'''if' <^ «-. .-^^ >/*', ,\*»^ .<^'^■^ s^ ,^ ,. .V x-^- ^ . 1^ 5i «,'^" ^^.^1 V I « ^^' V- ^' <^ V :V-' , V * ,.^\^ ■5. « ^^,^xv ^^' ^^'^/r??^% "^ « ' ^ "" .\^ POMPEII AND OTHER POEMS By WILLIAM GILES DIX. ^S OF co.,(.^X 1876. ;; BOSTON : WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY. 1848. s*'' x^y Eulered according lo Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by W. G. Dix, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. C A IVI B R 1 D G E : METCALF AND COMPANY, PRINTERS TO THB UNIVERSITY. TO MY MOTHER, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIREI*, WITH FILIAL ESTEEM, GRATITUDE, AND AFFECTION. PREFACE. The sixth poem in this volume requires a brief remark. Although the writer has felt — as probably all have done who ever saw Mr. Allston — the inspiration of his presence, he had not a personal acquaintance with him. Consequently, the poem is but a stranger's tribute to the Painters memory ; yet, what- ever be its imperfections, at least it may show that a man, whose life is the expression of intellectual beauty, may be venerated by one who may not be a known and professed ad- mirer of his genius and character. The writer has not seen all the paintings by Mr. Allston to which he has made allu- sion, yet, in fulfilling his idea, he deemed it well to introduce what he believes are re- garded as among the chief works of the Artist, whether he had seen them all or not. Vi PREFACE. He thought of changing the measure of the poem, but after making the attempt with a portion which, in its changed form, is inserted in a Note, he relinquished the design. The subject of the next piece was proposed as the theme of an academical exercise. After considering the two exquisite poems which the theme presented, the writer felt that, al- though each poem may be a complete expres- sion of its subject, the mind, after dwelling upon both, needs the presentation of an ele- mental Christian truth ; and he closed his essay with a call upon Mr. Bryant to write the sequel to his eloquent and affecting " Vis- ion of Death." The writer has himself added some stanzas that imperfectly express his intention, but he earnestly hopes that Mr. Bryant will answer the call, so that the same hand that has led us to the dark valley may also point upward to the hills that shine with unfading light. W. G. D. Camuuidgk, Scptemher. 1848. CONTENTS. PAtlK POMPEII 1 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA . 49 A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY . . . .59 THE pilgrim's EVENING PRAYER FOR HARVARD COLLEGE ...... 65 AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW . 71 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON ...... 75 THOUGHTS ON GRAY's ELEGY AND BRYANT's THANATOPSIS 101 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE . . . .111 THE AGED PERSIAN ..... 123 PALERBIO . . . . . . .141 NOTE. ALPINE SCENERY 157 LORENZO AND JESSICA ..... 159 POMPEII. POMPEII. From where luxurious Naples throws Its shadow, when the waves repose, Upon the graceful, curving sea, That smiles with glad serenity. And mingles with the varied view About us its delightful blue. We go where oft the traveller strays, To send the mind to long past days, When sweet Italia's verdant plains The Romans swayed, and conquered gains Enriched a land by nature graced, Though since by tyrants long debased. POMPEII. The way presents us joy intense ; Pleased and surprised is every sense. The sight is charmed, for every side Displays its radiant glories wide ; — The mountains, that on high look down Upon the castle, tower, and town, The islands that adorn the bay, The rocky shore, the silvery spray, Gardens, resplendent in the day With flowers that show the vernal sway. The soft and gently-breathing air May fragrance of the orange bear, And comes to the rapt, listening ear The waves' low murmur, sad to hear, Which pleasing thoughtfulness inspires. And thus with calm, yet strong, desires To muse, the mind is all awake. And fancy's spell it cannot break. POMPEII. 5 But, though above most fair the scene, Decked with bright hills and vineyards green, And, marked by nature's sweet device. It looks a perfect paradise. Beneath, as in a close-kept cage, Volcanic fires fret and rage ; As oft the face of beauty seems To glow with lovelier, brighter beams, While slow-consuming hectic dries The fount within, that life supplies. Behind, the busy hum of life We leave, with all its passion, strife, — The gay and splendid city, where Wealth, gladness, poverty, despair, — The ill, the good, the wrong, the right, — At every turn invade the sight. Thoughtful the silent streets we tread Of this wide city of the dead. POMPEII. And gaze on the now quiet scene, Calling to mind what once hath been, When not the ;/:urious stranger here Alone was walking, moved with fear Of God, who can his power employ- Both to create and to destroy, — Who can a world from darkness call, Or hide one 'neath a darker pall ; But when, through each close, crowded street, Was heard the sound of hurried feet, As quicker, nearer, hither came The cloud of ashes, whilst the flame Of the high, burning, quaking mount, Bursting from out the fiery fount. From whose wide sources, far below. The flaming surges constant flow, Cast all abroad a dreadful blaze. And now and then the piercing rays The heavy, ashen cloud illumed. And upward still the mountain fumed. POMPEII. The dusky air then lost the light, And thicker growing, dark as night, Resisted the volcanic beam. Till not a solitary gleam Relieved its awful gloominess, In this dark hour of deep distress. With what dismay and dread alarms. Close pressed within affection's arms, Are held the dearest, fondest ones, — Fathers and mothers, daughters, sons, — While stifled cries and shortened breath Proclaim the approach of strangling death To all, who in this hour of gloom x\wait their sad, terrific doom. The multitude, with eager haste, Leave their fond homes to be a waste. Their choicest treasures they desert For life's dear sake, nor dare revert 8 POMPEII. Their faces, as away they flee, Far from the margin of the sea. Which then Pompeii's walls beside Swept its blue, sunny, foaming tide. Yet some, who sought — a dread delay — Their gems and gold to take away, Felt the o'erwhelming, ashen shower. That stopped their way with fatal power. And left to perish sadly there Those who so showed the miser's care. The columns of the Forum stand. Where oft full many an earnest band. Assembling, talked with zeal and might. Of freedom, victory, glory, right ; Or here, beneath the cloudless day. Lauded proud Rome's imperial sway. Here many a long procession turned To many an altar, that high burned POMPEII. With sacrificial gifts to Jove, Whose aid was nigh, when Romans strove To make the name of Roman great And wide extend their conquering state. To Juno, Mars, and all the train Of deities, full many a stain Of blood fell on each temple's floor. Where worshippers were wont to adore. Here, in the sacred song and dance, The choirs of youth were used to advance. And make the lofty walls around With their sweet voices far resound. About us broken pillars lie, Whose massive forms, in days gone by, Supported the majestic fane. Or stately arch ; but now in vain Their chiselled grandeur meets the sight, And graceful architecture light 9 10 POMPEII. Only the traveller's wonder gains. How much around us yet retains Some portion of its ancient grace, Which years on years cannot efface ! When one upon the road-side turns, He sees the old, sepulchral urns, On which inscriptions to secure The memory of the dead endure. And here, alas ! how vain we see The hope to save one's memory ! For these memorials of the great, Meeting with them an equal fate. Were hidden from the light of day. While centuries slowly passed away. Mosaic fountains, whence of yore Issued the pure and sparkling store, Still, by their beauty strange and clear. Delight the eye, though now the ear POMPEII. 11 No longer may the murmur sweet Of the slow-dripping water greet. Among the structures we survey, As farther on we bend our way, Stands, in its rude and ruined state, Partaking of the general fate. The theatre, whose tragic spell Around the heart entrancing fell, As here before the enchanted eve Passed the majestic figures by. That personated men overcome By wrong and grief most wearisome, Whose days, in glory nearly passed, Were spent in sorrow at the last. Here Fate, relentless to pursue Her startled victim, to the view Her fierce, avenging power displayed. Here many a scene of fear was laid. 12 POMPEII. Where enemies in fury meet, And with high words and daring greet Each other, and in conflict fierce Seeks each the odier's heart to pierce. Here private malice sought its end ; Here secret grief long mourned a friend ; Here many a broken heart hath been By dread, afflictive arrows keen Struck, till all happiness away Departed, and the cheerful day No longer pleased the enjoying sight, But, in its stead, came sorrow's night. While mav the actor's wondrous skill Observing eyes with pity fill, And the sweet, plaintive, choral song, Its low, subduing notes prolong. Reigns stillness, broken but by sighs That from o'erburdened hearts arise, POMPEII. 13 Until at last, when all is o'er, The spirit can restrain no more Its sobs of agony, that prove How deeply may the drama move The eager, listening soul, that lies Rapt in its tearful symphonies. Those who then saw the acted play Were actors, on an after day, In scenes most tragical and dread, When called to flee and leave their dead, Whose funeral rites could not be paid. And thus the mournful doom was laid On these unhallowed souls, to be For ages of eternity The deep, dark river wandering by, And heaving oft the bitter sigh. As far they saw the blissful field. From their despairing entrance sealed. 14 POMPEII. How sad, distressing, was the thought, To leave one's friends to such a lot ! To be of one's dear home bereft Causes deep woe, and when are left Behind the most beloved and near, To feel that one will never hear Again the sweet, accustomed voice, That bade the welcome heart rejoice. Fills the departing one with grief At first, despairing of relief ; If, then, in those yet darkened days, When Truth had not far thrown her rays. All thought that they should ne'er behold, On the Elysian shore of gold. Those whose remains were left unblessed, Deprived of their sepulchral rest. What wonder that keen anguish sore The bursting heart asunder tore, — That floods of speechless woe were poured By those who fled, while high up soared POMPEII. 15 The direful smoke, with mingled flame, That from the bursting mountain came ? For though the dusty, rolling tide That soon destroyed the city's pride Buried beneath its load of earth The dear forms of departed worth, And though they thus most peaceful slept, Yet not thus could be rightly kept, With all the elements at strife. The duty that death claims from life, — That high, religious, just demand, That by affection's careful hand. And not by Nature's fiery zest. Should the dead meet their final rest. How many in suspense await Their absent ones, who, separate. Escaped the ruined city's crash. The waves of fire, the hghtning's flash ! 