the heedless waves ; — Its little soul had flown to rest. And days passed on ere from that heart, The lowly sleeper might be moved ; The mother could not give the sea The little idol that she loved. Wearied with watching, on the shrouds When the worn mother bowed in sleep ; They stole her angel from her arms, And gave it to the rolling deep. SAD WHEN ALONE. Inscribed to the fair friend who said she was never happy except in company There's laughter in my eye I know, And bloom upon my cheek ; But sadly riven is my heart, And beats as if 'twould break. 'Tis true with pearls I bind my brow, And braid my raven hair ; But in my heart is raging now, The fever of despair. I mingle with the giddy throng, And like a bird I sing ; And in the wildering dance I move, A light and lively thing. I'm always gay 'mid laughing crowds, On Pleasure's tide that roll : But ah ! they little know the pain, That pierces to the soul. Alone, I love to watch my flowers, And weep to see them fade ; They flourish in the morning sun, And wither in the shade. THE DEAD. 241 I see them fall, and often think, How like my heart they are, Wearing high hope, 'mid happy friends, But when alone — despair. My hopes are shadows of a dream, That glitter as they fly ; And I am but a fading flower, To bloom awhile and die. O when I leave this world of change, I would that I might go, Where friends remain in happy crowds, And fadeless flowers grow. THE DEAD. Life's fitful fever done, they sleep Securely on the green earth's breast No pain may e'er assail them there, Nor care disturb their sacred rest. Worms feed upon their wasting clay That slumbers in the little space ; And few they leave behind them here, E'er envy them their resting place. 21 UNBELIEF. Look forth upon the glorious sun, That swims yon sea of blue ! For ages he hath shone as bright, As beautiful, as true. Ask him if he assumed his strength, And sprung upon his throne ; And if he means, through ages yet, To roll in light alone. Go ! when at eve the pale moon throws Her silver o'er the sea ; And sheds her mild and mellowed light O'er mountain, vale and lea ; And ask her if by chance she rose Upon the deep blue sky, Or if the power of God hath fixed Her orbit upon high. Go ! when the night her dusky veil O'er half the world hath spread ; And gaze upon the starry troops That sparkle overhead ; UNBELIEF. 243 And ask them if blind accident Doth regulate their laws; Or if they move at the command Of God, their "great first cause." Go ! stand upon the ocean sands, Where winds and waters meet, While zephyrs play about thy head, — Light surges at thy feet, Ask of the breeze that listeth by, And of the bounding wave, Who sent them forth in mystery ? — If chance their beings gave ? Go ask yon oak, whose branches move Majestic on the breeze, Who placed him there in pride to reign, A prince among the trees. And ask the vine, whose tendrils clasp The monarch's sturdy form, Why she doth cling so closely there, In sunshine and in storm. At evening, when the world is still, Bend on the flowery sod ; And list the anthem, growing things Are sending up to God. And ask, why mute thy soul should be, 'Mid Nature's thankful throng; — Ask why thou hast no notes of praise To mingle with their song. 244 dust. Go scomer, when the lightnings flash Their lurid flames abroad ; And when the rolling thunders speak The goings forth of God ; Go ! ask thy faithless, failing heart, Why, in that awful hour, If God's great name it doth despise, It trembles at his power ? DUST. Receptacle of nations ! in thy gloom Kings and their subjects peacefully repose, Nor dream of weariness, nor gilded ease. Like stars on Time's horizon, mighty men, Arise in power and in majesty, Moving in their glory and their strength Upon the shifting winds of circumstance, Which smoothly glide, or in fierce tempests sweep ; They gather greatness in their upward flight, And from the burning zenith pass to death, Where all distinction must forever fade ; What though 'tis said, "here Alexander sleeps ?"— Or "there Napoleon V — all are dust. BEAR OUT THE DEAD. Bear out the dead! Stay ! 'tis thy father's form that lies Now before thy streaming eyes ; See round his head — How light is laid The wreath of death, how dark its gloom ? My father's form ! God of the just ! I had rather, Give my own body to the dust, Than my father Should now be carried to the tomb ; But around his withering brow The lines of death have gathered now ; — Bear out the dead ! Bear out the dead ! Stay yet again ! thy mother's form, Soon shall feed the worthless worm ; Behold how deep, — How still her sleep ! How limitless is death's control ? 21* 246 BEAR OUT THE DEAD. My mother's form ! O ! 