^c^^€.^ l/,f, Z.C.T, 5'sr 'H'. klBRA RY OF CONGRESS. # f UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f iJ :|hn .(^l-^^KrigM |o. _ \ I : ^>4.^.j'3..I.=s I I ^,>,^ a^-^^— ^4^ ;X4 ///;?. INKLINGS OF SONG MEMENTO OF MY LEISURE HOURS. IN TWO PARTS BY C. JILLSON. d3.p~^ No deeds of arms my humble lines rehearse ; No Alpine wonders thunder through my verse. Robert Bloomfield. WORCESTER: FREDERICK M. STOWELL, 1851. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, Bv FREDERICK M. STOWELL, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. PRINTED BY HENRY J. HOWLAND, 199 Main street. ? 1 ©l©0©aTa©IKl = €n tliB iirst 'Sunt Mu \ < Who < may chance to cast Ms eye upon this Book, the following ^ < pages are lespectMly inscribed, by 1 THE AUTHOR. TO THE READER The following pages were written during my leisure hours, while those of my own age were pretending to enjoy the charms of the social cir- cle, or spending their time to no purpose at some place of amusement. Although I have been ridiculed for spending so much of my time alone, I now feel proud to say that I am not unwilling to compare the result of mj spare moments with that of any of my early associates. Duiing the time which I have spent in writing this little volume I have met with all sorts of TO THE READER. opposition, and it lias often seemed that the waves of adversity would finally triumph. Notwith- standing all this I have been enabled, by the assistance of a friend, to place the work before you, kind reader, and only ask that it may receive the approbation which it justly merits. c. J. Pine Grove Cottage, 1 Worcester, Oct. 1851. j PUBLISHEK'S NOTICE. The title of this little volume may attract the eye of the reader as being something new, but he must consider, that in this age of the world, there is " nothing new under the sun." That there is much in a name we freely admit, but that substance is better adapted to satisfy the desires of the thoughtful and considerate, none will question. Fiction excites the passions, but that kind of literature which is established on the broad basis of truth is the best food for the mind, even if it appears in the soft strains of the poet's lyre, des- PUBLISHER S NOTICE. cribing the emotions of tlie heart in the hour of meditation ; painting in bright colors the chequered scenes of life, interspersed with hope and disappointment, prosperity and sadness. From youth to age, truthful poetry is ever wel- come to him who possesses a highly cultivated intellect, and when our pilgrimage on earth is drawing to a close, it will even then impart con- solation to the immortal spirit, and light up its pathway to the untried future. Poetry adds lustre to that which is already beautiful, and inspires within the bosom feelings which lead the mind from ' ' Nature up to Na- ture's God." An ardent desire to promote the welfare of a young author has alone induced us to aid in bringing this book before the public ; and we trust that the reader, as he glances over these pages, will meet with many a sentiment to which his own heart will respond with fond emotion. Worcester, Oct. 1851. F. M. S. C ONTENTS Page. The lonely Maiden, 13 Observation, 18 My Childhood's Home, 21 Love's Spring outlasts the Year, - - - - 23 The Stream of Life, 26 National Ode, 28 Summer Flowers, 30 The Bell of the Revolution, 32 The Lover's Farewell, 34 The Eose of Sadaga, 36 The Stars, 38 Lines, ---40 I will remember Thee, 43 Lines, 44 Moonlight on the Sea, 46 Song of the Exile, - - 48 10 CONTENTS. The Winds of Autumn, 60 Crazy Joe, 51 The Daguerreotype, 54 Thoughts, 56, Twilight, - 58 The Earth is full of Woe, 60 She has gone, 62 Enterprise, 64 The Convict's Song, 66 Mount Auburn, - - 69 Faint Not, 71 My Anna, 73 April, 74 To an Italian Emigrant, ------75 I once had a Friend, 76 AVilt thou be true to me, 78 Moonlight, - - - 80 The Dawn of the New Year, 82 My hair is growing gfej, 84 Truth, 86 My Sister's Grave, 88 Where I last strayed with thee, - - - - 91 Think not of me, 93 The last moments of a Drunkard, - - - 95 The Lover's Appeal, 97 Sing to Me, 99 No power can chain the Mind, - - - - 107 The Caged Bird, 109 CONTENTS. 11 Be Kind, Ill I The Maniac's Song, 113 > My Early Home, 115 > What Hove, 117 ^ Lines, 119 J All are False, 121 ] Be not discouraged, • _ - 123 > The Exile's Lament, 125 \ I'li think of Thee, 127 I The Little Eill, 129 I To a Friend in Rome, 131 ^ Memory, 133 I Stanzas to Deerfield River, 125 ? Winter, 136 I I February, 138 < ^ To the first Bird of Spring, ----- 139 j ^ A Summer's Evening, 140 > Beware" of Rum, 142 I Early Friends, 143 I Smiles, 145 To the Memory of M. A. S. - - . . 147 To a River, - - 149 Lines, 150 To a Friend, 152 Stanzas, - - - 154 Lo'^e, --- 155 Th(3 Drunkard, 157 V True Friend. 159 QKlECLDKIQi ©[F iOMO. THE LONELY MAIDEN. On a bright and golden morning, In the starry month of June ; When the birds had raised their voices, And all Nature seemed in tune ; I had strayed beside a river, Far away from noise and strife — Far from those whose minds are ever Chained to scenes of busy life. Through the dark and lofty branches That o'erhung the restless stream, Bright and sparkling rays were dancing, Like gay fairies in a dream. 14 THE LONELY MAIDEN. There I spied a lonely maiden, Far away from Fasliion's throng ; And her brow was marked with sadness As she sung her fav'rite song : "My years are swiftly passing, Passing far away ; Draw near my friends and listen, Listen to my lay. " Two years ago a lovely, Lovely being came, And told me of affection. Affection's holy flame. He told me time could never, Never him estrange ; Nor even make the slightest, Slightest seeming change. We spent sweet hours together, Together often strayed; And e'en at noonday wandered. Wandered 'neath the shade. THE LONELY MAIDEN. 