16 POMPEII. How many an anxious heart is pained ! How many an eager eye is strained, Amid the dense, advancing crowds, Half-hidden by the lurid clouds. Affection's object to discern, Or a kind friend, from whom to learn If fortune good or ill betide One from one's own protecting side Parted, — a father, spouse, or child, — And all exertion prov^es in vain. The loved and lost one to regain ! Upon some temple's pavement stand. And far observe the beauteous land, Diversified with every charm That can the heart of grief disarm ; And when thou hast well satisfied Thine eye with the green prospect wide. Then turn thy gaze beneath thy feet. Where runs each ancient, narrow street, POMPEII. And think how full of life and care Were multitudes once walking there. Behold the dwellings standing yet As then, before their doom they met, Which was with startling haste fulfilled, And the great city's voice was stilled. Thou seest not all Pompeii's size. Yonder, a part yet covered lies ; And where was once the sun to shine, All, all is dark. The running vine Now sports, in mazy windings green, Above where once were ghttering seen Structures of various use and grace. Whose columns high and marble face Looked forth in beauty, when the moon Shone out as v/ilh soft-tempered noon. Set off the sky's transparent blue. And made the earth of lovelier hue. 2 18 POMPEII. Fewer, yet fewer, in each street Echoed the sound of homeward feet ; The city's busy din was still. Deep shadows fell from every hill ; The vineyards' mingled green and red Waved gently, as the night-breeze sped, Fragrant with odors rich and choice. At intervals, the silvery voice Of some lone minstrel filled the air, That seemed to be all music there. And, as he lay in moonlit grove. Where hght and shadow graceful strove, With his accordant voice his lute Remained but for a moment mute. With love's soft strain he first began. And thus the tender burden ran : — POMPEII. 19 THE ROMAN SONG OF LOVE. 'Mid all the weary, constant cares That crowd my busy way. Where many a thorn my sad heart tears, Thou art the star whose ray, Around me shining bright. Makes my dark spirit light. Though young in years, in sorrows old, I Ve wandered far and wide. Where Gallic skies above me rolled, And now I seek thy side. With thy fond presence blessed, O, may my heart have rest ! O, deign to hear my earnest prayer. Nor turn on me thy frown, But, in thy wondrous beauty rare, — Brighter than royal crown, — 20 POMPEII. Regard me with a smile, That may my care beguile. My heart for aye is wholly thine ; — Accept the offering. Let orange-blossoms, then, entwine Thy locks, and I shall sing, — " No cloud will me o'ercast, For thou art mine at last." The minstrel, after a brief rest, Felt his soul by some power oppressed. That full persuaded him again To move his lyre's echoing strain. The lover's air he laid aside, And thus expressed his loyal pride ; For he, whose patriot fervor glows. The worthiest is of love's repose : — • POMPEII. 21 THE ROMAN PATRIOT'S SONG. Long may imperial glory throw Its radiance on the Roman name ! Long may Augustus proudly glow With consciousness of noblest fame ! The Roman eagle's glance, The soldier's firm advance, Shall aye secure glad victory's hour. And fast confirm the Roman power. The humbled nations of the earth Our armies' bravery and force Shall yet confess, and Roman worth Shall far pursue her conquering course. Where'er the rising day Extends a single ray. There shall imperial purple shine. The victor's brow a wreath entwine. 22 POMPEII. 'T is not by arms alone, and might, Shall we true, great renown sustain, But arts of peace and mental light Shall send rich blessings in their train. Inspiring eloquence Shall far and wide dispense The full, sonorous Latin tongue. With which our Senate oft has rung. The cadence, too, of Virgil's song. And notes of many a kindred bard. Shall pour their swelling tide along. Their native speech for ever guard. Romans may pass away. Their sceptre may decay, But, long as shall the world endure. Remembrance shall their tongue secure. As here was once a maiden's hand Pressed by affection, and the land POMPEII. 23 Of one's free birth with praise was sung, — As here the clarion loudly rung, As forth to battle fared the brave, Their foes to conquer, and to save Their martial honor unimpaired. Who deeds of glory proudly dared ; — So here all other passions strove Beside desire of fame and love. The thirst for gain the heart consumed, Which nobler heat should have illumed ; Revenge her arrow planted deep Within the soul that could not sleep ; And envy stared, with sullen eye. As merit justly praised went by. Here unrelenting, deadly hate Sustained with constancy the weight That downward bore the gloomy mind. That would no spark of love refined 24 POMPEII. Admit within its dark abode. And thus the hateful, heavy load Made all the fairest scenes of earth A wilderness, where all was dearth Of every joyous, beauteous thing. And yet, the while, the birds might sing Their morning, noon, and evening strain. But it increased the spirit's pain. That saw, nor heard, nor felt the power Of loveliness, whom not the hour Of calmest night, serene and still. Could e'er deprive of thought of ill. Here, too, each natural, milder grace Found, without doubt, some resting-place. The generous tear of sympathy, The sorrows of a friend to see, Moistened the cheek, and gave relief To e'en the gloomiest, dullest grief. POMPEII. 25 Here, when the gloomy, mortal shade Gathered about some lovely maid, Whose presence was a sweet delight, A ray of glory beaming bright. Tears, copious tears, of fond regret Announced that ray for ever set. For, throughout every age of time, And throughout every soil and clime. Wherever man extends his name. The heart still feels and mourns the same. Those tears were signs that deeply showed, How, in this crowded, fair abode. The love of kindred, friendship's chain, Bound heart to heart, for joy or pain. And listen how the minstrel's lay, That sounded, at the close of day. The notes that love and home had fired. Was now by sympathy inspired. His low, funereal, plaintive strain Thus warbled o'er the moonlit plain : — .h> po^nn. THE SONG OF SORROW. Roses of sweetest odors bring:. To grace a maiden^s early bier. Meanwhile, let sister maidens sing; A mournful chant ; for one most dear Haih perished by an arrow keen. From the full, mortal quiyer sent. O, ne''er was deeper sorrow seen, O, De''er were heads more lowly bent ! The airy grace, the liyely glance. No more shall happiness impart. Alas ! alas ! an endless trance Holds in its grasp the beating heart ; The thrilling music of her tone No more shall charm the fayored ear ; Soon will she dwell in gloom alone. Without one friend beloyed near. POMPEII. 27 The summer air once on her brow Breathed perfume from the orange-trees ; As gently, sweetly, purely, now, Where she will rest, soft plays the breeze. Roses of sweetest odors bring To grace a maiden's early bier ; Let sister maidens plaintive sing A dirge for one they held most dear. And, too, the bridal wreath entwined Some maiden's brow, where sat enshrined Beauty, more beautiful that seemed While joy transcendent richly gleamed, And, like serenest sunshine, threw A softened, quiet bhss, that drew From all the hope, the wish, the prayer, That all good deites would there Repose their sacred, deep impress. That should life's fortune ever bless. 28 POMPEII. Her happiness the hard would sound Through all the startled echoes round. Not soon, howe'er, could he inspire With notes of joy his plaintive lyre ; The tender song he just had sung Still mournfully about him clung, And when he sought to touch a string, Remembrance would her arrow fling Into his heart. The spellbound hand Fell motionless, while softly fanned His brow the selfsame odorous air. Which he had sung once blessed the fair. At length he dried dear friendship's tear. And thus his verse fell on the ear Of those, who wandered at the hour When most is felt calm nature's power To soothe the mind by grief oppressed^ To give the troubled spirit rest. With thoughtfulness to tame high mirth. To give to calm reflection birth : — POMPEII. 29 THE SONG OF JOY. Weave garlands of roses, Of sweetest perfumes, There culled where reposes Sunlight that illumes, With rays blandest, mildest. And softened by shade, Some scene of delight, best Of all that are made. The lute, softly breathing. The air fills with song, And sweet voices thrilling Accordant prolong The gay, lively measure Saluting the ear. All give happy leisure Dispersing all fear. 30 POMPEII. A lovely young maiden Is soon to be wed. All happily laden The past days have fled, — All blissful and lovely Fond hope they fulfil. In hymning all join me, Let no voice be still. Ye stars, O, serenely Shine ye upon her. And, zephyrs, breathe calmly, — The summer leaves stir. May ne'er heavy grief be At hand to annoy. And, years, may ye brightly Move, crowned with deep joy. How passionate the songs he sang ! The echoes of his lyre rang POMPEII. 31 Among the foliage thick and green, That played in air with dancing sheen. The half-hid birds from sleep awoke, When first his lute the silence broke. So far from being moved with fear. They bent their tiny heads to hear The strange, intruding melody. As quickly oped each slumbering eye ; And when the varying notes were o'er, Their little throats began to pour A full, impulsive, eager lay. As though each songster were a fay, That understood the mortal's words. And when the gentle, answering birds Had filled the grove with music's thrill, They sank to rest, and all was still, Save when, with hand that could not tire. The minstrel touched the tuneful wire. But love and hate, determined will, And ever)' passion, now are still. 32 POMPEII. The sad, severe, bereaving doom Made of the beauteous town a tomb, And stifled, too, for ever there Alike all joy and all despair. The hallowed scenes of love and home Were buried, while were forced to roam The brave, whose hearts were nerved 'gainst fear, Those who let fall soft mercy's tear. They who, whh loving hearts endowed. Were oft by sore affliction bowed, — Those who were by ambition pressed, They who enjoyed soft riches' rest. The mourners' tearful, sorrowing band. The bridal pair, too, hand in hand. And those who nursed consuming hate, — All these ahke felt iron fate. And wandered while, with furious power. Came the destroying, cloudy shower, Which soon would far beneath it merge All dwellings with its dusty surge. POMPEII. 33 Within Pompeii's pleasing shade, Where cool, refreshing breezes played, Were spent the burning, summer days ; Here were relieved the sun's full rays, And many a pilgrim here retired. To find the rest his mind required. Here, oft, with gladness, to repair His spirit, pressed by pubHc care. For a brief while forsaking Rome, Great Cicero was wont to come. In this retreat, how oft may he Have mused on immortality. Or, gathering friends, here spent the time In converse deep, serene, sublime. Till all who heard e'en wished the day Would its unceasing motion stay. Lest its too soon departing beam Should interrupt the inspiring theme ! 34 POMPEII. What thoughts one has, to wander through The villa, where the statesman drew Of intellectual light a store From the resplendent Grecian lore ! His form seems still to haunt the place, His features seem the wall to grace. Turning, almost we seem to hear His own majestic voice and clear, In sparkling cadence, throw around Its low and full, melodious sound. As once the orator reclined. While fragrant played the summer wind. He deeply thought upon the fate Of every ancient, noble state. And hoped for some blest, future hour That should confirm a nation's power By noblest principles of right. By heavenly wisdom's peaceful might, And thus, contemplative at rest, He poured the longing of his breast : — POMPEII. 35 CICERO'S MEDITATION. On Plato's philosophic dream, In which he would to us portray What his rapt thoughts may truly deem The least imperfect human sway, I 've mused, while shone the sun's full beam, Until mild evening closed the day ; And I have my own thoughts expressed On government I judged the best. Yet something there is wanting still, I know not how to call its name, — Some power above the human will, That shall man's fiery passions tame. And his deep soul with wisdom fill ; His mind illume with brighter flame Than aught of earthly source can bring. No muse its excellence can sing. 36 POMPEII. For what avails the highest form By which the world may governed be, If it yet feel the bitter storm Of avarice, wrath, and cruelty, — Which by their noxious force deform A state, though blessed with hberty ? For human error may despoil Of all good end man's noblest toil. Whence but from heaven can come the aid To guide aright an earthly state, That vice and crime may not invade Its bright domain, or deadly hate Pursue its desolating trade ? How long shall mankind pining wait, Until shall come that holy hour. When earth shall feel celestial power ? O, soon may Heaven descend to bless The world with a serener light, POMPEII. 