'tis unkind To take my mother, My first, my last, my dearest friend ; — I would not smother Feelings now that wring my souL How pale she looks ? the monster's hold Is on her heart — her cheek how cold ? Bear out the dead ! Bear out the dead ! It is thy brother, once so fair, That now in death lies sleeping there ; The soul has fled And with the dead, Safe the body sleeps, and lone. My only brother ! spare my heart, There is no other, From whom it is so hard to part ; O my brother ! Best beloved, and art thou gone 1 Death has marred both cheek and brow, The corse is hideous to me now ; — Bear out the dead ! Bear out the dead ! It is the sister of tlry love — The beautiful companion dove, Though years of youth — Of guileless truth And gentleness, that passed with thee. My sister ! — she I loved so well ! BEAR OUT THE DEAD. 247 And now so pale ? O who the reft heart's woes may tell ? — The rending wail Of sorrow, and the cemetery ? Alas her life ! how bright — how brief? She faded like spring's early leaf: Bear out the dead ! Bear out the dead ! It is thy child lies sleeping there, How white its little face and fair I 'T has past the bourne Whence none return ; A stranger now to grief and pain. My child ! O God my heart will break ! My head is wild ! O cruel, cruel Death to take Away that child ; O give me back my babe again ! But one more look, my last request, Now bear it to its lonely rest. Bear out the dead ! THE WEARY CRUSADER. Away — away with the plume and crest ! — Away with the glittering spear ! And bear me back to my beautiful west, For I'm hungry and perishing here. take from my bosom, this vest of steel, — From my wrist, these brazen bands ! And my shrinking flesh once more let me feel, With my shrivelled and sunburnt hands. Away — away with the warrior's fame ! — Away with his brilliant hopes now ! I've labored for glory and gained a proud name, But the cold earth pillows my brow. 1 forsook the green hills of my own bright land, And the valleys all blooming and fair, I have passed o'er the sea, — through the desert sand, And here I must die in despair. Away — away with the gilded star ! — Away with the lance I have borne ! To gaze on the home of my heart afar, I'd give the high honors I've worn. TO THE POTOMAC. 249 Of what avail are my tears and toil, And the blood that my hands have shed ? The bones of my comrades cover the soil, And the Turk stalks over the dead, i Away — away with the shout that rung, "We swear in the name of God To hang the Cross where the Crescent hung, Though its staff should be stained with blood/' Henceforth wave the Cross o'er the christian land, Let the Crescent o'er this be unfurled, 'Till the banner of God in his own right hand Shall be waved o'er a wondering world. TO THE POTOMAC. Beautiful river ! on thy buoyant waves, How many fleets have floated, and how oft The loud "Yo heave" has echoed from thy shores, As the old sailor ncared his happy home, That like a bower rested on thy banks, And sung for very gladness at the thought Of hailing those he loved — his wife — his child — From whom the waves had parted him so long. THE PLOUGH-BOY. The sun looks over the mountain now, I must be out and after my plough ; Old Heather-hill must be broken to-day, With my bonny steeds I must away, — O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry, While others sleep, My song shall sweep — O'er Heather-hill so high ; Gee up a hoy ! I'll shout with joy ; The sound shall reach the sky. There's not a cloud to be seen all around, In a twinkle I'll be on the ground ; And plough each furrow to a line, With my bonny steeds drest up so fine, — O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; And crack my whip, The steeds shall skip, Like wind the heather by, — Gee up a hoy ! There's not a boy Can shout as loud as I. THE PLOUGH-BOY. 251 How oft I've played on old Heather-side While soft winds blew in their summer tide ; My play-ground must to the ploughshare swell, Drawn by the steeds I love so well ; O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry, While every break The plough shall make, Will bring tears to my eye. Gee up a hoy, My song of joy, Each note shall draw a sigh. If I plough that hill from hedge to end I mar the face of a faithful friend ; And sadly I'll drive each furrow through, With the finest steeds that ever drew, — O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry Though tears like rain, Pour down amain, The song shall swell full high. Gee up a hoy ! No thing shall cloy The strains that woes defy. But soon on the hill we'll sow the grain, The suns of spring and the summer rain Will throw on its breast a robe of green, — They're the finest steeds that ever were seen : O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry. 252 THE PLOUGH-BOY. Though tears may drop, I'll plough in hope Of happier days by and by ; Gee up a hoy ! Though woes annoy, When pleasure comes they fly. Gee up a hoy ! 