EXTRACTS FROM CRITICISMS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 ••tiife and Landscape, in which peaceful beauty prev.iils, and the sun- 
 shine of the heart is diflused over all objects,"— Kociiester Am. 
 
 ♦May his poems be thumbed, re-read, and worn out in innumerable 
 editions." — Literary World. 
 
 * It is a pleasure indeed to peruse such an author." — Phil. Post. 
 
 * Replete with grace, delicacy, and beauty."— N. Y Cour. & Enq. 
 ♦Splendid music from the very heart strings." — Morning News. 
 ♦These are charming poems, full of chaste beauty."— Evening Post. 
 
 * These effusions stamp the author as one of Nature's bards." — Tribune. 
 
 '' We highly commend his works to all lovers of true poetry." — Mirror. 
 
 ■ They will every year gain a wider celebrity, until they are known 
 and admired wherever our language is spoken."— Phil. Banner. 
 
 A natural, healthy, life-like glow, which delights while it interests 
 the reader."— Hartford Calendar. 
 
 • A collection of some very sweet poems.— Hartford Courant. 
 
 ••The whole poem is a gem of the first water."— Springfield Gaz. 
 
 ' We commend the poem to all lovers of English poetry.— Boston Papkr. 
 
 •'Many hearts may be touched by such strains,-all may be made 
 better."— Newark Advertiser. 
 
 Marked by good sense, correct feeling, and a judicious taste."— 
 Charleston Patriot. 
 
NOTICES OF THE PRESS 
 
 Sketches of Life and LandscaVb.— This is a delightful little book, 
 musical as the monntfiin rill, dreamy as the breath of a summer eve- 
 ning. Mr. HoYT is a poet, and we are sure the author of such sweet 
 poems cannot be a straight-laced sectarian. There is too much bouy- 
 ancy and life, too much naturalness about him for that. He must 
 see God in everything — see him in the clouds and in the manifold life 
 that covers the earth — hear him in the winds and in the babbling 
 brook, and inhale his spirit with the fresh mountain air. He can 
 never be alone, nor tolerate aught but the natural freedom of soul 
 which God breathed into it at its creation. This is what the spirit of 
 this little volume says to us about Mr. Hoyt. Personally we know 
 him not, and although Fame has borne his name to our ears, we know 
 nothing of his peculiar beliefs and tenets. We hope, therefore, be 
 is as good as his book, the profits of ten thousand copies of which 
 the publishers have generously consented to give the author in aid 
 of rebuilding the Good Shepherd Free Church, of which he is Rector, 
 and which was destroyed by the tornado of the 21.st of June last. 
 Surely here is a way presented for giving for a religions purpose, and 
 getting the worth of your money down. " The last Vendue," ths 
 poem that concludes the volume, is a prophetic sermon worth the 
 price of the book. — N. Y. Dispatch. 
 
 Sketches of Life and Landscape, by Rev. Ralph Hoyt. Mr. 
 Hoyt is the Rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd, a free Epis- 
 copal Church in the upper part of the city of New York, which was 
 entirely destroyed by a tornado, on the 21st of June la^t. Efforts 
 are making to obtain funfls for rebuilding it. To aid in that purpose 
 Mr. Hoyt has collected this scries of his poetical sketches, and Messrs. 
 Stanford & Del isser publish them — the profits to be devoted to the 
 fund. Some of them are characterized by great beauty of thought 
 and expression. One lyric, " The World for Sale," has •' gone the 
 rounds" of the press, and been cut out and pasted into numberlesa 
 Bcrap-books. Others have appeared in magazines, buj' most of them 
 are new to the public. — Ai3.vny Evening Journai.. 
 
NOTICES. 
 
 From the Church .lournal. 
 
 A CITY CHURCH AND ITS RECTOR NEGLECTED. 
 
 Messrs. Editors.— A man's conscience is better stirred up late 
 Oian never. On Saturday last I determined to see what I had 
 often read of— "27ie Church of the Good Shepherd^ You know 
 this church is situated in the same street [54th] as- St. Luke's 
 Hospital, but to the east of this near Second avenue. I am par- 
 ticular about noting its location, as its pastor remarked scarcely 
 any one came there to satisfy himself of the need and character 
 
 of the v.'ork. 
 
 Would the Rev. Ralph Hoyt— the known friend of the poor: 
 would that indefatigable laborer, poet, scholar, gentleman have 
 come to this city from the far West, and stated he wanted assis- 
 tance to build a church among the almost destitute to whom he 
 was giving his labors, and not have found all the aid he needed? 
 And would he have come the second time and told New York- 
 ers that just as he saw his building about ready to welcome the 
 poor and outcast, in one short hour the edifice of his toil and 
 prayers had been prostrated by a violent storm, and told this to 
 Churchmen here in vain?— Never. 
 
 That sad catastrophe seemed hkely to reduce the "Good 
 Shepherd to one of those paper churches— organisms kept up for 
 conventional purposes with a name to hve while twice dead- 
 yet testifying to the difficulty of building and supporting church- 
 es in districts where most needed. The single-handed Mission- 
 ary, however, faltered not when his church was in ruins. Some 
 who heard his appeals advised him to abandon so unpromising 
 an effort, however needed. His reply was, "In the foundation 
 of my church are expended four dollars and twenty cents, re- 
 ceived from some very poor women, all in ten, five, and three 
 cent pieces, and I believe the Lord will not sufler these widow's 
 mite to fail in their object." 
 
NOTICES. 
 
 Immediately out of the ruins of the church he erected an hum- 
 ble cottage in the rear — the most of which is appropriated for a 
 neatly arranged chapel where divine service is steadily celebrated. 
 The parlor of the cottage is the vestry room, and the whole house 
 is so arranged as to be thrown open for the use of the congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 But what of the church J A neat Gothic brick building, with 
 good thick walls, has taken the place of the wooden structure de- 
 molished. It is roofed — but its doors, windows, altar end, are 
 open to the weather. A few hundred dollars, hewever, would 
 advance it to a condition for use. And how much it is now 
 needed ! A most heterogeneous mass of people are settled about 
 it, and in one or two years it will stand in the midst of a dense 
 population. I saw no other place of worship in the vicinity. 
 The location is well selected to allow the worthy Rector ample 
 scope for the mission of his heart — labor among Christ s poor. 
 Can we not do something to have his church ready for the many 
 accessions that will be there by Mayday ? I hope the Rector of 
 the Good Shepherd will pardon this liberty, for it appeared to 
 me a duty to make this statement. 
 
 Isaac H. Tuttle, Rector of St. Luke's Church. 
 
 From an Address hy Bishop Doane he/ore the Diocesan Conven- 
 tion of New Jersey^ 1855 — 
 
 " In the afternoon in the Chapel at Fort Lee, the Rev. Mr. Dil- 
 ler (of the Diocese of New York) read prayers, and I preached, 
 and confirmed eighteen persons; the Minister the Rev. Ralph 
 Hoyt, (of the diocese of New York,) reading the Preface. The 
 Rev. Mr. Gries was present. This is another illustration of the 
 expansiveness of Christian love. Mr. Hoyt is the Rector of the 
 Church of the Good Shepherd, in the city of New York, and a 
 most laborious Missionary among the poor. But his home is in 
 the neighborhood of Fort Lee. And finding the people with- 
 out religious influence, the heart of the good Shepherd kindled 
 towards them, aiid he devoted his spare hours to their instruction. 
 He has collectea uliock, and has built a chapel; and the services 
 
of the first Visitation attest God's blessing on his faithfulness. It 
 is a wild, romantic region ; quite Swiss, in its appearance. And 
 I felt as if I had fallen on another Oberlin, or Felix Nefif. The 
 Chapel is a perfect curiosity. It is made up of the odds and 
 ends of a dozen churches — begged by him for this use. And yet 
 the result is good. He is a rare man, this Ealph Hoyt, and a 
 real poet into the bargain. If any Churchman of New Jersey 
 has fifty or a hundred dollars to apply to the best uses, I com- 
 mend him to Ralph Hoyt as his trustee for Christ." 
 
 Let every one who is a lover of the beautiful, as well as every 
 one charitably inclined, buy a copy of Rev. Ralph Hoyt's 
 Sketches of Life and Landscape^ pubhshedby Stanford & Delisser 
 of which the profits go to the Church of the Good Shepherd, 
 lately destroyed in this city. And having been bought, it will 
 be read without doubt, as every thing by the author of "Old' 
 and " Rain," and other delicious poems, is read — 
 
 Harpers' Weekly. 
 
 "ECHOES OF MEMORY AND EMOTION." 
 
 "This is another volume of Rev. R. Hoyt's beautiful poems 
 In this we have the grave and the gay, the philosophic and the 
 humorous, the pathetic and the playful — and all in such a genial 
 good spirit, that one feels, as he reads, that he is acquainted with 
 the gifted and versatile au'-'or. It is just the right kind of a 
 book for the HoHdays. It is serious enough to keep the heart 
 in the right place, and withal joyful enough to awaken mild 
 mirthfulness, and lead the soul into fields of chaste, pure, sweet, 
 and lasting delights. The " Strike" has a brotherly ring for the 
 working-man ; " The White Dragon," echoes a fellow sympathy 
 for the destitute ; " If I were You," has a cheering and guiiling 
 voice for the youth ; " Marriage," contains a touching strain for 
 the newly wedded, and others sustaimng the sacred relation of 
 husband and wife; in the " Elegy" is a sob for the lost little one; 
 "A Mother's Love," is a prayer of filial afl^ection ; "Santaclaus," 
 (illustrated,) contains an exhaustless fund of entertainment for 
 the young ; and — but we must stop : — in short this book seems 
 to contain an echo for every heart in every condition. — 
 
 N. Y. DiSPACTH. 
 
^.^^ 
 
ECHOES 
 
 OF 
 
 MEMORY AiYD EMOTION. 
 
 lY THE AUTHOE OP "LIFE AND LANDSCAPE." 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 A- D. F. RANDOLPH, 68 3 BROADWAY. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HALL, VIRTUE Ji CO., 25 PATERNOSTE H- RO W. 
 1861 
 
•si 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 iluiNED Fold, 11 
 
 Star of the Palisades, i5 
 
 LiND, 31 
 
 BCEMDS, 41 
 
 If I WERE You, 45 
 
 The White Dragon, 49 
 
 Strike, 53 
 
 Smoking-Cap, 55 
 
 Santaclaus, 57 
 
 New-Year, 9I 
 
 Leap in the Dark, 96 
 
 April, .... 99 
 
 Old Rover, 102 
 
 Fourth of July, . . • 107 
 
 Desertkd, 106 
 
 Change, Ill 
 
 Absent Pastor, 115 
 
 Liberty Pole, 11''' 
 
 The Pen 119 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Meditation, 123 
 
 Polish Mowers, 125 
 
 The Test, 127 
 
 Gone Home, . . . . » 129 
 
 Psalm, 131 
 
 Tattletown, 133 
 
 Glad Tidings, 137 
 
 All Gone, 143 
 
 Nothings, 14^ 
 
 Wanderer, 148 
 
 Sevastopo*., 151 
 
 Bewap.e, ... 153 
 
 Filial Loye, . 156 
 
 BRi'iiiT Side, 159 
 
 Faithful Jake, 161 
 
 Out to Battle, • 169 
 
 The Gate, 165 
 
ECHOES 
 
 OP 
 
 MEMORY AND EMOTION 
 
 THE EUINED FOLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 "Wo EPS of Love and hope to bear, 
 Where an outcast snfferer lay, 
 
 Was the Missionary's care, 
 
 As he pressed his earnest way. 
 
 Through the crowded thoroughfare. 
 On a darksome, wintry day. 
 
 II. 
 
 All absorbed by sin and woe — 
 
 How to grapple — ^how to cheer — 
 Sudden seemed the earth to glow, 
 
 With an heavenly atmosphere, 
 
 And sweet flowers to bud and blow. 
 
 As an angel's step were near. 
 11 
 
THE RUINED FOLD. 
 
 m. 
 
 Onward still lie wondering sped ; 
 
 Was it real, was it a dream ? 
 Seemed all sin and sorrow fled, 
 
 And all life a peaceful stream, 
 So the lovely vision spread, 
 
 As beneath a wand supreme. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Came a stranger to liis side, 
 
 Gently spake witli kindly smile, 
 
 Sir, thou art a Christian guide, 
 
 Tell me where thy flock the while, 
 
 The dear Fold where they abide. 
 That the wolf may not beguile. 
 
 V. 
 
 Melted then the Pastor's heart, 
 Gushed emotion from his eye ; 
 
 Now his grief he must impart, 
 In a sad and true reply : — 
 
 Mine to share my Master's part, 
 Home nor folded flock have I. 
 
 12 
 
TB.JO. KUINED FOLD. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Witli my liiimble, lionseless sheep, 
 Mine as roll the seasons o'er, 
 
 Still to wander, watcli, and weep : 
 Poor wrecked mariners ashore, 
 
 Ceaseless vigil still to keep, 
 But all homeless evermore. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Soft again the stranger spake, 
 Kay, thy toil shall not be vain. 
 
 For the great Good Shephekd's sake, 
 Thou hast borne such care and pain ; 
 
 Let thy heart with hope awake, 
 Thou shalt not despair again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 With thee still thy Lord shall be, 
 
 All his promises are sure ; 
 These abounding tokens see, 
 
 By his spirit all made pure: 
 Be thou faithful whispereth He, 
 
 Great thy joy if thou endure. 
 
 13 
 
THE EUINED FOLD. 
 IX. 
 
 Ask, and lo, tliou shalt receive, 
 And tlie temple soon shall rise, 
 
 'T is liis work, his word believe, 
 
 Faith hath power o'er earth and sMes. 
 
 Go in peace, no more to grieve. 
 Courage I thou shalt win the prize I 
 
 X. 
 
 Passed the sweet illusion bv, 
 Came again the wo and shame. 
 
 War, oppression, tear and sigh ; 
 
 Earth, through all her ruined frame, 
 
 Sending up a mighty cry — 
 Haste the Gospel to proclaim I 
 
 XI. 
 
 Christians hear the humble call ; 
 
 Give a beam, a stone, a nail ; 
 Plant a rafter on the wall ; 
 
 Say the feeble shall not fail I 
 
 ye earnest-hearted, all. 
 
 Bid the Ark of God prevail I 
 14 
 
STAK OF THE PALISADES. 
 
 The following poem was written on the heights of the Palisades, 
 among the ruins at Fort Lee. The remains of the regimental 
 quarters are very numerous, affording an Impressive and pic- 
 turesque study for the tourist and antiquarian. The location 
 is on the western shore of the Hudson, some ten miles above 
 Hoboken. 
 
 I. 
 
 Where Hudson wakes Ms tunefal sliell 
 To bid tlie Palisades farewell, 
 
 As, o'er the western wave, on high, 
 Their rocky turrets meet the sky, 
 
 A frowning summit seems to say. 
 Ye people, ponder well the day 
 
 When heroes climbed these crags so drear, 
 
 And planted Freedom's standard here. 
 15 
 
THE STAR OF 
 II. 
 