15 "We culled the fairest flowers, Flowers that bloomed in Spring ; And listened to the songsters, Songsters on the wing. ** "We strayed 'mong blushing roses, Roses fresh and new, While moonbeams bright were sparkling. Sparkling on the dew. "I little thought of future, Future joy or woe ; For all seemed very pleasant, Pleasant here below. " I had no thcughts of sorrow, Sorrow dark and wild ; Buf love was near me smiling, Smiling like a child. " But soon the spell was broken, Broken forever ; That hour will be forgotten, Forgotten never. 16 THE LONELY MAIDEN. "O'er him I fondly cherished, Cherished e'er the same, A cloud of dark and dismal, Dismal sadness came. " His cheek was wet with tear-drops, Tear-drops dimmed his eye ; He told me he was willing. Willing then to die. " His moments soon were ended, Ended here below ; And my sad heart was breaking. Breaking then with woe. " And now I'm sad and lonely, Lonely all the day ; For him I loved is sleeping, • Sleeping far away." Thus I heard a lovely maiden Sing her mournful song of woe, While her bosom throbbed with sorrow That no other heart can know. THE LONELY MAIDEN. 17 Tears of grief were freely falling, While I pondered o'er her theme ; — Angel voices echoed round me — I awoke — 'twas all a dream. OBSERVATION. I love to muse, when all is still, At midnight's lonely hour, Beside the dark Coliseum's waU, Or ivy-mantled tower ; Where honest hearts have throbbed to feel The cup of bliss o'erflow, Or stooped to shed grief's burning tear, A thousand years ago. I love to muse upon the brink Of Ocean's mighty tide, Where billows dash the rocky strand With all their sovereign pride; OBSERVATION. 19 And with their sounding echo bring Glad tidings o'er the sea, Of men who long have bowed to kings; Now saying, " We are free.'" I love to muse at parting day, When scenes romantic please, Beside some river's sheltering; bank. Among the forest trees ; Where flowers lie faded 'neath my feet. And Nature sadly grieves. To see the gems of Summer lie 'Mid Autumn's withered leaves. But where I most delight to muse, Is 'mid the noisy throng, In some proud city o'er the sea, Where kings and lords belong. There, silently, I thread my way Through streets and narrow lanes. And bind the impulse of the crowd With Observation's chains. 20 OBSERVATION. I tliere behold the rich, the poor, The simple, and the wise, All moving towards the vale of Death, Where darkening shadows rise. Each one is sure his way is clear. But still would curse the rest, And thus in turn they're all condemned. And yet they all are best. Ah ! thousands live and never know What causes all the strife That even they are forced to feel While journeying on through life. Then let me say to one and all Who love the Yankee nation. That all you need to guide your feet Is MENTAL Observation I MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME. He who forgets the fountain from whence he drank, and the tree under whose shade he gambolled in the days of his youth, is a stranger to the sweetest impressions of the human heart. [Anon. Ah, well I remember the scenes of my childhood, The places so dear that my infancy knew, Wliere oft I have roamed on a bright summer morning When all seemed to glitter 'mid sunshine and dew. Full well I remember the bright ciystal fountain. And the streamlet that flowed from its bosom so pure, As I paused on its banks, in the shade of the willow, Away from the world, in that grotto secure. 22 MY childhood's home. The giantrarmed oak that stood near to the forest, Has made an impression that none can destroy ; And when I refer to the home of my childhood, The shade of the oak is the theme I enjoy. Yes, there let me slumber when life has departed, Beneath the green turf where my footsteps have strayed, Oh ! let the warm tear of affection fall lightly, Above the cold grave where my ashes are laid. LOVE'S SPRING OUTLASTS THE YEAR. Ah ! tell me not that Love will fade Like Summer's modest flower, Nor wither 'mid Autumnal blasts, Or Winter's darkest hour ; Say not to me that Love will die, Or vanish like a tear, For I believe its charms will live, And long outlast the year. I know the Spring birds soon will go To sunnier climes than these ; I know their voices soon will cease To echo 'mong the trees ; 24 love's spring outlasts the year. But this will never show to me That Love will disappear, Or come and go like birds and flowers That never last the year. Gray Summer's charms will soon be o'er, And all her beauties fled ; The winds of Autumn soon will sigh Above the violet's bed ; The grass will wither on the plain, And forest leaves grow sere ; But Love will smile 'mid wind and storm, And long outlast the year. Go ask the maiden, — when at eve, Upon the bended knee, She prays that God may shield and save Her lover on the sea, — If she would ever dare to say. Or entertain a fear. That Love, like transient things of earth. Would not outlast the year. love's spring outlasts the year. 25 Go ask the mother, — when she weeps, With anguish deep and wild, As Death draws near with solemn pace, To claim her only child, — If she can throw aside her Love For all on earth held dear, And say the memory of her child Shall not outlast the year. Though clouds surround our pathway here, And friends base traitors prove, There's one bright star that never fades, And that's unfaltering Love ! It often lights a modest smile, — 'Tis seen within a tear ; — But oh! — Hike the pleasant thought — Love's Spring outlasts the year. THE STREAM OF LIFE. At Summer's evening hour When all is still, I roam through forest wild, And o'er the hill. I muse beside the stream That gently flows Through yonder vale. To cull the rose. There's music in its voice. Music for me ; I hear it moving on To meet the sea. THE STREAM OF LIFE. 27 When Autumn comes witli cold And chilly breath, Bright flowers are clasped within The arms of death. One moment all is bright, And fair, and gay ; The next, Death comes, and claims His willing prey. A child is playing on The cottage floor — Years pass — and he is known On earth no more. Thus moves the stream of life, "With gentle sway ; Yet bearing all on earth, Far, far away. cr(5^c^ NATIONAL ODE. Welcome to eacli son of Freedom Be the ever glorious morn, When our fathers rose from thraldom And proclaimed a nation born ! Let