'tis the song I love, Deep in my heart are its notes inwove ; Should manhood lead me to other climes, I'll think of my bonny steeds sometimes ; O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; Through many a year The song as clear With life and me shall hie, — Gee up a hoy ! The song of joy Shall never, never die. And if in distant lands I fall, Far from my home my friends and all ; One thought shall pass from my bed of death To the steeds I loved 'till my latest breath, — O how I'll make them fly, Gee up a hoy ! I'll cry ; My boyish song Shall be borne along With the breezes as they fly. Gee up a hoy ! Will lips employ, When low in death am I. TO ALEXZENA. I came, the stranger of an hour, To thy ancestral shade ; — Wandered awhile where tree and flower Their loveliness displayed. The fields, late blooming with the grain, Still wore the golden hue That summer suns, and summer showers Over their bosoms threw. Reapers adown their yellow sides, Their glittering scythes had swung; And happy hearts exultingly, The harvest home had sung. Seasons of beauty, yet to come, May Alexzena know ; And pass amid her peaceful bowers A bright sojourn below. And when about her flowery walks Her feet may cease to rove, O may she meet her loved, and shout The harvest home above. 22 TO CHARLOTTE THE PA S T. Charlotte ! Time is onward rolling To the past's unbounded sea ; The knell of moments, ever tolling, Warn us of eternity. In gloom or shine the stream is pouring. Swift in calm as stormy blast ; Unnumbered ages safely storing In the ocean of the past. Life, upon the rapid river, With the current rolls away ; Doomed its millions to deliver, Where Time's richest ruins lay. All the pride and shame of ages, Earthly honours, false and true ; Folly's crowds and Wisdom's sages Pass into that ocean too. TO CHARLOTTE. 255 Wealth and worth and worthless creatures, Rich in fame, or in disgrace ; — Beauteous forms and haggard features, Throng that all absorbing place. Men of ignorance and learning, Meet upon the boundless plain ; Kings and those — all titles spurning, Mingle in the mighty train. Conquerors and conquered greeting, To their equal home repair ; Lords and slaves each other meeting, Level all distinction there. Earth's varied millions, all must travel, To that resting place for man ; And there the mysteries unravel, Which on earth they cannot scan. Time's restless tide is ever rolling, To the past's unbounded sea ; The knell of moments ever tolling, Charlotte, — warn both you and me. A SAD HOUR. O no I am not happy now, My days of joy have fled; And I've no place of peace whereon To rest my weary head. The hopes I hallowed when my life Was calm as summer sea, Were withered by some tempest wind, And blighted came to me. Like stars, in the rich light of youth They strewed the orient o'er ; — Like stars they hurried to their west, And set to rise no more. I gazed upon them, when afar, All radiantly they shone ; Alas that they should fade and fall, And leave me here alone ! I only look for happiness Beyond this world of care ; And gladly will I hail the grave To slumber sweetly there. PROCRASTINATION I saw a boy throw back his golden locks, And run as eagerly as though his life Depended on the issue, — in the chase Of light air-bubbles that himself had blown ; And when his mother's voice, in mellow tones, Came after him, commanding his return, He dashed the sweat-drops from his heated brow, And turning round, with sad beseeching look, Said "Mother, I'll come presently." I saw the boy amid the change of years ; His locks of gold were giving up their place, And thicker — darker folds, began to crown His rising forehead ; on his features fair Time's glowing sunlight in its passage threw A stronger, sturdier texture — and his form Assumed a statelier mien, — erect and stern. The plaited ruffles he so long had worn, Were laid aside forever; o'er his coat There neatly turned a collar, plain and white, And he seemed glad that he had thrown away The childish garb that he was once so proud of. 22* 258 PROCRASTINATION. Yet was he bent upon his boyish sports; And when I saw him in his rising youth, He leaned against a tree, anear a stream, And with his penknife he was cutting out A mimic boat to float upon the waves ; And on his purpose, so intent was he, That when his mother called, he only deigned His whittling for a brief space to postpone ; And as he raised reluctantly his eyes, He with an angry countenance replied "Mother, I cannot come /" and he went on To chip the fragments from the wood he