 To recreative hour inclined, 
 
 A patriot yontli of musing mind, 
 The devious rugged pathway found, 
 
 And stood upon that hallowed ground. 
 There pensive by a ruined wall, 
 
 That oft had turned the deadly ball, 
 And sheltered many a weary head, 
 
 Not pillowed yet on battle's bed, 
 An ancient pilgrim sat at rest, 
 
 Whom thus the venturous youth addressed. 
 
 III. 
 Good father, mournful yet sublime 
 
 These records of the olden time ; 
 
 Each mossy stone more dear to thee 
 
 Than any ghttering gem could be. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Serenely spoke the reverend sage. 
 
 Fair youth might I thine ear engage, 
 This storied scene I could exceed. 
 
 And show a gem of worth indeed I 
 
 The youth drew near the ancient man. 
 
 And thus his wondrous story ran. — 
 16 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 V. 
 
 Tliere is afar a land most fair, 
 
 And happj all tlie dwellers tliere, 
 Yet once a youtlifal son would roam 
 
 To other climes from tliat sweet liome, 
 Long years percliance to sigli apart. 
 
 From all that cheered his eje and heart. 
 High born he was, and wealth untold 
 
 As 'twere in waves around him rolled ; 
 Parental love so bounteous gave 
 
 Whate'er of joy the soul can crave, 
 And he, all artless and unstained. 
 
 Gave back in worth the love he gained. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ah, sad to leave such blest abode, 
 To travel life's uncertain road ; 
 
 In far unfriendly lands to learn. 
 
 What sore reward his toils would earn. 
 
 Yet haply pain might prove a prize ; 
 For perils oft instruct the wise : 
 
 As some brave bark when skies are clear 
 
 Forth launching on her gay career, 
 17 
 
THE STAR OF 
 
 Drinks tlie sweet breeze witli eager sail, 
 
 Still glorying in the freshening gale ; 
 When night and tempests o'er the wave, 
 
 With terrors try the strong and brave, 
 On the wild surges rudely tost, 
 
 Till anchor, spar, and pinnace lost. 
 The proudest and the basest there, 
 
 Are fain to bend the knee of prayer ; 
 To find what Heaven designed to prove, 
 
 That man must bow, — that God is love I 
 
 VI. 
 
 How beauteous that delightsome day, 
 
 The wanderer, as he passed away, 
 Eobed as beseemed his regal mien ; 
 
 But chief upon his bosom seen, 
 Pouring its splendors pear and far. 
 
 As 'twere a radiant Morning star, 
 A purer and a brighter gem. 
 
 Than ever graced a diadem. 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 VII. 
 
 matchless jewel, wondrous liglit, 
 
 Bestowed to guide Ms steps ariglit, 
 With more and more refulgent ray, 
 
 Along his journey's rugged way ; 
 Would he but shun with jealous care, 
 
 Whate'er its lustre might impair, 
 This task fulfilled with faithful heed, 
 
 No evil should his steps impede. 
 But safely, all his perils past. 
 
 He should regain his home at last. 
 Its beam obscured, no more his view 
 
 Were clear between the false and true ; 
 Ko guard nor guide, while hour by hour 
 
 Might foes beset or tempests lour ; 
 Or to his home would he repair, 
 
 Alas ! no re-admission there I 
 
 VIII. 
 First hither the adventurer came ; 
 
 Here, first, on earth, the heavenly flame, 
 
 The mystic glances of his eye. 
 
 Marked him a truant from the sky f 
 
 10 
 
THE STAR OF 
 IX. 
 
 Full well tliese rocks Ms footsteps knew, 
 
 Ere war the blast of battle blew ; 
 Or patriots piled yon ancient mound, 
 
 And tliese rude ruins tbus around. 
 But Ms was then no warrior's part, 
 
 Love ruled alone Ms guileless heart ; 
 And childhood's innocence made sure, 
 
 His jewel still all bright and pure. 
 
 X. 
 
 How strange to his untutored ear. 
 
 As oft the camp he wandered near. 
 The whistling ball, the groan, the shout, 
 
 The roar from yonder old redoubt, 
 The stem command, the tramping feet. 
 
 Swift hastening the foe to meet, 
 When hilt to hilt, and gun to gun, 
 
 Dread deeds of blood and death were done. 
 How heaved his breast with many sighs, 
 
 How gushed the anguish from his eyes, 
 When thus in tMs lone nook of earth 
 
 He learned what liberty is worth I 
 
 20 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 XI. 
 
 So passed liis days of sojourn here, 
 Till lured to pleasure's gay career, 
 
 Where the voluptuous city calls 
 The youthful to her festive halls. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Alas the day, when craves the soul, 
 
 To quaff delight from folly's bowl ! 
 What sorrows lurk in joys so brief, 
 
 Kemorse, and unavaiHng grief ! 
 Alas that youthful Eupert found 
 
 His foot upon enchanted ground. 
 Bright shone his jewel when he came, 
 
 But soon decreased its glowing flame. 
 Still lessening, each luxurious hour. 
 
 As still the revel and the bower 
 With rapturous and oblivious spell 
 
 Entranced his senses, till — he fell! 
 
THE STAR OF 
 XIII. 
 
 As slioots a star across tlie sky, 
 
 A charm and wonder to tlie eye. 
 Then, sudden, 'mid its radiant iliglit, 
 
 Sinks in tlie gloom of utter night — 
 Or, like the beaming love and truth, 
 
 "When woman plights her heart and youtli^ 
 By falsehood's cruel arts betrayed, 
 
 Quenched in the depths of sorrow's shade, 
 Upon her cheek, and worshipped name, 
 
 The darksome blot of sin and shame — 
 So on his gem a cloud, a stain, 
 
 Its ray might never pierce again I 
 
 XIV. 
 Innocence, the fairest rose 
 
 That still in childhood's Eden blows — 
 
 How sweet its bloom, but ah, its stay 
 
 Diminished to how brief a day ! 
 
 xv. 
 
 His paradise all withered now ; 
 
 A serpent twined on every bough ; 
 
 On every drooping leaf a tear. 
 
 Sad voices whispering doubt and fear, 
 22 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 
 ffis way all intricate and dark, 
 
 Kor friend, nor guide, nor jewel-spark, 
 To sliow ariglit the doubtful way, 
 
 Fortli ruslied lone Eupeii;, far astray. 
 Came tlien fair phantoms calling near — 
 
 Come hither, youth, thy hope is — here 1 
 Here shall the lustre, so deplored, 
 
 Be to thy longing sight restored. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then open many a portal flew 
 
 Where glorious vistas sprang to vi'ew, 
 So brilliant all, the wavering eye, 
 
 "Were fain each tempting path to try.— 
 
 XVII. 
 Grave Erudition, beckoning near, 
 
 Persuaded first his eager ear ; 
 Showed the delights of all her lore, 
 
 Would he her mysteries explore. 
 Then called Ambition, : — Traveler, lo. 
 
 This the true way where thou shouldst go I 
 From these wide avenues thy name 
 
 Shall fill the mighty trump fame. 
 23 
 
THE STAR OF 
 
 Then AfBaence, at her gates of gold — 
 
 Impoverished wanderer, behold 
 The happy path from care and fear. 
 
 Forget thy jewel — enter here I 
 Then Power, and Friendship, Love, and Ease, 
 
 Assiduons, strove to win and please. 
 
 XVIII. 
 Each voice he heard, each path pursued, 
 
 His toil still fruitless, still renewed, 
 As sped the weary seasons o'er. 
 
 Till Folly could beguile no more i 
 'Twas all deceit ! Nor show, nor change, 
 
 Nor travel through a world-wide range, 
 His heart from anguish could release, 
 
 And give a troubled spirit peace ! 
 All learning, art and wealth were vain, 
 
 They could not cleanse that fatal stain. 
 Oft to his gaze the gem he drew, — 
 
 But ah, 'twas still of inky hue ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 It was the holy day of rest, 
 
 The wanderer's footsteps hither pressed ; 
 24 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 
 Despair o'er-clouding all his sky, 
 
 He sought these rocks again — to die ; 
 
 And came, where, from a House of prayer, 
 Soft notes of worship climbed the air, — 
 
 Then to the portal drawing near, 
 
 Fell this sweet psalm upon his ear : — 
 
 I. 
 
 "O Thou to whose all-searching sight 
 
 " The darkness shineth as the light, 
 
 " Search, prove my heart, it looks to Thee ; 
 
 " burst its bonds, and set it free. 
 
 II. 
 
 " While rising floods my soul o'erflow, 
 
 " While sinks my heart in waves of woe, 
 
 " As in this darksome wild I stray, 
 
 " Be Thou my light, be Thou my way I" 
 
 He knelt, with deep contrition^s sigh ; 
 
 And from the fountain of his eye. 
 Repentant pearls came brimming o*er. 
 
 As ne'er had ghttered there before ; 
 
 25 
 
THE STAR OF 
 
 And trembled on Ms lip a prayer — 
 
 Thy Prodigal, Father spare ! 
 Redeemer ! Day-Star I Hope Divine I 
 
 Thy glorious beam once more be mine 
 Some pitying Angel, as he cried. 
 
 Stood, instant at the weeper's side, 
 Upon the jewel dropped a tear. 
 
 And lo, its ray again was clear I 
 Swift sped his midnight gloom away, 
 
 And all was joy, and life, and day. 
 
 XXI. 
 Dear yonth, that Wanderer behold » 
 
 Infirm and weary now, and old ; 
 Yet thus with peace and hope renewed, 
 
 Dwelling in this wild sohtude, 
 Serene to wait his Father's time. 
 
 To call him to that better clime, 
 Among the radiant hills above, 
 
 Where truth is life, and life is love. 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 XXII. 
 
 Oft, now, the forms of yore to greet, 
 
 I seek this solitary seat, 
 Where visions true as sense can prove, 
 
 Move round me as they nsed to move. 
 Oh stranger, these rude ruins seem 
 
 The records of my first sweet dream ; 
 For here, still at my side, I see 
 
 My gentle, dark-eyed Lucy Lee ; 
 Sweet wild-rose of my youthful June ; 
 
 Fair lily, drooping, ah, so soon I — 
 How seemed the Pahsades to thrill, 
 
 With her light footstep on the hill ; 
 And as we sat on this rude stone. 
 
 How have the blissful moments flown I 
 Love gushing from her lustrous eye. 
 
 Pure as yon stream still rolling by. 
 How holy were the joys we knew, 
 
 As here our hearts together grew. 
 And on this rock we breathed the vow 
 
 Which makes it my soul's altar now. 
 
 27 
 
THE STAR OF 
 XXIII. 
 
 Let these memorials, gentle youth, 
 
 Inspire thy soul with strength and truth. 
 Thy heart may well these cliffs revere. 
 
 For those stem patriots, once here. 
 Who braved, where'er their lot was cast, 
 
 The storm of war, or wintry blast 
 With weary feet, but mighty hand. 
 
 For Freedom, and a bleeding land I 
 
 XXIV. 
 On yon dark headland stood a form 
 
 That towered in many a sanguine storm ; 
 Where'er the bloodiest strife was done, 
 
 Fell like a thunder-bolt, and won I 
 Great sire of heroes ! Mighty shade I 
 
 Star of the gloomy Pahsade I 
 Fame dips her pencil in the sun, 
 
 And writes a rainbow — Washington ! 
 
 XXV. 
 Again might lingering memory tell 
 
 Of noble chiefs by yonder well, 
 28 
 
THE PALISADES. 
 
 Quaffing its cool, delicious tide, 
 
 In tlie hot battle long denied. 
 Their deeds, unsung in minstrel lays, 
 
 Yet claim, youth, thy grateful praise, 
 With those brave bands of Trenton's field, 
 
 Who made thy country's foemen yield, 
 And won the chaplet for her brow. 
 
 That marks thee for a freeman now. 
 But wouldst thou find life's best defence, 
 
 Guard well the Jewel Innocence. 
 
ELEGY. 
 
 I. 
 
 There fell a bud from an angel's hand, • 
 
 As lie wandered down from the spirit land ; 
 To a throbbing bosom it gently blew, 
 And lo, it put forth a deep root, and grew ! 
 
 II. 
 
 It flourished there, in its glowing hues, 
 Like a flowret nursed by Elysian dews, 
 Till the little bud was a thing to vie 
 With the radiant tints of the morning sky. 
 
 III. 
 
 'T was pleasant to see the bud unfold. 
 As the summer days of its life were told ; 
 For it seemed as fair to the ravished eye 
 As though it were still in its bower on high. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The angel passed on his homeward way. 
 
 And saw where his roseate beauty lay ; 
 
 He paused on his wing, and reached down his hand. 
 
 And bore the sweet flower to its native land. 
 80 
 
LIND. 
 
 The name of Jenny Lind is associated with the financial statistlce 
 of nearly every benevolent institution in this country. By com- 
 mon consent, therefore, she is poetically spoken of as a mortal 
 sister of the angel of Mercy. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis said, sweet Mercy from above 
 
 Came down to teach us how to love, 
 And long she strove, with mystic skill, 
 
 Her holy mission to folfil ; 
 Her angel-pinions knew no rest. 
 
 For wafting her to every breast : 
 No cottage home, nor palace fair, 
 
 Nor crowded mart, but she was there. 
 Yet street and lane, and park and green, 
 
 She haunted still, though all unseen, 
 
 Still whispering low to every ear — 
 
 help to wipe away a tear. 
 31 
 
LIND. 
 
 Some mourner's blessing to secure, 
 
 Go soothe the sad, supply the poor I 
 Nor vain her prayer ; for tear and sigh 
 
 She drew from many a passer-by : 
 Made each reluctant purse to feel 
 
 The magic of her sweet appeal, 
 Till every child of sorrow there 
 
 Could tell her wing was in the air. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet could not still her gentle sway, 
 
 Compel the sordid to obey; 
 The streams of love to amply pour. 
 
 Till duty could demand no more. 
 How strove she with her heavenly art 
 
 To touch the spring of every heart, 
 And open every portal wide 
 
 For sympathy's outflowing tide. 
 But ah I the generous hearts were few, 
 
 That helped her hallowed task to do. 
 Her piteous tale the more she told, 
 
 Kemoter seemed the hoards of gold ; 
 32 
 
LIND. 
 
 Nor prayer nor tear, nor Christian name, 
 Constrained to cancel Mercy's claim. 
 
 In grief, as saith tlie further tale, 
 
 That love on earth conld not prevail, 
 
 Her radiant wings she heavenward spread, 
 Breathed a despairing sigh, and sped. 
 
 III. 
 
 Long, the celestial hills among. 
 