us not forget those sages, Washington and Lafayette ! Oh ! their fame has ^^roudly risen, — Freemen ! let it never set ! Though our sky was once o'erclouded, And Oppression's mighty hand Had scathed the only spark of Freedom That was struggling in our land, NATIONAL ODE. 29 Men who dared to brave the whu^wind And defy Old Britam's pride, Pledged thek fortunes and their honor By this nation to abide ! Oh ! ye sons of those brave heroes ! Ye whose hearts beat warm and free, Come to-day and mingle with us — ' Tis our Country's jubilee ! Let the cannon's lofty sounding, As it comes o'er hill and lea, ,Tell in tones like distant thunder, That Columbia still is Free ! Let us then preserve her glory, And her fame, howe'er sublime ; Let her mem'ry e'er be with us Till the latest hour of Time ! Let our voices proudly echo While we sing of Freedom's birth, And acknowledge this to be the Greatest Nation on the earth ! July 4th, 1851. SUMMER FLOWERS. Summer flowers are blooming round me, And tlie birds are sinojino; free — Making music in the meadow, And upon the forest tree. Mountain streamlets now are flowing On to meet old ocean's tides, Where the wealth of every nation Safely o'er the water rides. Oh ! how beautiful is nightr-time ! And how swiftly pass the hours. When the moon's pale beams are shining On a perfect sea of flowers . See the tall grain gently waving, Neath the stir of summer air, While the sunlight and the dew-drop Mingle all their beauties there. When dark sorrow hovers o'er me, When I long for brighter hours, Nought will make my heart feel lighter Than to gaze on summer flowers. THE BELL OF THE REVOLUTION. This Bell, which gave the first intelligence of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, may be seen at the Old State House, in Philadelphia. This ancient bell, witli merry peal, Proclaimed throughout the land, That on Columbia's fruitful soil, A strong, unyielding band Had raised their voices, loud and high. Against oppressive laws, With firm resolve to spend their lives In Freedom's holy cause. THE BELL OP THE REVOLUTION. 33 Our fathers then had long been hound By England's potent chain ; Their suppliant voices ne'er were heard Across the restless main ; But when the Patriot's hand had raised The starry "banner high, All Europe stooped to hear the voice. We will be feee or die ! THE LOVER'S FAREWELL. I have loved thee, gentle maiden, Better far than words can tell ; But the hour of death awaits me, Dearest, hear my last farewell. We shall roam no more at twilight, Down the dark and shady dell ; All those pleasant scenes are ended, Dearest maiden, fare thee well. We no more shall climb the hill-side, When the spring-time breezes swell ; We must part, oh ! part forever, Dearest maiden, fare thee well* THE lover's farewell. 35 Vows tliat we so fondly plighted — Ties we bound so firm and well — Now must be forever broken, Dearest maiden, fare thee well. Near my grave the rose shall blossom Where the dead in silence dwell. There, alone, thou'lt sadly wander. Dearest maiden, fare thee well. THE EOSE OF SADAGA. In Whitingham, Vt , a small lake may be seen about a mile west of the central Tillage, whiih adds much beauty to the surrounding Bcenery. Near this place an old Indian was formerly known to reside, by the name of Sadaga. The name of this lake was de- rived from that aged inhabitant of the wilderness. Along Sadaga's lonely shore, The wild rose blooms in beauty rare, And calls the stranger from his path, To gaze awhile — to linger there. In former times around this spot The savage foe in ambush lay ; The war-song echoed o'er the hills, With fearful sound, at close of day. THE ROSE OP SADAGA. 37 That scene is o'er — that voice is hushed No more the helpless captive cries ; But flowers with vernal beauty smile Around where * Old Sadaga' lies. The woodman felled the lofty tree, The ploughman turned the grassy sod, And near that spot the village spire In beauty points to heaven — to God . Although Improvement's voice is heard Along the vale, and o'er the hill, The flower that bloomed in other days, In all its beauty lingers still. All else may fade — all else decay — All else may find an early tomb. And yet Sadaga' s lovely rose Will ever bloom, will ever bloom ! THE STARS. Those brilliant stars, with glittering ray, Like diamonds pure and bright, Were made by Him who reigns above To beautify the night. When shades of darkness shroud the earth Then, fired with power divine, Those fairy gems that stud the sky In countless numbers shine. Amid the forest's darkest shade. Fanned by the evening breeze, I love to see their bright rays dance Among the lofty trees. THE STARS. 39 Oft by tlie silent pool I've strayed When night-shades o'er me hung, And gazed till Morpheus round my soul His soothing mantle flung. There have I watched the silvery train That wanders through the sky, And near that well-remembered spot I hope at last to lie ! LINES Suggested on returning to my natiye land at midnight, after an absence of many years. Stars are shining brightly o'er me, Shedding forth their brilliant light ; Moonbeams gild the sparkling waters, While I wander here at night. Worldly pomp and human grandeur Now are clasped in Morpheus' arms ; But I, in loneliness, will wander. Seeking night's sublimest charms. Q§re beside this crystal streamlet Where the sunny waters stray. Let my thoughts go backward, tracing Visions of a former day. LINES. 41 Let my thoughts turn back to childhood — Sweetest hours of all our life ! Ere the heart was clogged by passion — Ere the soul was chained with strife. Here I roamed at day's glad dawning, In the golden summer time ; Here I gambolled on the hillside, Where the noisy waters chime. Near yon mill-stream oft I've wandered, Listening to the busy saw — Grazing on the wheel so lofty, With a look of childish awe. There the rose and daisy blossomed. There the slender lily grew, And on those mossy banks I saw The brightest days my childhood knew. There I saw dear May and Willie Sporting near the tiny wave ; But theii- voices now are silent, They are sleeping in the grave. 