held. The boy grew up to manhood — scarce a line Of what he was in childhood and in youth, Was left upon his tall and robust form, To tell he was the same ; but still I knew That it was he — and I remembered well The bubble that he chased, and tiny boat So anxiously he floated on the stream. His childish deeds were buried in the past, And all his boyhood's wayward sports were done But his resisting heart was still the same. His mother took him gently by the hand, And said in pleasant and subduing tones, With all the confidence a parent feels When she addresses a beloved son, — k 'My dear, you'll go with me to church to-day !" He turned abruptly on his heel and cried, "Mother, I will not!" and he blushed for shame, As in his sullenness, he skulked away. PROCRASTINATION. 259 I saw him in the temple of his God, He'd wandered there as to some hall of mirth, To while the hour away. The laws of heaven, Like thunder from the faithful pastor's lips, Fell on his stubborn heart ; their force he felt, And big tears chased each other down his cheeks. The spirit stirred within him, but he said, "Not this time, — to-morrow 1 shall call for thee.'" A week passed by; the guilty man was laid Low on his death-couch, and his trembling soul Was troubled at the dread array of crime That memory's faithful mirror showed him then ; The false to-morrow that deceived him long, Came on him suddenly ; he made the call That he had promised; but he called in vain, The injured spirit now refused to hear, And left him in that last and gloomy hour In all his deep infirmity and sin, To fight with Terror's king. THY LOVE. It rises like a sun of joy- On life's uncertain sea ; When passion's waves roll wild and high, Its light is shed on me. I hail it when around my path, Clouds of misfortune lower ; And in affection's depths 1 feel Its soothing — softening power. 'Tis lovely as the light of heaven, As brilliant and as pure ; And shines alike in storm and calm, Life's fadeless Cynosure. The world without its beams would be A wilderness of gloom, — A dreary pathway to a dark And yet more dreary tomb. When like a wanderer I seem, Unblest by friendship's smile ; — W r hen no kind spirit lingers near, My sorrows to beguile ; — THY LOVE. 261 As a sweet minister of bliss, It comes upon my heart ; And doth in its subduing strength, A priceless peace impart. How turns the sea-boy from the wave, As dear as hope to him, To gaze on the receding shores In distance growing dim 1 How fall the quick, unconscious tears Into the foaming brine, As round his little heart he feels Affection's tendrils twine 1 He thinks of the dear home he left, Beyond the seas afar ; And wonders if 'tis bright as e'er, And how the loved ones are. Insensibly the tide of wo, Athwart his bosom sweeps ; His face he buries in his hands, And bitterly he weeps. The grief that gathers at his heart, No circumstance can move, 'Till like a star amid the storm, Beams forth — a mother's love. A mother's love — how sweet it comes O'er throes of aching ill ; In soothing accents .suit and low, It whispers — peace, be still! 262 THE SEA -BOY'S LOVE. And ever when pale sorrow sweeps O'er me, her siroc breath ; I'll seek the star whose beams can cheer The dreariness of death. It comes, — a spirit from the past, My weakness to reprove ; 'Tis all of hope — of life to me, That sainted thing — thy love. THE SEA-BOY'S LOVE. I love the bounding ocean, Its proud majestic swell ; To gaze on its commotion, In storms, doth please me well. To see the billow sweeping Up where the stars may roam ; The clouds like curtains steeping Their foldings in its foam.— To see the sportive lightning Blaze from the tempest high ; The sea's deep centre whit'ning, Down where the jewels lie — Is dearer than the pleasure The landsman meets on shore ; 'Tis more to me than treasure To sail the blue seas o'er. TO THE PATAPSCO How oft bright river, it lint li been my joy To gaze upon thy beauty ? how my heart, In the glad season of its youth hath leapt In ecstacy of bliss, when the light waves Have rolled from thy blue bosom to the shore, And laid their freight of foam, like glittering pearls, In seeming exultation at my feet ? I've wandered by thy waters from the dawn, Till dewy eve hath wrapped thee in its shade ; And as a child upon the well known face Of its fond mother, might intently gaze, And wonder at the mysteries that seem To mingle with each lovely feature there : — So I have watched the light and playful surge That walked upon thy surface, and have felt Rapture that rushes with the youthful blood, When pleasure high into the channel strikes. Fairest of rivers ! when the evening sun Hath sot behind the ridge of dusky blue, That belts the brilliant city at thy head, I've knelt beside thy softly sweeping surge 264 TO THE PATAPSCO. In boyish gladness on the golden beach, And bent my head low on the glittering sands, To list the anthem of thy gentle waves, That like the rushing of a sea nymph's wings, Rose up from thy bright bosom. 