 In pensive melodies had sung 
 The sister angels, many a lay 
 
 Of her, the fairest, far away ; 
 Yet mingling oft a joyous strain 
 
 For earth, by her made glad again : 
 Man only coveting to know 
 
 Where he a blessing might bestow ; 
 Each rivalling other but to prove 
 
 Heroic most in deeds of love. 
 Kone now to grasp with selfish might 
 
 The widow's and the orphan's right ; 
 None to withhold the hireling's meed, 
 
 And stint him in his hour of need ; 
 33 
 
LIND. 
 IV. 
 
 Kone, for the toil of woman fair, 
 
 By day's long sun, and taper's glare, 
 WitK breaking heart and weary eye, 
 
 To grant lier only — ^leave to die ; 
 Imploring penury no more 
 
 Unkindly spumed from every door ; 
 But all fraternal, as above. 
 
 Since Mercy taught the law of love. 
 So mused the angel bands, when lo I 
 
 Came soaring mournfully and slow, 
 Bright in the awful depths afar, 
 
 As 'twere a lonely, wandering star I 
 
 V. 
 
 Was silent each seraphic lyre ; 
 
 Seemed not a bosom to respire ; 
 Intent to mark that wonder's flight. 
 
 Up-speeding to the world of light. 
 But rapture filled all hearts anew, 
 
 As nearer still the vision drew, 
 And each discerning, eager eye. 
 
 Could Mercy's matchless form descry ; 
 
 34 
 
LIND. 
 VI. 
 
 A mightj shout shook heaven's dome:— 
 
 Hail, wear J sister ! — welcome home 1 
 Alas, that mortal wrong should rise, 
 
 To sadden e'en the sinless skies : 
 Safe came the voyager at last, 
 
 Yet instant shadows wide o'ercast 
 The sunny landscapes where the blest 
 
 "Were wont to find serenest rest. 
 A tear in heaven ! oh, precious gem, 
 
 World, for thy fallen diadem, 
 Couldst thou the regal emblem wear^ 
 
 And let the jewel ghtter there — 
 The pearl from Mercy's eye that fell, 
 
 And told the grief she could not tell 
 
 VII. 
 
 Electric love I One stroke of wo, 
 And furthest heaven felt the blow I 
 
 AH heedless or of rank or birth, 
 Archangel, and the babe of earth, 
 85 
 
LIND. 
 
 Forth, from their haunts by hill and dell, 
 Swift to a countless throng they swell, 
 
 Each some immortal balm to pour, 
 To bid one bosom sigh, no more. 
 
 VIII. 
 August in conclave. The high quest, 
 
 Shall Mercy more be mortal's guest ; 
 Or, doth it seem to heavenly ken 
 
 How she may move the hearts of men ? 
 Then beautiful, from her repose. 
 
 The missionary angel rose, 
 Soft accents, too divinely sweet 
 
 For bard of earth e'er to repeat, 
 Eaining around in fragrant showers. 
 
 As budding trees their ripened flowers. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah, leave not yon apostate race. 
 To mourn the forfeit of your grace ; 
 
 But me with one new power inspire ; 
 Then pausing, touched her golden lyre, 
 
 And far the listening ranks along, 
 
 Poured a full tide of rapturous song, 
 36 
 
LIND. 
 
 Till heaven^s remotest valleys rang 
 
 With the sweet song that Mercy sang ; 
 That power which thus but angels know, 
 
 Grant me on mortals to bestow, 
 And down again to cleave my way 
 
 To win them by the mighty sway, 
 Of love and melody combined, 
 
 The heaven of brotherhood to find. 
 
 X. 
 
 She ceased. And swift approval ran, 
 
 Let Mercy strive again with man, 
 And lend the strains she warbles here. 
 
 To melt the heart and start the tear, 
 Till rivers of relief shall flow. 
 
 For every child of want and wo. 
 Then joyful sprang the glorious maid 
 
 Aloft, in robes of hght arrayed ; 
 Her starry banner wide unfurled. 
 
 And sped again to bless the world. 
 
 XI. 
 
 As icy winter yields to spring, 
 
 When southern winds are on the wing; 
 Or, as in summer's fond embrace 
 
 Warm blushes tint fair nature's face ; 
 
 37 
 
LIND. 
 
 So nations felt the glow of love, 
 
 And pure emotions from above, 
 As from tlie happy realms on high 
 
 Descending Mercj hovered nigh, 
 Inclining potently the sonl 
 
 To fervent charity's control ; 
 And shed her holy influence o'er 
 
 The myriad hearts so hard before. 
 
 XII. 
 
 She trode again the terrene sphere, 
 
 Dispensing solace far and near ; 
 Imparting oft the gifts of song, 
 
 In meet degrees, her course along ; 
 Till softly on an humble child. 
 
 She laid her gentle hand and smiled, 
 And said — Eeceive, fair sister mine, 
 
 The might of Melody divine 1 
 Be thine, with peerless seraph-voice, 
 
 To make the sorrowing earth rejoice ; 
 Thy chiefest mission still to be, 
 
 A glorious Almoner for me I 
 
LIND. 
 XIII. 
 
 Then hand in hand thsy twain advanced 
 
 And earth, and air, and sea entranced ! 
 A mortal, and immortal, pair ; 
 
 All viewless one, and one all fair ; 
 And this the greeting as they ghde 
 
 On their blest errand side by side, — 
 Sweet LiND, thy angel life be long. 
 
 To bless the earth with Mercy's song ! 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 Sailing o'er tlie rippling tide, 
 
 Of a miglitj, mystic sea, 
 Two bright spraj-drops, side by side, 
 
 Sprang from out the foam to me. 
 Forth my ready hand I threw. 
 Linked in One the joyous Two. 
 
 Dear to me that blended pair, 
 As they lingered in my palm; 
 
 And I prayed for them a prayer — 
 Skies be clear and seas be calm ; 
 
 If they sink, or if they soar, 
 
 Be united evermore I 
 
 Spake a spirit from above, 
 Life I if heavenward they flee! 
 
 Spake the sea, (the Sea of Love,) 
 Bhss, if they abide in me! 
 
 Sang the sky, the sea, the shore, 
 
 Be united evermore ! 
 40 
 
B E M U S. 
 
 Tlie action of Brooklyn Heights, Long Island, occurred August 26th, 
 1776. The Americans being entrenched on Boemus Hill, were sur- 
 prised at midnight by an overwhelming force of the enemy; and 
 lost three thousand men. 
 
 I. 
 
 Boemus I of moumM famel 
 How calm tliy summit now, 
 Where battle stamped thy name 
 In havoc, gore, and flame I 
 How sad and lonely thou, 
 Dread steep of bloody brow ! 
 
 II. 
 
 In midnight's deep repose 
 Loud rang the sentry's call, 
 
 "Up, freemen I front your foes I" 
 
 The startled ranks arose. 
 One oath the pledge of all, 
 " "We conquer, or we fall l" 
 
 41 
 
BOEMUS. 
 III. 
 
 O'er all the silent sky 
 A dark and scowling frown ; 
 
 But darker scowled each eye 
 
 Wlien all resolved to die I 
 
 When, night of dread renown, 
 Three thousand stars went down I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Up from your sleep ye, dead I 
 Who in the conflict fell. 
 
 And blood in torrents shed. 
 
 Till this old hill ran red, 
 If chronicle saith well. 
 Up from your sleep, and tell! 
 
 V. 
 
 Around this hoary height, 
 
 Your legions I evoke ! 
 Shades of that bloody fight, 
 Come in your ancient might. 
 
 In thunder, flash, and smoke, 
 
 Heroic Hearts of Oak I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Beyond this old redoubt, 
 
 Some desecrating hand 
 42 
 
BOEMUS. 
 
 Hath plouglied your footsteps out ; 
 
 But yet I hear your shout — 
 " Stand, comrades I firmly stand 
 Die for our native landl" 
 
 VII. 
 
 There Steeling to the fray, 
 And SuLLiVAK rush by ! 
 On to the charge I away I 
 'T is now Death's harvest day I 
 The Briton presses nigh ; 
 On to the charge I — and die I 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah I vain the valor there I — 
 
 Sweeps down the broad hill-side 
 A ibe that doth not spare 
 Kor youth, nor hoary hair ; 
 Wild ruin spreading wide, 
 Down pours the living tide ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now hilt to hilt the strife I 
 
 Burns high the deadly ire I 
 How reeks the thirsty knife, 
 Where spouts the ruddy life I 
 
 43 
 
BOEMUS. 
 
 While brother son and sire, 
 In fell embrace expire I 
 X. 
 
 O sad, soul-sickening hour I 
 Weep, Island I for the wo 
 
 That purchased Freedom's dower I 
 
 O bloodj hand of Power I 
 A nation's tears still flow 
 For that relentless blow 1 
 
 XI. 
 
 The victory is won ; 
 No guards their vigils hold ; 
 
 The chivalry is done ; 
 
 Lies hushed the rusting gun, 
 Where bellowing it rolled, 
 That fearful day of old. 
 
 XII. 
 
 BoEMUS I of mournful fame I 
 
 How calm thy summit now, 
 Where battle stamped thy name 
 In havoc, gore and flame ! 
 How sad and lonely thou. 
 Dread Steep, of bloody brow I 
 
 44 
 
IF I WERE YOU. 
 
 I. 
 
 As you and I are going 
 
 Along tHs quiet page, 
 Man, matron, boy, and maiden, 
 Care, hope, or love y' laden, 
 
 Take counsel from a sage. 
 No star so dimly glowing, 
 
 But mariners sliould view; 
 Ah I heed the star of reason. 
 And take the helm in season, 
 
 0, life's unskilful crew — 
 
 I would if I were you. 
 45 
 
IF I WERE YOU. 
 
 n. 
 
 My dear desponding brother, 
 O'erwearied with the cares 
 The fleeting years have left thee, 
 While they of hope bereft thee, 
 
 And led thee into snares, — 
 Take counsel from another. 
 Who thus was weary too. 
 Yet found the paths of pleasure, 
 Eest, truth, and real treasure ; 
 0, brother, these pursue — 
 I would if I were you I 
 
 III. 
 0, Woman I ray of morning, 
 
 Man's midnight to dispel, 
 Katrina, Xelly, ISTora, 
 Still be his heart's Aurora, 
 
 In courtly hall or cell. 
 Still let 3^our chief adorning 
 
 Be those sweet smiles he knew 
 When in love's pure devotion, 
 With youth's first fond emotion. 
 
 All heavenl}^ graces grew — 
 
 I would if I were you I 
 
 46 
 
IF I WEUE YOU. 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet Girlliood I mom of being ; 
 
 Eair pearl on life's lone sliore ; 
 Briglit gem on beauty's pillow, 
 But, 0, with time's next billow, 
 
 To sparkle there no more — 
 O, maiden, morn is fleeing ; 
 
 High noon will soon ensue 
 Make now thy youth enduring : 
 Immortal life securing, 
 
 Decay and death subdue ; 
 
 I would if I were you. 
 
 V. 
 
 0, Son 1 whose youthful feeling 
 
 Delights in nature's bloom ; 
 Whose heart secure reposes, 
 Where valleys decked with roses, 
 
 Send up their sweet perfame, 
 To heaven still appealing, 
 
 With noble aims in view. 
 Flee all alluring bowers, 
 Defy opposing powers, 
 
 And press your purpose through- 
 
 I would if I were you. 
 47 
 
IF I WERE YOU. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There cometh, son, a trial ; 
 
 There cometh, son, a night ; 
 
 A storm will romid thee rattle- 
 Ay, life is all a battle, 
 
 And bravely thou must fight. 
 Begin thy self-denial ; 
 
 Begin to dare and do : 
 
 Up, boy, to write thy storv 
 
 In lines of Christian glory, 
 Bold, beautiful and true ; 
 I would, if I were you. 
 
 ¥f 
 
THE WniTE DRAGON. 
 
 A WINTER SKETCH. 
 1. 
 
 Way for a dragon! a dragon bright, 
 
 All snowy wliite ; 
 Far in tlie North lie is just in sight! 
 
 Fierce is his cry, 
 Icicle teeth, and a hail-stone eye : 
 How the White Dragon will make all fly I 
 
 II. 
 
 Flower and verdure he comes to kill ; 
 
 And ah, he will! 
 Orchard and garden and field and liill. 
 
 The lawn, the glade. 
 Forest and bower and bush must fade. 
 All at his terrible frown afraid I 
 
 III. 
 
 Over the ocean he sweeps his tail, 
 
 Death in the gale ! 
 Splintered the spar, and in rags the sail I 
 
THE WHITE DRAGON, 
 
 Sailor, no more 
 Hope for thy home, with thy perils o'er : 
 Eageth the dragon by sea and shore I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Way for a dragon with stealthy tread, 
 
 A dragon dread I 
 Beantiful back, bnt his jaws are red, 
 
 And sharp and sure I 
 Who can his ravenous rage endure ? 
 How the White Dragon will smite the poor 
 
 V. 
 
 Over the mountain and through the glen 
 
 Hunting for men; 
 Driving them down to his dreadful den ! 
 
 Despair, despair I 
 Mothers and babes in the frosty air : 
 How he will feast when he gets them there! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Village and city, his strength will feel, 
 
 Hopeless appeal. 
 Half of a town for a single meal I 
 
 Over the ground 
 
 Center and circle he coils around, 
 
 All in his horrid embraces bound ! 
 50 
 
THE WHITE DKAGON. 
 VII. 
 
 Every dwelling of low degree 
 
 Certain to see, 
 Where'er the wretched are, there is he I 
 
 Horror I behold I 
 Quivering, shivering, young and old, 
 Perishing all in his clutches cold 1 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Widow, your needle he will disdain : 
 
 All is in vain, 
 Working or weeping, you must be slain ! 
 
 Listen his roar ; 
 Soon he'll break down your defenceless door, 
 Slay all your orphans and howl for morel 
 
 IX. 
 Laborer, high on the scaffold frail, 
 
 Cannot avail I 
 Down with the mortar, the hod, the pail, 
 
 Haste to your cell. 
 Face the dread dragon you would repel, 
 Die with the group you have loved so well I 
 
 51 
 
THE WHITE DPwAGON. 
 X. 
 
 Feeble old man, with tlie wood to saw, 
 
 Eainy and raw ; 
 Peril at every sigb. you draw I 
 
 Yain is tbe strife, 
 Take tlie last loaf to your poor old wife, 
 Strike tlie last stroke, and away for life 1 
 
 XL 
 
 Beggar, begone from tbe palace gate ; 
 
 Wo if you wait I 
 Certain to meet witb a dreadful fate I 
 
 Kever ask there — 
 Have you a bone or a crust to spare ? 
 "What does the lord of a castle care ! 
 
 XII. 
 Garret or cellar, or dmgy street, 
 
 None may retreat I 
 Want and the dragon are sure to meet : 
 
 Alas, too sure ! 
 Who can his ravenous rage endure ? 
 How the White Dragon will smite the poor! 
 
 52 
 
STRIKE. 
 
 Written during a general demand or ''Strike" for higher wages in 
 New York. 
 
