Ml 
 
o°* .•££*. % 
 
 "oV" 
 
 
 
 \0 -7*. 
 
 
 
 
 ; %/ 
 
 J ^v 
 
 *> ..«- 
 
 
 o»* ^ 
 
 
 ; * ^ - 
 
 fc **-.♦* .-isSfei- %.«^ /dfe'-, **-,♦♦ .^»°- ^ 
 
 
 V^ 1 
 
 J>*5 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 

 
 CT G ° " ° * ^O A^ 
 
 £°+ 
 
 
 (W* <^ ^ • tiling* a* < 
 
 
 ^% 
 
 yV <v *o . * - ,o v *o, ♦TXT** A 
 
 a° "L'Aj-* * 
 
 
 
 V> '°' A * A ' ^ '^T*' /\ 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 THE POETICAL WRITINGS 
 
 ? OF THE LATE ( 
 
 \ *y \ 
 
 < Jjr \ 
 
 jonisr m MOOEE, 
 
 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA 
 
 3* 
 
 %: 
 
 WASHINGTON : 
 PUBLISHED BY FRANKLIN PHILP. 
 
 THOMAS McOILL, PRINTER. 
 
 1859. 
 
.M7S-AC, 
 
<sS 
 
 ^s 
 
 u 
 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 $ *< 
 * ^ 
 
 This volume is respectfully dedicated to the relatives and friends of the lamented 
 author. The Poems are selections from those which, with few exceptions, have 
 already been published in magazines and newspapers. They are the productions of 
 early youth and mature manhood ; and each and all of them, whatever may be their 
 poetical defect, are at least calculated to influence the heart of the reader with 
 virtuous emotion. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Sphynx, 
 
 10 
 
 25 ) 
 
 ( Death of the Pure, ... 
 
 ) The Sabbath, ..... n 
 
 i At the Sepulchre, ..... 13 
 
 ( Jacob's Vision, ..... 14 
 
 | A Child's Prayer, ..... 16 
 
 ) Prater, ... -.- 
 ( ' •••■... 1/ 
 
 To my Sister Mary, .... i g 
 
 Charity, ...... on 
 
 Galilee, ...... 99 
 
 Leaving the Ark, . . . 
 
 Ruth, ...... ■ 97 
 
 Paul on Mars' Hill, . 90 ? 
 
 Xerxes, ...... 31 ) 
 
 Cherish early Feelings, . ^9 ( 
 
 7 "... 0*j / 
 
 Mutability, ...... 34 S 
 
 Woe to Jerusalem, . . . . . . 35 / 
 
 The Mother and her three Children, . . . SQ '? 
 
 Communion with the Dead, .... 38 ? 
 
 Leonore, ....... 41 
 
 New York City, ...... 43 
 
 America, the Land of my Birth, ; 45 
 
 The Unwilling Bride, ..... 47 
 
 Love's Consecrations, ...... 49 
 
 To a Young Friend, . . . . . . 50 
 
 The Stars, ....... 51 
 
 To the South Wind, . 53 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Rain in May, 
 
 The Autumn Moor, 
 
 Winter Scene, 
 
 Evening Song, 
 
 Nobility of Genius, 
 
 Unconscious Beauty, 
 
 In the Desert, . 
 
 To Millie, 
 
 To the Wind, 
 
 To a Cricket, 
 
 The World a Garden, . 
 
 Evaleen, 
 
 The Petition of the Birds, 
 
 The truly Great Man, 
 
 To a Canary Bird, 
 
 The Ocean's Architects, 
 
 The Vesper Bell, 
 
 To the Sea, . 
 
 Song of the Waves, 
 
 To the Hudson, 
 
 Pale Hero, 
 
 Echo, .... 
 
 Song, 
 
 The Dead Sea, 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 To the Eagle, 
 
 Fancies on a Sea Shell, 
 
 Rhymes for May, . , 
 
 A Classic Song of Winter, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 54 
 57 
 59 
 62 
 64 
 66 
 68 
 71 
 73 
 75 
 77 
 79 
 81 
 83 
 84 
 86 
 87 
 89 
 90 
 91 
 93 
 95 
 97 
 98 
 
 101 
 
 102 
 
 103 
 
 105 
 
 106 
 
POEMS 
 
 Solemn amidst the sands of the old Nile } 
 
 Stands the far-famed Sphynx, with undiverted eye, 
 Still gazing, patiently and mournfully, ) 
 
 O'er the Egyptian wilderness. No smile 
 
 Illumes her battered visage, but a look 
 Of godlike melancholy, not despair, 
 Which the forgotten sculptor chiseled there, 
 
 Makes her majestic. Her creator took . / 
 
 - A deep glance in the future when he traced ^ 
 
 Such noble grief. His eye pierced coming times, 
 Read the vicissitudes of wars and crimes, \ 
 
 Beheld great cities dwindled to a waste, \ 
 
 And Egypt crushed, in turn, with many a foe : ) 
 
 Therefore he made the Sphynx a grief for all that woe. ) 
 
 The great Eiconoclast of every age, ) 
 ) Relentless time has spared her wondrous form ; 
 
 The rending earthquake, and the gnawing storm < 
 
 ) Have reverenced her, and turned aside their rage. < 
 
8 THE SPHYNX. 
 
 i ( 
 
 Heaven's lightnings and the mimic bolts of war 
 Have not o'erthrown her, nor the ruthless bands 
 Of barbarism that have scoured these lauds. 
 The prey of many a savage conqueror, 
 The mighty offspring of a buried race, 
 She still survives to be their monument — 
 An orphan of the past, upon whose face 
 The grief of centuries is stamped : content 
 To mourn thus mutely conscious : while she grieves, 
 The wind her cerements of the Nile sand weaves. 
 
 I often think, (and every man thus thinks, 
 
 Incited by a restless heart and mind,) 
 
 What pleasure 'twould be in these dark days to find 
 Some (Edipus to match that wondrous Sphynx — 
 The mute, dread future, who sits passively 
 
 In the dark cloud of undeveloped years, 
 
 Alike regardless of our smiles or tears ; 
 Nor solves this present life's least mystery, 
 Until each act 's accomplished — good or ill — 
 
 That makes our destiny. We may be wise, ) 
 
 ) And make the elements subserve our will, 
 
 Or tell of perturbations in the skies, 
 Yet never know — so small our wisdom's use — 
 What change in us a moment may produce. 
 
 Therefore we each should lead an honest life ; 
 Honor and virtue our continual aim, 
 And only envious be of godlike fame — 
 
< That glory which we may obtain in strife 
 
 i With human vices and depraved desires, 
 
 Which creep, like serpents, into every breast, 
 And, if not strangled soon or dispossed, 
 
 Destroy the heart with slow devouring fires. 
 
 Let us unwaveringly our tasks pursue, 
 S Nor let perplexing cares our peace invade ; 
 
 ; Still confident that whatsoe'er we do 
 / Is from the eternal throne of heaven surveyed. 
 
 Where justice, sitting as a sovereign lord, 
 
 To each allots his labor and reward. 
 
 ) 
 
10 
 
 
 THE DEATH OB THE PURE. 
 
 ftljf gmtlj of tjjc fun 
 
 Oft have you seen, after the summer's rain 
 
 Had passed beyond you, with the threat'ning cloud, 
 
 A rainbow rise, like arch triumphal proud, 
 Over the earth, its hills, its fields of grain, 
 And o'er the busy town, where from their home 
 
 The happy children looked with charmed eyes ; 
 
 Yet in brief time it vanished from the skies — 
 Melted, unstained, into the azure dome. 
 Even so some peerless souls in sorrow born, 
 
 Have through the world gone thus radiant with tears, 
 
 Delighting many by their gentleness, 
 Nor hence by death been violently torn ; 
 
 But they have faded to their glorious spheres, 
 
 Unsullied by the touch of earthliness. 
 
THE SABBATH. 11 
 
 <% jMtaij). 
 
 This is the day of rest ! \ 
 
 The toil and trouble of six days are done, 
 
 And universal nature takes repose 
 Beneath the glory of the Seventh Day's sun, ) 
 
 From dawn to evening's close. ) 
 
 This is the day of praise ! ) 
 
 Clearly above the all-pervading calm > 
 
 Resounds the solemn summons of the bells ; ) 
 
 And on the air, blent with the full-voiced psalm, ) 
 
 The organ's thunder swells. ) 
 
 ) 
 
 This is the day of peace ! > 
 To-day be still all soul-annoying strife : 
 
 To-day let every warring passion rest, 
 
 And all the keen anxieties of life ( 
 
 Be banished from the breast. ( 
 
 How blessed is the day ! 
 To travellers amid the desert bare, 
 
 Not more delightful are the oases, 
 Whose cooling springs make music in the air, 
 , Whose palm trees whisper peace. s 
 
12 THE SABBATH. 
 
 How blessed is the day ! 
 
 Tis a green island in a dangerous sea, 
 To which poor men, of every storm the sport. 
 
 May, never doubting of security. 
 Like battered ships resort. 
 
 This is the day of rest ! 
 Behind this rampart, free from fear, repose 
 
 And gather strength and courage for the fray 
 To-morrow brings the struggle with those foes 
 
 That wear our lives away. 
 
AT THE SEPULCHRE. 13 
 
 ^t % jfepkjjtt. 
 
 ) > 
 
 l 
 
 When to the grave the Marys sped, 
 They thought to find Him with the dead ; 
 But gazing in the open tomb, 
 They saw but grave-clothes and the gloom. 
 
 For them th' Anointed's life had been 
 i A mystery to its latest scene ; / 
 
 ) A mystery for which the mind 
 
 No clear solution e'er could find. 
 
 When in His garb of death involved, 
 
 They deemed the mystery resolved ; 
 
 To them He seemed but human then, 
 
 > Since He had suffered — died like men. 
 
 ) ■ \ 
 
 But yet the marvels were not past ; 
 
 The greatest and the best were last ; 
 
 One life all wonderful was done, { 
 
 And one more wondrous still begun. 
 
 Death, like the obscurity of night, 
 
 Awhile concealed the Christ from sight, 
 
 That He might more transcendent shine, ( 
 
 More pure, more perfect, more divine. 
 
14 Jacob's vision. 
 
 |;itoli's Vision. 
 
 As evening settles eool and gray 
 
 Upon the oriental plain, 
 Worn with his wanderings through the day. 
 Along the solitary way 
 
 The lonely traveler seeks repose, 
 
 Nor summons sleep in vain. 
 His eyelids on the landscape close : 
 The flowing stream, the silent palm, 
 The moon just sinking in the west, 
 The winking stars that never rest, 
 The scene of solitude and calm 
 
 Fades from the weary stranger's sight, 
 And earth and he have parted. 
 
 How blest was his rest that night ! 
 
 How blest was the dream that made 
 The slumberer joyful hearted ! 
 He saw a ladder lifted high, 
 ) That stretched from earth into the sky, 
 
 And in their glorious robes arrayed, 
 Or up or down the shining road, 
 Passed the fair ministers of God ; 
 Then upward all to heaven ascended — 
 > And so the brilliant vision ended. 
 
 < A vision such as this have we, 
 
 That not with closed eyes Ave see ; 
 
JACOB S VISION. 
 
 Like the Assyrian of old, 
 Forever day and. night behold — 
 A ladder unto heaven extending; 
 On which the angels are descending, 
 
 Upon their missions manifold : 
 They bring sweet solace to the breast 
 With many a heavy grief oppressed ; 
 They nerve the arm with double might 
 That toils in misery's despite ; 
 They cheer the heart whose earthly trust 
 Ts buried in the graveyard dust ; 
 They whisper hope unto despair, 
 And point to heaven for mercy there. 
 