37 That man no more may dare oppress His brother, or deprive of right* Some neighbour, haply favored less By wavering fortune's conquering might. Almighty Deity and blessed. Put human ill and strife to rest ! Yet further on our way we bend. From where the level streets extend, That, excavated, open lie. As ages long since, to the sky. The interval is widely sown With plants, and by the vine o'ergrown. Below the cultivated plain. Parts of the city yet remain. And, doubtless, now are full of grace, As when the people fled the place. Yet not as when a city wide Hath been overflowed by the awful tide. 38 POMPEII. And, on a calm and sunny day, When scarce a ripple stirs the bay. One may, with startled eye, look down Upon, below, the buried town ; — Not so may one here, awe-struck, gaze Upon the covered city's ways, So hidden from the mild sunlight, Once so abounding with delight. All, all above is fair to view. Luxuriant, 'neath the heaven's blue. Close by the vine-clad, sunny scene. That shows its constant, emerald green. The Amphitheatre behold. Strange and majestic, massive, old. There wild beasts died with many throes, There were the gladiatorial shows. A still more dreadful deed hath been Enacted on that bloody scene. POMPEII. 39 Thus, from the dungeon's gloom profound, Where lay the victim, 'neath the ground, Where scarce the air could lend a breath To keep away desired death. Slow warbled out the martyr's strain, Who sang in joy, though bent with pain : — THE MARTYR'S HYMN. This frame to-morrow's light shall see Torn by the monster of the wild ; And all-ingenious cruelty Shall fall on me, the humblest child Of that religion of the cross, That radiates from Calvary. Who would not count all good a loss For what has been revealed to me ? Not many years upon the world Hath shone the Gospel ray serene ; 40 POMPEII. Not long hath been the flag unfurled. On which the holy dove is seen. If He who brought immortal life Was ignominiously hurled To death by men of wrath and strife, While lips of scorn crowds, gazing, curled,- Who would reluctant be to fall Beneath hard persecution's power ? For Christ, my Lord, my soul shall call. To enjoy its heavenly, blissful dower. No iron bands my soul can cage, — Soon shall I see my Father's hall. Glad will I meet the lion's rage ; I fear not death's most gloomy pall. Farewell, thou glory of the sky ! Farewell, ye lovely scenes of earth ! A few brief hours more, — I die ; — Farewell, dear friends of choicest worth ! POMPEII. 41 On me, the victim of the crowd, Soon shall the maddened lion fly ; Then shall ascend applauding loud. Farewell, O earth ! my heaven is nigh. The morrow's sun with usual pace Comes, and unmoved is nature's face, And men, with hard, unpitying hand, The victim lead upon the sand That covers o'er the central spot. Where were the fearful contests fought. And thus the martyr's dying prayer Ascendeth in the balmy air : — '' Those who with scorn have hither brought My wasted frame, no more to live, But here to die, where beasts have fought. Father in heaven, I pray, forgive ! To pardon those who do us wrong By Christ, my Saviour, I am taught. 42 POMPEII. I cannot close my earthly song, Till love towards all in me be wrought. My heart respondeth to my cry, — Father, forgive them, ere I die ! " His voice, amid the murmurs gay Around him, flies, unheard, away. And the Almighty's ear alone Can hear his mild, forgiving tone. Yet seraphs hover at the hour To nerve him with supernal power. Upward he gazes on the skies. And, hark ! what awful sounds arise ! For now, upon that circling plain The ravenous Hon, from his chain Set loose, boundeth, as from his lair, And the meek Christian martyr there Tears with relentless, hungry haste, As once, upon his native waste. Some weaker animal he slew. The breathless crowds with rapture view POMPEII. 43 The mangled limbs and streaming blood. That satisfy the beast with food And their stern eyes with gladness dread, Exulting o'er the martyred dead. When the mysterious hours were past, In which Pompeii was o'ercast, How desolate the place and rude Where had the beauteous city stood ! The noble structures Art had made Were now full deep in darkness laid. The troubled, quaking mount became Disrobed of its red, bursting flame ; The airy birds that through the sky Swept their majestic flight and high, That once were wont a glance to throw Upon the busy scene below, Now swept their circuit with affright Far from the city's barren site ; And not a single eye could meet Temple or dwelling, fount or street, — 44 POMPEII. Only a dreary, earthy mound, — And not of life a single sound Was heard by any hearkening ear. The lonely heart awhile to cheer ; But deepest silence o'er the plain And hill held undisturbed its reign. And then no longer from the bay. That girt the shore with murmuring spray. Could be Pompeii's glory seen, Which for long periods had been A lovely picture to the sight. When lying 'neath the moon's mild light. Many a year now passed away ; There still the buried city lay. Returning, in the summer time, From some remote, provincial clime, An aged man revisited The spot where he his youth had led ; POMPEII. 45 His silvered brow betrayed his years ; His dim eyes were suffused with tears. On a low hill-side he reclined, And thoughts of sorrow crossed his mind ; For when the effacing hand of age Hath swept from recollection's page The traces of that busy time, Bold manhood's stern and growing prime, Yet on the plate of memory There still as bright as ever lie The sunny joys of youthful years, Which age advancing more endears. The wanderer gazed awhile apart ; At rest he could not keep his heart. Reposing thus, in quiet shade. His spirit's sadness he displayed : — 46 POMPEII. THE SIGH OF THE WANDERER. O, ne'er shall I forget the day, — What horror seized my frame, When I was forced to flee away From dread volcanic flame. I saw the scenes I loved the best O'erswept by waves of dust, — Scenes where parental love caressed, Scenes of love's early trust. How vividly a father's smile, A mother's joyful tear. Are present to my mind, the while I linger sadly here ! Here first love's calm, resistless power .My waiting heart entranced, POMPEII. 47 And, still increasing every hour, My new delight enhanced. No greeting, welcome smile I see ; No friends on my return Now live and love to look on me, — They lie in the lone urn. It is a sad, but sweet delight They who are used to roam May feel, when meets their pining sight Their own beloved home. Yet hence not only friends are gone, But home itself hath fled. And here I, thoughtful, muse alone, On friends and home both dead. Strength is no longer granted me My breaking heart to stay ; 48 POMPEII. Resplendent sights are dark, — they flee, They are faded now away. His weary frame no more could bear, His voice no longer stirred the air. He looked once on the quiet sky, And fell, and heaved his last, sad sigh. THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA T H O U G H T S ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. While by sweet Andalusia winds our way, And breezes light press on the loosened sail, And waves divided throw their shining spray, We read Granada's sad, heroic tale. Where the tall mountain and the lowly dale Are seen, there dwelt the haughty Moorish race. The morning sunbeams now rejoicing hail The lovely scenes, decked with such varied grace ; \.ll beautiful and still now seems calm nature's face. 52 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. And now, subsided to a silent calm, The summer winds and waves reposing lie, — As 'mong the isles where springs the lofty pali The quiet air seemeth but nature's sigh. We cannot throw his graphic pages by, Who, in the name of Fray Antonio, writes The conquest of the noble region nigh. Whose glory e'en the glancing eye delights. Alas ! what interest sad hangs o'er the fain sights ! For that wide theatre of mountains high. Which look down on the ghttering sea below And lift their snow-clad summits to the sky. Once saw beneath a tide of blood to flow. And views of carnage dread their valleys kno There fought the Christian and the Infidel , With lance and sword, and arquebuse and bo^ What scenes of horror history cannot tell. Which there the dusky Moor, and Spaniard tc befell ! THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 53 The Cross and Crescent many a silken fold Of rich-embroidered standards there displayed ; Determined warriors, unrelenting, bold, The fierce defence and fiercer onset made, As oft as each the other dared invade. Granada's day of splendor shines no more. As when her people turbaned heroes swayed. Their sceptre long invincible they bore )'er fertile regions wide, girt by the winding shore. And now one sees upon the soil of Spain, Sometimes^ a Moor, walking with downcast eye, As though the sight of hill and verdant plain, From which his ancestors were forced to fly. Oppressed his heart, and caused it much to sigh ; \ For now, a stranger in his father-land, i He wanders, with no home or kindred nigh. I The same groves are by vernal breezes fanned, Vhich once his fathers owned. His home is Afric's strand. 54 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. As through the Alhambra's splendid halls anc courts A Moorish prince was straying, rapt in thought And gazing on the lofty towers and forts, Which, in protracted siege, the Christians soug And to their work their warlike engines brough Although his manly brow could know no fear. And his sharp eye in peril would droop not, Yet could he not restrain the bitter tear. As long tradition drew past scenes and glories near What sorrow, agony, and deep despair. The plea of conquest for the faith hath made ! What plans aggressive and ambitious care Have been exhibited in war's vile trade. While, to excuse all bloodshed, it was said. That to bring on the long-expected hour Of Christian triumph was the sly train laid ! How oft the cross has glistened on the tower That avarice rudely seized, to raise its worldb power ! THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. 55 Within Granada's flowery, wide domain, Strove rival kings to gain supremacy. The father's hand against his son in vain Was raised, who sought himself by craft to be Granada's sovereign. In humihty His crown usurped he long was forced to wear, And for his filial wrong, indignity From all compelled was he in grief to bear ; Of dire misfortune hard he had a constant share. The proud Alhambra, where his fathers reigned. He saw seized firmly by the Christian's might ; His sumptuous palaces strong force obtained. Their glory fades for ever from his sight. When far away, in ignominious flight. He speeds, and turns a sad eye, full of tears. On what had been a kingly, sweet delight, Where he had felt joy mixed with many fears. Alas ! the unpitying wind his sigh of sorrow hears. 56 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA. That other proud usurper also fled, Disrobed of all his laurels and his crown. Despoiled by conquerors, at last he sped Across the sea, there during life to drown Thoughts of past greatness and his subjects' frown He came to feel how infinitely worse Hoped friends than foes may be. In soul cast dowi And dazzled blind by cruelty, a curse He hopes the weary years will soon his powers dis perse. Yonder the heights of Malaga display Their castled might. The city just below Seems like pavilions in its white array. The proud cathedral's fretted splendors show That Christians triumphed o'er their Moorish foe. Who Gibralfaro's threatening walls long kept Firm 'gainst the bold besieger's hostile blow. And warriors fought, and mothers grieving w^ept. While near their children starved in death's em- braces slept. THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GBANADA. 