'Twas thy deed Of deep thanksgiving ; and my soul hath poured, In perfect unison with the blessed strains, Its sacrifice of praise up to the heaven, That gave its welcome to our offering pure. I love thee, beauteous river ! for my heart Hath learned religous inspiration from thee ; And when in the cool twilight now I kneel, To lift my evening prayer, I think of thee ; — Fancy brings up before me thy bright waves, And the rich heaven so clearly mirrored there ; And though I may not be as happy now As when my boyhood bound thee in its love, Yet do I feel that our companionship, Hath been of service to me — for it taught My young and unsophistocated breast, At first to love thy peerless self, and then The God that made and gave thee to my heart. MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN.* Sunlight has faded from the flowery hills, And evening o'er the fragrant heights is blushing . And lowly murmurs of the mountain rills, Whose limpid waters o'er the rocks are gushing, Meet on the air in music, and the sound Swells o'er the stillness of the solemn hour, And with the grandeur on the heavens around, Fall on the feelings with subduing power, And woo the weary mind from scenes of bustling life To wander in its shades — away from all its strife. Moment for meditation ! how I feel Thy solitude ? And while the dews are weeping, From the abodes of living men I steal, To muse in silence where the dead are sleeping : And now Mount Auburn, while amid thy gloom, From mound to mausoleum I may go, May I remember that the dreary tomb, Its dismal arras will around me throw; And while man's frail mortality may moulder here, The soul, unhurt by sin, may seek a better sphere. * Cemetery, near Boston. 23 266 MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. And multitudes who tread these sacred aisles, Where buds and blossoms in their pride are growing, With cheeks of vermil and their lips in smiles — While yet the bowers all beautiful are glowing, Struck by the monster in their prime may fall ; And weeping friends, with 'fainting steps and slow,' May bear their bodies 'neath the sable pall To their lone rest — the flowery turf below, And then return to mingle with the busy throng, Sport carelessly awhile, and follow them ere long. I come to commune with the voiceless crowd, And gather wisdom in the tide of feeling That rushes with the thoughts of pall and shroud, When melancholy o'er the mind is stealing ; And if beside the cenotaph I tread, Whose sculpture doth some history reveal ; Or o'er the ashes of less honored dead, On the green sward, in deepest awe I kneel, 'T may seem as though some sleeper's spirit did with mine Hold hallowed converse beside the lowly shrine. Beneath me here in silence doth repose, The dust of the great Spurzheim : he whose spirit So like a thing of heaven high uprose, As if its spotless heirdom to inherit Before the tabernacle of its time's sojourn Had worn out half its years, and he has gained, Beyond the dark unfathomable bourne, A shining home where science ever reigned : MUSINGS IS M OUNT AUBURN. *-i<'»7 And he, improving still, in intellectual might, May wing his way lor ever through the halls of light. The stainless marble that doth mark the spot Where the great philosopher lies decaying, Is more than cpitaphed, though it hath not The fulsome eulogy that Friendship praying, — Full oft on the unconscious slab doth write, To rear o'er the unworthy ; as though the deed. The dead could rescue from disgraceful night. And their memorial clothe in Virtue's meed : "Spurzheim" is all the ice-cold marble doth contain. The name itself is history, ami unisi e'er remain. And here, a sunwy shaft, an Ashmun's worth Hath memoried in marble — proudly telling That mind, when fails its monument of earth, Doth seek a higher and a holier dwelling — In realms congenial to its growing power. Where uncreated and unclouded day, The spirit's lofty and eternal dower. Its ever brightening splendours doth array : And the free mind, unfettered in its high career. Is soaring ever upward through its boundless sphere. Von tall oak shelters Hoffman's resting place, In youth he started fur the pearl of glory ; — With vigor ran his intellectual race, And ere Fame's iron pen had marked his story Death winged the fatal arrow, and he fell — 268 MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. Fell while the path to eminence he trode ; — For whom the partial Gods do love full well, Are