 And yet not here their tasks are done : 
 One mission still — a final one-^- 
 
 With tears of rapture they fulfil 
 
 Their own dear wish — the Father's will. 
 For many a soul, from sorrow freed, 
 Along the shining path they lead — 
 
 Lead, on the ladder from the skies, 
 
 Far upwards into Paradise. 
 Oh ! such a ladder is that we 
 Even in our waking moments see ; 
 
 And many who were once below, 
 The idols of our hope and love. 
 
 Have by that brilliant path we know 
 Passed to the land above. 
 
16 A child's prayer. 
 
 
 
 % CjltlD's |rai|tr. 
 
 Father, Eternal, hear the prayer 
 
 Which from these suppliant lips doth rise ; 
 
 Let not my words be spent in air. 
 But mount, unwasted, to the skies, 
 
 And tempt some angel from the throne 
 
 To hasten with thy blessing down. 
 
 Accept the homage of a soul > 
 
 Untaught, as yet, in earthly guile ; 
 Each wayward wish of youth control, 
 
 And cheer me with thy friendly smile, 
 As through this dark and dangerous waste 
 To thee I confidently haste. s 
 
 Be with me still by night and day, 
 
 And firmly fix my thoughts on thee. 
 That when death comes, as soon he may, 
 
 My soul no more of earth shall be. 
 But shall with joy this world resign ( 
 
 To meet thee in that heaven of thine. s 
 
PRAYER. 17 
 
 
 
 ADAPTED TO THE MINUETTE IX " DOX JUAN. 
 
 Humbly to the dust we bend : 
 
 Unto thee our prayers ascend ; 
 God, our Father, God, our friend, 
 
 Bless us, we implore thee. 
 With temptations strong we strive : 
 Mid a thousand dangers live ; 
 We are erring ; Oh ! forgive. 
 
 While Ave boAv before thee. 
 Kindly hear the sufferer's cries : 
 Wipe the tears from sorrow's eyes ; 
 Then our songs of praise shall rise, 
 
 Around thy throne forever. 
 
 Shield us still by day and night : 
 In the darkness be our light ; 
 Ever guide our steps aright : 
 
 Let not sin deceive us. 
 When we falter, Oh ! sustain ; 
 Fill our hearts with hope again : 
 Cheer us in death's final pain, 
 
 And to heaven receive us. 
 Free from sin, from sorrow free, 
 There our souls shall worship thee ; 
 Happy for eternity 
 
 Within their home of glory. 
 
18 TO MY SISTlBR MARY. 
 
 & mjr Sister IHarn. 
 
 (DEAD.) 
 
 ! thou so early ta'en away : 
 
 The fairest flower of all the number, 
 Who then were as the buds of May, 
 
 If thou canst break that quiet slumber, 
 Wherein the dead are said to lie, 
 Come sometimes .to my side, for I 
 
 In body on the earth would be — 
 
 In spirit wander forth with thee. 
 
 How many days, how many years 
 
 Have passed, with all their joys and sorrows, 
 Since thy cold brow was wet with tears ; 
 
 And looking unto sad to-morrows 
 We went forth, struggling with our grief, 
 To bury thee — a fallen leaf — 
 
 And saw them lay thee down so- low, 
 
 Then turned away with all our woe. 
 
 Time doeth many a gentle thing, 
 
 Though we upbraid him greatly often : 
 He blights the flowers which he dotli bring, 
 
 And chills the air which he will soften : 
 Even so the pang he gives to-day, 
 Hereafter he will take away ; 
 
 And he will wipe from clouded eyes 
 
 The bitter tears of agonies. 
 
TO MY .SISTER MARY. 19 
 
 Now with clear eyes we think of thee, 
 
 Muse on thee with a tranquil pleasure ; 
 Nor do we chide that awful sea 
 
 Whose waters dread engulphed our treasure ; 
 For holy faith extends her hand 
 Towards the heavenly spirit land, 
 
 And there we see thee, from afar, 
 
 Gleam like a new created star. 
 
 Spread, ye fresh grasses, o'er the grave 
 
 S 
 
 Where the long lost was laid in quiet ; 
 Young violets above it wave, 
 
 And watch continually by it : 
 For ye alone can well express 
 The homage due to loveliness, 
 
 And testify to human sense 
 
 That she died in her innocence. 
 
20 CHARITY. 
 
 Cjjariti). 
 
 " I, IT NOT TIIV KIliBT UAXD KNOW WHAT THV LEFT HAMD DOETH. 
 
 Thus counselled One who understood 
 The gentlest mode of doing good, 
 
 And wise his counsel is : 
 For charity should noiseless be, 
 
 And all unseen dispense 
 Its blessings, that like summer dew, 
 
 Spread wond'rous influence. 
 
 Who does an act in virtue's name 
 Desires not the reward of fame 
 
 Which wondering men bestow ; 
 
 Enough for him the secret glow 
 Tli at animates his heart, 
 
 When he can ease another's woe 
 And take away his smart. 
 
 
 For what is human fame ? A thing 
 
 Which waits upon a sceptered king, / 
 
 Or warrior red with blood : 
 It follows Avealth and power and show — 
 
 A bird of sunny clime — I 
 
 And leaves the quiet scenes of good ! 
 
 For noisy scenes of crime. 
 
CHARITY. 21 
 
 Give ye your gift as tho' ye cast 
 A trifle to the waters vast, 
 
 Nor look for a reward : 
 And make no boast of what ye do 
 
 For envy's sake or pride's ; ( 
 
 The recompense will come to you / 
 
 When all is lost besides. 
 
22 - GALILEE. 
 
 <6;ililct. 
 
 The waves that roll on Galilee 
 Are bright with memories of Thee, 
 
 The Christ, the Crucified. 
 And many a vision, dark and fair, 
 
 Of thy humility, man's pride, 
 Will fill his gaze who wanders there, 
 
 At morn or eventide. 
 
 The solemn hills which saw Thee then 
 A silent sufferer with men. 
 
 Still meet the pensive view. 
 Calmly they contemplate the sea 
 
 Which once its billows, threatening, threw 
 Around the frail craft bearing Thee, 
 
 And Thy disciples few. 
 
 The scene arises to our sight : 
 ) We see the storm — Thy follower's fright. 
 
 Who waken Thee with fear. 
 We see Thee rise unterrified 
 
 With outstretched hand. Thy voice we hear, 
 And suddenly the waves subside — 
 
 The heavens again are clear. 
 
 But, yet again the winds prevail, 
 And shake, adverse, the rattling sail, 
 While vainly groans the ship. 
 
GALILEE. 23 
 
 Lo ! the alarmed disciples see 
 
 Thy form, that walks the fretted deep, 
 
 As though it might some phantom be, 
 That minds conceive in sleep. 
 
 Two fishermen upon the shore, 
 Skilless in all save to explore, 
 
 With cunning nets, the main, 
 To Thee — beholding them repair 
 
 Their several meshes — not in vain, 
 Seemed fitting heavier tasks to share, 
 
 With an immortal gain. 
 
 The ignorant and lowly born, 
 
 Whom learned eloquence might scorn, 
 
 Thou didst not think too low. 
 The simple hearts from Galilee 
 
 By Thee were armed to overthrow 
 The temples of philosophy — 
 
 \ The pride of long ago. 
 
 ( 
 
 The multitudes which Thou, at need, 
 
 From Thy too scanty store didst feed 
 
 Upon that silent land, 
 
 Have lain long years in dreamless rest ; 
 
 And after them full many a band, 
 ( 
 
 By fond fanaticism pressed, 
 
 Found death upon that strand. 
 
2 \ (JAM I, Ill- 
 
 Arise the memories of Thee 
 Who wanderedst on its shore. 
 
 Thy life — Thy actions, free of blame, 
 Seem to us purer than before. 
 
 We see thy painful death ! — man's shame, 
 Alas! for us, seems more. 
 
 Lo ! as we muse on Galilee, 
 
 < 
 
LEAVING THE ARK. 25 
 
 How many a dreadful day has past, 
 And how many a fearful night, 
 
 Since the blue heavens were overcast, 
 And floods, from th' etherial height, 
 
 Pour'd down, until each hill and plain 
 
 Was lost beneath the angry main ! 
 
 How o'er all earth's drown'd sons, 
 Her cities, pinnacled and proud, 
 
 The surges dashed, and shook for once 
 Her mountain tops, and thundered loud 
 
 In her deep caverns, where the shade 
 
 Of solitude his couch had made. 
 
 One thing lay on the ample deep, 
 
 Toss'd, but not shattered by the wrath 
 
 Of winds that made the waters leap 
 Like chargers, which the trumpet hath 
 \ Sent plunging, by its brazen jar, 
 
 Into the fire and blood of war. 
 
 And when a calmer day had come, 
 Those who still floated on the wave 
 
 Sent from within the battered home 
 A dove, which spread its pinions brave 
 
 In the fresh air, and sailed away 
 
 With half of joy and half dismay. 
 
. 
 
 26 LEAVING THE ARK. 
 
 The wanderer retum'd once more. 
 And to the aged patriarch's hand 
 
 A verdant branch of olive bore, 
 Which told a story of the land 
 
 To those who wept and sighed in vain, 
 
 When it was drown'd beneath the main. 
 
 How blue the heavens seem'd to those eyes 
 From which so long it was concealed ! 
 
 How fair the bow, which from the skies 
 Stooped down unto the moisten' d field ! 
 
 How green the wood, the hill, the plain, 
 
 How sweet the world when seen again ! 
 
 ! thankful hearts were theirs, who stood 
 Upon the mountain top that day, 
 
 Saved from the exterminating flood, 
 And gazed upon the world which lay, 
 
 Silent and bare, beneath them spread, 
 
 Like some vast empire of the dead! 
 
RUTH. 27 
 
 14 
 
 In the field she's gleaning 
 
 All the day long, 
 Following the reapers 
 
 With smiles and with song, 
 As with swift arms and stout 
 They sweep the scythe about, 
 
 And lay the grain along. 
 
 Many maids are with her 
 Gleaning daily there, 
 
 They 're dark-eyed and lovely 
 But she is most fair ; 
 
 So think the reapers strong, 
 
 While they listen to her song, 
 And admire her ebon hair. 
 
 Every one who bindeth 
 Sheaves upon the plain, 
 
 Leaveth behind him 
 A handful of grain, 
 
 That the strange beautiful 
 
 May have her measure full 
 When even comes again. 
 
28 RUTH. 
 
 One besides the reapers 
 
 Is marvelling at Ruth; 
 He saith to himself — 
 
 "'Tis a pleasant maid, in truth;" 
 And every look doth move 
 The master's heart to love : 
 
 He loveth and he wooeth. 
 
 Soon that gentle maiden, 
 
 With but beauty for her dower, 
 
 Was wedded to the noble 
 
 Of wealth, and name, and power ; 
 
 And she gazed forth again 
 
 O'er the wheat-encumbered plain, 
 When 'twas harvest time once more. 
 
 There were sturdy reapers, 
 
 Gleaners too were there, 
 Gathering from the dark earth 
 
 The bearded grain with care, 
 And tears of pleasure slid 
 From beneath her fring'd eyelid: 
 
 And her lips were mov'd with prayer. 
 
PAUL ON MARS HILL. 
 