57 And, all along, the turrets one may see, Which, from aggression to secure their coast, The Moors erected. They have come to be The tokens only of their haughty boast. Who thought invincible their warlike host. High deeds of daring were by all displayed, In taking and defending every post ; Conquered and conquerors at last are made Equal by time and death. How soon all laurels fade ! Would that the Spanish heart once more would thriU With noble purposes and daring high ! Would that the Spaniards had a bold, strong will, Not in hard war to cause their foes to fly. But all the arts of prosperous peace to trj', To gain a victory o'er their indolence. To be resolved like men to live or die, To be against themselves their best defence ! Then Spain would wide abound with happiness intense. 58 THOUGHTS ON THE CONQUEST OF GEANADA. The royal splendors of the double crown, Of Ferdinand and Isabella's sway, Have long since fled, and long has been cast down The conquering spirit of their regal day. But who shall not with greatest truth now say, Let but a bold and generous aim inspire The darkened soul of Spain with wisdom's ray, Let that soul once with zealous, constant fire Of just ambition move to gain its high desire ; A prouder glory than bright diadem. Conquest o'er foes, or gaining lands of gold, Would then adorn the Spaniards, and lift them High, where true fame's enduring wreaths enfold Nations industrious in peace, and bold A great career, and just and pure, to run. The warmest breath of war's praise would grow cold. Would Spain low, vile pursuits and folly shun. She might secure a name bright as the noonday sun. A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY Through years of patient grief and toil, Through weariness and fear, We Ve been a tyrant's prey and spoil, And seen no hope appear. Now dawns a new and brighter day ; Our heavy chains we cast away, And Liberty we sing. Loud may our chorus ring ! Whate'er befall, whate'er may be, Our loved Sicilia shall be free. 6*-^ A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. What fairer isle beneath the sun With constant verdure glows, Where mountain brooks more peaceful nin, Where lovelier blooms the rose ? But glories of the earth and sky Are naught, when joy and freedom fly. But now, all hail the time ! Let sound the inspiring chime ! For all our hearts beat high with glee ; Long crushed Sicilia shall be free I Free minds to think, free hearts to feel, Free hands to work, we claim ; And God hath heard our strong appeal, — All-glorious be his name ! Our constant guard shall freemen keep ; Our golden vales shall freemen reap ; Ecstatic hymns of praise Shall freemen's voices raise. A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. 63 O God most high ! we trust in thee, That thou wilt keep Sicilia free. Long live the triple diadem Of Freedom, Peace, and Right, And he who hath united them In peerless lustre bright, — Whose words of fire, resounding wide, Have called the nations to his side ! Long live the freeman's friend ! Fond hopes his course attend ! Long may the Sovereign Pontiff be The guardian of Sicilia free ! Long live fair Albion, great and free, Our sister island brave ! Long live the Home of Liberty Beyond the Atlantic wave ! 64 A SONG OF SICILIAN LIBERTY. Long on the vine-clad hills of France May Freedom's sun with splendor glance ; Past wrongs we all forgive. 1 In peace, O, may we live ! i And this our patriot prayer shall be : — O Free Sicilia ! long live thee ! Palermo, March, 1848. THE PILGRIM'S EVENING PRAYER FOR HARVARD COLLEGE. THE PILGRIM'S EVENING PRAYER FOR HARVARD COLLEGE. Two hundred years have sped away, Since here, in holy mood, As slowly set the summer day. The lowly Pilgrim stood. To heaven he raised his pious hands. And thus His grace besought, Who from on high surveys all lands. And gives to each its lot : — 68 THE pilgmm's etkxixg prayer '^* Thou God of wisdom, power, and might, Whose name we e'er have served, Who made our way of darkness light, Our souls in trial nerved, — " Who brought us o-er the wintry sea. A wilderness of waves, And bade our hearts undaunted be, 'Mid many opening graves, — '• Who heard our prayer and sacred song, As on we gathered round. While savages were wondering long At the strange sisht and sound, — " Ha« may the light of science beam, With mild, diffusive rays ; Here may the choicest wisdom gleam, From mines of long past days. rOU HAKVAED COLLEGE. 69 ''Here may the fairest knowledge poor Its genial currents wide ; Here may the soul for goodness soar, With heavenward wings supplied. " Here may be spent a classic life, To break whose solitude No thoughts of anxious, worldly strife May ere their time intrude. " Here may thy Church, calm, uncontrolled, Her silver sceptre sway, And aD, within her peaceful fold, Her sacred will obey. " Here, from the pages of thy word, May holy wisdom shine. And Truth, incarnate in our Lord, Display its power divine.'^ 70 THE pilgrim's EVENING PRAYER. As thus uprose to God on high The toil-worn Pilgrim's prayer, A seraph voice came softly by, As in the passing air, — " Thy heart let fear nor doubt invade ; God's message is to thee ; Since thou with faith and love hast prayed, Answered thy prayer shall be." The aged man's uplifted eye His inward joy expressed, And, 'neath his homely roof hard by, He gently sank to rest. AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW Thy gentle strains, sweet poet, bring A thoughtful and serene repose. When o'er our souls the past hours fling The mantle of remembered woes. The young man, in the world's rude strife, Struggling with seeming fruitless toil, Shall hsten to thy Psalm of Life, And'bolder meet the rough turmoil. 74 AN ADDRESS TO THE POET LONGFELLOW. Though he have seen misfortune's hour, Yet memories of the blessed dead Shall nerve him with diviner power, While near him Angel Footsteps tread. And when around him all is gloom. And he hath fought life's dreary war, Then shall he speak, when near the tomb. That holy word. Excelsior. Who shall a fairer picture find, Than where devoted love is seen, With simple grace serene enshrined. In saintly, sweet Evangeline ? Unto thy storied, happy home, By smiles of love still lovelier made, Poet, may fairest good e'er come. And may no grief thy heart invade. A TEIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. A A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. There fell on him the heavy hand of death. His noble attributes of soul the esteem And love of all who saw him gained at once. To contemplation used, and habits mild Of patient, intellectual toil, he threw Unconsciously a charm of gentleness And grace about his quiet life, that made His presence blest. 78 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY With such benignity- Serene was his exalted countenance Illumined, that e'en strangers gazed on him With rapt, inquiring interest. Calm faith And love to God his character informed, And crowned him with resplendence brighter far Than gemmed display of Oriental kings. His high imagination was so various, That now as lighted gossamer it seemed, Which, in the summer air, may stir By breath of smallest bird, and then massive. Substantial, as the lofty arch that is Unmoved for ages. Scenes of loveliness Or of impressive grandeur, with an eye That quickly marked the sweet variety Of God's creative hand, he saw. Remains Of long past days his mind with reverence filled. OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 79 As he in silence mused upon their forms, And in his heart their deepest lessons kept. Life's shadowy mysteries, eternal truth, The soul's capacities, and man alike Mortal, immortal, oft his thoughts engaged. Thus images of beauty rare and clear Were stamped upon his imitative mind. These to portray in radiant colors mild. For the pure pleasure, with instruction joined. Of eye and soul, — this was the beauteous aim He sought to reach. Allegiance due he paid Unto his chosen art. Her mandates all. Severe or light, he obeyed with patient zeal. His firm determination was o'ercome By no obstructions. What, indeed, except Omnipotence itself, that first the mind With motive power supplied, can hold it back, 80 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY Bent on its purpose with a stern resolve ? For raging seas, that continents divide, Majestic mountains, that opposing stand To all that would survey the scenes beyond, Wide, desert plains, that cause the traveller To faint with weariness and thirst, — all these, All nature's powers e'en, the will determined Subservient makes to its engrossing plan. In calm pursuance of his end, he first To that fair land beyond the waves repaired, Whose white and sunlit cliffs, far off beheld By the glad voyager, seem a silver crown Upon the glittering sea, — that isle renowned. Whose air with the sweet strains of Avon's swan Once quivered, and with his sonorous notes Who sang Lost Paradise, and converse held Familiar with seraphic powers and God Most high, — that isle, whose Gothic majesty Of mind the world irradiates, — Albion, OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 81 Serenest gem in the bright diadem Of nations set. There with delight was seen The exceeding promise of his early powers, And he was urged, with prompt encouragement Sincere, upon his lofty course. Assured That rude originality alone, Untaught by painful diligence bestowed On works of others in calm Art's pursuit, True fame enduring seeks in vain, content Was he instruction meekly to receive From those, whose careful aid continuous His hopes inspired of highest excellence. When practice long, mature, should open wide xAt length a way peculiar, new, wherein Himself might walk sole master. Most of all He learned from him, whose name America 82 A TEIBUTE TO THE MEMORY And England hold in equal honor, — one His birth fond claiming as her own, the other Exulting that his laurels thick were given By her full patron hand, — from him, whose work: His time with strange variety surprised, Shakspeare of painters, West, whose great renown As was the bard's, in temporary shade, After his death, half-hid, shall likewise yet Emerge, and shine unclouded ever. Thus Impelled upon his way, the painter next The spoils of Art, with which imperial hands Had decked their palaces, surveyed. Anew His fervor was excited. Seeing all The examples various before him placed. Eclectic, wise, with quick, unerring sense Of Art's proprieties, attentively He studied whatsoe'er in each was marked With power innate, instructed, singular, OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 83 To express grace, strength, emotion, all the just Requirements of design ; — and, then, the whole Selected group of Art's best qualities, Duly with thought original conjoined. Endeavoured truly to combine in one Ideal image of the artist's aim. In Italy, inspiring land of Art And song, that fill the soul with pleasure deep In concert passionate, perpetual. Where the still eye entranced gazes on forms Of fancy born, or of the historic page Illustrative, most exquisite, enshrined By cunning hands in stainless marble fair, Or in harmonious, changeful colors fit Attractively expressed ; — w hile time flies on Unnoted, and itself unheeding too The array persuasive, constant, rich, of grace Consummate, not by Art or Nature moved To linger briefest while in its decreed 84 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY And solemn course ; — as busied eagerly The eye with joy dilates, sweet silvery sounds Of poesy float in air transparent, soft, And, falling on the unwary ear, enchain In ecstasy complete the mind, that, full Of keenest rapture e'en before, the strain, A new delight intrusive, seems at first With will half-willing only to receive ; — In Italy, by a sojourn of years. Upon the spirit of tlie artist were impressed Her influences noblest and most choice. Converse with friends congenial, silent thought. Insight serene of heavenly truth, calm hopes. Raised far above the approval of the crowd, Of future, lasting fame, and toil refined And delicate, with constancy pursued, Of pencil elegant, wortliily his time, In preparation for his purpose high. Earnest, unalterable, full employed. OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 85 iVbroad, and in his much-loved native land, His