42 LINES. Those I loved no more will meet me, Ne'er I'll see that joyous band ; None but strangers here will greet me, E'en in this my native land. Oh ! how vain are all things earthly, And how soon they pass away ; Flowers that brightest bloom around us May not live a single day ! I WILL EEMEMBER THEE. Though howling storms may rise and sweep Across life's troubled sea, And darkening waves roll fiercely by, I will remember thee. The star of Hope may light my path, And Fate's dark shadow flee ; 'Mid all the joys and smiles of life, I will remember thee. Sadness may steal across my brow Like waves upon the sea, But e'en amid those lonely hours, I will remember thee ! LINES, Suggested on seeing a rose in the midst of winter. Why dost tliou smile amid the storms Of Winter's darkest gloom, When winds are sighing o'er the hills, And o'er gay Summer's tomb. The flowers of May have ceased to bloom, Their leaves are on the plain ; But Autumn winds have changed their hue, And made theii' fragrance vain. The bleak winds sigh along the vale, And o'er the snow-clad hill ; But thou canst brave their sovereign blast. And bloom in beauty still. LINES. 45 Ah ! thou remind 'st me of a friend, With gentle heart, and true, Whose smiles are bright amid life's storms As sunshine on the dew. Why dost thou smile amid the blasts Of Winter's darkest gloom, When winds are sighing o'er the hills, And o'er gay Summer's tomb. MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA. Among the many things that please In this dark vale below, Where thousands journey night and day But know not where they go, There's one that has peculiar charms — Perhaps for none but me — But still I prize it none the less, 'Tis moonlight on the sea. I've roamed among the sunny hills Where ancient shepherds strayed, And gazed on flowers that sprung to life In sunshine and in shade ; MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA. 47 But all the charms that Spring can claim Are idle charms to me, They cannot move my inmost soul Like moonlight on the sea. I know that some are pleased to hear The maddening tempest rave, While others seek some lonely spot Where forests darkly wave ; But these would ever fail to draw One pleasant smile from me, Because I love a milder scene — 'Tis moonlight on the sea. SONG OF THE EXILE. When shall I reach my native land Far o'er the restless main ? When shall I see my own blue hills With all their charms again ? When shall I greet my early friends, By many a tie made dear, And clasp once more a friendly hand, Or shed affection's tear ? Long have I roamed away from home, Where all seems strange to me ; No daisy grows in yonder field, No rose-tree blooms for me. SONG OF THE EXILE. 49 No friends are here to lend their aid, Or smile when I am sad ; No sister's voice now greets my ear, Or makes my lone heart glad. I oft recall those pleasant scenes My youth and childhood knew, And oft I think on that sad hour When I bade Home adieu. THE WINDS OF AUTUMN. Autumnal winds are sighing O'er hill and dale, — With awe I pause to hear Their mom-nful tale. They tell us all is fading In yonder bower, Where Flora's hand has pressed The vernal flower. They tell us life is passing, Like ocean's wave ; That soon we'll quiet sleep, Low in the gTave. CRAZY JOE. When first I came to this fair land, Some twenty years ago, The people thought me half a fool, And called me crazy Joe. In those good days the honest poor Stood not so very low ; But all looked down on me, poor thing, And called me crazy Joe. 'Twas not because I e'er refused With decent folks to go, But they were bound to have me named, And called me crazy Joe. 52 CRAZY JOE. At tliis I dared not make a " stir," Nor e'en resentment show ; But let the people have their way, And call me crazy Joe. I know that I could never strut, Or make a brilliant show ; Like broadcloth dandies in the street, Who call me crazy Joe. I cannot dance or tune the harp To strains both soft and low, And that's a noble reason why They call me crazy Joe. It is because I am not like Most people here below, That thousands rise with one accord, And call me crazy Joe. If I would don the latest style, And with base dandies go, 'Twould be a sin to laugh at me, Or call me crazy Joe. CRAZY JOE. 53 If I would wear a Sunday face, Say yes, and still mean no, There's none would ever notice me, Or call me crazy Joe. But I've resolved to be a man, Come sorrow, grief or woe, Regarding not those precious things, Who call me crazy Joe. THE DAGUERREOTYPE. I love to gaze upon tlie form That brings to mind those by-gone days, When youthful ardor fired my brain And poui-ed its incense o'er my lays. When I received this precious gift, With trembling accents, from thy hand, I saw the glit'ring tear-drop start. And marked thy heaving breast expand. Though many cheerless years have passed, And many saddening scenes gone by, I still retain this priceless boon. That would with lo's beauty vie. THE DAGUERREOTYPE. 55 Thine eye is dim, thy cheek is pale, That crimson flush returns no more ; But this fair picture still retains Each tint of beauty as before. Time's busy hand will ne'er efface That saint-like image pictured here, Nor Memory e'er forget to trace Thy loveliness, fair Ellenere. THOUGHTS. Wliat though I toil from morn till night, Uncared for and unknown ; What though I wend my way through life, Unaided and alone ; I feel that He who rules above. And oft has blest the soil, Will not disdain to own the man Whose hands are browned with toil. I know that lords and men of rank. Call those who labor ' low,' And ever spurn the ' dirty path' Where they are doomed to go ; THOUGHTS. 57 And yet they seem well pleased to live On products of the soil, While morbid conscience tells them plain To scorn the man of toil. Oh ! ye who live in stately halls, Where wealth and fame are known, Remember you may yet be poor, Neglected and alone ! But oh ! remember this broad truth, Ere others' faults you scan, Your wealth may make a thousand fools, But Virtue makes the Man ! TWILIGHT Oh ! the beauty of the twilight ! When the suu's last golden ray- Lingers on some cloud above me, Just at close of Summer's day. 