taken early to their blest abode ; The marble tells his worth to all who walk this grove > His spirit wanders o'er the blissful fields above. This temple-tomb is from Italia's shore, Cut from the quarry of a classic mountain, Adown whose side did classic waters pour, Sparkling like silver from the wild- wood fountain. In gazing on its beauty — how the heart Leaps in its fulness as the thoughts arise Of the fair land afar that cradled Art, And looked on Science with a mother's eyes ! That she should rend in twain her hills where beauty blooms, Marring their loveliness to give the nations tombs. Perchance Boccaccio once was seen to stand On the tall mount amid its crown of flowers ; Or Dante heard to sing his favorite land While wandering among her blooming bowers ; And other worthies may have stood upon The soil that hid this marble from their sight, And told of cities that the sword had won ; Or kingdoms crushed by the usurper's might. And this thrice lovely tomb perhaps may be the part Of some tall temple that adorns that land of Art. MUSINGS IN MOUNT AUBURN. VJGO Low in yon valley by the little lake, Whose waters now are in the moonlight sparkling, In the deep slumber that no voice can wake, Lies Hannah Adams, and around her darkling Hang the deep shadows of the ravine wild, As if stern Nature had her gloom weeds worn To weep in solitude o'er a favorite child, Whom some rude monster from her love had torn ; Adams, the sweet " Historian of the Jews," she sleeps While man her works and learning in memorial keeps. Beneath this little mound, whose breast doth bear A mimic forest of the fairest roses, A sleeper, taken from this world of care Ere wo had touched its path — in sleep reposes. The slumber of the innocent is sweet, And like the peace of heaven is the tomb Where, covered in its snow-white winding-sheet. The infant form is laid within its gloom ; Youth, bloom, and loveliness are alike the prey Of the relentless tyrant; — all must own his sway. Beside the hillock is a longer grave, And near the valley's ivy'd edge, another, The forms they hide were worn by sorrow's wave : The father sleeps in that, in this the mother. Of these, a saddening story hath been told Of keen misfortune in their early love ; Though young in years, they w r ere in sorrow old : And gladly left the world for heaven above. 23* 270 SHE FADED. And while beneath the turf their bodies are at rest, On high their ransomed spirits wander with the blest I lean against this granite column now, And while pale Cynthia is her silver shedding Through the thick foliage on my aching brow, I think upon the steps that I've been treading. And in my heart's sincerity I pray These solemn scenes may be a lesson true, And the deep meditations of this day, May be my monitor life's journey through. And when I leave this world of trial, may I tread The blissful aisles of heaven with Mount Auburn's dead. SHE FADED Like a fair flower on the river's banks The beauteous maiden grew ; the bloom she wore On her young cheek, was such as nature paints Upon the bright carnation, and her heart By sophistry untouched, — gave out its love Pure as a first affection. But the worm — Of disappointment, fixed upon her heart A festering wound that ruined her rich hopes, And blighted happiness forever. SOUTHERN FLOWERS. AJI ctionati ly inscribed to my niece, Sarah Emily Austin, of Nash- When the dusky shades of night, From the darkened aether fly ; And the moon with rosy light, Rises on the eastern sky, To some verdant slope I stray, And wandering through the vine-clad bowers, I muse on Emma — far away Fairest of the southern ilowers. Young and joyous, she is now, — Bright as summer blossoms are ; And her fair and snowy brow Bears not yet a mark of care. Laughter sparkles in her eye, Like sunshine alter April showers ; No blossom may with Emma vie Among the sweet southern flowers. V Nature's rouge is on her cheeks, Pencilled by a perfect hand, And the florid hue bespeaks Freshness for the favored land. 272 SOUTHERN FLOWERS. Where forests crown the skyward hills, And valleys are bestrewn w T ith bowers ; And the gentle mountain rills, Water all the southern flowers. Happy in her sunny home, Sportive as the light gazelle ; O'er the hills 'tis sweet to roam, With the friends that love her well. May life's sun shed golden beams Upon her path : — and future hours ! — May they be as pleasant dreams, Crowned with blooming southern flowers. And when the light of sterner years, On her lovely cheek may shine ; 'Mid dimmer hopes and darker fears, When youth's brilliant dreams decline ; May she, her early bloom retain, And strengthened in improving powers, In energies of mind remain Brightest of the southern flowers. THE ROSE THAT NEVER FADES. Aye — bind the rose upon thy brow ! 