fruits elaborate of cultured Art Admiring eyes attracted. Tasteful, keen Discernment of true beauty was beheld In his fine choice of subjects, and in right Expression of their various graces. Art He deemed too noble to be basely used For the exaltation of man's haughtiness And transient glory, but, more provident, He chose to picture forth what should e'er be In honor held, thus having double hope Of being long remembered, in just skill Of portraiture, and in the permanence Of his well-suited themes. Not here may be His numerous, radiant gallery described ; But let these pictures gain a brief regard : — I JACOB'S DREAM. The son of the blind, aged patriarch Journeys from home, blest with rich promises 86 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY Of future good. Upon the rock}- earth He wearily reclines, deeply intent On the strange import, dimly seen, of words Prophetic. TM^ilst in slumbers deep he 's lost, A bright array of angels rainistrant, White-robed, innumerable, attend his dream. They with supernal light the glad earth gild. And wide disclose heaven's dazzling perspective And God's own voice resolves all mystery. MLRIA3I. The Red Sea safely crossed, the firm land gaine By Israel's children freed from senitude, The acclaim united by the people sung And guide, Miriam, the minstrel-prophetess. Responsive sings to the loud, choral joy. Ecstatic, irrepressible, proclaimed With timbrel, dance, concordant, easy song, By Jewish matrons on the free, broad plain ; Herself with song and dance and timbrel joined, OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 87 graceful, sweet, melodious accord, — ^* Jehovah's glorious victory praise ! Overthrown the deep sea the horse and rider he."' SAUL AND THE WITCH OF ENDOR. The Jewish sovereign is by the wide host Of the enemy afirighted, and comfort He seeks now from the lips of the seer dead, Whom living oft he heeded not, revived By the outlawed sorceress. Mysteriously, With shadowy, fearful form, he to the king Declares utter defeat, war's hardest fate. Death ignominious, and, far worse than all, The jewelled crown soon on the fair, brave youth With jealous eye long watched, and oft pursued With wrath relendess, to be set with praise. 88 A TRIBUTE TO THE ME3I0ET ELIJAH IN THE DESERT. Elijah in the wilderness abides, From the rude, boisterous city far withdrawn By God's command. And there the lonely brook His thirst aUays, and the wild birds, guided By power divine, bring needful sustenance. In still communion with his Lord, whose will He steadfastly obeys, the prophet draws Strength to support his soul, long tried and grieved By wilful kings idolatrous, perverse, Unmindful of liis stern, inspired rebuke. Soon shall he leave his solitude, again With heavenly force renewed, to speak reproof To sinful, unrepenting men ; and soon The chariot of fire shall to the skies Triumphantly exalt his living frame. L OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 89 L ...._.,..„..._ ^L ELISHA DEAD. ^Prhat other prophet, on whom glowing fell Elijah's mantle, now, his toil for truth And right fulfilled, within his sepulchre Lies low, in the repose of death. Xo frowns Of power boldly rebuked disturb him there. And, as the western evening sky is oft With richly blended rays o'erspread, e'en when The sun itself hath long since gone from sight, So an encircling halo spiritual The prophet's brow illumes, although the soul Hath to its home departed. A slow train Have come to place one in his last abode. But suddenly appears a hostile band. With fearful, utmost haste, the mourner's charge Into Elisha's tomb is thrown, when, lo ! By the instant touch of the dead prophet's frame, The man is startled into life, and looks, ft- 90 A TRIBUTE TO THE M£MOSY As just awaked, upon the group now moved Bj the dread agency miraculous. It happened, when the fire, with hand unstayed, So many monuments of art consumed. That the eager, rolling flame impetuous Before this portraiture was strangely awed. Not daring, with destructive touch profane. To spoil the radiance from the man of God. JEREMIAH DICTATING TO BARUCH, THE SCRIBE. The faithful prophet, in the prison court, Sits undismayed by man's severity. While at his feet the attentive scribe bends low, And, gazing upwards on the prophet's face. Takes from his burning hp the threatening words Of sorrow and reproof, and, with quick hand. Transfers them to the parchment roll. The man Of God, though from the holy temple kept, Shall yet, by Baruch's voice, proclaim his call OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 91 To penitence and service due. Near draws The solemn day of fast, on which the scribe His master's prophecy shall willing read. With Jeremiah's zeal he shall recount Ungrateful disobedience, numerous vears Of God's forbearance, his avenging power, His free forgiveness to be gained by prompt Renunciation of false wavs and wrona;. THE A>'GEL LIBERATING ST. PETER FROM PRISON. The servant apostolical, who once Denied his Master, but, repentant, long Contempt and persecution for his sake Endured, by walls thick, high, is firmly held, And guarded by fierce soldiers, o'er him set Through Herod's wrath revengeful. From on high An angel comes, and beauteous light His transverse wav attends. Within the cell. 92 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY His presence spreads unearthly splendor, and He bids the sleeping, bound Apostle rise, Whose chains fall off, and he the voice obeys Through grace divine implanted. The outmost gate Unharmed they reach, and soon the free air breathe. As from a happy trance the Apostle wakes, Released, and the angel quick to heaven returns. ALPINE SCENERY. See where successive Alps lift up their heads, In gorgeous majesty of light and shade ; While o'er us seems to hang the radiant sky, As by its own will shining, not by hands Of imitative Art, and by white clouds Adorned, so clear, that the wide interval Between their glowing shapes irregular And the blue scene beyond almost to the eye OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 93 Appears. The sunlight fills the calm, deep vale, And with such lively beauty are the trees Portrayed, that through their tracery dehcate Of foliage seems the gentle air to stir. LORENZO AND JESSICA. Lorenzo and his Jessica upon The raoonht bank are seated. All around Is still, except their playful, mild discourse. Soon music wakes the echoes of the night. And with delightful sadness fills the souls That Usten, rapt in memories and hopes. The lovely creatures of the poet's mind Are by the painter's pencil loveher made, Till eye and ear, both pleased, conl'ess how sweet Is song's alliance with the gentle art That maketh fancies plainly visible. 94 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY ISAAC OF YORK. The Jew, with soitow stern, regards the men Unseen by us, who treat him with disdain. Of all the nations on the broad, green earth, His only wanders homeless and alone Among mankind, for wealth gains not respect. The gate to honor opes spontaneous To him, how vile so e'er, that wears the name Of Christian, if vast opulence be his, But 't is locked close against the noblest Jew, Whose treasures, though like those of Croesus, save Him not from coldest looks, harsh words and acts. That show sovereign contempt unmixed. In truth, How sadly has the surety been fulfilled, " His blood on us and on our children be " ! THE ANGEL IN THE SUN. In the sun's central glory the angel stands. Dazzling, majestical, whom saintly John OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 95 In holy vision saw, and whom the bard, Though blind, with insight incorporeal Endowed, in holy numbers sung. With such Surpassing lustre he 's portrayed, that oft The gazing eye would fain be veiled Before the humanly created light, — Encomium highest of the painter's power. BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. I Last, view the sumptuous palace of the king Of rich, victorious, haughty Bal^^lon. Upon this festival, a thousand lords Their sovereign's call attend. Magnificence Far gathered there abounds, and idol-gods From lofty pedestals look proudly down Upon their myriad worshippers. Princes, And royal wives, luxuriously arrayed, The bright occasion grace. Hilarity Prevails, and with the smiles and flatteries 96 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY Of courtiers is Belshazzar's heart elate. The gold and silver vessels, sacred spoils, In conquest from God's sanctuary seized, To the vast hall of pagan banquet now Are brought, — sad profanation ! — and the king. To increase the social joy, and signify Contempt for the True God, commands that wine Be from them quaffed by all his cheerful guests. The impious mirth proceeds, until a hand Writes an avenging sentence on the wall, Vivid, more brilliant than the unshaded sun. Light artificial, that, by proper skill Prismatic, all-resplendent shone before. Is in the new transcendent brightness lost. Belshazzar pales, and on the line of fire His eyes immovably are fixed. Just now Where pleasure reigned, terror triumphant holds O'er all its sceptre. Learned astrologers Are called, and seek by conjuration vain, OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 97 In turn confounded, to resolve aright The emblazoned visitation. Soon the queen Comes near, solicitous, and speaks the name Of Daniel, prophet of the captive race. Who, summoned hastily, before the throne Of the humbled king stands, and with eloquent, Severe simplicity, to startled ears, Yet eager, tells the threatened doom at hand Of waste and subjugation. This chosen theme The painter's meditative hours engaged. The scene of stateliness and fear, he sought. In colors following his patient will, Effectively to note. His task progressed. There yet especially remained the sight Appalling to dehneate, that made Belshazzar tremble. As in thought profound He questioned earnestly his wondrous art. What diverse tints composed, what pencil's power 7 98 A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY Occult, could duly with investiture Terrific clothe the speaking palace-wall, His guardian angel at his side appeared, And with a winning, silvery voice, that seemed The blissful echo of a heavenly harp, thus said: — " To set God's awful presence forth to view, A pencil in light primal dipped, that came By the Creator's word, and all-sufFused The universe, would fail. The attempt give o'er With dyes of art to express the rays intense That the unforeseen, swift judgment dread an- nounced Of Heaven's insulted majesty. Enough That thou hast formed the thought sublime. Thine aim leave unfulfilled, and I will lead Thee where thou mayst, rejoicing, ever see Unveiled, ineffable, all-gladdening light, That girds the eternal throne of God most high," He ended speaking, and then gently touched I OF WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 99 The painter's beaUDg heart, and instant ceased Its quick pulsations. Then, from its abode Of threescore years, serenely rose the spirit. The seraph true, with glad, exultant haste, Conveyed it to its home, by grace secured, Of Joy, of Love, of Peace, of Light Divine. THOUGHTS ON GRAY'S ELEGY, AND BRYANT'S THANATOPSIS. THOUGHT S ON GRAY'S ELEGY AND BRYANT'S THANATOPSIS. The Churchyard Elegy, by England's bard, Of simple sadness and most tender thought Is full. The poet's eyes cast down regard The resting-place of those whom death's sure lot Hath caused to be by the great world forgot. Associations pensive clustering round The graves of those who life's stern war have fought Are in the elegiac portraiture all found. And in the melody the notes of woe resound. 