 I'VE a liking for tliis " striking," 
 
 If we only do it well ; 
 Firm, defiant, like a giant, 
 
 Strike !— and make tlie effort teU 1 
 
 One another, working brother, 
 Let ns freely now advise ; 
 
 For reflection and correction 
 
 Help to make ns great and wise. 
 
 Work and wages, say the sages, 
 Go forever hand in hand; 
 
 As the motion of an ocean. 
 The supply and the demand. 
 
 My advice is strike for prices 
 
 Nobler far than sordid coin ; 
 
 Strike with terror, sin and error, 
 
 And let man and master join. 
 53 
 
STRIKE. 
 
 Every failing now prevailing 
 In the heart or in the head — 
 
 Make no clamor — take the hammer — • 
 Drive it down, and strike it dead I 
 
 Much the chopping, lopping, propping, 
 
 Carpenter, we have to do, 
 Ere the plummet, from the summit, 
 
 Mark our moral fabric true. 
 
 Take the measure of false pleasure ; 
 
 Try each action by the square ; 
 Strike a chalk-line, for your walk line ; 
 
 Strike to keep your footsteps there ! 
 
 The foundation of creation 
 Lies in truth's unerring laws: 
 
 Man of mortar, there's no shorter 
 Way to base a righteous cause. 
 
 Every builder, painter, gilder, 
 Man of leather, man of clothes, 
 
 Each mechanic in a panic 
 
 "With the way his labor goes. — 
 
 Let him reason thus in season ; 
 
 Strike the root of all his wrong, 
 Cease his quarrels, mend his morals, 
 ^ l^appy, rich, and strong. 
 
 51 
 
THE SMOKIKG CAP. 
 
 Dear T., herewith to you I send 
 A smoking-cap, yet recommend, 
 With all the powers I can evoke, 
 You'll wear the cap — without the smoke. 
 For what excuse can any plead, 
 To take a vile unwholesome weed, 
 From pestilential regions South, 
 
 And plant it in the human mouth I 
 
 To be, oh, burning shame and sin, 
 
 A firebrand 'twixt the nose and chin I 
 
 How sad the harvest he must reap. 
 
 If, for the fruits of wisdom deep, 
 
 From fields of knowledge rare and ripe, 
 
 He glean a mere — tobacco-pipe I 
 
 Such cultivation, cost and care, 
 
 To find at last but ashes there I 
 55 
 
THE SMOKING CAP. 
 
 At learning's keartli, demented elf, 
 
 Making a chimney of himself I 
 
 Let ChimborazOj age on age, 
 
 Yesuvins and Etna rage, 
 
 And roll their awful clouds on high, 
 
 Obscuring all the radiant sky ; 
 
 But m.an — -oh say not that he seeks 
 
 To imitate those smouldering peaks ; 
 
 To make like theirs, bleak, barren, brown, 
 
 A sooty crater of his crown. 
 
 To show its hot and hollow state. 
 
 Make — a volcano of his pate ! 
 
 No, ever let him strive to be 
 
 From all such fume and fury free : 
 
 Rise, like Olympian Jove, above 
 
 The things that mortals fear or love, - 
 
 Disdaining the low joys of earth, 
 
 Mere idle smoke, and nothing worth, 
 
 Serene, august, among the stars. 
 
 Spurn the vile meerschaum and segars, 
 
 And be, as each one should, and car., 
 
 A self-denying Christian man. 
 56 
 
A MOTHER'S LOYE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Can flowers tliat round its margin grow, 
 
 Or winds that o'er its surface sweep, 
 vSay to a pool imprisoned — flow! 
 
 The dead heart of the waters— leap? 
 So neither hath all earth a voice, 
 Can bid an unloved heart rejoice! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet comes the sun with quickening ray. 
 
 And whispers, tenderlj^, awake! 
 And lo, on rainbow wings, away, 
 
 Sends up its vapor-soul the lake; 
 
 Beyond the frowning mountains, free, 
 
 Again to mingle with 'the sea. 
 57 
 
A mother's love, 
 
 m. 
 O heart, tliat like the dancing rill, 
 
 Along the vale of life hast mn, 
 The phantom Hope pursuing still, 
 
 But now all desolate — ^undone I 
 Look up I Though earth its love deny, 
 There comes a sunbeam from the sky. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Awake, heart, thy pinions spread; 
 
 Soar, soar, and soon thy fondest aim, 
 To sweet fulfilment shall be led. 
 
 In love's intensest, purest flame; 
 Alone and sick, yet cannot die, — 
 Poor heart, one effort more and fly! 
 
 V. 
 
 Fly to that far-off home for rest, 
 
 Thy mother's home, yon radiant sphere; 
 
 Fly, heart, to that dear faithful breast. 
 That soothed thy infant sorrows here: 
 
 A mother's love, a mother's prayer. 
 
 Celestial wings, waft me there! 
 
 68 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 PABT L 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 Concerning Santaclaus — His astonishing Castle — His beautifiil Gifts 
 for all good Children — And his real Name. 
 
 60 
 
SANTACLxiUS. 
 
 Beyond tlie ocean many a mile, 
 
 And many a year ago, 
 There lived a wonderful queer old man 
 
 In a wonderful house of snow ; 
 And every little boy and girl, 
 
 As Christmas times arrive, 
 Ko doubt will be very glad to hear, 
 
 The old man is still alive. 
 
 Gl 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 In his house upon the top of a hill, 
 
 And almost out of sight, 
 He keeps a great many elves at work, 
 
 All working with all their might, 
 To make a million of pretty things, 
 
 Cakes, sugar-plums, and toys, 
 
 To fill the stockings, hung up, you know. 
 
 By the little girls and boys. 
 It Yf ould be a capital treat besure, 
 
 A glimpse of his wondrous shop ; 
 But the queer old man when a stranger comes, 
 
 Orders every elf to stop ; 
 And the house, and work, and workmen all 
 
 Instantly take a twist, 
 
 G2 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 And just as you may tliink you are tliere, 
 Tliey are off in a frosty mist. 
 
 But upon a time a cunning boy 
 
 Saw this sign upon tlic gate, 
 
 Kobody can ever enter liere 
 
 Who lies a-bed too late : 
 63 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 Let all wlio expect a good stocking full, 
 Not spend too mucli time in play ; 
 
 Keep book and work all tlie wliile in mind, 
 And be np by the peep of day. 
 
 A holiday morning would scarce suffice 
 
 To tell wbat was making tliere ; 
 Wagons and dolls, whistles and birds, 
 
 And elephants most rare : 
 Wild monkeys drest like little men, 
 
 And dogs that could almost bark. 
 Watches, that, if they only had wheels. 
 
 Might beat the old clock in the Park 
 
 61 
 
SAKTACLAUS. 
 
 Wliolc armies of little soldier follv, 
 
 Marching in grand review, 
 And turning up their eyes at the girls, 
 
 As the City soldiers do. 
 Engines, fast hurrying to a fire. 
 
 And many a little fool 
 A-trudging after them through the streets, 
 
 Instead of going to school. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tin fiddles, and trumpets made of wood, 
 
 That will play as good a tune 
 As a S<!otch bag-piper could perform 
 
 From Christmas-day till June. 
 Horses, with riders upon their backs, 
 
 Coaches, and carts and gigs. 
 Each trjdng its best to win the race. 
 
 Like the Democrats and "Whigs. 
 Tiny houses, in every style. 
 
 Put up in a fancy chest, 
 
 To build in a mmute a thriving town, 
 
 If you choose to move out West. 
 G5 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 Witli cliurclies and windmills, inns and sliops, 
 
 And school-lionses all in a row, 
 And elegant sliade-trees dipt in green, 
 
 Where good girls may sit and sew. 
 
 Some little fellows turning a crank, 
 And otliers beating a drum : 
 
 Little pianos, so exact 
 
 You could almost tear tliem thrum. 
 
 Tea-sets and tables quite complete. 
 
 With ladies sitting around, 
 66 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 Chatting as older ladies do, 
 
 But a little more profound. 
 Steamboats made to sail in a tub, 
 
 And nsbing-smacks ahoy. 
 And boats and skiflfs witli oars and sails, 
 
 A fleet for a sailor boy. 
 
 Ships of the line equipt for sea, 
 
 "With officers and orew. 
 Each with a red cap on his head, 
 
 And a jacket painted blue. 
 Bold pewter men with pistols armed. 
 
 Like duellists so smart. 
 
 Each most wickedly taking aim 
 
 At his little comrade's heart ! 
 67 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 And nimble Jacks witli snjDple joints, 
 
 That wlien jon pull a string, 
 Will give an easy lesson liow 
 
 To dance tlie Pigeon Wing. 
 Ugly old women in a box, 
 
 As some younger ones ouglit to be, 
 Which, when the cover is lifted off, 
 
 Fly out most spitefully. 
 
 Eipe wooden pears like real fruit. 
 
 Somehow made to unscrew ; 
 Kittens with mice sewed to their mouths, 
 
 And tabby cats crying mew. 
 Gay hmnming-tops that spin about, 
 
 And make a senseless sound, 
 
 Like windy representatives 
 
 In Congress often found. 
 68 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 Fine marbles, and ricli China-men, 
 
 That yon can play from taw, 
 As lawyers play rich clients down 
 
 The ring-pits of the law. 
 Bright caskets filled with jewelry, 
 
 Chains, bracelets, pins, and pearls, 
 All glittering with tinsel, like 
 
 Some fashionable girls. 
 
 Delightful little picture books, 
 And tales of Mother Goose, 
 
 More witty than most novels are, 
 And twenty times their use. 
 
 But it were an endless task to tell, 
 The length that the list extends, 
 
 09 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 Of tlic curious gifts the queer old man 
 Prepares for Ms Cliristmas friends. 
 
 Belike you are guessing wlio lie is, 
 And tlie country whence lie came— 
 
 Why, lie was bom in Germany, 
 And St. Kicholas is Ms name. 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 How St. Nicholas got all his packages ready, in order to start at 
 sundown on his long Journey. — How he went to Amsterdam, 
 Paris, Dublin, London, and St. Petersburg. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 Decembek's four and twentieth day 
 Through, its course was almost run, 
 
 St. Nicholas stood at his castle door 
 Awaiting the setting sun. 
 
 His goods were packed in a great balloon, 
 Near by were his horse and sleigh ; 
 
 He had his skates upon his feet 
 And a ship getting under weigh. 
 
 78 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 For he was to travel by sea and land, 
 
 And sometimes tlirongli tlie air, 
 And tlien to skim on tlie rivers smooth, 
 
 When the ice his weight would bear. 
 The wind blew keen, and the snow fell fast, 
 
 But not a whit cared he ; 
 For he knew a myriad httle hearts, 
 
 Were longing that night to see. 
 
 II. 
 Away he flew to Amsterdam, 
 
 As soon as the sun went down. 
 And left whole bushels of playthings there, 
 
 For every child in town. 
 Then he tried his skates on the Zuyder Zee, 
 
 Southwest to Dover's Strait, 
 Then, Southward, with his horse and sleigh, 
 
 He was soon at Paris' gate. 
 
 III. 
 
 He scaled the walls of the Tuileries, 
 
 The children were all retired. 
 
 And every stocking was hanging up, 
 
 As St. Nicholas desired. 
 74 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 lu one he put a sceptre and crown, 
 
 In another a guillotine, 
 And a little man without a head, 
 
 Who King of the French had been. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now all should know that Santaclaus 
 
 Was never a cruel man, 
 
 And he travels about reproving sin 
 
 In every way he can. 
 He thinks the people ought not to Idll 
 
 Unfortunate kings and queens, 
 
 But give them a little good advice. 
 
 To live by some better means. 
 75 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 He visited beautiful St. Cloud, 
 And all tke castles around, 
 
 Yet he did not pass the humblest house 
 Where any good child was found. 
 
 And he left in all the stockings he saw- 
 Such tokens of his good will, 
 
 As would take a larger bag or book, 
 Than I should have time to fill. 
 
 V. 
 
 He tarried awhile at Notre Dame, 
 
 To see the Christmas shows ; 
 Then with his grand Montgolfier 
 
 Majestically rose. 
 And from his splendid parachute, 
 
 A shower of bonbons threw, 
 For all the little ones in France, 
 
 And bade them all adieu. 
 Then down he drove on the Eiver Seine, 
 
 And on the Biscay bay 
 Took ship for famous Dublin town, 
 
 And London on his way. 
 76 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 YI. 
 
 In Dublin what do you think he left, 
 
 For the hearty Irish boys ? 
 
 Why, bags of potatoes instead of cakes, 
 
 And shillala-iis instead of toys. 
 77 
 
SA]^TACLAUS. 
 VII. 
 
 In London lie gave tliem rounds of beef, 
 
 And two plum-puddings a-piece, 
 Then stepped to Windsor palace of course, 
 
 To see Ms royal niece. 
 He gave lier a little Parliament, 
 
 Discussing a knotty bill, 
 And two or tbree nuts for them to crack, 
 
 And a birch to keep them still. 
 
 yill. 
 And now, said he, for St. Petersburgh ! 
 
 Over the cold North Sea, 
 And up the Baltic he sped in haste. 
 
 And was there when the clock struck three. 
 lie hied to the Palace of the Czar, 
 
 And clambered in at the dome ; 
 A great many stockings were hung around, 
 
 But the folks were not at home. 
 
 IX. 
 
 He gave them little Siberian mines, 
 
 With little men in chains. 
 Who strove to avenge their country's \ 
 And were sent there for their pains. 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 He left tlie Emperor a map, 
 
 With Eussia cut in four, 
 As much as to say, great Muscovite. 
 
 Your sway may soon be o'er. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then down he hastened for Italy, 
 
 To call at the Vatican, 
 Forgetting, until he had arrived, 
 
 The Pope is a bachelor man. 
 But he looked in at St. Peter's church, 
 
 And saw the whole town at prayer. 
 5o he left a basket full at the door, 
 
 For all the good children there. 
 
 XI. 
 
 [Jpon the Mediterranean Sea, 
 He boarded his ship again. 
 
 And hoisted sail, and steered west, 
 To see the Queen of Spain, 
 
 And give her a legion of wooden men, 
 Equipt from foot to nose, 
 
 And a troop of leaden horsemen too, 
 
 The rebels to oppose. 
 79 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 XII. 
 
 Tliroiigli all the streets of Madrid town, 
 
 And over every square, 
 And all tlie villages about. 
 
 He sped -with kindest care ; 
 And all tlie little Spanish folk 
 
 Of every degree. 
 Got something from his ample store 
 
 Most beautiful to see. 
 
 xin. 
 
 For he remembered times of old 
 
 When Ferdinand the brave, 
 And Isabella, nis good Queen, 
 
 To great Columbus gave 
 A little fleet to sail the sea, 
 
 And seek an unknown shore. 
 When Santaclaus himself was young, 
 
 Some centuries before. 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 PABT III. 
 