'Tis then I dearly love to wander Where the winds blow fresh and free, Down l^eside the dark blue waters, Near the ever-sounding sea. Hours of twilight — oh ! how welcome — Welcome to the man of toil, Welcome to the honest farmer, He who lives to till the soil. TWILIGHT. 59 Dear to me are hours of twiliglit, Wlien in foreign climes I roam, Musing on bright scenes of cliildliood — Scenes that ever tell of Home. "Welcome are sweet houi-s of twilight, When the fire of youth burns low — When our eyes grow dim with sadness. And life's pulse are beating low. ^ M^y THE EARTH IS FULL OF WOE. Where'er we go, by niglit or day, Among earth's richest lords, Or in the menial's lowly tent Where wealth brings not its hordes, One truth is e'er before our eyes — Say, is it truly so ? — That earth hath many seeming charms, But still is full of woe ! The " upper ten " may boast of wealth, Of titles, honor, fame ; Of lordly halls and costly domes. Or some high-sounding name ; THE EARTH IS FULL OF WOE. 61 But all these worldly things will fail When adverse breezes blow, And haughty men will learn the fact That earth is full of woe. I know full well that happy hours Will often lend their aid — That summer flowers will bloom awhile In every sunny glade ; But Autumn's blasting breath will lay The charms of Summer low, And stamp this truth upon the soul — The earth is full of woe ! ^^r'^s (nn"iTT» SHE HAS GONE. Alone in the vale, where the bleak winds are sighing, The friend of my bosom lies lifeless and cold ; Her sorrows are over, her journey has ended, And briefly and sadly her story is told. Like the first rose of Spring, her beauty has faded ; Her voice will be heard in soft accents no more, But she dwells in that land with the pure and the lovely. Where sorrow, and sighing, and anguish are o'er. SHE HAS GONE. 63 Ah ! fain would I roam in those bright realms of glory, Where thousands are singing the anthem of Love, — Oh, gladly I'd lisp the soft notes of pure Freedom, And join with the ransomed in heaven above. But the thraldom of earth awhile shall detain me, Ere the spirit will throw off its chains and be free; Yet the time is soon coming — I long to behold it, When I shall return, oh, my loved one, to thee. C^^^^^Cfc) ENTERPRISE. What called Columbus o'er the sea, And nerved his skilful hand, Wlien gentle gales urged on his bark Far from his native land ? But when the angry tempest rose Beneath a frowning sky, What bade him give the stern command When none but foes were nigh ? Enterprise. What caused that cheerless pilgrim band To leave their eastern home, And brave the ocean's wildest blasts Where few had dared to roam ? ENTERPRISE. 65 What caused them here on Plymouth's strand, To seek a wild repose, And make their lowly couch amid December's drifting snows? Enterprise. AYhat caused proud Freedom's flag to wave Along oui' eastern shores, Where winds of Winter sweep the strand. And ocean wildly roars ? And 0, what told our fathers then To raise that banner high, And ask of Him for proper aid Who reigns above the sky? Enterprise. THE CONVICT'S SONG. How slowly pass these lonely hours. Away from sunlight, birds or flowers. In this dark cell ; But ere another year shall pass All will be well. How oft my thoughts will wildly roam Back to my childhood's sunny home, And there survey Those hills, and dales, and fields, where oft I used to stray. THE convict's SONG. 67 My former home, where shady trees Were fanned by every summer breeze, I now behold ; And all my friends are still the same, Though growing old. When crime had led me far astray, My little sister, mild and gay, Climbed on my knee, And round me threw her tiny arms, Saying " Be free.' ?) *' Spurn, brother, spurn temptation's chain, Nor yield thyself to sin again. But heed to me ; And let thy vicious playmates go — Brother, be free." Years passed, and in the course of time I deeper sunk in woe and crime ; And now behold My wasting frame in this lone cell. All dark and cold. 68 THE convict's song. Men pass my window every day, And on the hillside children play, All light and free ; But no kind heart beats true to mine, Or pities me. A sister's tears were shed for me, But she now dwells where all are free As mountain air ; Oh ! may I leave this prison house, And meet her there ! MOUNT AUBURN. Here many a way-worn pilgrim sleeps, Beneath the lofty willow's lowly shade, Where, when the all-inspiring gales of Spring Sweep gently o'er this " City of the dead," New flowerets smile on every grassy sod That marks the long-forgotten stranger's grave. No marble marks his final place of rest, Or tells the passer-by his humble name ; Born in a sunny clime where friendship smiled, His early years were spent at pleasure's shrine, Where thousands go unconscious of their fate. Days, months and years had swiftly passed away, And he, ere time had marked his brow with age, Was stricken with the hand of fell disease. 70 MOUNT AUBURN. And poverty, -with all its horrors, came To blast all his sanguine hopes forever. He left his native land, his early home, So fondly cherished in his youthful days, And crossed the broad Atlantic's boisterous tide To dwell a stranger on Columbia's soil ; Another clime brought not the bloom of health. But all the terrors of despair and death, No friend beheld his lingering hopes depart, Or saw life's fading taper dimly burn, But strangers stood around his dymg bed Till life's last pang was o'er. And here amid These sheltering ti-ees, far from the city's din, A stranger sleeps, entombed by stranger hands. Far from his childhood's happy home, and where No kindred spuit e'er will linger near, Or o'er his grave shed Pity's manly tear. FAINT NOT. I have roamed across the ocean, And have met on foreign soil, Men with motives pure and holy, Doomed by fate to ceaseless toil. I have watched their onward progress, 'Mid the gay and busy throng ; And have seen them meekly bending 