104 THOUGHTS ON GRAY's ELEGY Sweet household ties, and dear affections torn, High-beating hearts of gladness all made still. Merit retired, age by long trials worn, And all the impressions that the sad mind fill With deep emotion for man's mortal ill, — All these are in the Elegy expressed. The heart is softened, and the vigorous will That would aye strive for what is greatest, best. Is tempered by the thought, man's schemes must soon all rest. In that still time for meditation best, That thoughtful hour, the pleasant summer eve. The poet's steps wend towards the place of rest. O'er man's mortality awhile to grieve. Enchained by though tfulness, he cannot leave The spot, suggestive of so many scenes Of deep affections, to grant whose reprieve From their affliction no fond earthly means Availed, but o'er the grave the mourning form oft leans. AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 105 With some bright robe of fancy, then, each mound He covers, as in solitude he strays In the lone churchyard, — consecrated ground. There, where repose the sun's calm, setting rays, The father lies, cut off in manhood's eager days. In yonder lonely spot, where seldom tread Those who desire to see where this world's praise Hath to the grave at last its subject led. There lies some gifted one, unknown, unhonored, dead. Gray's muse is like the bird that loves to haunt The abodes of man, and all the scenes near by, And also loves its plaintive hymn to chant 'Mong cypress-trees, and thro' their leaves to fly, 1; While, 'neath, the tombs in pensive shadows lie. f The mournful lay falls softly on the ear. And from the heart escapes an earnest sigh. For to all minds most natural and near Comes the sad requiem o'er all that is most dear. 106 THOUGHTS ON GKAY's ELEGY But he, who hath in sombre numbers sung The vision of the all-conquering tyrant's sway, The wreath of sentiment mere hath not flung O'er the memorials of man's decay; But his profound and philosophic ray Hath plainly to the soul reflective showed, How, underneath the balmy, cheerful day, Where hath the tide of life for ages flowed, The seeds of spoiling death have been far broad- cast sowed. He looks not on the circumstance of death. But death itself with sternest eye he sees. And fearlessly, and with unquivering breath. The features that man cannot hope to appease By constant supphcation, or to please By lowest condescension, these he draws With a just pencil, from which truth ne'er flees. And he, in verse calm and sublime, the laws Describes of that dread power, of man's sore grief the cause. AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 107 And while we hearken to the hymning deep, From the high mount contemplative we seem Upon the world, where generations sleep, To look. Upon this side to the sun's beam The earth's recesses lie disclosed, we deem, And all its myriads of mouldering forms. On the other lie the vales of hfe, that teem With thoughtless ones whom every passion warms, And who are subject all to life's sunshine and storms. Unto one churchyard he confineth not His musing on man's certain destiny ; But, in his strain, the soul is deeply taught In the whole earth one sepulchre to see. And outward things that to us seem to be Resplendent for the living man alone. With all their grace and their sublimity, He hath, with sober, but convincing tone, To be the decorations of man's wide grave shown. 108 THOUGHTS ON GRAt's ELEGY And his rapt muse is like the eagle high, ' That soars majestic in the bracing air, And thence surveys with an unflinching eye Death's wide domain, most beauteous and fair. The full, unclouded sun shineth in splendor there, And he the vivid, startling truth portrays, How this great orb more death than life may bear. Full many signs impressive he displays, How through the crowded world man's wearv life decays. With sorrow personal the Elegy Inspires the mind. The Hymn to Deatli excites Such general feeling of man's vanity. That ended seem mild nature's dear delights ; They pass away in swift and sombre flights. And in the regions of the dead we seem To be, and in one moment the long nights Of dark oblivion, with no cheering beam. We almost seem to feel, so graphic is the theme. AND Bryant's thanatopsis. 109 But when one has contemplated the tomb, The presence of that genial hope he needs, Which soon dispels the churchyard's silent gloom, The musing mind to brighter prospects leads, Which brighter glow, as earth itself recedes ; x\nd when the hand hath led us near to see The vale of death, whose power the sad muse reads. We wish that it would upward point, that we May comfort gain from hopes of immortality. In humble sequence of these noble strains, That often have to thought awaked the mind. Which, with the heart's assent, the fancy gains, Such sentiments are in the verse enshrined. Such wreaths of poesy have the theme entwined, The hope that reason and religion bring, ^ Which one may in their sanctions truly find. The purpose is within my heart to sing ; And may a heavenly muse o'ershade me with its wing ! A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. When thoughts of man's irrevocable fate The mind o'ershadow in some lonely hour, Hear what the Scriptures to the ear relate, To sootlie thee with a calm and sacred power. Theirs is the assurance, that the blissful bower Of life immortal may then meet the sight. When o'er the form shall death's dark sceptre lower ; For though he may the vision close in night. His cold breath cannot quench the spirit's radiant light. 114 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. And when the mild, low, grateful, cheering tone. Which the mind used in interchange of thought, Hath ceased, and left us, full of grief, alone. And we in secret sigh and mourn our lot. The desolation which hard death hath wrought. Yet conscious still is the departed soul. And it may hold communion, we are taught. With holy seraphs, while long ages roll, Although the once warm frame lie 'neath the churchyard knoll. For though the cold, pale lips refuse to move, In social, friendly converse e'en once more, And to the mind o'erburdened sadly prove How fast is closed the separating door. Which might the spirit to this world restore ; Yet, in the hour when most the heart repines For loss of what afforded joy before. That one for whom it grieves, beneath the vines, In groves immortal, green, in peaceful rest re- clines. • A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 115 When, too, the eyes' bright, gladsome, winning beams With intellectual life no more may glance, While the whole spirit from the expression gleams. And dazzling beauty gilds the countenance, On which who looks is held in blissful trance ; And when no more, rapt in deep thoughtfulness, They may survey the heavens' wide expanse, O'erflow with pity or with happiness. Or send back looks of love, that cause deep blessed- ness ; When they no more with piercing brilliancy May flash out, by some sudden influence. And when, in sad and earnest entreaty. The friends of many years, with gaze intense, Seek, but in vain, to excite the answering sense, And although, then, corporeal means decay Of the soul's vision, yet that strong defence Against all ill, the essential spirit, may Preserve unharmed its power, through bright, unending day. 116 A VISION OF IMMOETAL LIFE. Ooe dull expression onlr marks the face ; No more it shows emotion deep and strong, When it lies close in death's cold, still embrace. No more the ear is charmed by pleasant song, When vernal airs melodious notes prolong. No more the sound of gently whispering trees, Or running brooks, the thickets green among ; Voices of friends ; the birds' soft harmonies, When full of hfe they sing ; the roar when break the seas ; — Not e'en one lovely sight or pleasant sound, That each keen sense observing daily met, Longer can wake the soul ; for there abound Above, and never will they fade or set, A sun's bright, spiritual rays, that yet Have not illumed this darksome world; and, blest By peerless glory, the free soul will let No joys of earth intrude upon its rest, • Where it e'er dwells among scenes brightest, holiest, best. A VISION OF IXMOETAL LIFE. 117 What, then, if death thj friends shall take away, With whom shall thine own happiness die too, And, last, thyself shalt lose the light of day, And ne'er again this world's fair scenes review ? If thou hast faith, complete and steadfast, true, In Him who hath immortal life revealed, — Whose brow on earth was wet with midnight dew, As, on the mount, apart from all he kneeled, Where to his Father he might pour his grief con- cealed, — From whose side flowed a full, sufficient stream, To sweep away the guiltiness of earth, — On Him, if thou and thine shall ever beam I With looks of faith and love, then, happy birth ! Into thy soul may spring, though aU be dearth Around thee, an assurance of repose. And blessedness exceeding this world's mirth, 9 As highest bliss exceeds the deepest woes. Thou shalt breathe hopes of life when death thine eyes shall close. 118 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. Nor in the grave confined for e'er shall be Those who have ended life's full care and toil. Christ hath arisen, and by his decree, Death shall not hold for aye his vaunted spoil. For might superior shall make him recoil ; His charge long kept he then shall quick re- sign, And, beatific, from earth's opening soil Shall spirit-forms, all-radiant and benign, Ascend in ecstasy, where endless glories shine. The sage philosophers of old, 'tis said. Indulged in dreams of immortality. They dared not think to lie in the grave's bed. While should the soul fall in vacuity. And hence, in thought profound, most eagerly Some genial solace for the soul they sought. And felt that they .were blest beyond degree. When e'en allowed to hope a different lot. Yet fond conjecture sole their meditation brought A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 119 And on the bold, but comforting, surmise. That an imperishable germ within Man, seeming mortal, lived, that would arise From death triumphant, and new life begin. They built high dreams of bliss. Amid the din Of wrangling schools of sages, one desire Remained the same, that, some time, freed from sin. The man might glow with an immortal fire, Though all his earthly part should utterly expire. But not mere aspiration high, serene, Need satisfy the Christian's eager mind. On safer pillar may he faithful lean Than sage's dream in classic lore enshrined. For what man's reasoning could not surely find Is all recorded on the Gospel's page. With amaranthine wreath his brow entwined, When he shall leave life's active, busy stage, Shall he advance in peace through Heaven's im- mortal age. i 120 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. Eternal days, too, ere the world began, Or ere death had been known, or seen, or feared. When yet was uncreated mortal man, Seraphic myriads in heaven appeared, And, bowing low, the powder supreme revered, And still, with harp and choral hymn combined. Their days they pass in blessedness endeared. No intermission of their joy they find ; In robes ethereal, pure, their spirits are enshrined. How many conscious worlds that ne'er knew ill May hold communion in the spirit-land ! What measureless capacities may fill That vast, angelic, and all-holy band Of spirits, that, throughout the immense and grand Extent of God's wide universe, may fly From orb to orb, from starry strand to strand ! And chanting choirs may pour their music nigh, As the blest visitants their sunny pinions try. A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. 