CANTO III. 
 St. Nicholas hurries awav from Spain and sets sail few: America. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 I. 
 O'ER tlie Cantabrian mountains wild, 
 
 He hurried to tlie strand, 
 
 To meet liis treasure-laden sliip, 
 
 There waiting his command. 
 
 He scattered beaiitiful gifts around, 
 
 As he went flying past, 
 
 Then put his trumpet to his hps, 
 
 And blew a rousing blast. 
 
 II. 
 
 Up, up my gallant sailors all, 
 
 Swiftly your anchor weigh, 
 The wind is fair, and we must sail 
 
 For far America. 
 By wind and steam for New Amsterdam, 
 
 Three thousand miles an hour. 
 
 Onward he drove his elfin ship, 
 
 With a thousand-fairy power. 
 83 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 III. 
 
 Down at the Battery lie moored, 
 
 And gave a grand salute, 
 Witli cannon cliarged witli sugar-plnms, 
 
 And powder made to suit. 
 Then he hoisted out a score of bales. 
 
 Of his cakes, and nuts, and wares ; 
 You would have been amazed to see 
 
 The heaps on the ferry stairs. 
 
 IV. 
 
 All's well, all's well! loud voices cried' 
 
 St. Nicholas is here ! 
 How charming many a stocking full 
 
 In the morning will appear. 
 Now all good httle boys and girls 
 
 Shall have a noble treat, 
 DeHghtfal presents, that will make 
 
 The holidays complete. 
 
 V. 
 
 Upon the spire of old St. Paulas 
 
 The watchman saw him stand, 
 
 Eeading his hst of ancient friends, 
 
 With his leather bags in hand. 
 84 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 'Tis said lie dropt a frozen tear, 
 As lie looked on the streets below, 
 
 And saw what a mighty change has come 
 Since Christmas times a2;o I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Those brave old times wlien great mince pies 
 
 Were piled on every shelf, 
 And every Knickerbocker boy 
 
 Might go and help himself. 
 
 When Broadway was a path for cows, 
 
 And all the streets were lanes, 
 85 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 ill mrmmw 
 
 86 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 
 And the houses were so snug and quaint, 
 With their bull's eye window-panes ; 
 
 And low, old-fashioned door-wajs, where, 
 The upper part swung in. 
 
 The Dutchman could his elbows lean, 
 And smoke his pipe and grin, 
 
 VIL. * 
 
 Then doughnuts were all good to eat, 
 
 And made as big as bricks, 
 
 And 'twas not thought immannerly 
 
 To eat as many as six. 
 87 
 
SANTACLAUS. 
 VIII. 
 
 Good simple times, wlien lad and lass, 
 
 In happy gronps were seen, 
 With, sled and skate for winter sports, 
 
 Aronnd the Bowling Green. 
 When maidens plied the spinning-wheel, 
 
 And idlers were iinkaown, 
 And all the up-town people lived 
 
 Below the one-mile stone. 
 
 IX. 
 
 When all were good, and went to churcli, 
 
 And heeded what they heard. 
 And children never learned to speak 
 
 A bad or saucy word. 
 With plenty smiling every where. 
 
 Like Christmas every day, 
 Content and love at every hearth, 
 
 what rare times were they I 
 
 X. 
 But long before all this was said. 
 
 The stockings were all filled, 
 
 And Santaclaus was skating home, 
 
 With his nose a little chilled. 
 
santacj.au s. 
 
 He wMstled as ho skimmed along, 
 Till tlie day began to dawn, 
 
 Then giving a twirl in the frosty air 
 St. Nicholas was gone! 
 
 89 
 
Note 
 
 The tale of Santaclaus was wriUcn with a view to impress the minds 
 of children with good sentiments in an entertaining waj^, and 
 enhance their enjoyments during the festivities of the Holiday 
 season ; also to revive a harmless superstition which all regard 
 as a pleasant reminiscence of early days. 
 
THE PAST. 
 
 A NEW-YEAK REVERIE. 
 I. 
 
 Hark! how it tliimders down tlie lapse of Years I 
 
 The Past! the Past! 
 A World's anticipation disappears! 
 
 How false — how fast ! 
 Bright visions vanished! Pleasures steeped in tears 1 
 
 Hope's sky o'ercast ! 
 A requiem tempest through all space careers, 
 
 August and vast. 
 Far o'er Eternity's dark flood it steers ; 
 And God again winds up the mighty spheres ' 
 
 II. 
 
 Now Time, great chronicler of human things, 
 
 Doth wide unrol 
 His tale of Nations — and a thousand kings — 
 
 Amazing scroll ! 
 
 91 
 
T II E PAS T. 
 
 Gives me a fliglit upon his rapid wings, 
 
 From pole to pole ! 
 From tliis, wliere now the chime of midnight rings, 
 
 Portentous toll ! 
 To the remotest past, whence boundless, springs 
 That sweeping surge the flood of Ages brings. 
 
 III. 
 
 A srain Boreas, of the north tfar, 
 
 Ilath chained his coursers to his frosted car ; 
 
 Again he sweeps o'er streamlet, hill, and dale. 
 
 Pouring an icy breath on every gale : 
 
 In o more on mountain tops the flocks are seen, 
 
 Nor busy bee hums o'er the velvet green : 
 
 The summer songsters to the south are flown, 
 
 The snow-bird chirps on leafless boughs alone. 
 
 Dismantled forests mourn the wintry sway. 
 
 The gentle flowers wither and decay, 
 
 The fields in sterile cheerlessness are clad. 
 
 And e'en the sky looks lowering and sad. 
 
 ' Tis o'er ! another page of time is read, 
 
 Another arrow to its mark hath sped. 
 
 Like an enchanted billow on the sea, 
 
 A Year has vanished in eternity! 
 
 92 
 
TnE rAST. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh what can stay the hastening step of time ? 
 Whate'er of earth may wear immortal prime? 
 Fate stamps the sable signet of decay, 
 And lo ! all excellence must pass away. 
 Deep shadows settle on the proudest brow, 
 Each laid to-morrow where the dead are now. 
 Ye grave philosophers, ye thoughtful youth, 
 Eeligion's votaries and sons of truth. 
 The chaste, the gentle, and the soaring mind, 
 On this new leaf of hfe a lesson find. 
 
 V. 
 
 Teach not the heart to feed despairing thought ; 
 
 The coming year shall be with blessings fraught. 
 
 Mourn not thy natal hour, for that the earth 
 
 Ilath yielded thee its sighs without its mirth ; 
 
 Nor 3^et presumptuous pine, because afar 
 
 Through memory's dim vista, not a star 
 
 Is seen to twinkle on the lonely way, 
 
 Lighting thy footsteps with a cheerful ray ; 
 
 Because thy life, so far as it hath run, 
 
 Ilath been a sky o'ercast, without a sun 
 
 To pierce the mantle of the pelting storm, 
 
 And shed a brightness on thy fading form. 
 
 9P. 
 
THE PAST. 
 
 Oh, rise superior to tlie trying liour 
 
 When dearest friends were false, and foes had power 
 
 To filch thy substance, and to blast thy name. 
 
 And stamp dejection on thy wasted frame. 
 
 ELencefortti let energy new-nerve the soul. 
 
 Till destiny shall feel^thy strong control I 
 
 WTiy should the god-like mind, with strength and wing 
 
 To mount the summit of imagining ; 
 
 To sound its depths, speed to its utmost bound, 
 
 And grasp sublimities, high, vast, profound ; 
 
 "Whirl with the comet in its far off flight. 
 
 And pierce with eagle eye the worlds of light ; 
 
 Bide on the tempest in its wild career, 
 
 And chase to earth its flashing pioneer, 
 
 Sink to the caves of the unfathomed deep. 
 
 Where, huge and horrid, nameless monsters creep ; 
 
 Or, wandering on, beneath the mighty flood, 
 
 Find where, aforetime, noble cities stood ; 
 
 See, amid clusters of the coralline. 
 
 Gems of rare value, glowing diamonds shine ; 
 
 Tread upon heaps of coined and massive gold; 
 
 And rocks, decked wantonly with wealth untold ; 
 
 Why should a spirit, with such wealth of thought, 
 
 With a few transient cares be sold and bought I 
 
 94 
 
THE PAST. 
 
 Why should we vainly cherisli a regret 
 
 That fraud hath prospered with the snares it set; 
 
 That sages have been forced to stand aside, 
 
 And give the way to ignorance and pride? 
 
 Deem not all lost, though wrong hath ruled the past, 
 
 Hope, love, and truth shall overcome at last. 
 
LEAP IK THE DAEK 
 
 D E E A D hour of fate I The touchstone of all faith, 
 
 I now must grapple, and abide that test 
 
 "WTiich, distant, I derided ; but come near, 
 
 Is wondrous fearsome and discomforting. 
 
 My recreant philosophy hath turned the heel, 
 
 And left my soul unarmed and desolate. — 
 
 Soul, did I say? — ^ha! how the giddy brain 
 
 Is prone to muster up its old conceits, 
 
 And make me rave of things that never were. 
 
 There is a mystery within, I know, 
 
 That doth exalt this clod to man's estate, 
 
 And gives him empire over all things else : 
 
 But "Life eternal" is a crafty tale, 
 
 "Which my dissolving nature now behes. 
 
 And what is death ? yet sooth I hate that word, 
 
 It hath a meaning that doth fellowship 
 96 
 
LEAP IN THE DARK. 
 
 Witli such "unwelcome tliouglit. To be pent up 
 
 In an unwindowed cell, and there forgot, 
 
 Go mouldering down to nothing. Through all time 
 
 My substance mingling with the churchyard dust. 
 
 I do abhor the doom, yet must not shrink, 
 
 And dastardly for vain existence strive : 
 
 Speed, speed your utmost now, ye dwindling sands; 
 
 Death — Grave — Eternity — I dare them all ! 
 
 Hail, land of shadows ! — ye dead myriads, hail ! 
 Make room adown your chambers for a guest I 
 Right valorous I'll tread, but oh! 'tis dark! 
 Would but some friendly spirit now, unask'd, 
 Flit hither with a light to guide me through! 
 I even would accept the Christian's hope, 
 Though all fallacious, — Hist! I hear a step, — 
 Who comes? — Come on! — for I must speak it out, 
 Though all fallacious, it would be a staff 
 To stay me while the agony goes o*er. 
 
 Now horrid fancies thicken on my sense, 
 
 I hear that step again in close pursuit, 
 
 I see, or deem I see, the uncouth forms 
 
 Of fabled fiends stalk out — and there's a voice 
 
 Deep muttering from beneath ! prepare ! prepare I 
 97 
 
LEAP IN THE DARK. 
 
 And from above there tliiinders in mine ear, 
 The hour — the hour is come! wide yawn tbou depth, 
 Perdition's portal, take the nnwash'd soul I 
 Now hght unearthly opens to mine eye 
 A blazing brink ; misshapen beings thence 
 Fly up, and screaming, skim the dusky air. 
 While pendant from on high, adown the gulf 
 Hangs the dire catalogue of all my guilt. 
 My summons now to everlasting death. 
 
 Beyond the cavern's nether verge remote, 
 
 Ten thousand midnights roll their mingled gloom 
 
 In sullen pomp along a starless sky ; 
 
 I cannot flee ; these palsied, tottering limbs 
 
 Can succor me no more ; this faltering tongue 
 
 Can call no rescue, — ^life and time are o'er — 
 
 I touch the precipice — and leap the Dark ! 
 
APRIL, 
 
 I. 
 
 The reign of dark winter is o'er, 
 
 The snow-drift that mantled the plain 
 Is gone to some far, frozen shore, 
 
 And April is smihng again. 
 So, Susan, you banish my gloom, 
 
 The season of sadness and fear ; 
 For earth is an Eden in bloom. 
 
 When you, my heart's April, are near, 
 
 II. 
 
 Along his blue pathway on high, 
 The sun gaily measures the day, 
 Then hastes from his plough in the sky, 
 To seek for his beautiful May: 
 
 So, Susan, I hie to the hill, 
 
 While morning is wet with the dew, 
 
 And labor contentedly still. 
 
 Because I am thinking of you. 
 99 
 
APRIL. 
 III. 
 
 The fields and the forests are 'green, 
 
 And fragrant the whispering breeze 
 That floats ronnd the valley at e'en, 
 
 Through lilacs, and blossoming trees. 
 Yet, Susan, returning to rest, 
 
 When evening o'ershadows the dell, 
 That zephyr seems sweetest and best 
 
 That comes o'er the cot where you dwell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yon streamlet, that wintry winds chill. 
 
 Had sealed as they whistled along, 
 Now wanders adown to the mill. 
 
 With pensively murmuring song. 
 So, Susan, our love is a stream — 
 
 A tranquil and deepening tide, 
 A-glow with a mid-summer beam. 
 
 As fondly you sit by my side. 
 
 V. 
 
 The bee hath winged forth from her cell, 
 
 To sip at the dew-dripping flower; 
 The birds their soft melodies swell, 
 
 100 
 
APRIL. 
 
 And beckon their mates to the bower ; 
 O'er all the gay landscape around, 
 
 Love, beauty, and goodness appear; 
 pray, all ye Youtb, to be found, 
 
 Like April, sweet Youtli of the Year, 
 
OLD ROYEB. 
 
 A TALE FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 I KNEW sweet Annie Taylor tliat lived above liie mill, 
 
 She had a widowed mother, 
 
 And a little younger brother, 
 
 And they all loved one another. 
 In their cottage on the hill. 
 
 She was a pattern daughter, this Annie whom I knew; 
 
 Industrious and clever, 
 
 Yet meek and modest ever, 
 
 And disobedient — never I 
 Kind, generous, and true. 
 
 One day as she and Charley were going down to 
 school. 
 They met another scholar, 
 Who had a golden dollar, 
 And a mastiff by the collar, 
 
 Near the margin of a pool. 
 
 102 
 
OLD ROVER. 
 
 "Come," said the idle truant, "let's have a meirj dayi 
 
 We'll buy with all this money, 
 
 Fine playthings rare and funny, 
 
 And candies sweet as honey, 
 Come, let us oif to play." 
 
 "No, no," said Annie Taylor, "our mother's just 
 command 
 
 Permits us no delaying : 
 
 We wish no toys nor playing;" 
 
 Then on she went, so saying, 
 With Charley by the hand. 
 
 Away the wicked school-boy to the river hurried 
 down. 
 
 And as he sauntered over. 
 
 Towards the town of Dover, 
 
 He tried to fling old Eover 
 Beyond the bridge — to drown ! 
 
 But mark the woful hap that this truant came to know; 
 
 While he the stone was tying. 
 
 And poor old Eove was cr3ring. 
 
 His foot slipped — he went flying 
 
 Down to the gulf below ! 
 
 103 
 
OLD ROVEK. 
 