'Neath the weight of cruel wrong. Taunts and jeers were hurled about them, By a haughty, soulless clan ; Yet not one could claim the honor, Or the title of a man. 72 FAINT NOT. Thus the kind and noble hearted Oft are doomed to meet with scorn, And be ever forced to wander Through the world — alone — forlorn. I have seen the lowly menial Don the plume of self-control, And on life's broad sea of action Reach the Statesman's lofty goal. Oh ! if men would set in motion All those powers which they possess, Ours would be a life of pleasure — Earth a scene of happiness. Let us not gTow faint or weary, But the watchword, * onward,' claim, And declare with meaning firmness That we'll win a mighty name. Then around us darts of falsehood May with madness oft be hurled, But if we are firm and steadfast. They will not o'erturn the world. MY ANNA. 0, let me roam at morn's bright dawning, Where yon sighing willows wave ; 0, let me view that spot I cherish, 'Tis my little Anna's grave. There the rose shall spring and blossom 'Mid the gentle gales of spring, And there be heard at latest twilight, Happy birds, of golden wing. There shall pretty flowers be planted — Flowers that smile where streamlets lave ; There I'll shed the tear of anguish O'er my little Anna's grave. APRIL. O come, witli all tliy genial warmth, And loose tlie icy chain That binds, with iron grasp, the stream In sullen Winter's reign. Bid every murmuring streamlet flow, Unlock the crystal spring ; Let flowerets bloom in every vale And songsters sweetly sing. O let thy gentle showers descend, Thy balmy zephjTS blow, And early verdure crown the fields So lately clad in snow. TO AN ITALIAN EMIGRANT. Why dost tliou roam in this strange land Where pitying friends are few ? Why hast thou left thy sunny home These western hills to view ? Perhaps thy friends have proved untrue, Thy fondest hopes decayed, And all the brightest smiles of youth Are now in ruin laid. If sorrow lurks around thy heart, Or pain thy bosom chills, Thou'lt find no balm to heal the wound On these New England hills. I ONCE HAD A FRIEND. I once had a friend, in the morning of life, Whose fondest affections were mingled with mine, Whose heart was as light as the fawn's in the wildwood, Whose smile was a charm, and whose love was divine. No sorrow came o'er me without one to share it, And light the dark moments of life with a smile. Or call back the glory of scenes long forgotten, As we roamed through the forest, the hour to beguile. I ONCE HAD A FRIEND. 77 I gazed not alone on the beauties of Summer, Or the sad hours of Autumn, when forest leaves fall; But amid all the scenes of decay and destruction, The charm of pure friendship gave beauty to all. WILT THOU BE TRUE TO ME? Wlien the blight of years comes o'er me, And life's sands are ebbing fast ; When the joys of youth have faded, And my better days have passed, — Say, dearest, wilt thou then forget The plighted vows of youth, And turn away regardless of Thy former love of truth ? When my journey here is ended, And the pulse of life beats low ; When I hear the " stern voice " saying, " Death has come and you must go,"- WILT THOU BE TRUE TO ME. 79 Wilt thou then be ever faithful 'Till the soul from earth shall flee, And I gaze on things celestial, Where the spirit will be free ? MOONLIGHT. When the sun's last ray has faded, And the shades of night appear, Let me wander through the forest, When the autumn leaf is sere ; Gazing through the lofty branches Into regions far away, There with joy replete, beholding Luna's soft and silver ray. Oh ! I love to roam by moonlight Where bright streamlets idly lave ; Or beside the dark blue ocean. When the tempests madly rave ; MOONLIGHT. 81 Or upon the sloping hillside, Or along the flow'ry plain, When the night-buxl e'er is singing In a soft and lonely strain. Though all nature may be shaded > By the sable pall of night ; $ Though the day-king may have left us, I With his clear and golden light ; ^ There are charms that please me ever, I Like the dream of youth's fan day ; l 'Tis to watch the stars at midnight, ^ Or the moon's bright silver ray. > THE DAWN OF THE NEW YEAE. Again we hail, with brightening hoj^es, While Winter reigns severe, The orient light that dons the sky To usher in the year. The scenes of forty-eight are gone, And many hearts like mine Are glad to welcome in the dawn Of eighteen-forty-nine. Let none be sad, or shed a tear Above the old year's grave. But let its memory pass away Like ocean's darkest wave. THE DAWN OP THE NEW YEAR. 83 Let all its sorrows be forgot, Its pleasant scenes pass by, And future prospects lead the mind Where truth and virtue lie. Jan. 1st. 1849. MY HAIR IS GROWING GREY. I have lived 'mid strife and folly, In a world that's full of woe ; I have learned that all things earthly Soon must vanish here below. I have seen the hour of sadness, And I've known a happy day ; But my years are swiftly passing. And my hah is gi'owing grey. I have met with vague pretension — Cunning friends, and willing foes ; And I've learned with tears and sadness How this world with poor men goes. MY HAIR IS GROWING GREY. 85 I have dwelt where all were strangers, From my home far, far away ; I have met the scorn of thousands, And my hair is growing grey. Mine has been a life of labor, 'Mid a cold and heartless throng ; Hope my spirit scarce has greeted, Or bright visions lasted long. But the star of youth is fading With its soft and gentle ray ; All my better years have ended. And my hair is growing grey. TRUTH. Life has its cares and scenes of woe, For every wanderer here ; Yet through the darkness shines a light, With steady ray, and clear. It safely guides the pilgrim on, Though storms and tempests roar, And points to brighter, fairer clitnes. On some far distant shore. It lures the heart with no false dreams, Nor vain illusions given, But tells a fallen, erring race. There is no hope hut Heaven. TRUTH. 