121 With them, the faithful from time's earliest day, Who through the gates of death above have passed. Rejoice in many a bright and genial ray. From the resplendent throne of God far cast, Which in the midst of Paradise stands fast. And countless ones redeemed from time around Sing his almightiness, both first and last, In songs that through celestial arches sound, And from the jasper walls eternally rebound. What wondrous meaning, then, each act of life, Viewed in the Hght of heavenly day, shall bear ! How all scenes here, surrounded by deep strife, In contrast with immortal zeal and care, Will fade in splendor, although passing fair ! For what serenest beauty earth can show Can with supernal loveliness compare ? In heaven the streams of bliss divine e'er flow, And through the tree of life celestial breezes blow. ^ 122 A VISION OF IMMORTAL LIFE. Let not thine heart, then, be by grief oppressed, When thou considerest well man's mortal lot ; For what thou raournest is a calm, deep rest For faithful ones, that, dying, still die not. They have more life than when alive. Their thought As far exceedeth ours in power and height As the sun's rays, by swiftest journey brought To illume the world with glory, dazzling, bright. Surpass the deepest gloom of still and starless night. Thou mayst console thy now deserted heart With the reunion of beloved friends. What gifts celestial truth may free impart. The soul shall feel that to it e'er attends, When low his head in deep affliction bends. The hope felicitous then shall arise, Which troubled ones from wild despair defends. With joy may he look upward to the skies. Where ne'er shall sundered be affection's holy ties. THE AGED PERSIAN. THE AGED PERSIAN. " I sonaetimes think, could I recall the days which are past, which among them would I choose." In one of the most lovely, quiet vales Of Persia's land, where images of grace Ideal seem in beauteous hills and dales To be expressed, though man may dare debase, By sway tyrannical, strange beauty's trace, There lived an aged man, who long had borne A weight of sorrows, and whose withered face I Showed him to be afflicted and forlorn; — fA look more pale and sad have ne'er man's features worn. 126 THE AGED PERSIAN. The friends of many years, to cheer him now With converse sweet, no longer to him came ; To man's last tyrant they were forced to bow, Who, soon or late, lays prostrate man's strong frame The partner of his life and of his name i Had been long since within the cold grave laid ; His children also, suffering fate the same. Had, one by one, their couch in darkness made ; All, all whom best he loved their last sad debt hai paid. And, like a brook which, in the summer time, Flowed gladly through scenes by soft beauty blest, As though it felt the mild and genial clime. And, purling onward, sought some place of rest ;-l When coming Autumn hath full soon depressed The season which the earth most blissful made, And ripened fruitage with its genial zest. When faded are the trees whose grateful shade Was cast upon the brook meandering through T glade, — THE AGED PERSIAN. 127 When loveliest verdure from the banks hath gone, When sights around the soul to sadness turn, And, where the sun v^^ith dewy splendor shone, Now sere with heat the once fresh valleys burn. And yellow now appears the modest fern ; — Like this same brook the old man's life now seemed. His pleasures were no more, and deep concern Usurped the place whence fond enjoyment gleamed ; No radiant, happy star upon his pathway beamed. Back on his younger days, with keen regret, Though not unmixed with pleasantness, his eye He often turned. His soul had not then met Those sorrows that the human spirit try, Yet from which can no mortal being fly. That full of woe, as well as joy, is life, He, full of years, knew too well to deny. He had seen agony, mishap, and strife. And knew with what deceit is man's deep nature rife. 128 THE AGED PERSIAN. As he contemplated the by-gone days, The thought once came to his still-musing mind, As he lay pensive 'neath the sunset rays, That Allah, in omnipotence enshrined, Would for his troubled soul some solace find. Perhaps he might enjoy the past again. Whose blissfulness sweet fancy's wreaths entwine( Once more, perhaps, would come the joyous train Of early, much-loved friends, to make his spirit fain. Then, to the Deity his fathers served, This suppHcation, in humility, He offered : — '' Allah ! thou hast ever nerved The souls of those who to thee lowly flee, When they distressed for any cause may be. Thou know'st how full of grief my latter days Have been, how woe's dark wing hath sprea o'er me, How I have wandered in a tangled maze, How full of thorns have been my life's long, devioi ways. THE AGED PERSIAN. 129 " The recollection of my former self Is the sole tie that binds me to this earth. My inmost heart disdains its sordid pelf. This boon I crave, though I have little worth To make appeal. Within my soul is dearth. Cause me to be again a happy youth, All-vigorous, and moved by rosy mirth, Not knowing yet how rarely steadfast truth May in the world be found, or mild and helpful ruth. " Once more on my unruffled, youthful brow, Where age hath slowly set his signal gray, Let the mild airs of spring play joyful now ; Let these dim eyes resume their brilliant ray ; These limbs, my tottering frame that hardly stay, Invigorate with healthful strength and new ; Bid flowers of youth once more adorn my way. Let love of what is excellent and true Inspire my mind with zeal its mandates to pursue. 9 130 THE AGED PERSIAN. " Bid youth's vivacity and hopes return ; Or, il' the boon I crave must be denied, Grant me a spirit of content, to learn That it is best by thy will to abide, Which aye directs life's calm or boisterous tide; That I may ne'er ungraciously repine. But in thy mercy always safe confide. Behold the glories in thy works that shine, And by thy righteous law my willing steps in- cline." And now, exhausted, he reclined to rest. And soon was held in slumber's easy chain. By Allah's high, omnipotent behest. Not long the aged man in sleep had lain, Ere wondrously he seems new life to gain. Friends of his childhood's hours gather round, In bright and happy, eager, laughing train. The songs of birds, and every pleasant sound, Awake his senses dull, which with sweet bhss abound. THE AGED PERSIAN. 131 A mother's voice, long silent, now he hears, And on him beams a father's thoughtful smile ; — And every scene that memory endears Comes vividly before his mind, the while Delightful visions his deep woe beguile. Once more a happy youth, he onward springs Through many a valley green and low defile, And many a verdant, sunny hill-side rings With his shrill voice, as he his notes of gladness sings. Fancy begins her airy web to trace Before his eyes, and through this unseen veil The distant future wears a smiling face. No cares perplexing yet his heart assail; His life is cheered by fortune's favoring gale. Which onward speeds him with its bracing power ; To crown his joy all pleasant means avail ; With treasures of delight abounds each hour ; Upon his youthful way no raging tempests lower. 132 THE AGED PERSIAN. Yet, soon dissatisfied with youth's estate, He pines to reach ambition's luring dreams. His aims to reach becomes he loath to wait. The future glows with such transcendent gleams, That anxious for life's contest now he seems, Once full of glee, now moved with discontent, While with high purposes his bosom teems. To show the energy that God hath lent In some high, great career, his steadfast mind is bent. Once more he supplicates, with reverence meet. The power that the whole universe sustains. " Allah ! low bend I, suppliant, at thy feet. My soul is filled with eager, longing pains To join life's conflict, and to share its gains. The vigor which thou hast bestowed on me I would employ where zeal controlling reigns. A man 'mong men 't is my desire to be, And mingle in the world's most earnest company. THE AGED PERSIAN. 133 "^ I wish not always among trees and flowers To play, upon the lofty stars to gaze, And comprehend not their strange, mystic powers. My destiny, through all ray granted days I would fulfil, and walk in busy ways. In the great world let me my station find. Let me with boldness meet the sun's hot rays. Display new, varied scenes before my mind. And let not always youth my waiting spirit bind." And now the boy becomes a man of nerve. In ruddy glee no longer now he plays. From his bold purpose he means not to swerve ; In act determined will he spend his days; His aims in splendor fancy now arrays; He longs to ope bright honor's golden gate, That from afar sends forth alluring rays. He strives right eagerly, both soon and late. And is all-resolute in man's engrossing state. 134 THE AGED PERSIAN. Opposed, the firmer courage he displays. Long-cherished hopes he happily fulfils, And, with new ardor, he new plans assays. With manly love his noble bosom thrills. Whose whispering soft each rising murmur stills. By kind domestic sympathy he 's cheered. Like sweet, harmonious, smoothly-gliding rills. The life of him and of his most endeared Now seem. Their happiness no rude, rough blast hath seared. Misfortune had not yet her look of scorn Thrown upon him. Pleasure to him had sung No syren-song, of fatal ruin born. Hopes beautiful, of excellence, yet clung Around his heart. Fear had no warning rung. So occupied is he in life's full care, Beyond this world his thoughts are seldom flung. Although about him are distress, despair. No flower hath faded yet in his own pathway fair. THE AGED PERSIAN. 135 But disappointment, with its sombre wing, At length o'ershadows all his plans most dear. The afflictive hand of heaven's high, peerless King The fire of sorrow fans. Its hot breath near Parches the soul. His children die. Now fear Distempers all his former sweetest joy. His face is wet with many a bitter tear. His energy he cannot now employ. Mild nature's pleasant sights his saddened eyes annoy. And now the sharer of his joy and grief Evanishes from his admiring side. Despair o'er him prevails, and no relief Or soothing comfort can his soul abide. He seems the sport of woe's deep, ceaseless tide. His hopes of worldly grandeur and renown Have, with his latest, deepest sorrow, died. His heavy eyes are now always cast down, And he ne'er sees man's smile, or e'en his scorn- ful frown. 136 THE AGED PERSIAN. Now more he thinks upon that future time, When all the scenes of this world shall be o'er. He cares no more the hill of fame to climb ; He waits no longer at wealth's open door ; Ambition's heat now burns in him no more. He hopes for some approaching, quiet hour. When his crushed spirit, with keen arrows sore. Shall, in calm solitude, receive some power, That shall to it become a strong, protecting tower. At length old age, with its enfeebling power. His eyes makes dim, and tremulous his speech. He murmurs not that now has come the hour He had so long desirous been to reach. The lessons that life's many sorrows teach Have deeply sunk within his aged heart. No longer youth he wishes to beseech ; No more he mingles in the world's great mart; From all its troubled scenes he hopeth to depart. THE AGED PERSIAN. 137 And thus to Heaven his grateful heart declares His thankfulness: — " Allah ! since thy decree All-wise hath filled my days with sorrow's cares, The time I welcome that hath come to me. What need have I of fearless energy, When almost every tie is sundered now Of love, that made my days pass happily? 'T is well the frost of age is on my brow. 'T is well my feebleness maketh my head to bow^ " The hoary head gaineth from men esteem, When most 'tis needed. When the weary mind Seeks less upon the outward world to gleam, ^ But inward turns, in thoughtfulness to find Rest for itself, to Allah's will resigned, — Then dim becomes the eye, whose free, swift glance The chains of age with force increasing bind. Exterior life seems but a passing trance. The heart's emotions then their native powers enhance. 138 THE AGED PERFIAN. " The limbs are weak, when one desires rest In solitude domestic, not to roam Abroad with eagerness and youthful zest. Then more attractive is one's quiet home Than all the splendor 'neath the sky's blue dome. The speech likewise is measured, soft, and slow ; For it must age most seriously become, That what experience maketh it to know Should in low-spoken words of solemn import flow. "The mind unconscious seems of present scenes, Yet recollection of the past is bright. And many a flower from youth's path it gleans, Whose form and fragrance yet afford delight. The future also dawns upon the sight. And fewer objects then may intervene To obscure the view of heaven's far-shining height. What all the woes and joys of life may mean Is clearer by the soul's keen inward vision seen." THE AGED PERSIAN. 139 It was just now, when he began to be Conscious of age, that he awoke from sleep. And thus exclaimed : — " Allah hath ti.