 29 
 
 ianl 011 Mars' lill 
 
 He who leads warriors rushing into fight 
 ( Perchance doth well deserve a hero's name ; 
 
 But how much greater far should be thy fame, 
 Who stood of old on th' Athenian height, 
 
 In scorn of the divinities of Greece! 
 The soldier, resting on his thirsty lance, 
 ) Looked awe-struck at thy kingly countenance, 
 
 ) Forgetful Of those gods who, late at ease, 
 
 \ Dwelt on Olympus, and the high-brow' d sages, 
 
 < With folded arms, stood motionless and mute, ) 
 
 ( Beholding the bright theories of ages ( 
 
 Hurl'd to the dust. Alas ! for the fair fruit 
 Of the Platonian School ! A spirit's breath 
 Pass'd over it and it fell; for in that breath was death. S 
 
 ) 
 Jove's lightnings fell from his relax'd grasp, 
 
 And Juno's brow grew pallid as the moon ; 
 
 When mists, wind-charioted, sweep aboon 
 The silent hills. From fair Apollo's grasp 
 
 The golden reins, which rul'd the steeds of day, 
 Drop'd quickly ; gods of earth, and air, and stream, 
 All vanished, like an unsubstantial dream 
 
 When unto sealed eyes creeps in a ray : ) 
 
30 
 
 PAUL ON MARS HILL. 
 
 And all this through the magic of thy speech, 
 
 Great follower of the Christ ! Still, though the hour 
 
 Which saw thee on the hill of Mars thus teach 
 Be gone, I seem to hear thee in thy power 
 
 Proclaiming to the amaz'd Greeks the glory 
 
 Of an Omnipotent Power — the Unknown One of their story. 
 
XERXES. 81 
 
 At morn, he stood upon an eminence high. 
 
 The king of nations : in the vale below 
 His arm'd ranks by thousands thundered by, 
 
 Horsemen and chariots — a resplendent show — 
 Roll'd like the waves of ocean to its shore, 
 
 Herald'd by the clamorous trumpet's peal. 
 And all the din of arms commingled roar. 
 
 Pennons were flutt'ring over glancing steel, 
 And gay plumes quivered in the floating dust, 
 Like snow-flakes whirled upon a wintry gust; 
 
 While out upon the waters lay his fleets, 
 
 The light wind toying with their outspread sheets. 
 The monarch saw,, and loftier grew his pride : 
 "A century hence, where will they be ?" he cried: 
 " Where will these be after a hundred years?" 
 
 He asked, and answer' d for himself, with tears. 
 He knew, yet heeded not. That mighty mass 
 
 Of steel, and nerve, and madness, still swept on 
 
 In all its wondrous majesty. Anon 
 The triple hundred meet them at the pass, 
 
 And thousands, ere the setting of the sun, 
 With their warm life-blood crimson'd all the grass. 
 
. 32 CHERISH EARLY PEELINGS. 
 
 (f Ijrrislj darlj Jfrclrngs. 
 
 Swiftly, silently, time passes. 
 
 Like the shadow of a cloud 
 That across the meadow grasses, 
 
 Humble vales, and mountains proud, 
 
 In the sunny summer tide, 
 
 Noiselessly, away doth glide. 
 ) 
 
 Childhood 's merged in youth ; and after 
 
 > Youth itself in manhood 's lost — 
 Childhood's simple tears and laughter 
 
 > To the winds of time are tossed; 
 And the enthusiasm of youth 
 Fades in manhood's sober truth. 
 
 Oh ! must time thus dull the lustre 
 
 That fair childhood doth invest? 
 \ Must he spoil the hopes that cluster 
 
 In a young ambitious breast ? 
 Must he prove this life a cheat, 
 
 Hope, and love, and joy, deceit ? 
 
 ) 
 
 Say not so; though time is stealing 
 
 Silently our lives away ; 
 Let us cherish still the feeling ( 
 
 ■■; .... < 
 
 That inspir'd our earliest day; 
 
 :' 
 
 Nor let chilling time control 
 
 \ The emotions of the soul. 
 
CHERISH EARLY FEELINGS. • 33 
 
 Let him not our bosoms rifle ) 
 
 Of their first simplicity ; ? 
 
 Never, never let them stifle 
 The enthusiasm free, 
 
 That in youth's aspiring hours 
 
 Filled us with heroic powers ! 
 
 Strip our hearts of this emotion — 
 
 Take this fervor from our minds, 
 And we drift upon life's ocean 
 
 At the mercy of the winds, 
 Like a bare forsaken ship 
 Floating sailless on the deep ! 
 
34 * MUTABILITY. 
 
 One by one have fallen 
 
 Life's pleasures to the ground, 
 Like roses and violets 
 
 Wherewith did spring abound ; 
 
 And all that remaineth, 
 
 ( 
 
 Left by blight and decay, 
 
 Are the thorns that pierce us, 
 
 And the bare sapless spray ! 
 
 ! let us mourn together 
 
 O'er mutability, 
 That doth affect the dearest, 
 
 The fairest things we see ! 
 Let us weep for the spring roses, 
 
 Weep for the violets blue, 
 Whose loveliness and sweetness 
 
 Are as transient as dew ! ■) 
 
 Let us make of them a garland. 
 
 Even faded as they are ; 
 Let us make of them a garland 
 
 To bind our loosen' d hair : 
 For they emblem well our pleasures 
 
 That have fallen one by one : 
 There 's nothing which is lasting 
 
 'Neath the eye of the sun ! 
 
WOE TO JERUSALEM. 35 > 
 
 ht to Jerusalem. 
 
 (see josephus.) 
 
 That fell upon the Israelitish ear — 
 
 Day after day that ominous cry resounded, 
 
 Until the Roman legions 'camped without, 
 And with beleaguring lines the town surrounded ; 
 Until the soldiery, with frenzied shout, 
 
 Fired the great temple of the Jews, 
 And the red ruins, tumbling, thundered out — 
 Woe to the city ! 
 
 A CRY was heard in Israel's holy city, 
 
 A cry more mournful than a funeral wail, 
 A cry of fate, solemn, unmixed with pity, 
 That made the unwilling auditors turn pale ; 
 
 And evermore, by day and night, s 
 
 The wanderer pronounced those ominous words — 
 ? Woe to the city ! 
 
 ) Whenever hearts were lightest, pleasure greatest, 
 
 s 
 
 That voice of doom broke in — a spell of fear ; s 
 
 It was the earliest cry, it was the latest, 
 
 ( Awake, asleep, they heard it still; ) 
 
 And evermore the wandering prophet cried — 
 
 Woe to the city ! ) 
 
36 THE MOTHER AND HER THREE CHILDREN. 
 
 ) 
 
 wThere is a fair and gracious nymph 
 That in a cottage lives ; 
 
 Her only draught the cooling lymph 
 That mother Nature gives ; 
 
 Her only food the pulpy fruits 
 Which bending boughs sustain — 
 
 The bearded grain, the juicy roots, 
 Drawn from the fertile plain. 
 
 Beside her door the eglantine 
 
 And honeysuckle bloom ; 
 Around her window creeps the vine, 
 
 Perfuming all the room; 
 And in the trees, which wide around 
 
 Refreshing shadows fling, 
 Some merry birds a home have found, 
 
 Where all day long they sing. 
 
 And oh, to make a perfect scene, 
 Young children three are there, 
 
 That sport beneath the foliage green, 
 Without a thought or care ; 
 
 And should you chance to pass that way, 
 Rich, powerful though you be, 
 
 You could not choose but stop to say — 
 <| What happy children three ! 
 
THE MOTHER AND HER THREE CHILDREN. 37 
 
 And if you lingered, loth to pass 
 
 That home in blossoms hid, 
 And saw those children on the grass, 
 
 As I but lately did ; 
 And saw the mother looking on 
 
 With such a happy air, 
 You could not choose but say — the home 
 
 Of happiness was there ! 
 
 But would you know the mother blest, 
 
 That from the window bent? 
 Ah ! since the truth must be confessed — 
 
 That lady was Content ; 
 And Innocence, and Love, and Truth, 
 
 Those were the children gay, 
 That in the purity of youth 
 
 Played at her door all day ! 
 
38 COMMUNION WITH THE DEAD. 
 
 Commmttoit toitjj % §tA 
 
 : 
 
 The weary city is asleep, s 
 
 After a day of feverish heat ; s 
 
 In at the door cool breezes creep, 
 
 Fresh from the South, so soft and sweet, 
 They make the sense of calm complete ; 
 
 While the moon, shining forth serene, 
 
 With glory gilds the dreamy scene. 
 
 ) s 
 
 Alone I sit ; yet not alone, s 
 
 For memory, busy with the past, 
 
 Recalls the dear companions, gone 
 To that dim country, lying vast, 
 Beyond the grave. Mine eyes I cast 
 
 On the dear shadows, as they glide 
 S With noiseless footsteps to my side. 
 
 i 
 
 > 
 And in their lineaments I trace ) 
 
 No evidence of time or change. 
 Save that a calmer, holier grace, 
 
 Has, like those cloudlets that arrange 
 Their gossamer woof in manner strange 
 About some peak, in distance pale — 
 Thrown o'er them its mellowing veil. 
 
COMMUNION WITH THE DEAD. 39 ' 
 
 Thrice welcome, well-beloved shades, 
 Companions of my musing hour ! 
 
 Now, when the world in darkness fades, 
 My spirit opens like the flower, 
 Unsealed by that mysterious power — 
 
 Imagination — at whose beck 
 
 The long-lost dead their cerements break. 
 
 Think not ye are forgotten yet : — 
 The memory of noble souls 
 
 Outlives their times in man's regret, 
 And, with a secret might, controls 
 The very life-blood, as it rolls 
 
 Through kindred hearts and kindred veins, 
 
 And fires with glorious thought our brains. 
 
 Not yours a world-embracing fame; 
 Yet have ye left your impress here 
 
 On hearts to whom an honest name. 
 Though homely in a vulgar ear, 
 Than Greek's or Roman's is more dear, 
 
 Because it was a friend's. Ah ! thus — 
 
 All that we love is fair to us ! 
 
 Diverse our paths, and yet the goal 
 Of all that 's mortal is the same : 
 'Mid all the pangs that rack the soul, 
 'Mid all the sins that gather shame, 
 'Mid our aspirings and our fame, 
 
There whispers still a voice of doom — 
 There sounds one solemn word — the tomb ! 
 
 So to the silent verge of time, 
 Have I with you, in fancy, gone ; 
 
 And in the solitude sublime, 
 Of the eternal sea, unknown, 
 Lost you from view ; yet wander on 
 
 My thoughts the way that you have sped, 
 
 And scarcely yet account you dead ! 
 
 Still on that ocean's further strand, 
 Despite the mists that interpose, 
 
 I see you wave a friendly hand ; 
 
 And in the marvellous light that glows 
 Around you, like a summer rose, 
 
 I see your kindly faces shine, 
 
 Transfigured by the gleam divine ! 
 
LEONORE. 41 
 
 Wimxt 
 
 Marry, marry, sings the sparrow, 
 
 Fluttering in the mild May sun ; 
 Time is like a flying arrow, 
 
 And he lingereth for none. 
 
 And the brooklet babbles, marry, 
 
 As it sparkles on its way ; ; 
 
 Time 's a stream that will not tarry — 
 
 Marry, marry, while you may. 
 
 Softly, too, the green leaves rustle — 
 
 Haste to marry, maiden, haste; ? 
 
 In the world's loud din and bustle, 
 
 Ere you know it — youth is past. 
 
 S 
 And the breezes are repeating, ? 
 
 As they shake the vernal bloom, 
 
 Marry, marry; life is fleeting — j 
 
 Marry, ere the winter come. 
 
 Hark ! from yonder flowery valley, 
 
 Where the honeyed roses blow, 
 How the bees hum musically — 
 
 Marry, marry, marry now. 
 
 Vainly thou dost sing thy warning — 
 
 Sparrow, fluttering in the sun; 
 Vainly, brooklet, night and morning, 
 
 Thou dost ever babbling run. 
 