'Tis Beauty's spotless throne, And seems so light and laughing now ;• But ere yon brilliant sun, May sink to rest, the flowret's bloom From its bright folds may fade ; And wrapped in vesture for the tomb, May thy sweet form be laid. To his hall of rest, In the golden west, Ere the glorious orb goes down ; That beautiful rose Now so richly that glows May weep o'er its withering crown. And life is like the fading rose, A fleeting — fragile thing : In Nature's garden fair, it grows, Fanned by the winds of spring. — But wintry storms, the rifted core, In angry blasts blow through ; Nipped by disease, its bloom is u'er — It falls as roses do. 274 THE ROSE THAT NEVER FADES In glittering zones, Though the light enthrones The loveliest brow to lave ; A mountain of care, The lone bosom may bear, That may hasten it to the grave. But there's a rose that never fades — That wears the constant bloom Of those delightful everglades, Beyond life's wintry gloom, — Where flow the free exhaustless streams, And spotless seraphs wing ; And ceaseless sunlight richly beams, In bright immortal spring. Religion's sweet rose, In its brilliancy glows In cottage and palace high ; O seek the sweet flower And rejoice in its bower, Forever beyond the bright sky. THE SISTER'S APPEAL, O trust thy sorrows to me now, And make them mine ! Say ! why doth sadness cloud thy brow, That erst did shine, In the rich light of early love, And with my own thy hopes inwove ! Thou art to me a sister dove, And I am thine. When gloom and darkness gather round Thy troubled breast ; — When for thy spirit scarce is found A place of rest ; Then on this bosom seek repose, 'Twill be the soother of thy woes; — Come ! all thy sorrows here disclose — Thou dear distressed. O what is all this world to me, When thou art not The same light-hearted thing and free ; Hast thou forgot 276 the sister's appeal. Those happy hours, when side by side, We sported by Patapsco's tide And watched the sparkling eddies glide — Our feet about ? When arm in arm we wandered there, And gathered flowers Of choicest bloom, to bind our hair ? Those very hours Shall live while memory lives, their light, In after years will burn as bright, And close as now, shall they unite These hearts of ours. When bloom and beauty both shall fade,— When blight shall come, And earth's green glories all are laid Low in the tomb ; — When hope and home become the spoil Of Death, upon the waste we'll smile, And to each other cling the while Above the gloom. In storm and calm alike I'll love And leave thee never; Nor death, nor doom, shall ever move Our hearts to sever : But on that high, eternal shore, Where sadness ne'er shall reach us more, We'll sit and sing our sorrows o'er, And love forever. I'LL THINK OF THEE. I'll think of thee when morn is breaking. Richly o'er the sleeping sea : When my thoughts from dreams awaking, Stir the depths of memory. — When deeds of other days are rushing O'er my mental vision free ; And feeling's waters forth are gushing, Then my love — I'll think of thee. When the weary sun, retiring, Seeks in peace his evening rest, And his latest beam expiring, Fades upon the glorious west. — When the twilight dews are shedding. Balmy tears on flower and tree: And grief upon my heart is spreading- Then my love — I'll think of thee. When the star of eve is sinking, Down the blue and brilliant sky ; — When the myriad orbs are blinking, Weary of their watch on high. — Wht-n the brimming fount of feeling, Sorrow-smitten, gushes fin All its hidden depths revealing. Then my love — I'll think of thee. 24 A MOTHER'S LOVE Hast ever met a brother dear, Or sister, whom thou hast not seen, The many a long and dreary year, That o'er the blue seas thou hadst been ? Hast ever grasped the warm — warm hand, And pressed the lips that spoke thy praise, When thou wert in a foreign land, Wand'ring through Fortune's doubtful maze ? Hast ever in the mansion hall, Hailed thy sire as he passed thee by ? And starting at thy well known call, Hast marked the tear-drop in his eye ? There's majesty in a father's joy — A dignity in the manly tears His glad heart weeps upon his boy, — Fond object of his hopes and fears. Didst e'er a blushing girl surprise, Whom thou hadst fondly loved, and long ? — One, whose lustrous and sparkling eyes, Had been life's starlight, — and whose song a mother's love. '279 Thrilled rapture through thy trusting soul, And threw around thy heart a spell, Stern witness of the deep control She held o'er thee, and wrought full well ? Hast firmly held in thy embrace The mother who has loved thee well ? Hast on her bosom hid thy face, And felt the strong aflection-swell That moved her