87 'Tis Truth ! the wise man's only shield — The motto of the brave — A star that leads the traveller on To realms beyond the grave ! MY SISTER'S GRAVE. The moon was setting in the west, 'Mid clouds of pearly hue ; The stars sent down a silver light, That sparkled on the dew. No breezes came to sing their dirge, Among the forest trees ; No tempests swept across the sky, Or moved the silent seas. The ocean, like a mirror bright. Lay calm as if asleep ; And all the stars that shone above Were mirrored in the deep. MY sister's grave. 89 At this lone hour I roamed beside A river, bright and clear ; The din of busy men had ceased, Nor friend nor foe was near. At length I reached the lone church-yard, Where I had often strayed, And o'er the gi*ave of some dear friend, Had sighed, and wept, and prayed. Long years had passed since I had seen That lone and hallowed spot ; And many names, on marble carved, I then remembered not. But one, beside a silver lake, Then claimed my anxious gaze; — 'Twas where I oft had strayed at night, In childhood's better days. 'Twas written on no costly stone That told its tale of Fame ; 'Twas humble, yet 'twas dear to me, — It was my Sister^ s name. 90 MY sister's grave. Sleep on, dear Mary, free from care Or sorrows darksome wave ; A brother's hand shall nurse the flowers That bloom around thy grave. Sleep on, thy cares on earth are o'er, Thou'rt free from every pain ; And we shall meet in realms of bliss, Oh ! fondly meet again. WHERE I LAST STRAYED WITH THEE. What tliougli I roam in distant lands Far o'er the dark blue wave, Where orient breezes softly sweep And cooling waters lave, My thoughts on fancy's giddy wing Will soar above the sea, And to my native hills return, Where I last strayed with thee. Ah ! well I recollect that spot Beneath the leafy shade. Where friendly words were interchanged, And solemn vows were made. 92 WHERE I LAST STRAYED WITH THEE. That place to me is more than dear ; And oft in dreams I see The woodland rose beside that stream, Where I last strayed with thee. ^SE^. y THINK XOT OF ME. My heart is locked within my breast, Its throhbings all are still ; It has no object here on earth, No mission to fulfill. Then turn away, thou friend of mine, And once again be free ; With others let thy love be shared — Think not again of me. Go ye among the proud, the gay, And revel in their mirth, But oh I forget that you and I Have ever met on earth. THINK NOT OF ME. My soul can ne'er be linked with thine, My heart beats not for thee ; With others let thy love be shared— Think not again of me. THE LAST MOMENTS OF A DRUNKARD. The children played upon the green Around the cottage door, While on his couch, a drunkard lay, Whose life was almost o'er. His wife was watching by his side, With sad and tearful -^-. MEMORY. When sorrow swells the tide of woe, And earthly joys depart, There is one spark of comfort left To charm the weary heart. It points to hours of youthful glee, When life had just begun, — Ere we had walked forbidden paths Or evil deeds had done. It tells of friends — of early friends Who lie beneath the sod ; It tells of those who long have slept Where ancient forests nod. 134 MEMORY. With joy the exile hears its voice Where'er he's called to roam, And all his thoughts of sadness fly When MEMORY tells of home. STANZAS TO DEEEFIELD RIVER. Along thy verdant banks I've often strayed, And gazed with rapture on thy peaceful tide That slowly flows with solemn grandeur on To meet the ocean's bosom, deep and wide. Where waves contend with waves, and tempests roar With sullen voice, along the rocky shore. In early youth I've wandered by thy side And culled the vernal flowers that round me smiled. With none to share my undisturbed repose. Or hear the faint wind's murmuring wild, That swept along tliy surface, bright and clear, With plaintive sound, to me forever dear. WINTER. The cold blasts o'er tlie meadows sweep, The snow shines on the hill ; December's chilly breath has staid The flowing of the rill. The birds are gone that used to sing At Summer's evening hour ; They've found a fairer, brighter clime, 'Mid some unfading bower. The rose that grew beside the brook. Whose waters wildly stray, Has faded 'neath the autumn winds, And long since died away. WINTER. 187 The leaves that clothed the forest trees Lie scattered on the ground, And every gently flowing stream In icy chains is bound. FEBRUARY. Drear month ! although thy days are few, Their stern approach we fear, And shudder, as thy winds rush by, At this dread time of year. The silvery streams have oft been bound Beneath thy frozen chain, And, scanning future by the past, We fear thy strength again. Thou hast no charms to warm the heart, No flowers to please the eye ; But sleet and snow, with magic power. Around our dwellings fly. TO THE FIRST BIRD OF SPRING. Return, return once more and sing, With pleasing notes the dawn of Spring, And let your music fill the grove Where I at morn may chance to rove. Return with all your wonted glee And tune your lyre once more for me — For all who love the sweetest strains That ever murmured o'er the plains. I'll wander forth at close of day, To hear thy soul-inspiring lay, That fills the ever-verdant shade Where all my early hopes are laid ! A SUMMER'S EVENING. The birds have ceased their merry song To wait the morrow's dawn, When, newly tuned, their harps will ring, O'er mountain, hill and lawn. The dew-drops sparkle on the green, Beside the moonlit sea ; The fox is heard on yonder hill, The cricket on the lea. The fire-fly lingers near the banks Of yonder purling stream ; The stars with all their brilliant light High o'er the waters gleam. A summer's evening. 141 Ah, let me roam at this still hour AVhere western breezes blow — Where sighing branches o'er me bend, And streamlets round me flow. BEWARE OF RUM. Beware of Rum ! 