42 LEONORE. 
 
 ( 
 
 Green leaves, ye do idly rustle ; 
 
 Breezes, ye do vainly sing ; 
 Vainly, bees, ye buzz and bustle, 
 
 'Mid the rosy blooms' of spring. 
 
 For the maid that hears you heeds not, 
 Or but daintily doth reply — 
 
 That such counselling she needs not ! 
 And disdainfully passes by. 
 
 Gaily up and down she wanders, 
 'Mid the garden blooms all day ; 
 
 Yet she never, never ponders 
 On her youth, that steals away. 
 
 \ 
 
7 
 NEW YOKE CITY. 43 l 
 
 Ueto fork Citj. 
 
 O ! City of Confusion and strange sounds, 
 
 Thou water-girded empress of the north ; 
 
 From whose mast-circled quays whole fleets go forth, 
 Seeking rich climes beyond the ocean's bounds ! — 
 The Ind hath heard of thy commercial fame ; 
 
 Thy keels are drifting in both polar seas, 
 And wealth and thou are almost of a name 
 
 To nations far dissevered as these ! 
 In the bright coronet of Liberty 
 
 Thou art a jewel of unequalled ray — 
 A wonder of the land, where all are free, 
 
 And enterprise hath an unbounded sway; 
 Where, as upreared by potent witchery, 
 
 Cities arise — the offspring of a day ! 
 
 The mighty cities which once ruled the main 
 Are buried in destruction ; and the waves 
 That once were to them as obedient slaves, 
 
 Devour each tottering wall and shattered fane, 
 
 And sink them into nothingness once more ! 
 Tyre is forsaken ; Venice has become 
 
 Powerless upon her once ship-bounded shore, 
 And busy trade and fame alike are dumb. 
 
44 NEW YORK CITY. 
 
 These are the beacons that bid thee beware : 
 Wealth has its curses ; power is but a thing 
 
 With us to-day, nor prophet can declare 
 Where it will be to-morrow ; like the wing 
 
 Of birds that ever dart along the air, 
 
 'Tis ready for a flight, outstretched and quivering ! 
 
 < 
 < 
 
 ) \ 
 
 \ ( 
 
 < < 
 
 \ I 
 
 ( 
 
AMERICA, THE LAND OF MY BIRTH. 45 
 
 ^meritaj \\t faith d |ftjj §irtj). 
 
 The fire which burn'd on Helle's strand 
 Ere Sparta's sons as yet were slaves, 
 
 Or conquerors stood on Attic land 
 Above a thousand heroes' graves. 
 
 Hath found an altar-place once more. 
 
 And kindled on Columbia's shore ! 
 
 Here there is many a vale and hill 
 Where freedom on to victory led, 
 
 And yet there flows full many a rill 
 That once with hireling blood was red; 
 
 And far and wide the mounds are spread, 
 
 That hide the bones of former dead ! 
 
 Each spot of earth where freedom bled, 
 Each battle-field where they repose — 
 Than others is more hallowed; 
 
 Made sacred by the blood of those ( 
 
 Who fell asleep on victory's breast. 
 And, dying, feel that they are blest ! 
 
 Though those who bravely fought and won 
 
 Now slumber in their silent homes. 
 Their glory set not like the sun, \ 
 
 Still glows it o'er their sacred tombs; > 
 
 While bosoms heave, and hearts beat high, 
 And tears fall to their memory ! > 
 
 ) 
 
46 AMERICA, THE LAND OF MY BIRTH. 
 
 The chief, who led Columbia on, 
 
 Is treasured in the freeman's heart — 
 
 Still at the name of Washington 
 A thousand ardent spirits start ; 
 
 'Tis now a spell as strong as then — 
 
 A watchword to his countrymen ! 
 
 ; 
 
 The breeze which stirs our mountain air 
 Breathes love of liberty and peace, 
 
 s As much as that which murmurs there 
 
 ( ^ < 
 
 Amid the classic hills of Greece ; 
 And never nobler souls were found 
 / Than in Columbia abound ! 
 
 Here hills are green as Helle's strand, 
 And streams as beautifully pour 
 
 As those which grace that lovely land, 
 > Where summer suns shine evermore ; 
 
 / And forests here as dense are found 
 
 As those which shade Albanian ground ! 
 
 Here flourish all the various arts 
 
 ( 
 
 Which- lived when Helle's self was young, 
 All those which beautify the hearts, 
 
 Whose charms her bards have seen and sung ; 
 And here is felt the mystic spell 
 Created by the Muse's shell ! 
 
THE UNWILLING BRIDE. 47 
 
 %\t EittoHIiiig §rik 
 
 (A HISTORICAL FACT.) 
 
 Scatter no flowers on my bridal bed, 
 It will be the couch of sorrow; 
 
 But keep your roses 'till I am dead — 
 Gather them on the morrow! 
 
 They led me to the altar place, 
 They made me kneel there lowly, 
 
 They turned to mockery Christian grace 
 sire ! — Priest, unholy ! 
 
 They gave me, by the Church's rite, 
 To a Baron, old and wrinkled ; 
 
 Jesu ! I fainted with affright, 
 
 When his eyes exultingly twinkled 
 
 He knew I loathed him in my soul, 
 And feared him as an adder ; 
 
 That he to me seem'd all things foul — 
 Yet this made his heart the gladder ! 
 
 He knew his lofty lineage 
 
 Had gained for him this marriage : 
 That his was a name on glory's page, 
 
 Which no man durst disparage ! 
 
48 THE UNWILLING BRIDE. 
 
 Yet though the servile Priest hath bound 
 Our hands, he cannot mingle 
 
 Our souls, nor alter hate profound ; 
 My spirit shall be single ! 
 
 For I will summon death to-night 
 
 With draughts from the poisoned chalice. 
 
 And rid me of this wedded blight — 
 This scorn, this hate, this malice ! 
 
 Then strew no flowers upon my bed, 
 But keep them 'till the morrow ; 
 
 And whilst ye cast them on the dead — 
 Think of her not with sorrow ! 
 
love's consecrations. 49 - 
 
 A single strand of silken hair 
 
 Ta'en from the brow of one we love, 
 To us is precious far above 
 
 The diamonds other brows may wear. 
 
 A rose that love's warm fingers pressed, 
 When withered, and without perfume, 
 Is dearer than the freshest bloom 
 
 That lures the wild bee to its breast. 
 
 A single ring, that bears no trace — 
 No letter on its golden round — 
 Recalls the finger that it bound, 
 
 The dear and unforgotten face. 
 
 Thus love can consecrate a tress, 
 Thus sanctify a flower or ring ; 
 Thus give unto the smallest thing 
 
 A value gold can ne'er express. 
 
 I I 
 
50 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. / 
 
 What shall I ask for thee ? 
 
 A life without a care? 
 ? 
 
 Nay, for the trials of the world 
 
 Must prove what stuff we are ! 
 
 Wouldst thou a path prefer 
 
 'Mid flowers and sunshine made? 
 Oh ! what were earth if filled with flowers, 
 
 Or day without a shade ? 
 
 > : 
 
 The shadow makes the sun 
 
 More glorious to our sight ; 
 The desert makes the garden seem 
 More heautiful and hright ! 
 
 What shall I ask for thee ? 
 
 Pleasure without alloy ? 
 Too soon the heart would sated be 
 
 With an unmingled joy ! 
 
 Day followed close by night, 
 
 Alternate shower and sun; 
 Spring, summer, autumn, winter drear, 
 
 In meet succession run ! / 
 
 And these compose the year 
 As nature doth arrange ; 
 
 < 
 ( 
 
 ( 
 
 So would I ask thy life should be — 
 Happy, yet marked with change ! 
 
7 
 
 THE STARS. 51 \ 
 
 %\t Stars. 
 
 Look through the open window ! S 
 
 The day is scarcely done, ) 
 
 Yet the silver stars are peering ; 
 
 From the blue sky one by one, 
 Stealingjgradually towards us, 
 
 With their still and pleasant light, 
 Like ships that from the ocean ( 
 
 Slowly lift their sails of white. 
 
 Or they come to us like strangers 
 
 From a far-off land unknown : 
 From beyond a mighty desert 
 
 That untravelled is and lone, — 
 Come, like modest stranger maidens, 
 
 Trembling with a secret fear, 
 Lest some evil chance await them 
 
 In the new land which they near. 
 
 Fairy stars ! forever lovely, 
 
 Ye are welcome to our sight, 
 Be it on a summer evening, 
 
 Or a chill November night : 
 We hail with joy your advent ; 
 
 Your presence sweet we love, 
 For ye lift our pensive spirits 
 
 To the dreamy world above. 
 
52 THE STARS. 
 
 ( 
 
 And ye seem'd placed there to cheer us, 
 
 As below we toil and weep, 
 Like those constant lights that glimmer 
 
 For the seamen on the deep — 
 Twinkling forth their consolation, 
 
 Many a mile across the main, 
 To the wakeful eyes that seek them 
 
 Through the darkness and the rain. 
 
 Our love for things around us 
 
 May change each passing hour : 
 May perish with the objects, 
 
 As short-lived as a flower; 
 But we look for you forever 
 
 With the same unchanged desires — 
 With the earnest, quiet longing, 
 
 And the love that ne'er expires. 
 
TO THE SOUTH WIND. 53 
 
 ) 
 
 C0 % Smtijj MiA 
 
 Come, soft breeze, whose breath is laden 
 
 With delicate sweetness, and whose song 
 Is like the music of a maiden 
 Tripping lightsomely along. 
 Too long have the forsaken woods 
 Mourned in their leafless solitudes 
 Thy weary absence, while at play 
 Thou loiteredst, many leagues away 
 From our bleak hills. Thee, the cold earth 
 Hath sighed for in the incessant dearth 
 Of warm suns ; and the darksome river 
 Hath rolled on with a chilly shiver, 
 Moaning by its sedgeless shores, 
 Like a lover who deplores 
 The loss of some dear hope. Oh, come, 
 Soft breeze, unto the forest dumb ! 
 Return unto the frozen earth — 
 Return unto the gloomy stream, 
 Bearing with thee a sunny gleam, 
 To warm the dead seeds into birth 
 Under the icy sod. Sweet flowers 
 
 Will at thy magic summons spring, 
 
 Will, over all, distill soft showers, 
 To tinkle 'mid the meadow-grass, 
 
 And clouds that float on airy wing, 
 
 And wet the woodlands as they pass. 
 
( 54 RAIN IN MAY. 
 
 |jtam in 11% 
 
 ■ After the sun, for many weary days, 
 
 Has parched the earth, and made the air to glow 
 With deadly and unseasonable blaze, 
 
 How pleasing to the ear the booming slow 
 Of distant thunder — herald of the rain ! 
 How grateful to the watching eye the flash 
 Amid the far-off clouds, that in the gale 
 Spread their black forms and strain, 
 And from aloft their cooling waters dash, 
 In slanting currents, over hill and dale ! 
 
 They make sweet music, pattering on the earth, 
 
 Dripping from the green trees in silver streams, 
 And beating on the grass with noisy mirth. 
 
 Oh, to our ears the rain drops' music seems 
 Far sweeter than the roll of martial drum : 
 More cheering than the penetrating note 
 
 Of brazen trumps for gory battle blown ; 
 For with it ever come 
 Visions of plenteous peace, that round us float, 
 
 Unsaddened by a sufferer's bitter groan. 
 
 Our hopes anticipate the fostering showers 
 Of gentle May — the ripening heats of June. 
 
 We count not time by weeks, or days, or hours 
 In visions ; but the present glides full soon 
 Into the future, and our happy eyes 
 
RAIN IN MAY. ~ 55 
 
 Gloat over coming joys ; we see the field 
 
 Gleam yellow-ripe, and hear the rustling scythe 
 The busy mower plys ; 
 
 Who, while he happily reckons o'er the yield, 
 Strides 'mid the golden harvest brisk and blithe. 
 