-»swer- ed me, And taught a lesson of contentment deep, From which I may sweet consolation reap. My life all o'er again I now have spent. In dreams my soul shall ever faithful keep, As the persuasive teachings Heaven has lent To bid my soul repose, on Allah's will intent. *' My youthful days desired I to renew. Nor thought that with the joys of youthful years Would come the longings that young minds imbue To move in the great world, despite of fears, Of sorrows, crosses, and of many tears. Now doubly hath my trial made me know, — And him who taught, my grateful soul reveres, — That every period of life may show How many ardent cares from discontent may flow. 140 THE AGED PERSIAN. " The longing for a happy, future time Assumes with age a noble dignity, For then it looks beyond this transient clime, To the vast period of eternity. To bow always to Allah's firm decree Is for the humble soul the way most sage ; — For having wished, alas ! most thoughtlessly. To see again my life's first, pleasing stage. Most willingly I find myself o'ercome by age." PALERMO PALERMO. O'er fair Palermo's crown of beauteous hills The summer sun, with radiant face, declines, And the wide scene with ruddy splendor fills. The orange groves, and varied running vines, Glow with new richness, as the glad orb shines. The olive-trees their gnarled branches show ; Their pale-green leaves move in soft, graceful lines. Mild -tempered airs with pleasant freshness blow. The high and stony founts with streams cool con- stant flow. 144 PALERMO. How sweetly comes the murmur of the sea, The wide, encircling shore that ever laves ! How softly breathes its soothing melody ! Sometimes in calmness beat the silent waves ; Sometimes the sea in foaming surges raves ; But now the air with no rude force is stirred ; The fierce winds are confined within their caves ; O'erhead floats many a swift and gleesome bird ; Glad sounds of merry life at intervals are heard. With what delight the observer cannot tell His eye surveys the scene extended wide, The well-named valley of the golden shell. Upon the sloping mountain's verdant side, The Monastery is afar descried. In its white, glittering beauty all arrayed. And within view of the blue, ceaseless tide. Thence the broad prospect of soft light and shade Once gladly seen can ne'er from recollection fade. PALERMO. 145 Here in their cloisters live the brotherhood, And look down on the city far below. Their orisons no idle clamors rude Disturb. Their altars with the flowers that grow In beauty round them they adorn, and low Ascends their matin and their vesper strain." The tall, dark cypress doth its shadow throw Upon the winding walk, where oft a train Of monks may wander long, when the sun's disk may wane. How many changes hath the silent past ! What various races in this lovely vale Have lived, while the same clustering stars have cast Their radiance o'er the mountain and the dale ! The Eastern voyager by the speeding gale Hath been impelled to this three-cornered isle, And, on that plain now still, hath dared assail The native rough, and his rude power revile. Compelled at length to own the stranger's mightier guile. 10 146 PALERMO. Also the Roman power, outspreading wide From its resplendent centre, found its way Through southern Italy, and o'er the tide, And here established its triumphant sway. While golden Ceres cheered the harvest day. The tongue in which proud Caesar spoke his will, Which Romans were compelled at once to obey, Resounded then from every neighbouring hill, And in rapt fancy's ear its cadence lingers still. The conquering Saracen, with cruel might. Throughout the isle relentless havoc bore ; And where was once the Christian temnle's site, Now the strange Prophet's shrine the green earth w'ore. But that to him is sacred now no more. The Christian sway at length regained the seat Where it had been for many a year before. In yonder ancient, narrow, winding street. One's eye the lifted cross in the uncouth mosque may meet. PALERMO. 147 His sumptuous capital the Saracen In this recess of sought Palermo made. Strange structures and grotesque he builded then. His swarthy, turbaned followers assayed To keep the region they had dared invade ; And oft the Grecian and the Roman arms, That still about the isle revengeful stayed, They boldly met, aroused by new alarms, Resolved to hold their prize free from invaders' harms. Yet when, at last, the impetuous Normans came, He could not their determined force withstand. Who sought by sieges long and hard to tame The raging foe from their hot, native land. The valiant Norman, with his chosen band. Conquered the isle. Here was his brilliant court. The breezes from the sea the hot brows fanned Of those who had fought bravely for the fort With which the x\rab sought to keep his favorite port. 1^ PAI.E&JIO. And when die ^rand array of NormaD kiDs:s Hare qoickhr passed before the musiog eye. With the Imperial name of Hemy rings The starded air, and many a bitter cry Is beard, commingled with a heavy sigh. Boben's and Roger's bold succession now Are forced in torn fit>m Sicily to fly, And to the grasping sceptre low to bow. Their works of art and skill an alien court endow, But Papal jealousy at length awakes. Once more the crown of Sicily becomes The conqueror's meed, for Charles of Anjou breaks The German's southern sway. He hiihei roams. To found for men of France enduring homes. His troubled reign here lasts but a brief while. When he and his beneath Italian domes The playful hours in luxury b^uile, The foe their plans mature in many a still defile. 149 Outside the citj, on the bold cbampaigo, A chapel lifts the cross onto the skj. Thence comes the blow against the oppressive rei^o. The vesper bell's soft mosic flmteth bj, Aod citizens mild, seeming peaceful, oigh Approach, as if devotion were their aim. But they have sworn the foreign ioe shall die. Not lovehest innocence their hate can tame. And vengeful passions dire their ruthless hearts in- flame. And now pass o'er an interval of years. And yet the Spaniards hold the favored land. Hark ! what acclaims of joy, what raptoroas cheers. Salute Imperial Chaiies, with his own band Of faithful friends. He hath just left the strand Of Africa, bound thither to subdue The treacherous chieftain, and his force withstand. The joyful city, with allegiance true, Their sovereign's valiant form make eager haste to view. 150 PALERMO. The gate that looks out on the shining sea Palermo wide displays, and cheerful greets The advancing monarch, with due courtesy. The populace, through all her crowded streets. Triumphant Charles with graceful action meets. To the great church their way the people wend. Each patriot heart with hope exulting beats. And all with eagerness his voice attend, While he makes solemn vow their just rights to defend. The court of Charles was full of valiant men. Here Hves the princely heir of Cortes bold. Would that the same facile and graceful pen That hath the Conquest o'er the Aztecs told,- And their domain enriched with mines of gold. Would condescend the story to relate Of this fair isle, and her strange lot unfold. Display the splendors of each varying state That ruled successive o'er her destiny and fate ! PALERMO. 151 But let me not in verse seek to narrate The trials, struggles, many a fierce revolt, The cry for freedom, and the bold debate, The rising people and their quick assault, That marked at times the ages past. Whose fault. Whether of rulers arrogant and bad, Or of the ruled determined not to halt In reckless contests resolute and mad, The Muse shall not decide, in contemplation sad. Yet will she hope that justice, truth, and love May spread through all these vales their blissful sway. That God may look from his high throne above. And here diffuse a gloom-dispelling ray. That shall bring on a peaceful, happy day. And may the light of law and freedom shine In equal splendor, and may all essay With liberty best prudence to combine. Laurels unstained with blood shall then their brows entwine. 152 PALERMO. Many have oft in this Palermo found From civil troubles a secure retreat, Who have fled hither from the usurper's ground. Not many years have sped away most fleet, Since, near where one's inquiring sight may meet The halls ancestral of Sicilian kings, An exile lived, dismissed by the defeat Of ancient rule, of which e'en now fame rings. O'er him hath hovered Fate, with bright and som- bre wings. The son illustrious of a noble hne, — What various trials hath his life displayed ! A needy wanderer, forced in want to pine, In different lands a brief abode he made. Sometime in blood his own dear France doth wade ; — Her crown of gold upon his head hath stood ; But all its glory men have seen to fade. My pen would not scorn him with insult rude. But briefly thus express his strange vicissitude. PALERMO. 153 And recently, doffing the care of state, The Imperial Russian, with his consort, came To this abode, where wintry airs abate Their piercing cold, and their fierce rigor tame. Health ne'er respecteth e'en a royal name, — It had to pain left one a victim now. A courteous welcome did all hearts inflame. Benevolence an empress may endow With lustre brighter far than dazzling, jewelled brow. And yet so deep an interest o'er thy site, Palermo, not thy history can throw, Nor can afford so great and deep delight Thy valleys green or sunset's richest glow. As from sweet converse with one's friends may flow. The desert e'en becomes a land of gold, If friendship there its pleasantness may show, And without that, no gladness can enfold The spirit, though it dwell where soft skies e'er have rolled. 154 PALERMO. But when with nature's loveliness abides The spirit that attracteth friend to friend, A nobler grace then in the scene resides. The valleys lovelier to the view extend. The sun's rays light more bright and cheering send, The mountains, then, are clothed with beauty new, And pleasant sounds with each more pleasing blend. Such is the spell that springs from friendship true, When the whole mind its force may thoroughly imbue. X O TE ALPINE SCENERY. (See Page 92.) See where successive Alps their summits high Lift up in majesty of light and shade, While o'er us seems to hang the deep blue sky, As by its own will shining, not by aid Of imitative art. White clouds are laid On the wide, circling heavens, glittering, clear. Wide, natural spaces cunning hands have made Between them and the scene beyond to appear. The grandeur of the view e'en moves the soul with fear. 158 ALPINE SCENERY. The deep vale smiles in sunshine without glare, And seems a spot where peace might aye abide In blissful solitude. The summer air The foliage stirs of beauteous trees, beside The way that hft their crowns, wherein might hide The mountain-birds harmoniously that sing, And in their joyous liberty confide, And from their throats a full, deep chorus fling, And make the calm, broad scene with their glad echoes ring. LORENZO AND JESSICA. (See Page 93.) Lorenzo and his Jessica dark-eyed On the cahn, moonlit bank are seated. Still All sounds have now become on every side, Excepting that each one, with pleasant will, Strives eagerly in love's discourse, until Sweet music wakes the echoes of the night. And, like the sound of a steep mountain rill. The listening souls o'erpower with sad delight, Li blissful memories rapt, and dreamy hopes all bright. 160 LORENZO AND JESSICA. To the fair creatures of the poet's mind The pencil's hues new, lovelier grace impart, Until the eye and ear enchanted find How sweet is Song's alliance with the Art That maketh fancies graven on the heart All manifest before the gazing eye, / Until the frame with pleasure's thrill may start ; And whoso looks shall, though glad, thoughtful sigh, Lest from the memory should the graceful pic- ture fly. THE END. 57 4 ^/-o^ _ <^^ ^ ^ ^0^ ,^5 °-'- ,,_ ,^^. i ^^ '-^'> .^^."^ '*-■'- ^ N^ "^ 1*. ^v. ^°- '-^ ,0- '-^ "* xV **• ^:' v -iy- X > ^ V * O ,. O OV S ^ /^ 0^ V- ^ ' • ° r: N° ■^*., >^o^ *«■ .<^^ ^ V, ^ V'^ ^^^' y^'%. %', -0' N^-^c^ ^ .0- ^.V'^ 'O. V i, "^%iyL'' ^ .s / - ->_, X -:>. ^ C V- b^ ^^^' \ "o ■" -? ^. I \ -. .^^ "'>', .^^ <^.. <- x