0, youth beware, And shun the path of woe ; Nor let yonr footsteps wander near Where drunkards often go. Beware of all that bears the name Of brandy, beer, or gin, And never touch the sparkling bowl, For sorrow lurks within. Beware of Rum in all its forms, And scorn the vender's smiles ; His traffic tends to feed the grave And snare thee in its wiles ! EARLY FRIENDS. Where are the friends of early youth, Or childhood's sunny days, Who gathered round the cottage hearth To chant their merry lays, Or tell of wondrous deeds achieved On Afric's barb'rous strand. Or who triumphant braved the storm In quest of foreign land ? Where are the friends for whom I weep At twilight's silent hour — Those friends with whom in youth I strayed Beneath yon mystic bower ? 144 EARLY FRIENDS. They sleep in yonder lonely glen Where gentle zephyrs sigh ; Stranger ! tread lightly as you pass Where those fond relics lie ! Some sleep beneath a southern sun Where they in youth have strayed ; The grassy mound points out the place W^here they were iearly laid : No sculptured marble marks the spot, No willows o'er it wave, But winds of autumn faintly sigh Around a stranger's grave ! i:76r^nr:). SMILES. Smiles are like dew-drops in the sun That glitter while they stay, But one unkind, ungenerous word. Will drive the charm away. In youth's gay hour a gentle smile Stole o'er my sunny brow, But Hope's delusive dream has laid My fairest prospects low. Alas ! those smiles of youth are o'er. Those joyous days gone by ; Why then remain at sorrow's shrine, Or o'er misfortune sigh? 10 146 SMILES. No, let us brave the whirlwind's shock, The storms of passion dare, And let our years glide gently on Unknown to earthly care. TO THE MEMORY OF M. A. S. For her so fondly loved, Wlio now in silence sleeps Beneath the valley's clod, An aged mother weeps. She's left this world of woe Where strife may never cease, And now in brighter realms Will dwell in endless peace. She's gone beyond the tomb. No more to breathe a sigh. But share a Savior's love Where saints can never die. 148 TO THE MEMORY OF M. A. S. She died in bloom of youth, In yonder grave she sleeps ; And o'er that sacred shrine An aged mother weeps. TO A RIVER. Flow on, thou bright river, where once I did roam, When wandering far from the place of my home, And through the dark forest was seeking my way. Where birds sweetly sang at the close of the day. Flow on, thou bright river, beneath the green shade Where oft in my youth I so fondly have strayed. Where friends that I loved, I so often have seen. Beside thy bright waters, on meadows of green. Flow on, thou bright river, my youth is now o'er, I sport by thy side with sweet pleasure no more ; Thy banks that were green, and thy waters so clear. Of thee I will sing, while I shed the sad tear. LINES Sung at the Annual Festiral of the Ladies' Sewing Society, m New Worcester, Oct. 3(1, 1850. The robes of Summer now are tinged With Autumn's loveliest hue, And falling leaves, and withering flowers, Are wont to meet our view ; But this should never turn our thoughts From pleasant scenes away, When Autumn has its charms for all, The soher and the gay. We meet again within these walls, Where one short year ago The voice of mii-th was gladly raised. Without a thought of woe ; LINES. 151 And now, where flowers and dahlias bloom, Earth's richest, rarest pearls — Our hearts are cheered to meet again, Our own New Worcester girls. Let others boast of happy hours, Of seasons rich and rare, Of costly gems and stately domes. And friends to banish care ; But we have treasures nobler far Than those of Lords or Earls — They mingle with us here to-night — Our own New Worcester girls. TO A FKIEND. I'll ever remember thee, friend of my youth Though tempests assail me wherever I go ; And when I'm alone, Far, far from my home, On land, or the white-crested, billowy tide, To think of thee, friend, will be pleasure and pride. \ In days of prosperity, comfort and glee, ^ I cannot forget that I once had a friend, ^ Who stood by my side J' And danger defied — < Who led me with caution along the dark way, J Where many in childhood have wandered astray. TO A FRIEND. 153 i When sickness and pain shall enfeeble my mind, ^ And Death shall seem ready to strike the last blow, \ My thoughts will return To Memory's urn Where all my loved treasures are carefully stored, And thou, my best friend, shalt in death be adored. STANZAS. Let me sleep in the vale, where the lily and rose Are smiling in beauty beside the dark wave, While the soft winds of Summer, with murmuring sound, Sweep listlessly over my grass covered grave. Let Friendship alone sit beneath the green willow, Unaided by Fortune, unguided by Fame, And breathe forth the sunplest prayer of devotion That blighted aflfeetion m sorrow can frame. LOYE. Love is a cbann that best is known When friends are called to part ; 'Tis then this pui'e and genial tie Clings closely to the heart. 'Tis known amid the wildest storms That sweep the ocean's wave ; It cheers the pilgrim on his way, And lino-ers near his o-rave. It roams in fancy o'er the sea, Where kindred souls have fled, And sighs beneath the cypress branch That waves above the dead. 156 LOVE. It smiles witliin the poor man's cot Where no vain treasures lie, And greets him at the close of clay When winds of winter sigh ! THE DRUNKARD, Drunkard ! arise witli manly strength And cast the bowl away ; Then tell your comrades how to spurn The demon tempter's sway. Tell them theh course will lead them on, Where thorns and brambles grow ; And ere their life is scarce begun, They'll in the grave lay low. Tell them to turn from beer-shop friends And bnindy -guzzlers too, And bid their rum-soaked cronies all A kind, but last adieu. 158 THE DRUNKARD. Tell them to drink frdfn Nature's spring, Where silvery waters gleam ; And Fortune's smile will lead them safe O'er Life's tempestuous stream ! A TRUE FRIEND. I have met with the gay and the proud Where fashion and know-nothing blend ; I've seen rank deception in women and men, But I never have seen a true friend. Long have I looked for one I might trust Whose heart would prove true to the end, — They smile when the sun shines, hut dark moments come, And I find I have not a true friend. No more will I seek for this phantom. No more 'neath its weight will I bend ; ^ I've come to the awful conclusion at last \ That earth contains not a true friend !