 We hear the creaking of the loaded wain 
 
 That bears away the sheaves ; while perched above, 
 The country lad repeats some simple strain, 
 
 As rustic as himself, of village love. 
 
 Then fancy catches with delight the hum 
 Of whirring mill-stones, mingled with the plash 
 
 Of one great wheel — the life of the machine. 
 Their shrilly cries o'ercome 
 By the mill's thundering, the swallows flash 
 
 About the dusty walls, now out, now in, 
 
 Farewell ! sweet dream of May, as fleeting you 
 
 As the too transient shower that called you forth. 
 I catch already glimpses of the blue, 
 
 And through the rack, upon the distant earth, 
 As from some huge volcano rolls a flood 
 Of golden sunlight ; fresh the landscape glows, 
 
 Wearing a grateful smile upon its face ; 
 While over hill and wood 
 Heaven's fairy bow, distinct and brilliant, glows — 
 
 A parting pledge — the May-storm's latest grace. 
 
56 RAIN IN MAY. 
 
 What destinies are hidden in a cloud ! 
 
 What hopes and fears its rugged folds beget ! 
 To some 'tis life itself; to some a shroud, 
 Hiding a fiery death ; here it may wet 
 
 The thirsty fields with long-expected rain — 
 A benefactor to the blighted land : 
 
 There it may send its floods and lightnings down, 
 To desolate wood and plain ; 
 And, scattering ruin 'round with lavish hand, 
 
 Yet wave your glittering heads, ye happy trees ! 
 Ye meadows, new-baptized of heaven, look up 
 In your green lustre, fresh as oases, 
 
 Vieing with the sky in beauty ! Ye that sup 
 The sweetest dew and softest rain— ye flowers, 
 Whose starry glories ornament the earth, 
 
 Now, with new vigor, lift your honeyed bowls. 
 ( Ye people of the bowers, 
 
 s Pour forth a mighty hymn of grateful mirth, 
 
 Thrilling with sense of gratitude our souls ! 
 
 <; 
 
 Bury, in maledictions, field and town. 
 
THE AUTUMN MOON. 57 I 
 
 %k lUtfanw Stat. 
 
 I watch with a delighted eye <j 
 
 The slowly rising autumn moon, 
 That cometh, like a heavenly boon, 
 
 To fill with light the cheerless sky. I 
 
 ) 
 Not more serene a conqueror, 
 
 With garlands on his battered helm, 
 
 Comes to assume the subject realm 
 And blood-bought trophies of the war. 
 
 Already doth the forest brown ( 
 
 In the new light resplendent gleam ; 
 While southward far away the stream 
 Glides, silver flashing, from the town. 
 
 How silently away it steals ! 
 
 While from its mirroring expanse 
 
 The multiplying moonbeams glance — 
 Bright basilisk of our native hills. 
 
 Fair this ; yet fairer far the sight 
 
 When, as yon tender moon doth rise, 
 
 Its peerless beauty greets mine eyes, 
 And makes more magical the night. 
 
58 THE AUTUMN MOON. 
 
 night, and moon, and stars so fair, 
 And autumn skies so bright above, 
 
 Yea, night and day alike were nought, 
 And life were but a scentless flower, 
 
 Unto the hearts that knows not love, 
 How cold, how dull, how vain ye are ! 
 
 
 Did not love's consecrated power 
 Inspire the heart, exalt the thought. 
 
 
WINTER SCENE. 59 
 
 Not the frost-nipp'd autunm leaves, 
 In their gold and crimson sheen. 
 Sink to earth more noiselessly : 
 Not more silently the light 
 > Showers upon the land and sea, 
 
 ; Than those spangles, pearly white, 
 
 That are floating here and there — 
 Drifting like feathers on the air. 
 
 I 
 
 Faintly, through the filmy snow, 
 
 Peer the houses of the town ; 
 
 And the trees but dimly show, 
 
 With their branches, bare and dry, 
 
 Stretching vaguely to the sky, 
 
 'Mid the flakes that flutter down. 
 
 into §>tmi 
 
 Through the window see the snow 
 Lying here and lying there : 
 
 On the house-tops, high and low, 
 On the ground, and everywhere ; 
 And it cometh through the air, 
 
 In its crystalline pure glow, 
 
 Silently as aught I know. 
 
 Not the dark that shrouds us nightly 
 Falls upon the earth more lightly ; 
 Not the dew of summer-eves, 
 Settling on the grasses green ; 
 
) 60 WINTER SCENE. 
 
 y 
 
 Tinkle, tinkle the silvery bells, 
 And the laugh of pleasure swells, 
 As along the echoing street. 
 Hurried on by flying feet, 
 Like a phantom glides away, 
 In the gloom, the merry sleigh ; 
 And the chime of the bells, and the beat- 
 Muffled beat, of the horses feet, 
 And the driver's ringing cheer, 
 Are lost to the listening ear. 
 
 Now the snow has ceased to fall, 
 And the snow-bird hither hies, 
 
 Seeking in the plentiful town 
 What the barren wood denies. 
 
 Every little brook he '11 visit. 
 
 In his quest for straggling grains, 
 And approach the window-panes, 
 
 Kind attention to solicit 
 
 From the liberal hands of men : 
 Shrilly whistling now and then, 
 And with beautiful bright eyes — 
 Asking human sympathies. 
 
 Hardy little wanderer. 
 With the snows thou comest here, 
 All thy bosom like them white, 
 And thy wings as black as night. 
 
( 
 
 \ WINTER SCENE. 61 
 
 ( 
 
 I : , -, ■ 
 
 ( 
 
 ; 
 \ ■ 
 
 Whence thou comest, whither goest, 
 Thou, alone, pert creature, knowest ; 
 For, when vanquished winter leaves us, 
 
 With the winds, and snow, and ice, 
 S And the frost no longer weaves us 
 
 Glittering webs, of strange device — 
 Thou, too, flyest, vanishing 
 
 From the hollow and the hill, 
 While thy fellows of the spring, 
 
 All the woods with pipings fill — 
 
 With music, merry and shrill. 
 ( 
 
 ! 
 
 Come, mysterious little thing — 
 
 S 
 
 Tiny teacher of content, 
 Here repose thy weary wing, 
 
 For most surely thou art sent 
 To enliven winter drear — 
 The desponding soul to cheer, 
 
 And the lesson to impart, 
 
 That, to a contented heart, 
 All things pleasant do appear. 
 
62 EVENING SONG. 
 
 Offering §>m%. 
 
 Evening has settled o'er the skies, 
 And multitudinous fire-flies, 
 
 Uprising from the foliage near, 
 
 Steal glimmering on the atmosphere. 
 
 Awhile the watchful vision fails 
 To trace their course : then sudden trails 
 Of phosphorescent lustre mark 
 Their pathway through the dewy dark. 
 
 Above the dusky landscape, soon 
 Will rise the silver-shedding moon — 
 Eclipsing yon anemonies, set 
 O'er heaven's broad field of violet. 
 
 Sweet music's voice will 'rouse once more 
 Soft echoes by the river shore ; 
 While from the woody hills around 
 The 'plaints of whip-poor-wills resound. 
 
 But more than all, young Love, who lay 
 Faint and dispirited to day, 
 Refreshed by evening's dewy breeze, 
 Shall burst from his inglorious ease. 
 
 Ah ! wo to you ! Ah ! wo, to-night, 
 Ye young-eyed seekers of delight, 
 Love's arroAvs will be doubly keen, 
 From having long neglected been. 
 
EVENING SONG. 
 
 63 
 
 His bow will take a greater bend, 
 The arrows sped will trulier tend ; 
 And when they strike, the wound will be 
 Too deep for any remedy. 
 
 For Love, that 'neath the moonbeams strays, 
 A more persuasive influence sways — 
 Speaks warmer words, heaves softer sighs, 
 And fills with tenderer light the eyes. 
 
 Then, maidens fair, of Love beware : 
 He comes with spirit light as air ; 
 And where 's the heart that can withstand 
 His powers of speech, and gaze, and hand ? 
 
64 NOBILITY OF GENIUS. 
 
 ftnbilHj of (Senilis. 
 
 No titles grand do ye inherit 
 
 From a far-dating ancestry; 
 But in you burns a noble spirit — 
 
 A deathless love of liberty, 
 A longing to achieve that merit 
 
 Which makes man's true nobility. 
 
 Yours is the love that never faileth ; 
 
 For, whatsoe'er is good and true, 
 The hope, whose brightness never paleth — 
 
 But, steadfast as the sun in the blue, 
 Whatever storm of time assaileth, 
 
 Whatever clouds arise — shines through. 
 
 Not all the stars that o'er us muster, 
 Enhance the moon's transcendent state; 
 
 A sounding name imparts no lustre 
 Unto a soul degenerate ; 
 
 Nor all the titles kings may cluster, 
 Can greater make the truly great. 
 
 Ye trace through patriots and sages 
 Your lineage to the elder days ; 
 
 And read, on history's glowing pages, 
 Their deeds, with undissembled praise — 
 
 Their proud achievements, in the ages 
 When honor set the world a-blaze. 
 
^ 
 
 NOBILITY OP GENIUS. 65 ( 
 
 Yours is the brotherhood of glory — 
 Not the red streams of life that run 
 
 From a brave sire, with toil grown hoary, 
 Unto an enervated son; 
 
 Yours is the mystic bond of glory, 
 That links your spirit all in one. 
 
 The never-ceasing aspiration 
 After the beautiful and good ; 
 
 The burning zeal, the exaltation, 
 The impulse felt, not understood, 
 
 The gift divine — imagination — 
 Make you a common brotherhood. 
 
 Not any chance of time can smother 
 The fire that from Olympus came ; 
 
 The dying genius to his brother 
 Transmits the undiminished flame: 
 
 Connecting thus, with one another, 
 The immortal progeny of fame. 
 
66 UNCONSCIOUS BEAUTY. 
 
 Wammm $5mdg. 
 
 The stars that in the azure glow, 
 
 > Mnrft nlftflsinc to our fannies ars. 
 
 The flowers — their sisterhood below- 
 More pleasing to our fancies are, 
 Because they know not they are fair. 
 
 I saw her in her early clays, 
 
 When, in a sweet simplicity, 
 ) She half withdrew herself from gaze, 
 
 And, oh, how beautiful was she ! 
 I thought I never yet had seen 
 An eye so lustrous, yet serene — 
 A form so graceful, round, and light, 
 Save in my floating dreams at night. 
 So innocent her ignorance, > 
 
 She never deem'd my marvelling glance > 
 
 A tribute to her beauty rare;. 
 But, like the stars, and like the flowers, 
 
 That know not they are fair, \ 
 
 She lived, and dreamed away the hours, 
 
 Free of ambition, free of guile, 
 
 And stole my heart with one sweet smile. 
 
 X 
 
 She stole my heart, yet knew it not ; > 
 
 For flattering words, with danger fraught, 
 Not yet had reached her ivory ear, 
 Or, heard, were never deem'd sincere : 
 
UNCONSCIOUS BEAUTY. 67 
 
 Nor yet had pride — -the tempter sly — 
 Taught her the import of a sigh — 
 That homage from the lover wrung 
 Before the avowal from his tongue. 
 
 The early charm forsook her face : 
 Swift years, that should have added grace, 
 But mar'd the innocence of youth, 
 By teaching one seductive truth. 
 She, who had thoughts, no joy above- 
 That simple joy — the joy to love, 
 Endeavored now, by fatal arts, 
 To gain a multitude of hearts. 
 