 Down went his money too, to the bottom, Hke a stone, 
 
 A proof that sinful pleasure, 
 
 Indulged in any measure, 
 
 Endangers life and treasure, 
 And — should be let alone 1 
 
 Ah, how he cried for mercy as he was strugghng 
 there. 
 
 His cruelty lamenting. 
 
 Of all his sins repenting. 
 
 Yet no kind hand preventing 
 His danger and despair. 
 
 His faithful dog, however, plunged quickly in the wave, 
 
 Kegardless of the wetting. 
 
 All injuries forgetting — 
 
 As life's last sun was setting. 
 He drew him from the grave. 
 
 With bravery he bore him in safety to the shore, 
 
 And there, with sense returning. 
 
 With shame and sorrow burning. 
 
 This humbled boy was learning 
 
 To disobey no more. 
 
 104 
 
OLD ROVER. 
 
 A sad and guilty conscience had Robert now to bear, 
 
 For he was told to carry 
 
 That com to poor blind Harry, 
 
 And not to play nor tarry— 
 Ah, had he taken care I 
 
 Ah, what disgrace and danger before a truant lie I 
 
 What certain, stern correction, 
 
 And harrowing reflection ! — 
 
 PoorEobert! in dejection 
 Well might he weep and sigh. 
 
 At noon, as his young school-mates were homeward 
 passing near, 
 
 They heard his mournful crying. 
 
 And ran where he was lying. 
 
 So nearly drowned or dying. 
 And quivering with fear. 
 
 Sweet Annie wiped his tears, as he bent upon his 
 knees. 
 And then they all went over, 
 Toward the town of Dover, 
 And there they live with Rover, 
 In innocence and ease. 
 
 105 
 
FOUETH OF JULY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hakk, hark, from the hills and tlie valleys ascend 
 
 LoTid anthems of trinmpli and glee, 
 The voices of millions in harmony blend — 
 
 We are free I we are free ! we are free ! 
 'T is the hour when the Genius of Freedom awoke, 
 
 And struck for her hohest right, 
 Tis the hour when the strength of the Lion we broke, 
 
 And the eagle went up in its might I 
 
 II. 
 
 By the shades of the heroes that fell in the strife 1 
 
 By the fields where our fathers were slain! 
 While our bosoms shall heave with the pulses of life. 
 
 We will trample on tyranny's chain! 
 While there's nerve in an ami — while there's temper 
 in steel — 
 
 While a plank floats the limitless sea — 
 While the God of the patriot hears his appeal, 
 
 We are free, we are free, we are free! 
 
 106 
 
THE DESEETED. 
 
 1. 
 
 Dear Edwin! ah, to me how dear, 
 
 If tears could tell the cost I 
 Alas, they need to tell it here, 
 
 Since love and hope are lost. 
 Yet I, my aching heart to ease, 
 
 And all its truth reveal, 
 "Would haply ask the wailing breeze 
 
 To hear my last appeal. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Tis night I — though e'en the day is night, 
 
 Beneath the darksome shade 
 
 That hides the last lone gleam of light, 
 
 When love is all betrayed, 
 107 
 
THE DESERTED. 
 
 And o'er tlie spirit sad despair 
 
 Its cruel conquest gains. 
 But now, 'tis night along the air, 
 
 And o'er the dreary plains. 
 
 III. 
 I come to otir dear seat to sigh, 
 
 And think how here you sang, 
 What love was sparlding in your eye, 
 
 And in that music rang I 
 And it was true, all true, I know ; 
 
 But now, ah, vain regret. 
 The bower is but a cell of wo — 
 
 Since Edwin could forget I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though flatterers give me beauty's throne, 
 And crowd to own my sway ; 
 
 Amid them all, I feel alone, 
 For one is still away ; 
 
 I oft have watched beside the door, 
 And oft above the hill. 
 
 But ah, he comes to me no more. 
 
 And few the hopes he will I 
 108 
 
THE DESERTED. 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet there is One my grief tliat knows, 
 
 Beyond the starry skies; 
 And when my brimful heart o'erflows, 
 
 I raise my streaming eyes, 
 And in an instant he comes near, 
 
 And faithful with his love, 
 Still whispers, though forgotten here, 
 
 I have a Friend above. 
 
TO ONE BEEEAYED. 
 
 1. 
 
 In a fall heart, a fountain deep of feeling, 
 
 I dip my pen, and bid these numbers flow. 
 Yet fear, as sadly they along are stealing, 
 
 T sball too soon intrude upon thy woe. 
 For there's a dreariness in such a sorrow 
 
 'Twere. impious to invade with friendship's dole; 
 It is a night that knows not of a morrow; 
 
 A weary waste, a winter of the soul. 
 
 II. 
 
 Full oft, to desolated earth returning. 
 
 The cheerly spring shall make it all re-bloom, 
 And many a summer sun shall bright be burning, 
 
 Ere time shall chase away thy bosom's gloom. 
 But I am weeping with thee, lonely weeper, - 
 
 My spirit mingles in thy mournful wail, 
 Breathes a low dirge where lies thy little sleeper, 
 
 T ells its own anguish in thy newer tale. 
 
CHANGE. 
 
 I 
 
 I SAW grey History throw back the curtain 
 
 Of Empire's youtli; 
 <» How cliangingl" said tlie seer, no glory certain, 
 
 Savethatof Truth I 
 See, how the mighty have gone down to night. 
 Since Time first spread his pinions for his flight 1 
 
 II. 
 
 In my dread journey, I have seen the fountains 
 
 Of the great deep 
 Fiercely careering o'er earth's topmost mountains 
 
 A mighty sweep 
 
 Of His displeasure, at whose potent will 
 
 A world rolls on, or universe stands still I 
 111 
 
CHANGE. 
 
 m. 
 
 Assyria, Babylon, Nimrod and Belsliazzar, 
 
 The record swell ; 
 Persia and Grecia, Cyrus and Pelazzar, 
 
 Arose and fell; 
 Then Eome and Caesar flitted o'er the page, 
 And on my dial wrote — ^the Brazen Age I 
 
 IV. 
 
 How fleet the Cycles of the orbs of heaven, 
 
 On Time's swift wing I 
 How oft the mystic number — ^seven I seven I 
 
 The centuries ring I 
 How fast to midnight now the index flies, 
 When God shall tear his clock-work from the skies I 
 
 V. 
 
 In Palestine, it was the noon of ages 
 
 When rose that Sun 
 Predicted in old prophets' hallowed pages, 
 
 The glorious One, 
 
 Whose happy kingdom steadfast shall abide, 
 
 When earth is lost in ruin's mighty tide I 
 112 
 
CHANGE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thrice Byo dim centuries again had hovered 
 
 O'er ocean far, 
 Where laj a second world all undiscovered ; 
 
 No guiding star 
 That dark, mysterious region to explore. 
 When lo, Columbus leaped upon its shore I 
 
 VII. 
 Then saw the forests a strong reaper reaping ; 
 
 Eesistless, rude ; 
 How fell the giants where his scythe was sweeping 
 
 The solitude; 
 Till beauty reigned where monsters used to roam, 
 And earth's down-trodden found a glorious home. 
 
FOR CATHARINE'S ALBUM. 
 
 I AM seated now, with mj pen in hand, 
 
 But the "gift" is gone, and mj theme unplanned, 
 
 And I cannot call from the muses' hill 
 
 A single spirit to wait my will. 
 
 So I take your name and attempt to divine 
 
 The hidden meaning of Catharine. 
 
 C, calmness, courage, confidence imparts 
 
 A, adds admirers, advocates the arts, 
 
 T, trusts to truth, tho' tried thro' trickling tears. 
 
 H, rules the harmony that charms the spheres, 
 
 A nd whoso's ears are deaf, it touches, and he hears. 
 
 R, is religion, and its righteous reign, 
 
 I, shuns applause, but ministers to pain, 
 
 N, a nobility of soul displays, 
 
 E, ends the verse, but breathes its last in praise. 
 114 
 
THE ABSENT PASTOR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Peace of God I — sweet river, flowing 
 
 Down to every humble heart 
 Faith I with constant glorj glowing, 
 
 Do ye grief and gloom impart ? 
 AVhy thus droop our hearts in sorrow? 
 
 Gilead I hast thou lost thy balm ? 
 Will a storm arise to-morrow, 
 
 Saviour I which thou canst not calm ? 
 
 II. 
 
 When the shepherd far is taken 
 
 From the flock that he hath led, 
 
 And the lambs are all forsaken, 
 
 From his hand so often fed, 
 116 
 
THE ABSENT PASTOE. 
 
 Sadly o'er the pasture straying, 
 They lament the absent guide ; 
 
 Yain the mead its charms displaying, 
 Joy may there no more abide. 
 
 III. 
 Now — (the Past hath flown, how fleetly I 
 
 That sad, hapless flock are we, 
 Zion's fold united sweetly ; 
 
 But the shepherd — where is he ? 
 Far in other lands, a stranger. 
 
 He proclaims the Prince of Peace : 
 Angels I guard his path from danger, 
 
 Till his toil and peril cease. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Soldier I take thy banner ! — ever 
 
 Spread it boldly to the breeze ; 
 Fear not ! — nought our love shall sever, 
 
 Time nor distance, land nor seas. 
 Go Devoted ! tell the story ; 
 
 Loud the trump of Zion blow ; 
 Burning for thy Master's glory, 
 
 Pilgrim — Shepherd — Soldier — go I 
 
 116 
 
THE LIBEETY POLE. 
 
 A Liberty Pole was cut in the woods and erected at Coytesville, on 
 the Palisades, Fourth of July, as part of the festivities of the 
 day. This Ode was sung on the occasion. 
 
 I. 
 
 Hark, liark, in tlie forest a thundering sound, 
 
 As wlien a nation rejoices I 
 'Tis a falling oak as it meets the gronnd, 
 
 With the shouts of mountain voices I 
 Like a joyous song it rolls along, 
 
 In mighty chorus chanting, 
 Here's work to do, ye strong and true, 
 
 The Tree of Freedom planting I 
 
 II. 
 
 They gather around where the giant fell, 
 
 A band of the giant-hearted, 
 
 And again the echoing anthems swell, 
 
 As the branching boughs are parted I 
 117 
 
THE LIBERTY POLE. 
 
 Down, down to tlie depths of tlie caves below, 
 Let tlie base of tlie spar be driven. 
 
 And tlie tapering stem trinmpliantly grow 
 To the lofty dome of heaven I 
 
 m. 
 
 'Tis the glorious day of Liberty^s birth ; 
 
 And while the world's chains are falling, 
 Let us stretch our arms to the ends of the earth, 
 
 To her struggling heroes calling, — 
 The girdle of Union that binds us now 
 
 No tyranny e'er shall sever, 
 By our towering shaft and its banner we vo-w 
 
 To be free and united forever I 
 
 IV. 
 
 All praise to the patriot's Friend above, 
 
 Lieffable in splendor ; 
 Unto Him be songs of grateful love, 
 
 Who was Washington's Defender I 
 Sing, freemen, sing, while your axes swing 
 
 In mighty chorus chanting. 
 Here's work to do, ye strong and true, 
 
 The Tree of Freedom planting I 
 
 118 
 
THE PEN. 
 
 Some strive to be witty 
 In praising the pretty, 
 And many a ditty 
 
 Is written, I ken. 
 Not lialf so sincerely. 
 So dearly, or clearly. 
 As may be made merely 
 
 Concerning tbe PEK. 
 
 It is a logician— 
 
 A mathematician — 
 
 A mute rhetorician — 
 
 A sage, a fool ; 
 
 A crafty contriver, 
 
 A wicked conniver, 
 
 That breaks for a stiver 
 
 The Golden Kule. 
 119 
 
THE PEN. 
 
 Tlie Pen ! it has power 
 To sweeten tTie sour, 
 To soothe the sad hour, 
 
 And sadden the gay ; 
 To conquer a hero, 
 To soften a Nero, 
 And shed upon zero 
 
 A melting ray. 
 
 And then it is chilling, 
 Unwilling, or killing; 
 Cuts off with a shilling 
 
 The hopes of the heir. 
 The storm of life's ocean 
 That keeps it in motion, 
 Drives some to devotion, 
 
 And some to despair. 
 
 The sighs of the lover 
 It puts under cover, 
 And all the world over 
 They silently pass, 
 120 
 
THE PEN. 
 
 No mortal ear hearing 
 Those sighs so endearing, 
 Until they are cheering 
 The rightful lass. 
 
 What wealth it disburses I 
 'Full pockets and purses, 
 And beautiful verses, 
 
 (Like these) with a stroke I 
 "What comical capers 
 It cuts in the papers. 
 Fuss, fury, and vapors— 
 
 All ending in smoke I 
 
 The Pen does the fightmg, 
 The wronging and righting. 
 Inviting and shghting, 
 
 The praise and abuse : 
 
 Yea, every profession 
 
 Must make this concession — 
 
 Our pride and progression 
 
 We owe to the goose I 
 
 121 
 
FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 How like an album life's oft clianging scene : 
 
 Pure from our Maker's hand we first appear , 
 Our frontal picture, Innocence serene, 
 
 In wonder gazing on a starting tear. 
 Thence follow many tlie blank years of youtb, 
 
 Witb bere and tbere a leaf of faded flowers; 
 Poor painted mockeries of nature's trutb, 
 
 And vain resemblances of wasted bours. 
 As on we turn, percbance tbe folios teem 
 
 Witb dainty chapters, poesy and prose; 
 But ab, bow worthless oftentimes the theme ; 
 
 Follies begin our book, and follies close. 
 
 122 
 
A MEDITATION. 
 
 I. 
 
 Life is a fleeting thing, 
 
 Ever upon tlie wing, 
 Transient the hours that bring 
 
 The night and day. 
 Pleasures, like Cjnthia^s beam, 
 Lovely a moment seem. 
 Clouds sail athwart the gleam 
 
 And hide the ray. 
 
 II. 
 
 Love hath the name of joy, 
 
 But Cupid, the arch boy, 
 Oft doth the heart decoy 
 To be deceived. 
 
 123 
 
A MEDITATION. 
 
 Friendsliip is but a word 
 E'en as a tale absurd, 
 Spoken, but seldom beard 
 To be believed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Fame is a trumpet's blast. 
 Loud, strong, but soon the last 
 Note, into silence past 
 
 Is beard no more. 
 Laurels of triumph die 
 Soon as the warrior's eye 
 Closes in death, — a sigh — 
 
 And all is o'er. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But for the Christian soul 
 Yainlj from pole to pole, 
 Oceans of sorrow roll, 
 
 Him to destroy; 
 For, in the deepest sea, 
 Hope shall his solace be, 
 And in eternity 
 
 Fullness of joy. 
 
 124 
 
THE POLISH MOWERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 A CONQUERING despot oam©, 
 
 And quenclied a nation's name: 
 That name wae lost 
 
 Till tliat nation's wo 
 Did overflow I 
 
 n. 
 