full heart as she pressed The brow she laid her hands upon In childhood, and as often blessed, With fervor that she shared with none ? What is there like a mother's love, The same in weal or wo to her 1 — What sympathies the soul may move, Like those her throbbing heart that stir ? There's mvsterv in the thoughts that brine: Affection's waters from her breast ; — The fount eternal whence they spring Not even death may put to rest. THOU ART AWAY. Thou art away, where bounding billows Sport upon the changing sea ; Above ten thousand gem wrought pillows, Ever sweeping wild and free. How many hearts that high hopes treasured, Trusted to the treacherous deep ? In its depths, those hopes were measured, And the wild waves o'er them sweep. The waves were peaceful when they started, Gently blew the fragrant breeze : And the friends from whom they parted, Wished them safely o'er the seas. But the storm soon spread before them, And the fretted waves rose high ; The surges wild rolled swiftly o'er them, And in ocean's depths they lie. Above them sweep the raging billows, — Surges of the mighty sea That revel o'er their coral pillows, Wash the white beach mournfully. THOU ART AWAY. 281 The bay was in its beauty sleeping, When upon its tranquil breast, We trusted thee into the keeping, Of Him who lulled its waves to rest. We saw the stately ship that bore thee, Verging to the distant main ; And while the white waves rolled before thee, We prayed thou mightst return again. We trust the God that rules the ocean, — Calms its troubled waves to sleep ; Will watch thee 'mid its wild commotion, — Guard thee while the surges sweep. May he from his throne of glory, On thy head his blessing pour ; — Keep his mighty arm before thee, — Bring thee to thy home once more. We will not fear the billow sweeping, Glorious sunlight gilds its crest; While on its deep blue bosom sleeping, God will guard thee in thy rest. 24* TO ELVIRA. Life's morning sun is on thee now : Its brilliant light Reflected on thy snowy brow Is beaming bright. His glories on thy form he's throwing, Roses in thy path are growing, Light, bloom, and gladness, — all are glowing In their might. The skies above thy head display Their azure hue ; \ No clouds of storm beneath them stray, To dim their blue ; But in the laughing light of pleasure, They seem to show their glowing treasure, Gathered for thee, without measure ; Would they were true ! The fruits and flowers are fresh and fair, That strew thy way ; And blushing beauties rich and rare, Around thee play. TO ELVIRA. 283 Life has lovely, blooming bowers, But all its glittering rosy hours Are winged, and swiftly o'er the flowers] May fly away. But life has clouds that dim the sky, And hide the sun — Damp vapours through the air that fly, By dull winds blown. Though bright to-day, the sun to-morrow From the cloud its gloom may borrow ; — Joy may fade away, and sorrow Usurp its throne. The wreath is twined with joy and wo Alike inwove, The hopes and fears of all below Alternate move. Elvira, — soon life's threads may sever, Then seek dear girl the boon that never Fades nor falls, but blooms forever In climes above. TIME'S IMPRESS. I murmur not that Time has laid His impress on my brow ; — Has changed my cheek, and robed my head In hoary honors now ; These silvery tokens tell that years, All thickly strewn with hopes and fears, Have brought me gloom and shine : — That Pleasure's smiles and Sorrow's tears, Have changed this life of mine. In childhood's garden shade I bowed And plucked its summer flowers ; And youth passed by with scarce a cloud To dim its sunlit bowers ; But childhood's laughing skies went on, And youth's gay glories are all gone — Each leaf is pale and sere ; And bears upon its stem alone The autumn of its year. Yon aged remnants of the past, The forest's side that bound, Throw out their boughs upon the blast, Once rich in foliage crowned ; — time's impress. 285 Now sered and smitten — there they stand, Like way-marks on the wasting land, To tell of years gone by, — Of tempests fierce and showers bland, That passed their changing sky. The old oak, that the storms have hurt, The fading forest tree Throws out his bare arms for support In his infirmity. When humbled 'neath the tempest's tread, The honored relic bows his head, To rest upon the soil ; — He wears the majesty though dead, That Time can never spoil. And years, though swift they flee away. Resistless as the tide ; Their deeds on memory's pages may Eternally abide. Old Time, his never tiring wings, May spread out for his wanderings, And swift through aether sail ; — Though ages in his rear lie llings, His impress cannot fail. . . T * lie beau : ■■a — Suet charming ■ in ■ Bmttkem 7 .:e '.~~