 Oh ! from the day she learned her might, 
 
 To me she never seemed as bright 
 
 As when she charmed me — like a flower, 
 
 Unconscious of its silent power ; 
 
 As when — an unpretending star, 
 
 She dazed, nor knew it, from afar. 
 
68 IN THE DESERT. 
 
 (being the experience op a well-known traveler.) 
 
 Slowly, slowly, and wearily 
 
 In the desert while they wander, 
 The promised wells are not yet in view. 
 
 And the sun is sinking yonder : 
 Ah, when shall we reach our distant goal ? 
 
 They bitterly ask, and ponder. 
 
 Mutely the Arab sits 
 
 On his camel, weak and weary, 
 (Silence best his despair befits,) 
 
 Nor from that mood doth vary ; 
 More like a corpse than a living man, 
 
 Sits he on his dromedary. 
 
 Still is the air, and hot the sun ; 
 
 A death-like solemn repose 
 Pervades the sky and the desert dun, 
 
 While the fainting caravan goes, 
 Like a phantom, silently o'er the sand 
 
 That fire-like around it glows. 
 
 Thirsting, and scorched by the sun's red beams, 
 
 On his camel the traveler sits : 
 Dreams delude him — delightful dreams, 
 
 That dazzle his 'wildered wits; 
 While the desert landscape, dismally dull, 
 
 Like a mist before him flits. 
 
IN THE DESERT. 69 
 
 Oaks, that grow on his native hills, 
 
 Rustle and sigh in his ears ; 
 The odor of pines his nostril fills, 
 
 Their murmurous voice he hears ; 
 While afar the -well-known river flows, 
 
 And shimmers, and disappears. 
 
 Now, through the glittering foliage, 
 
 He sees a gay rivulet flash, 
 And, athirst as he is, through the woody maze 
 
 He seems — ah ! but seems — to dash ; 
 But speed as he will, the mocking rill 
 
 Flies before with a silvery plash. 
 
 Now he approaches his village home : 
 
 In his heart what emotions swell, 
 As he hears the too-familiar sound 
 
 Of the merry village bell ! 
 "''Tis but a dream !" the traveller groans ; 
 
 "'Tis the Afrite's dreadful spell !'' 
 
 He breaks from the charm of the desert dream, 
 
 And blindly stares around, 
 As his Arab guides, with wild outcry, 
 
 Proclaim that a well is found, 
 And leap from their fainting camels down 
 
 With frantic joy to the ground. 
 
70 IN THE DESERT. 
 
 Then thirsty beast, and thirsty man, 
 
 Of the bitter water drink : 
 With panting breasts and swelling tongues, 
 
 They gather 'round the brink — 
 Thankfully filling their water skins — 
 
 As the stars begin to blink. 
 
TO MILLIE. 71 
 
 ®o Itillk. 
 
 The words we choose with greatest art, 
 Fail much too often to express 
 The wish for others' happiness, 
 
 That burns and struggles in the heart. 
 
 For you, next dearest to my blood — 
 
 As mother of my nieces, fair, 
 
 I utter one continual prayer- — 
 That heaven may grant you every good ! 
 
 Be yours all joys, nor be they brief, 
 That daughter, sister, mother, wife, 
 Can hope for in this changeful life, 
 
 And small the measure of your grief! 
 
 Be like the gardener, that keeps 
 
 His tender plants with wakeful care. 
 Fearful lest any hurtful air 
 
 Should blight them while he wakes or sleeps 
 
 Thus fail my words, and thus my pen, 
 When on this page's spotless face 
 Some earnest wishes I would trace, 
 
 To which your heart will say, amen. 
 
72 TO MILLIE. 
 
 And while, like him, your flowers you tend. 
 Remember they but ill will thrive, 
 If heaven refuse its showers to give, 
 
 And neither rain nor sunshine send ! 
 
 f 
 
 -. 
 
 So watchful ever, prayful too, 
 
 May you your tiny buds behold, 
 
 ) With each succeeding day unfold 
 
 Graces and virtues ever new ! 
 
 ( 
 
 ( What greater joy could crown your age 
 
 { Than this — to know that you had proved 
 
 s A mother kind, a wife beloved, 
 
 Through all life's toilsome pilgrimage ? 
 
 ) Be yours the bliss in coming days, 
 
 With beating heart and joy-lit eyes, 
 To see your grateful children rise 
 To bless your name, and speak your praise ! 
 
 ' > 
 
 \ 
 
 S ) 
 
TO THE WIND. 73 
 
 ®0 % lEini 
 
 To thee the merchant trusts his ships 
 That o'er the salty waters glide ; 
 
 To thee the flowers their odors trust, 
 To thee their wine-ed seeds confide. 
 
 r s* 
 
 To thee the traveling spiders spread 
 
 Their gleaming strands, and speed away ; 
 
 On thee the migratory birds 
 Their weary pinions gladly lay. 
 
 To thee the clouds, like mariners, 
 
 Their fleecy sails with joy expand ; 
 While each in turn, upon thy wings, 
 
 The seasons haste from land to land. 
 
 I 
 
 Giver art thou of wealth and health, 
 And giver thou of life and death ; 
 
 For oft the unseen pestilence 
 Is wafted on thy fatal breath. 
 
 Now would I praise thee, now condemn : 
 But while I pause, the green leaves shake, 
 
 Seeming, with murmurous voice to say — 
 " All this is well for nature's sake !" 
 
 10 
 
74 TO THE WIND. 
 
 "In everything around you see 
 The evil mingled with the good: 
 
 A mystery of God and time — 
 
 Long known, yet never understood." 
 
TO A CRICKET. 
 
 80 a €xithi 
 
 You surely are a happy thing. 
 For every night you sing 
 
 That same shrill song of joy ; 
 You never can feel any pain, 
 Nor have a thought to vex your brain, 
 
 Nor care to make annoy. 
 
 You sit close covered in the grass', 
 (I cannot see you as I pass,) 
 
 And chant incessantly; 
 Yet none of those who stalk along 
 Will give attention to your song, 
 
 Except some wight like me. 
 
 Indeed, you must a lover be, 
 
 Or you would scarcely sing as free 
 
 As every night you do ! 
 And since your voice is never mute, 
 I judge you prosper in your suit — 
 
 A lucky insect you ! 
 
 I 'm certain you 're not wedded yet ; 
 For where 's the husband who will set 
 
 To singing for his wife ? 
 He '11 praise her fondly ere she 's won, 
 But when the honey-moon is gone — 
 
 Call her the pest of life. 
 
76 TO A CRICKET. 
 
 ( No; you're a jolly bachelor, 
 
 Preparing all your meshes for 
 
 The heart of some young dear ; 
 And if you '11 chirp each summer eve 
 As now you do, why, I believe, 
 
 Your day of triumph 's near ! 
 
 '■ 
 
 £ Then sing away, and if I could > 
 
 Assist your cause 'tis plain I would, 
 
 But that I ne'er can do ; 
 You 've in the cricket language sung — 
 I cannot understand that tongue, 
 
 So, sir, good night to you ! I 
 
THE WORLD A GARDEN. 77 
 
 \ > 
 
 mi dXL orur a 
 
 They say this world a garden is, 
 
 Wherein at will we stray, 
 And pluck the abundant fruits and flowers 
 
 That border all the way. ) 
 
 \ 
 Here crimson-cheeked fruits invite 
 
 The all-desiring taste, 
 That leave a poison on the lips, 
 
 Or in the fingers waste. 
 
 ( 
 On either hand, anear, afar, \ 
 
 Before our dazzled eyes ) 
 
 A multitude of brilliant flowers 
 
 Like constellations rise. < 
 
 \ , 
 
 And some there are so bright, they seem 
 
 To laugh the stars to scorn ; 
 Which bear on every little stem 
 
 A sharp and venomed thorn. 
 
 They represent each human wish — 
 The thirst for fame or gold ; 
 
 All passions, be they good or ill, 
 Their emblems here behold. 
 
v 78 THE WORLD A GARDEN. 
 
 For transient as the flowers they are, 
 
 And poisonous as the fruit ; ) 
 
 And few good passions or desires 
 
 In human hearts take root. 
 
 \ 
 Among too many wild or base, 
 
 Exists one passion pure — 
 A plant that yields but healthful fruit- 
 That we may all secure. 
 
 And that is love — the love sincere, 
 
 That never groweth cold: 
 That is not by a bubble won, 
 
 Nor for a bubble sold: 
 
 That cheers the heart for which it burns, 
 
 'Till all of life be past; 
 And brighter glows, and warmer grows — 
 
 All sunshine fro the last. 
 
EVALEEN. 79 
 
 (BJrahtn. 
 
 (A BALLAD.) 
 
 The moon was up ; the night was fair — 
 A lovelier night was never seen ! 
 
 She kissed her sleeping child, that lay 
 Full in the moon's soft sheen : 
 
 While tears fell frequent on its cheeks — 
 Ah, wretched Evaleen ! 
 
 Tears fell upon its cheeks : she feared 
 They might arouse the child ; 
 
 And turned away her aching head, 
 As in its sleep it smiled, 
 
 Unconscious of its mother's pangs — 
 The pangs of the beguiled. 
 
 Fair Evaleen has veiled her face — 
 Her face that, blushing, burns ; 
 
 She flies the couch and the dear child, 
 To whom her bosom yearns : 
 
 Smothers the nobler love within, 
 And from her infant turns. 
 
 Her feet the outer threshold press — 
 
 Her lover waits below : 
 And now she- breathes the open air — 
 
 Her heart heaves to and fro : 
 Her struggling conscience bids her stay, 
 
 But passion cryeth, go ! 
 
80 EVALEEN. 
 
 A fearful pause ! the very stars ; 
 
 Seem pausing in the skies : / 
 
 Hark ! from the village church below, 
 
 Softly and sweetly rise 
 The chanting of the choristers, 
 
 And fill with tears her eyes. 
 
 At once, she sinks upon her knees — 
 
 Her lips the hymn repeat : 
 The exiled love comes back again — 
 
 The bliss serene, complete ; 
 And saved from sin and shame, she flies 
 
 The slumbering child to greet. 
 
 She clasps the infant to her breast ; 
 
 A holy, grateful calm 
 Descends upon her troubled soul ; 
 
 Whilst, like a heavenly balm, 
 Softly into her aching heart 
 
 Sinks that sweet evening psalm. 
 
) 
 
 THE PETITION OF THE BIRDS. 81 } 
 
 ) 
 
 1 
 
 %\t Edition 0! \\t |5irk 
 
 That now come trooping to your doors, 
 
 false, delusive April days ! 
 
 Ye cheated us with sunny show ; 
 Ye called the insects from their cells, 
 
 And bade the fragrant violets blow ; 
 Ye bade us build our nests, but now 
 
 Ye bury them in snow. 
 
 \ Lo, starving, from our homes we fly, 
 
 s Pursued by an unpitying wind, 
 
 To the thick-peopled city hie, 
 
 And hope amid its streets to find 
 Some charitable soul — some friend 
 To sympathy inclined. 
 
 First we address our simple prayer 
 
 To you, sweet children, full of glee, 
 That from the curtained window watch 
 
 The snow-flakes, falling fast and free, 
 Like showers of lilies. Ye are fair, 
 
 And so should gentle be. 
 
 f (IN AN APRIL SHOWER.) } 
 
 Winter again invades our skies, 
 
 And drives forth from our leafless haunts, 
 With surly blast, and blinding snow, 
 
 We woodlands' winged occupants, 
 
 ) 
 
 And chirp our tale of wants. 
 
 11 
 
82 THE PETITION OP THE BIKDS. 
 
 I : 
 
 ') Come, scatter us some useless crumbs ! 
 