 Wrung from the tyrant's grasp, 
 
 From slavery's iron clasp, 
 
 Again nnfurled 
 The avenging Pole, 
 
 His Bannerol I 
 
 125 
 
THE POLISH MOWEES. 
 
 Eonsing Lis slumbering might 
 The peasant sought the fight 
 
 Girt with his scythe; 
 For his work was then — 
 
 To harvest men I 
 
 IV. 
 
 The KosciuscAN band 
 Bade the oppressor stand I 
 
 And utter there 
 To the rustic sword, 
 
 His warning word ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Fiercely the foe rushed onl 
 
 But fearful deeds were done 
 On the field of death, 
 
 Where the free blood flowed, 
 And the mowers mowed ! 
 
THE TEST. 
 
 I. 
 
 In tlij earl J prime, wlien tliy heart is gay, 
 
 And a merry voice calleth — up I away I 
 Away, and partake of tlie choicest things 
 The world in its folly around the flings; 
 Pluck every flower of ill delight 
 That poisons the heart, and deceives the sight; 
 K thou hast a friend, who a friend would prove, 
 He will chide thy course, though he lose thy lova 
 
 11. 
 
 When the sign of manhood comes on thy brow, 
 
 And ambition pilots thy daring prow : 
 
 Though thy way be over the smoothest sea, 
 
 And the prize of fame scemeth just a-lee, 
 127 
 
THE TEST. 
 
 Or tliy eager hand be already laid 
 On tlie glorious goal thy desires have made ; 
 When thou dreamest not of an hour of care, 
 True friendship will counsel thee still — prepare ! 
 
 111. 
 And when that the trial is come, and all 
 
 Thy stateliest fancyings fade and fall ; 
 
 When the ear of envy hath heard thy fame, 
 
 And the blight of slander is on thy name ; 
 
 When fortune's propitious breezes fail, 
 
 And adversity shatters thy silken sail, 
 
 And roaring surges thy bark o'erwhelm. 
 
 If thou hast a friend, he will seize the helm, 
 
 ly. 
 When hope's last -sun is adown the west, 
 
 And shadows darken thy lonely breast ; 
 
 When the bursting bosom can hold no more, 
 
 And the fount of sorrow is running o'er ; 
 
 And the writhing heart, in its burning cell, 
 
 Conceives a thought it were sin to tell ; 
 
 Oh, then, for the true and enduring love. 
 
 And the Friend of the friendless, look above. 
 
 128 
 
GONE HOME. 
 
 T. 
 
 He has gone to his home— for the eventide 
 
 Is come, and his toils are o'er : 
 He has gone where his Marj and babes abide 
 And he never will leave them more. 
 
 II. 
 He has gone to his home— for within the fold 
 
 The flock of his kindlj care 
 He has safely closed, and a stone has rolled, 
 
 That the wolves may not enter there. 
 
 III. 
 He has gone to his home— for the clunbing vines 
 
 In clustering fruits abound; 
 He has tied for the tendrils their guiding Unes, 
 
 And the scions are pruned around. 
 129 
 
GONE HOME. 
 IV. 
 
 He has gone to his home — for the race is run, 
 And the wreath is around his brow ; 
 
 The angels saw when the prize was won, 
 And thej greet him in heaven now. 
 
 V. 
 He has gone to the rest of the righteous dead 
 
 And sweetly shall he repose 
 Till the day shall dawn on his peaceful bed 
 
 That never shall know a close. 
 
A. PSALM IN THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh I Spirit, by wTiose sovereign liaiid 
 
 A universe is swayed; 
 Who looketli o'er onr guilty land 
 
 And maketh us afraid; 
 Behold, with deep contrition's sigh, 
 
 "We at thy feet appear; 
 Bow from thy habitation high, 
 
 Oh, Deity 1 and heaj. 
 
 II. 
 
 Our feet have turned away from thee, 
 
 To wander in the groves 
 Of mammonite idolatry, 
 
 And sinfal, sensual loves. 
 Vain pride our hearts hath lifted up; 
 
 Thy laws we scorned to keep ; 
 Drank deep of sin's unhallowed cup ; 
 
 Revelled I — ^but now we weep! 
 
 131 
 
PSALM IN THE PESTILENCE. • 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, God! we know thou long hast borne; 
 
 Long spared the unfruitfiLL tree; 
 Yet stay the vengeance thou hast sworn; 
 
 Yet let thy creatures — be! 
 Eetum thy sword upon thy thigh ; 
 
 Command thine arrows back ; 
 Nor let thy scathing fury fly, 
 
 Throughout the destined track. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The angry finger of thy power, 
 
 That taints the vital breath. 
 And from the morn to midnight hour, 
 
 Directs the shafts of death, 
 Remove ; and from thy mercy-seat 
 
 The healthfal spirit send; 
 While now, all supphant at thy feet, 
 
 Thy chastened people bend. 
 
TATTLETOWN. 
 
 Come, Age and Youth, 
 A tale of fancy, yet a tale of tnith, 
 I pray attend, while I reluctant tell. 
 What woful times in Tattletown befel. 
 
 Fair Tattletown I 
 Alas, that stars so bright so soon go dorwn. 
 Time was its borders knew no sin nor harm ; 
 But that was only when it was a farm. 
 
 Soon fled its joys, 
 
 When streets, and houses, trade, and romping boys, 
 
 And such disturbers of the rural peace. 
 
 Gave frequent note of Tattletown's increase. 
 133 
 
TATTLETOWN. 
 
 Yet all was safe, 
 WHle nought was said or done to vex and cliafe ; 
 And people were content to buy and sell, 
 And mind their business quietly and well. 
 
 And still it grew ; 
 A church was built, and eke a tavern too ; 
 For oft, in sooth, as elsewhere in the land. 
 Their punch and piety went hand in hand. 
 
 Rolled on a year ; 
 With health, and harmony, and social cheer; 
 And then, alas, mysterious and sad, 
 All Tattletown seemed suddenly stark mad. 
 
 As yoUjhave seen, 
 Some mastiff and grimalkin on the green, 
 With growl and scowl each other fiercely spy, 
 So these grim neighbors each would each defy. 
 
 O grievous fate! 
 
 Such steady people in so queer a state. 
 
 No head could nod, no eye could kindly glance, 
 
 And friendly chat was scarce as Dutch in France. 
 134 
 
TATTLETOWN. 
 
 All ties were rent ; 
 The fondest love grew cold and discontent ; 
 The tavern raved like bedlam in despair, 
 And hatred triumphed in the House of Prayer. 
 
 Physicians vain ; 
 The epidemic's source could none explain. 
 Nor how it spread with still augmenting rage, 
 Till all seemed bears just broken out of cage. 
 
 How passing strange I 
 "What could have wrought such melancholy change? 
 What witch, or wizard, fiend or spirit foul. 
 Had made each cheerful chum a churhsh owl ? 
 
 Eevealed at last I 
 The days of doubt and mystery went past. 
 The baleful air that o'er the town had hung, 
 "Was found distilling from each Tattler's tongue I 
 
 135 
 
MOKNING. 
 
 *Tis sweet to greet tlie glorious sun, 
 
 O'er eastern hills appearing, 
 His swift, untiring race to run, 
 
 Througli azure skies careering ; 
 While grot, and cot, and rippling rill, 
 
 And mead and vale are smiling, 
 And warbling birds the greenwood thril" 
 
 Tlie plougkman's toil beguiling. 
 To raise in praise earth's highest strain, 
 
 To Him such bliss bestowing, 
 wake, and break dull slumber's chain, 
 
 While early morn is glowing. 
 
 136 
 
GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 Church of tlie cross, rejoicel The liour 
 That breaks the sway of heathen power 
 Chimes from the Clock of Ages! Hark I- 
 How doth that peal upon the dark 
 Eeceding centuries, appal I 
 The "Watchmen each to other call, 
 And lo I The shrines of Moloch fall. 
 
 n. 
 
 Kejoicel There dawns a glorious day! 
 The Sun of Truth with flashing ray, 
 Chases the shades of error far; 
 And millions hail the Morning Star 
 That brings the mental jubilee; • 
 The groping soul begins to see. 
 And Universal Mmd is free I 
 
 137 
 
GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 in. 
 
 Where Don and Danube roar along, 
 Goes up the all-inspiring song ; 
 Far Gaudalquiver's plains reply, 
 And Ural thunders back the cry; 
 High Altay gives an answering nod. 
 And Indus breaks the pagan rod, 
 For Light, and Liberty, and God I 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Lord hath put forth his hand. 
 
 He hath spoken the word of might, 
 
 And every heathen land 
 
 Hath seen the ineffable light I 
 
 The glorious beaming, 
 
 That long hath been gleaming 
 
 From Calvary's blood-stained height. 
 
 Hath pierced the partition 
 
 Of dark superstition. 
 
 And vanquished idolatry's night. 
 
 Where the captive's breast was bared, 
 
 To the sacrificial knife, 
 
 The Christian's sign is reared, 
 
 138 
 
GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 And the doomed are shouting "LifeI" 
 
 Life, light, and salvation; — 
 
 To everj nation 
 
 The tidings have fireely flown: 
 
 From Greenland's bleak mountains, 
 
 To Africa's fountains. 
 
 Hath the silver trump been blown. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Afar, on the golden shore 
 Of India, it rends the air ; 
 And Juggernauth's reign is o'er, 
 For the cross is planted there. 
 And there it will flourish, 
 For heaven will nourish, 
 And water it as a tree 
 Till its branches shall cover 
 The spacious earth over, 
 And all shall its excellence see; 
 
 vn. 
 
 The glory of Islam fails I 
 Over mosque, over minaret, 
 The word of the Lord prevails, 
 For the sun of their day is set. 
 
 139 
 
GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 Moliammed's delusion 
 
 Is set in confusion ; 
 
 Yain, vain is tlie Mussulman's prayer, 
 
 And vain his dissembling, 
 
 His empire is trembling, 
 
 For tbe finger of doom is there. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And Judab batb beard tbe call: 
 
 He wakes from bis long, long sleep, 
 
 Tbe scales from bis ejebds fall, 
 
 And be turns bim away to weep ; 
 
 To weep bis delaying, 
 
 His erring and straying, 
 
 So long from tbe cbosen One; 
 
 Tbe Saviour receiving, 
 
 Tbe Gospel bebeving. 
 
 He yields — and tbe work is done. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Tbe billow-tossed mariner now, 
 
 Sees Jesus upon tbe main, 
 
 And sbouts from bis gallant prow, 
 
 " Over eartb, over ocean reign I" 
 uo 
 
GLAD TIDI NGS. 
 
 Come, Lord, and deliver 
 
 The sea and tlie river, 
 
 And tlie port from sin's control; 
 
 Let sailors' rongli voices 
 
 Cry, "Zion rejoices I'* 
 
 From South to the northern poie.^ 
 
 X. 
 
 The forest gives back the sound: 
 The red man's rapture bursts, 
 And reverberates around — 
 Ho I every one that thirsts, 
 Come I come to the waters I 
 His sons and his daughters, 
 Are hastening to drink and live ; 
 The wilderness ringing, 
 Eephes to their singing, 
 Forgiven I and we forgive. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The combat yell hath ceased : 
 
 "Where the belted warrior stood, 
 
 Stands now the Christian priest, 
 
 With the battle-axe of God. 
 141 
 
GLAD TIDINGS. 
 
 The triumpli is urging I 
 The Indian emerging 
 From dark superstition^s sway, 
 Upraises his banner, 
 And joins the hosannah, 
 That ushers the Gospel-day. 
 
ALL GONE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The early bud of life, 
 
 And the full bloomicp^ flower 
 And the strong and stately stem, 
 They are gone — ^in an hour I 
 
 II. 
 
 They are gone, they are gone, 
 
 Like the tints of the sky ; 
 While we said " how beautiful 1" 
 Lo I they all have passed by. 
 
 III. 
 I see a lonely hearth, 
 
 A patriarchal sire : 
 
 There are empty seats for four, 
 
 By the side of his fire. 
 
 143 
 
ALL GONE. ^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 They are gone I tlie j are gone ! 
 
 He calls to tliem in vain ; 
 Ah, old man, they hear thee not; 
 They will never come again. 
 
 V. 
 
 But thou wilt go to them; 
 
 Thou art done with the earth: 
 Thou hast nothing further now 
 "With its woes or its mirth. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The morrow thou shalt mark, 
 A lone leaf on the blast, 
 
 Then arise, and take thy staff. 
 Thou art here for the last. 
 
 YII. 
 
 And autumn winds shall say. 
 
 As they sigh round the door,- 
 All are gone I to return — 
 iN'evermore — ^nevermore I 
 
 144 
 
NOTHINGS. 
 
 A RHYME FOB CHILDREN. 
 
 How lieedless the world of the wonderful truth, 
 Familiar to every cipheriag youth, 
 That, naught after naught, as right onward you go, 
 To hundreds and thousands the magnitudes grow. 
 
 " 'Tis naught I" says the heart, when it wishes to sin, 
 Then opens and lets the iniquity in; 
 But learns the sad lesson, full early and long, 
 That slight as it seemed, 'tis a mountain of wrong. 
 
 '"Tis naught I" says the tempter, "for children to cheat, 
 And cover their guilt by a little deceit." 
 But oh, when the sum of such nothings is shown, 
 All honor and candor away will have flown. 
 
 145 
 
NOTHINGS. 
 
 Young ISTed stole a penny from grandmother's purse. 
 -'Tis notliing," said he, "I am nothing the worse." 
 Yet all his mere nothings I shudder to name, 
 He grew up a villain, and perished in shame. 
 
 Eliza was pert, and would have her own way; 
 Nor parents nor teachers inclined to obey. 
 *Twas nothing in childhood, but oh, with her years, 
 What bitter reflections, what penitent tears. 
 
 A boy took dehght in impaling a fly : 
 
 " 'Tis nothing," said he, " for an insect to die:" 
 
 Too cruel and sad his career to relate — 
 
 A murderer's heart — and a murderer's fate ! 
 
 Dear children, no sin can be harmless or small, 
 To Him who created and watches you all: 
 Oh, raise your young hearts to your Saviour above, 
 And pray for humility, mercy and love. 
 
 146 
 
AN EPITAPH. 
 
 L 
 
 "Wee P, ye that pass this hallowed ground, 
 
 More for the living than the dead ; 
 For tears on earth must still abound, 
 But Fanny from all grief hath fled. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou dear departed, to thy shade 
 
 Thy mother's love hath raised this stone, 
 
 Where soon she shall with thee be laid. 
 And thy memorial be her own. 
 
THE WANDEEEK. 
 
 1. 
 
 The evening shadows were gathered o'er, 
 
 In sweet repose upon hill and lea, 
 The ploughman sat at his cottage door, 
 
 The birds were flown to the forest tree, 
 The zephyrs playfully swept along 
 As they bore the notes of a monrnfal song. 
 
 ir. 
 'Twas poured so wildly upon the air, 
 
 It seemed the burst of some deep despair 
 
 As when the loving forever part. 
 