 Think of the famished multitude 
 That this untimely winter blast { 
 
 Hath driven from their native wood ; 
 Think of our misery, little friends, 
 S And scatter us some food ! 
 
 ) * 
 
 A little will supply our need, 
 
 And you '11 not miss it from your store ; 
 
 While for the charitable deed, ) 
 
 We choristers shall evermore, 
 
 Deep in the green woods' pleasant shade, 
 Our hymn of thanks outpour. 
 
 So that whene'er your playful feet t < 
 
 Shall stray the echoing groves among, 
 
 Far from the city's dust and heat, 
 Our gay salutatory song 
 
 Will charm your ears, and in your hearts 
 Make pleasant fancies throng. 
 
> THE TRULY GREAT MAN. 83 < 
 
 1 
 
 %\t Sntlg (Boat Pan. 
 
 He is indeed a king ; nay, emperor, 
 Who, in the microcosm of his soul, 
 Keeps all his subjects under due control ; 
 
 Who lets not fiery anger overpower 
 His fixed judgment, bending it to ill, 
 
 Nor flattering passion, with persuasive voice, 
 
 Disturb his sturdy spirit's equipoise. 
 
 No base desires gain mastery o'er his will, 
 
 But every failing yields to just restraints. 
 j> Hatred and envy are alike expressed, 
 
 While love and charity — fair sister saints — 
 Warm with their holy influence his breast : 
 
 Superior far to fortune's smile or frown, 
 
 He reigns, lord of himself — a king without a crown ! 
 
84 TO A CANARY BIRD. 
 
 &o a Cms $i& 
 
 These mild blue skies, and softest clouds that float 
 
 Gently along the sunny atmosphere, 
 Tempt thee to warble forth thy richest note, 
 Thou blithe young songster of the early year ; 
 And now the long-confined melody, 
 Which winter froze within thy feathered throat, 
 Pours on us like a very sea. 
 
 < 
 Thou didst not fly upon a pilgrimage, 
 
 With the free-winged birds to some far forest, . 
 When first the troubled winds began to rage, 
 And settled gloominess, which thou abhorrest, 
 Came lowering down upon the desolate earth — 
 For thou wert held a captive in yon cage, 
 
 / 
 
 And mute was all thy May-day mirth. 
 
 \ 
 
 Perchance in murky winter thou hadst dreams < 
 
 Of summer skies, and of a playful breeze 
 That bent the flowers and ruffled the full streams, 
 And shook the dewy foliage of the trees 
 
 That clustered round the twittering sparrow's nest, 
 And of the light that stole in golden gleams 
 Through yon bar'd door upon thy breast. 
 
TO A CANARY BIRD. 85 
 
 Joy comes to thee with spring from balmy seas, 
 
 In the soft South, where years do never vary ; 
 And there are whispers wafted on the breeze, 
 That tell us of the sunny, far Canary, 
 {- 
 
 Who all day long give forth their melodies — 
 
 
 Where dwell thy many yellow-winged brethren, 
 all day long give forth their melodies- 
 Flitting the shadowy vales together in. 
 
 Yet thou art so familiar with thy prison, 
 
 Sweet little minion, that thou sighest not, 
 But chantest to the sun when he has risen, 
 As though thou wert delighted with thy lot ; 
 Meanwhile thy gentle mate sits listening by, 
 And doth herself in gayest plumes bedizen, ) 
 
 To captivate thee through thine eye. 
 
 Hadst thou a soul, as earth's best children have, 
 
 Ere this thou wouldst have murdered it with fretting • \ 
 Thou wouldst not thus have lingered, joyous slave, 
 All former sweetest liberty forgetting, 
 
 And clinging to the bars that hold thee there ; 
 But thy light heart had broken with regretting 
 That fate which kept thee from the air. 
 
86 THE ocean's architects. 
 
 ®fjc (©ami's ^rtptds. 
 
 There are some architects beneath the sea, 
 
 That, laboring unseen from year to year, ( 
 
 From out the salty slime and sand uprear 
 
 A fabric of the rarest masonry. 
 
 Deep in the ocean its foundation rests ; 
 The mighty billows smite its side in vain ; 
 While winds waft to it, o'er the yesty main. 
 
 Trees they have torn from distant mountain crests, 
 And gather 'round it the oft-ravished soil 
 
 Of shores remote, 'till, lo ! it grows to be 
 A green spot, 'mid the waves — another isle ! 
 So there are souls whose still unnoted toil 
 
 Plants oases in time's loud surging sea, 
 
 Where we poor mariners may pause and rest awhile. 
 
THE VESPER BELL. 87 ( 
 
 Cjj* fflttytt $dl. 
 
 (SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF A PEASANT FAMILY IN THEIR BOAT UPON THE LAKE.) 
 
 How gently o'er the lake our boat doth, glide, 
 The only speck upon its quiet breast ; 
 
 The mellowing moonlight melts upon the tide, 
 And all below is calm and hushed to rest : 
 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night; 
 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
 There stand the hills our earliest childhood knew, 
 All yet unchanged and beautiful to me ; 
 
 And there 's the sky, a cape of cloudless blue, 
 And here the pleasant lake, a mimic sea : 
 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night ; 
 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
 But cease the song, and stay the dipping oar, 
 
 And clasp the hands to breathe an evening prayer ; 
 
 And list the sound that cometh from the shore — 
 The Vesper Bell is chiming on the air : 
 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night ; 
 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
 We have had sorrows, manifold and great, 
 
 But they are gone, like shadows from the heaven ; 
 
 Joys we have had, to make our hearts elate, 
 And sins we've done, but now are all forgiven : 
 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night ; 
 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
88 THE VESPER BELL. 
 
 -' . , 
 
 The turf is laid above our fairest child — 
 ) We miss his little blue and innocent eyes ; 
 
 And when we think how sweet he spoke and smiled, 
 
 Tears wet our cheeks, and many are our sighs : 
 Ave Maria, Heaven's will be done ; 
 It gave and took away the gentle one ! 
 
 Yet are we happy with our earthly lot ; 
 
 Our store is small, we would not have it more ; 
 And yonder lies our home — a little cot, 
 
 Half hid in blossoms, by the lake's green shore : 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night ; 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
 But hark ! and now the vesper tolls no more, 
 And we have offered up our evening prayer; 
 
 Again we drop the gently quivering oar 
 
 In the clear deep, for, lo ! our home is there : 
 
 Ave Maria, lovely is the night ; 
 
 Heaven send us many more, and all as bright ! 
 
TO THE SEA. 89 
 
 Co % Sen. 
 
 Beautiful sea, that lookest as if 
 Thou wouldst not harm a fisherman's skiff', ( 
 
 how I love in a wing'd boat ( 
 
 Over thy surface of glass to float ! 
 
 Out on thy breast, while lifting the oar. 
 Back can I gaze to the distant shore : 
 Scanning the outline, dusty and rude, 
 Of hill, and valley, and shadowy wood. 
 
 Close by the beach the fisher's hut stands; 
 
 His frail bark lies exposed on the sands, 
 
 And the intricate nets, now his toil is done, 
 
 Are spread to be bleached by the noon-day's sun ! 
 
 Yet, though thou seemest so powerless and still, 
 That a child might navigate thee at will, 
 Yet, though thou seemest so calm, sea, 
 Thou art the symbol of treachery ! 
 
 For, when thou sweepest along in thy strength, 
 Thy dark surges shake the shore's vast length ; 
 Like straws in the wind, thou whirlest the stout 
 
 Iron-bound ships o'er thy deeps about ' 
 
 -Liuii-uuiinu snips u ej. liij ueeps nuuut : ^ 
 
 Awful art thou whenever the storm 
 s 
 
 Doth thy resplendent expanse deform, 
 
 Yet lovlier than all things else art thou, 
 ) 
 
 When reposing in silence as now ! 
 
 I 12 
 
V)0 BONG OF THE WAVES. 
 
 j50itg of % SStnbcs. 
 
 The waves are singing to the shore, 
 As they kiss it evermore — 
 
 " We love thee !" 
 On they rush in shining hands, 
 Rippling o'er the yellow sands, 
 While their lay is evermore, 
 
 As of yore — 
 
 "We love thee, shore !" 
 
 7 
 
 ( 
 You may hear their silvery song, 
 
 As they brightly glide along — 
 
 "We love thee!" 
 Thus they roll exultingly 
 From the far, abounding sea, 
 Singing sweetly evermore, 
 
 As of yore — 
 
 " We lpve thee, shore !" 
 
TO THE HUDSON. 91 
 
 £0 % pubson. 
 
 The majesty of waters I behold 
 In thee, proud river, as, to southward rolled. 
 Move thy dark floods, bound upon either hand 
 By dizzy cliffs or rounded hills, where stand 
 The steepled towns and villages, or seats 
 Where wealth hath builded up most rare retreats, 
 From the rude noise of cities far. Thou art 
 The cherished offspring of a noble line. 
 The vast primeval mountains which recline. 
 
 In their gigantic grandeur, on yon clouds, 
 
 Whence roll the thunders and the lightnings dart, 
 Oft striking earthward many a goodly pine, 
 
 Whose ragged foliage, as a vesture, shrouds 
 The rocky steeps. Like heated Bachanals 
 
 From distant hills, the brawling rills descend 
 O'er mossy rocks, with many foaming falls, 
 
 And with exulting voices wildly wend 
 To thy full stream. Proud seemest thou, as though 
 
 The infection of cold European pride 
 Of ancestry had touched thee in thy flow, 
 
 And made thee scorn all other streams beside 
 Which are not mountain-heirs like thee. Enough ! 
 
 It well befits thee to be proud and free, 
 
92 TO THE HUDSON. 
 
 That so thou mayest administer reproof 
 
 To all who love the chains of tyranny, 
 And glory in the gleam of golden crowns. 
 Roll onward, preaching to the many towns 
 That look upon thee with astonishment, 
 As did of old the mailed knights, who bent 
 Before the hermit's maddening eloquence — 
 The mighty lesson — Liberty! that hence 
 It may be borne across the eastern seas, 
 To countries where imperial palaces 
 Stand in contempt of freedom, and the millions 
 Labor to decorate the proud pavilions 
 Of royalty, and 'mid the festive songs 
 Of princes, howl the story of their wrongs, 
 Meeting with scornful answer. Still roll on, 
 And may thy waters look to me anon 
 As grand and beautiful. So shall my song 
 Be bound about thee, as of old the boughs 
 Of laurel on the victor's burning brows ; 
 ( And thou shalt wear the honor well and long, 
 
 river of the free-born and the strong ! 
 
PALE HERO. 
 
 93 i 
 
 lak Iftro. 
 
 Pale Hero stood beside the wave, 
 On eves which were long years ago, 
 
 And Greek Leander, young and brave, 
 Led by her torch's steady glow, 
 
 For the sweet love of her, was wont 
 
 To swim the dangerous Hellespont. 
 
 ) 
 
 So thou in fancy seemest to me 
 To stand upon a distant shore — 
 
 To hold a torch above the sea 
 And beckon me to venture o'er ; 
 
 And I, confiding in thy truth, 
 
 Plunge in like the adventurous youth. 
 
 Yet, when Leander reached the land, 
 Hot from his combat with the deep, 
 
 Fair Hero met him on the strand, 
 And fell upon his breast to weep 
 
 With very joy — and burn and sigh 
 
 With love's extreme intensity. 
 
 But I, with many a doubt distressed, 
 Toil fearful on the imagined sea, 
 
94 PALE HERO. 
 
 Lest thou, unwilling to be pressed, 
 
 Soon as I near the shore, should flee- 
 Should in the waters quench thy light, 
 And leave me unto death and night. 
 