 Or murmurs steal from a broken heart. 
 
 m. 
 
 The thrilling tones of that sad, sad strain, 
 
 Went moaning over the hill and lea — 
 
 The peasant hied to the field again, 
 148 
 
THE WANDERER. 
 IV. 
 
 The birds flew out of the forest tree — 
 The mill boy wended his way more slow, 
 To list the wanderer's tale of wo. 
 
 V. 
 
 " 0, once the beauty of youth was mine,, 
 
 And joy its flowers was wont to twine 
 To deck my fair and unclouded brow, 
 But these as dreams, I remember now. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ah, once I dwelt in a peaceful home, 
 And kindred voices were mingled there ; 
 
 I deemed not then that I e'er should roam, 
 Or drink of sorrow this bitter share, 
 
 A wanderer here, to the winds to tell 
 
 They are gone, all gone whom I loved so welL 
 
 VII. 
 Ah, one there was when my hopes were high, 
 
 My brightest star in life's morning sky ; 
 Soon, soon that light of my spirit fled 
 To the shadowy land of the blessed dead I 
 
 149 
 
THE WANDERER. 
 VIII. 
 
 And well I ween did my mother love 
 The son that stayed her declining years, 
 
 But her dear spirit is now above; 
 Her kindly hand cannot wipe the tears 
 
 That wo hath urged to my hueless cheek, 
 
 Nor her voice in soothing accents speak. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Though eyes there are that are beaming bright. 
 
 Though forms there are that are fair as light, 
 Though smiles and love in them all there be, 
 They beam and glow but in vain for me." 
 
 X. 
 
 Deep murky shadows were gathered o'er. 
 
 And night came down upon hill and lea, 
 The ploughman hied to his cottage door. 
 
 The birds sped home to the sheltering tree. 
 And in the tempest that swept along. 
 Was lost that sad, mysterious song. 
 
 150 
 
SEVASTOPOL. 
 
 I 
 
 Out ixom the icy North, 
 Wild tmniilts thunder forth ; 
 And where the echoes roll, 
 Shrieks many a warrior's soul, 
 Sevastopol I 
 
 II. 
 
 Sevastopol I Afar, 
 
 A dread, portentous Star I 
 
 star, what seest thou there, 
 
 Down through the murky air?- 
 
 Despairl despair! 
 151 
 
SEVASTOPOL. 
 
 m. 
 
 Vesuvius of wrath I 
 
 Fierce Moloch's blasted path I 
 Yea star, thou sayest well — 
 Thou seest where Satan fell I — 
 ThouseestHelll 
 
 IV. 
 Bard of Britain's isle, 
 
 Pipe the loud lay the while ; 
 
 But no heroic stave, 
 
 Shall bring the great and brave, 
 
 Up from the grave I 
 
 V. 
 
 Alas! Balaklavael 
 
 Weep mountain, vale, and sea I 
 Kuss, Albion and Gaul, 
 One mighty dirge for all — 
 Sevastopol ! 
 
 152 
 
BEWAEE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Love 'tis said, is very sweet, 
 
 Seems so gentle, speaks so fair; 
 Men and maidens, all you meet- 
 Hall or bower, liome or street, 
 Singing— "Love is very sweet!"— 
 ' But beware I 
 
 n. 
 
 How we listen wlien he sings, 
 Thinking all his song is true; 
 
 Ah, we do not see his wmgsl 
 
 Like a laden bee, he brings 
 
 Stores of honey— but he stings 
 
 Like it, tool 
 153 
 
BEWARE. 
 III. 
 
 Bliss in ocean seems to roll, 
 
 Ah, delicioiis — ^but too deep, 
 SootMng, wliile it drowns tlie soul I 
 Kjiell of tranquil pleasures — toll I 
 Oh the sweet narcotic bowl — 
 Fatal sleep I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love is drawn in youthful mould; 
 
 Would you know the reason why, 
 None have ever seen him old! 
 For, if weary he, or cold. 
 His sad story soon is told, 
 He must die I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Changing as the fitful breeze, 
 
 All his fond professions nought; 
 
 Like the wind among the trees, 
 
 More to plunder than to please: 
 
 Cannot trust him — on his knees — 
 
 Never ought I 
 154 
 
BEWAKE. 
 VII. 
 
 Such tlie elf wiio so allures 
 
 Youtli, unwary of Ms snare: 
 All, the pangs the heart endures 
 When his victim he secures I 
 Be they neitJier mine nor yours — 
 But beware I 
 
FILIAL LOVE. 
 
 1. 
 Many things in Nature 
 
 Beautiful there be, 
 Kivulets aud rivers, 
 
 Flowing to the sea ; 
 Dew-drops in the morning 
 
 Sparkling in the sun ; 
 And the gilded hill-tops, 
 
 When the day is done. 
 Beautiful the flowers, 
 
 And the blooming trees, 
 And the yellow harvest, 
 
 Waving in the breeze ; 
 The reviving shower, 
 
 When the fields are dry ; 
 
 156 
 
FILIAL LOVE. 
 
 And the tinted rainbow, 
 Spanning all the sky ; 
 
 Earth, and air obeying 
 Each divine decree ; 
 
 Many things in Nature 
 Beautiful there be. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet the heart's emotions 
 
 Fairer still may prove, 
 Streams of earnest feeling, 
 
 Flowing into love ; 
 Dew-drops of compassion, 
 
 In sweet woman's eye ; 
 And the brow of manhood, 
 
 Where truth's sunbeams lie 
 Showers of blest kindness. 
 
 When afflictions call ; 
 Gratitude, hke rainbows, 
 
 Beaming over all. 
 
 Kature thus, and goodness, 
 
 Many things declare, 
 157 
 
FILIAL LOVE. 
 
 Wonderful in beautj, 
 Heavenlj and rare. 
 But of all tilings lovelj, 
 
 That on earth maj be,- 
 Gentle, firm, confiding 
 Filial Love, formal 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Look: upon tlie brigTit side, 
 
 Oh ye sad and poor, 
 All tilings liave a rigTit side, 
 Tlie Briglit side! 
 
 Every iU a cure, 
 
 Oh ye sad and poor. 
 
 II. 
 
 Purest in the deep well 
 
 The sweet waters lie; 
 Heart, if thou wouldst sleep well, 
 The Deep Well 
 
 Of affliction try, — 
 
 Drink, to live — ^to die \ 
 159 
 
THE BRIGHT SIDE. 
 III. 
 
 Fairer doth the vine grow, 
 
 For tlie primer's knife; 
 Wonldst thou make the wine flow, 
 The Yine grow, 
 
 Wage imceasing strife 
 
 With the weeds of life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Farthest in the midnight, 
 
 Nearest to the dawn; 
 Morning's beams will bid night, 
 The midnight, 
 
 Flee the gloomy lawn, — 
 
 Comes the rosy dawn. 
 
 V. 
 
 Look upon the bright side. 
 
 Oh ye sad and poor. 
 All things have a right side, 
 The Bright Side I 
 Every ill a cura 
 Oh ye sad find poor! 
 160 
 
FAITHFUL JAKE. 
 
 Alftdyhnving a handsome dog that became too mature and sturdy for 
 a parlor pet, gave him away. He was subsequently killed while 
 defending bravely his master's premises at night. His name was 
 Jake. 
 
 Sing a requiem for Jake — 
 Once so beautiful and young : 
 
 Sleeping now no more to wake. 
 Let a mournful dirge be sung — 
 
 Weep, willow, o'er Ms liead ; 
 Jake is dead I 
 
 Muse, Hs virtues now declare; 
 
 Let tlie Bard Hs deeds rehearse 
 Dog so brave in every bair, 
 
 Let Mm live again in verse : 
 In tMs doleful, dog-grel strain, 
 Live again. 
 
 IGl 
 
JAKE. 
 
 Born to be a beauty's pet, 
 Nurtured in lier maiden lap ; 
 
 Ab, metbinks I see bim yet, 
 Sipping from ber pabn bis pap, 
 
 In tbat paradise witb ber ; 
 Happy cur I 
 
 Sped tbe time, and bow be grew ; 
 
 Pleasures, ab, bow swift tbey move ; 
 Blissful momenta bow tbey flew. 
 
 Jake was soon too old to love ; 
 Gentle, joyous, strong and bold, 
 But too old I 
 
 O, tbe cbeating dream of youtb ; 
 
 0, tbe dreary days beyond ; 
 Dog, or man, bow sad tbe trutb. 
 
 Woman's beart no more is fond, 
 Wben tbe bloom of youtbful years 
 Disappears I 
 
 Jake must find anotber bome: 
 
 Nestle near some warmer beart ; 
 
 Wberesoever be may go, 
 162 
 
JAKE, 
 
 Now from lier lie must depart. 
 Jake, tliy mistress wills it so, 
 Thou must go. 
 
 Courage, Jake I tliy tail uprear : 
 Love shall yet reward thy worth ; 
 
 Thou shalt find some friend sincere,. 
 And beside some glowing hearth, 
 
 Growl defiance to all care, 
 And the fair. 
 
 Follow him, my truthful pen, 
 By the river, o'er the lea, 
 
 Up the hill, and down the glen; 
 What a gallant dog was he. 
 
 Trusty, fearless, wide-awake — 
 Matchless Jake! 
 
 Kow no guardian at the gate, 
 
 Ko swift herald at the door ; 
 Bower and garden desolate, 
 
 He is romping there no more. 
 Silent avenue and lawn, 
 Jake is gone. 
 
 163 
 
JAKE. 
 
 Gone, the terror of tlie sty, 
 Eooting pigs may venture out ; 
 
 Thieving fowls abroad may fly, 
 'No stem sentinel about, 
 
 No avenger now to dread, 
 Jake is dead I 
 
 Lay him gently by the brook, 
 Deep beside the mossy stone. 
 
 In the cool secluded nook, 
 "Where he loved to sit alone : 
 
 This strange legend o'er him penned- 
 
 L F] 
 164 
 
THE GATE. 
 
 Tell me tliat sweet story Uncle, 
 
 That you promised to relate, 
 "When together we were walking, 
 
 Down the garden to the Gate. 
 It reminded you of something, 
 
 You had read of, or had seen ; 
 Something pleasant that had happened, 
 
 Maybe, when you saw the Queen. 
 
 Then my uncle touched his forehead, 
 
 As the thought he would recall, 
 But he seemed to be obhvious. 
 
 Could not recollect at all. 
 In his books, and in his travels. 
 
 Many a gate he knew indeed. 
 But of one with a sweet story. 
 
 Who could ever hear or read ? 
 
 165 
 
THE GATE. 
 
 If I would permit a sermon, 
 
 Haply soon the doubt should cease ; 
 Lo, the narrow gate of Virtue, 
 
 And its pleasant paths of peace. 
 Enter at the radiant portal, 
 
 Happy every maiden there; 
 Flowers of truth forever blooming ; 
 
 Life immortal in the air. 
 
 Shun the fatal gate of Folly ; 
 
 Euin in her jewelled arm, 
 Sorrow in her gaudy bowers. 
 
 Death in every seeming charm. 
 Samson and the gates of Gaza. 
 
 Too, were an instructive tale, 
 How a beautiful Delilah 
 
 May o'er mighty maa prevail I 
 
 You may read in Trojan story, 
 How a luckless gate they made, 
 
 To receive the fierce invader. 
 In a wooden horse conveyed ; 
 
 Noble and heroic Hium, 
 Thus to meet so sad a fate, 
 
 166 
 
THE GATE. 
 
 For a fair but faithless Helen, 
 
 Tempted from her husband's gate. 
 Shall I tell jou of the Hurl-gate, 
 
 Fast by Manahatta's shore; 
 Or the gate of El-dorado, 
 
 Whence they bring the golden ore, 
 Or yon toll-gate, where the traveller, 
 
 Prince or peasant, still must pay ; 
 E'en as all on life's brief journey 
 
 Weep their tribute by the way. 
 
 Gates romantic and historic. 
 
 Crowding all the paths of time, 
 Ever since the gates of Eden 
 
 Opened Earth to love and crime. 
 Gates of castles, gates of dungeons. 
 
 And the flood-gate at the mill ; 
 But the one with a sweet story 
 
 He could not remember still. 
 
 Seeing then my disappointment, 
 
 Uncle seemed to try again ; 
 
 Oh, ah, yes, — a scene last evening. 
 
 Might the mystery explain. 
 1G7 
 
THE GATE. 
 
 He was sitting at his casement, 
 Musing in tTie Moon^s briglit beam, 
 
 When a footstep down the garden, 
 Broke his meditative dream. 
 
 And, said he, would you believe it, 
 
 As I held my breath in check, 
 I saw Edward at the wicket, 
 
 With — ^your arm around his neck I 
 And he whispered a sweet story. 
 
 As he drew you to his breast, 
 Then, ^but here I stopt my uncle,- 
 
 And he didnH tell the rest. 
 
OUT TO BATTLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Up, ye Kations I — Fame is caHing ; 
 
 There is glory to be won : 
 Dark tlie storm of War is falling — 
 
 Every soldier to his gun ! 
 Hear the clash, the roar, the rattle ; 
 
 Hear the cry — 
 Up ye nations I — out to battle I — 
 Dare to die I 
 
 n. 
 
 Out to battle I — ^live in story : 
 
 Who would breathe a craven breath f 
 Who, to win a soldier's glory, 
 
 Would not die a soldier's death ? 
 
 Drum and trump, the heavens rending, 
 
 Kouse the van — 
 
 Onward I — hilt to hilt contending — 
 
 Man to man. 
 
 169 
 
OUT TO BATTLE. 
 III. 
 
 What the groans of all tlie dying, 
 
 Or the dismal fields of dead ; 
 K the banner still be flying 
 
 O'er the ghastly, " gory bed I" 
 Onward still, ye living legions — 
 
 Strike the blow ! 
 Blood I — to earth's remotest regions 
 Let it flow. 
 
 lY. 
 
 What though there be widows weeping ; 
 What though orphans pine for bread ? 
 They disturb no hero, sleeping 
 
 In the heaps of mangled dead. 
 Haste from all ignoble duty — 
 
 Spurn your farms: 
 Bravely now, for ''beauty — booty," 
 Eush to arms I 
 
 V. 
 
 Leave the plow, the scythe, the sowing, 
 
 All ye dwellers of the glen : 
 
 There be other fields for mowing — 
 
 Mowing now your fellow-men, 
 170 
 
OUT TO BATTLE. 
 
 Glory every breast inspiring, 
 
 Seize tlie brand ! 
 Strike, and see a world expiring. 
 
 By your liand I 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ab, ye Christians I God is calling ; 
 
 There is glory to be won : 
 Dark the storm of war is falling : 
 
 There is duty to be done. 
 Hear the clash, the roar, the rattle ; 
 
 Hear the cry : 
 Out, to your Kedeemer's battle, 
 Dare to die ! 
 
7^ J UC^ ^ 
 
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 016 112 899