 0, wretched fate ! to gasp in vain, 
 Then sink into the gulf of woe, 
 
 Or, sweltering, float upon the main, 
 The pale limbs heaving to and fro, 
 
 To be, though heaven be bright above, 
 
 Dead unto life, and dead to love. 
 
ECHO. 95 
 
 Sweet Echo, dweller in cavernous mountains, 
 Amid dark forests, by abounding fountains, 
 Much loved that self-adoring boy, 
 
 The fair son of Cephisus, 
 And chased his footsteps with consuming joy, 
 Crying aloud — Narcissus ! 
 
 But vain were all her cries and all her wooing : 
 The youth replied not to the nymph pursuing, 
 But fled from her desiring gaze, 
 
 Filling her heart with anguish ; 
 Then, like a flower scorched by the sun's hot rays, 
 Echo began to languish. 
 
 Afar, in deepest solitudes reclining, 
 She hid herself from woodland maids, repinino- : 
 Wasting the day with idle 'plaint — 
 
 With unavailing sorrow ; 
 And every day her beauty grew more faint — 
 More pale by every morrow. 
 
96 ECHO. 
 
 At last, out-worn by grief and passion violent, 
 Sweet Echo died within her grotto silent ; 
 Leaving her story unto fame. 
 
 Her voice will never perish; 
 The prattling rocks still rattle with her name- 
 The hills her memorv cherish. 
 
 1 
 
) 
 SONG. 97 I 
 
 \ K 
 
 Sang. 
 
 Since to thee I may not tell > 
 
 The story of my love, ) 
 
 I '11 sigh it to the stars, 
 
 And the moon which shines above. 
 
 For Dian had a love 
 
 For the fair Endymion : 
 So she will hear my voice, 
 
 As I sigh and still sing on. 
 
 And the stars, though high they be, 
 
 Entertain a passion still 
 For the blue waves on the sea, 
 
 And the river, and the rill : 
 
 So they will not disdain 
 
 The story of my love : 
 They 're too fair to be harsh, ^ 
 
 Too gentle to reprove. 
 
 And so I '11 sigh for thee ; <J 
 
 My passion thus I '11 tell ; ( 
 
 For I love thee tenderly — 
 I love thee passing well ! 
 
 13 
 
( .)8 THE DEAD SEA. 
 
 &()t grab £tet. 
 
 A city lieth in the sea, 
 Full many a fathom deep : 
 
 Beneath the waters, silently 
 The solid temples sleep ; 
 
 And in the splendid chambers, nought 
 Save slimy reptiles creep.' 
 
 Scattered about in street and dome, 
 
 Lie ancient human bones, 
 The relics of the haughty men 
 
 Who reared those stately stones, 
 And sunk to death so suddenly 
 
 Earth did not hear their groans. 
 
 S The king is in his regal hall : 
 
 ') His hands, and arms, and skull, 
 
 Are strown upon the wave-washed pave, 
 And tremble in the dull 
 j> Incumbent waters, when they break 
 
 / Their melancholy lull. 
 
 The grinning skull which bore the crown 
 Lies stripped of all its state ; 
 
 Nerveless the fingers are which clasped 
 The sceptre's golden weight, 
 
 When on his throne the monarch sate 
 Dispensing human fate. 
 
THE DEAD SEA. 99 
 
 The gaudy courtiers, where are they ? 
 Where is the flattering throng 
 
 Which bowed before the sovereign's nod ? 
 Lo ! how .they lie along, 
 
 Stark dead— as senseless as the clod — 
 Mock of the gay and strotig ! 
 ) 
 
 Who, from that crumbling mass of bones 
 Which cover all the floor, 
 
 May say which was the fairest dame, 
 And which the diadem wore ? 
 
 None, none can tell ! Rest, wretched dead- 
 Unknown forevermore ! 
 
 No turf was laid upon their graves, 
 
 No human rites were read ; 
 An ocean, with its dismal waves, 
 
 Came rolling overhead ; 
 And in one awful moment swept 
 
 The living to the dead. 
 
 Down, down went turret, down went dome, 
 
 Down sunk the humble cot ; 
 The haughty lord, the vassal mean, 
 
 Shared the same fearful lot ; 
 And where th' accursed city stood 
 
 The deep lay like a blot. 5 
 
( 
 
 100 THE DEAD SEA. 
 
 A wonder of the past 
 
 And so 'twill be age after age — 
 A marvel 4o the last ! 
 
 A dark, a deep, a dreadful sea ! 
 
 Within a barren waste < 
 
 It sleeps, an awful mystery — I 
 
 \ 
 
 ( r ' < 
 
PRAYER. 101 
 
 SET TO MUSIC IN " DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT." 
 
 Father, hear thy children's prayer 
 Let it not be spent in air, 
 But like pleasing incense rise 
 To salute thee in the skies. 
 
 Here temptations thick assail : 
 Let them not, God, prevail ; 
 Be thou our defender still : 
 Shield, shield from every ill. 
 
 Low thy grace we supplicate : 
 We are weak, but thou art great ; 
 For our weakness give us strength ; 
 Take us to thyself at length. 
 
102 TO THK EAGLE. 
 
 & ifrc (Eagle. 
 
 O broad-winged king of precipices wondrous, 
 Whose home is on the storm-beleagured mountains, 
 
 How dost thou soar aloft where voices thundrous 
 / Shake the alarmed air, and ope the fountains 
 
 (j Of cloud-embosomed rain ! and where the lightning 
 
 Leaps forth with frequent hisses, redly brightening 
 The black robe of the tempest ? Thou fearest not 
 
 When all the fellows of the atmosphere 
 
 Seek, upon timorous plumes, some sheltered spot, 
 
 Or hide them in their shaking nests with fear. 
 
 A lofty calmness is thine own, proud bird, 
 
 Whose shriek above conflicting storms is heard. 
 
 Unchangable as thine own cliffs art thou, 
 
 Fearless and famous through the past and now. 
 
 : 
 
FANCIES ON A SEA SHELL. 103 
 
 timtks on a $m SWL 
 
 The rose-lipped shell of ocean, 
 
 Wherever it may be, 
 Stills hints of the commotion ) 
 
 And the thundering of the sea. 
 Place it to thy fearful ear, 
 Gentle-hearted listener : 
 These are the sounds thou 'It hear : 
 Hear the roar ! hear the clash ! 
 Of the surges as they dash ) 
 
 On the rock-girdled shore ! < 
 
 Hear the howl of the roused storm 
 As he stalks — a terrible form ! ( 
 
 His feet on the deep, and his hands in heaven, 
 Where the cloudy mass is riven S 
 
 With lightnings fierce and swift. 
 
 Lo ! the sailors, on the shrouds 
 
 Lifted high into the clouds, 
 
 Grasp the canvases all tattered : 
 No pause there is for shrift 
 Ere they are hurled adrift 
 
 With the spars all tempest-shattered ; 
 And deeper in the blue 
 
 Than ever sank the lead 
 The ship sinks with her crew ! — 
 
 So the living seek the dead ! 
 
104 FANCIES ON A SEA SHELL. 
 
 Such the vision is which rises 
 
 Before thy fancy's eyes ; 
 Such the tumult which surprises 
 
 The soul, which listening, lies 
 In that sympathetic breast, 
 When the ocean-shell is pressed, 
 gentle listener, 
 To thy ivory white ear. 
 But listen once again ! 
 
 A sweeter sound thou 'It hear, 
 Hinting of a quiet main, 
 
 And a merry gondolier, 
 Singing as he glideth home, 
 
 With his paddle keeping time 
 
 To the cadences of rhyme, 
 While it streaks the wave with foam. 
 the sorrows of the sea ! 
 
 its pleasures ! O its gladness ! 
 They should teach this truth to thee 
 
 That earth is full of sadness ; 
 And the only place where sorrow 
 
 Has never yet held sway, 
 Ourselves may see to-morrow, 
 
 So far, 0, far away ! 
 
RHYMES FOR MAY. 105 
 
 l^pes for Utaj;. 
 
 Sunshine and pleasant showers, 
 Gay birds and gentle flowers — 
 
 These make the spring ; 
 And the balm wind of the South, 
 Which, from some cavern's mouth, 
 Breathes forth with double vigor, 
 
 Enlivens everything 
 Which the winter's icy rigor 
 Bound in fetters admantine, 
 When the warring winds were vaunting 
 Of their strength furiously. 
 Budding flowers and leafy trees 
 
 Beautiful are ye ! 
 Sunbeams and gliding streams 
 
 Bright ye are and free ! 
 Ye are given unto all ; 
 
 To the begging wretch, who lags 
 
 On our doorsteps in his rags, 
 
 And to misery-wrinkled hags, 
 And the rich man in his hall : 
 Ye are given, boons from heaven. 
 Unto all; 
 Yet who of those receiving 
 
 Thank the Giver as they should 
 
 Thank the " Giver of all Good?" 
 
 14 
 
106 A CLASSIC SONG OF WINTER. 
 
 % Classic Song of SB-inter. 
 
 Clouds are darkling in the sky, 
 Leaves upon the trees hang dry, 
 And the wind howls dismally. 
 
 Beauty and life are gone 
 With flowers the summer sun 
 Looked amorously upon. 
 
 Daughter of Ceres divine, 
 Why goest thou, Proserpine, 
 To that dreary realm of thine? 
 
 > 0, why desert us now 
 
 To winds that freezingly blow, 
 
 To frosts and earth-covering snow ? 
 
 Ah, thou lovest us not as well 
 As thou lovest the king of hell ; 
 Therefore biddest thou us farewell ! 
 
 Now, I hear thy parting swell : 
 "Fare ye well, and fare ye well!" — ■ 
 Fainting like sounds in a rocky dell. 
 
A CLASSIC SONG OF WINTER. 107 \ 
 
 Farewell — if it must be so ! 
 Farewell — if thou wilt thus go ! 
 We '11 bear, as Ave may, our woe. 
 
 Gladsomely we'll remember, 
 Beside the sparkling ember, 
 The year is not all December. 
 ) 
 
 So we '11 be blithe and gay : 
 Merry we '11 grow as we may — 
 Singing some roundelay. 
 
 > 
 
 s We'll fill to the brim each cup; 
 
 With Bacchic juice fill up, 
 
 And cheerily we '11 sup. 
 
 We '11 sing — we '11 dance — we '11 quaff; 
 We '11 daint'ly feast ; we '11 laugh, 
 \ Reading the year's epitaph. 
 
 ( 
 
 ( 
 
 We '11 sing in our rustic rhyme, 
 How he died — the son of time — 
 In his dotage, not in his prime. 
 
 How his blood was cold and thin ; 
 { How his eyes were sunken in ; 
 
 ) How gaunt he was, cheek and chin. 
 
 ) , 
 
1 08 A CLASSIC SONG OF WINTER. 
 
 — - . 
 
 But my song thy patience wearies ; 
 Fill the beakers bright, and here is 
 A health to the daughter of Ceres 1 
 
 \ 
 
 < Come with the spring-days back, 
 
 \ goddess ; nor let there be lack 
 
 Of flowers and fruits in thy track I 
 
 Honor to thee, Proserpine ! 
 Honor to thee and to thine ! 
 Honors and praises divine ! 
 
^0* 
 
 O N O ° j\0 
 
 
 
 
 JO • 
 
 *7 *** • 
 
o* ..*' 
 
 ^ cr • < 
 
 
 -.^^A.-o ^ A* *^^ 
 
 Vs. 
 
 * n a" 1 
 
 ^ .! 
 
 
 
 ^<K 
 
 V\rv*^y * ^V^Py 5 %/^Py * 
 
 <^ .4.9 » t *°* V- V * S !r 
 
LIBRARY OFCONGRF?? 
 
 mmmiii 
 
 015 971 646 6