Oh! I am sick of the ennui that comes of the earth,
All tasteless its landscapes--and charmless its mirth.
Away, swift away, on a pinion, as sprite,
I will speed to a kingdom not day and not night:
Where a spell of enchantment as soft as a dream,
Moves over the mountain, the valley, and stream;
And the bird and the rill with a sleep-bringing rhyme,
Soothe the gliding away of the current of time.
Away, swift away to this dream-world of bliss--
From a place all so tiresome and tasteless as this.
And would I might ever abandon its beams
That radiate but feebly, to dwell by the streams
That gleam from the mountains of green fairyland,
And, at last, in bright morn of Heaven expand.
TO MISS M.T.R.
Whate'er may be my unknown fate
Upon this dark, terrestrial sphere,
Wilt smile to hear that I am blest,
And o'er my anguish shed thy tear?
Methinks it were a happy lot,
That thou would'st grieve or smile with me;
And though all others prove most false,
I ne'er should find untruth in thee.
Yes! thou wouldst seem some heavenly one
If such thy friendship followed me,
Nor would I cease, through every change,
To crave of Heaven its love for thee.
BENEATH THOSE STARS OF SUMMER.
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MISS ----.
Beneath those stars of summer,
I told thee my wild love;
And I beheld thy blushes,
And saw thy bosom move.
It was a holy moment,
And bliss o'erflowed my heart;
For thou did'st say that never
I should from thee depart.
I thought how very happy
Our future life would be,
That life's worst pain and suffering
Were sweet, if shared with thee.
Thou said'st thy deepest pleasure,
Thy highest pride would be,
Through all of life to gladden,
To soothe and comfort me.
And now when years have glided,
As silver waves depart,
I feel that thou did'st utter
The truth from out thy heart:
For thou hast never pained me,
Through all these happy years,
But still hast fondly loved me,
And charmed me even to tears.
Thou hast been such a blessing,
Thy virtues so much worth;
'Twere not profane to call thee
An angel upon earth.
And if those souls most loving,
Upon this spot of care,
Shall feel most bliss in heaven,
Thou'lt be a bright one there.
TO FANNIE.
My Fannie dear! when absence rends
My faithful heart from thee,
What gloomy thoughts oppress my mind,
There is no joy for me.
By day, woe wastes my sinking soul,
By night I wake and sigh;
And still the grief that kills me quite,
Is, Fannie is not nigh.
Oh! may that God whose name is Love
Her form to me restore;
That I may never, never part
From darling Fannie more.
A STROLL DOWN QUALITY ROW.
The other day I took a stroll,
Just when the sun grew low,
A down the Row of Quality,
That gay and charming row.
I had been dreaming all the day
Of bright, poetic forms
Moving through silent fairyland,
Bedecked with glorious charms.
As down the row, I slowly walked,
First came proud Majesty;
Love shone in all her queenly looks,
Command was in her eye.
Then gentle Grace came smiling next,
Without the aid of art,
And, with a soft and pleasing bliss,
She past into my heart.
Then Beauty came supreme o'er all,
A Heaven-anointed queen;
But modest Goodness walked behind,
With mild yet winning mien.
Then I returned to dream and sing
Through many a pleasant hour,
Of all that evening's loveliness,
And beauty's matchless power.
THERE IS A GOD.
The azure vault so far above,
Arrayed in smiles of peace and love,
Would sweetly seem the truth to prove--
"There is a God."
The blooming earth so glad below--
The fragrant flowers--the streams that flow--
The tuneful birds--would bid us know,
"There is a God."
Yon soaring sun on wings of fire,
Proclaims his great, celestial Sire--
'Tis chanted by the starry choir,
"There is a God."
We know it, too, at nights' fair noon,
When lo! the pale and placid Moon,
Illumes the balmy night of June,
"There is a God."
The smiling Spring, and Autumn brown,
Hoarse-raging Winter's angry frown,
And Summer fair, unceasing own,
"There is a God."
The mountains high, and dark, and vast--
The thunder's roar--the howling blast--
The lightnings springing thick and fast,
Amid the gloom,
That wraps the Earth, and Sea, and Sky--
The Storm-fiend's wild, terrific cry--
The Earth-quake's shock--proclaim on high,
"An awful God!"
But oh! that awful God above,
Is yet a gracious God of love--
A bleeding Lamb--a wounded Dove--
The sinner's God.
Poor sinner! love His holy name,
And when this world shall pass in flame
A heavenly mansion thou mayst claim,
To dwell with God.
TO THE BELOVED.
I dream of thee, beloved one,
When the moon comes o'er the sea,
And hangs her horns of silver,
In yonder forest tree!
I wake from out my slumber,
I think I hear thy voice,
It thrills my list'ning spirit,
It makes my soul rejoice.
Oh love! thy fair, bright image,
Is hov'ring near to mine,
Oh love! I see thy passion,
In those deep eyes of thine:
Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming,
Have bound my senses quite,
Those eyes are o'er me beaming,
The only stars of night.
TO LORA GORDON BOON.
Sweet maiden of the feeling soul,
I saw thy little form,
Arrayed in gay and glittering garb,
And felt thy beauty's charm.
And, Lora! when I saw thee show
The mighty poet's thought,
The poet's truth, with vivid force,
Before my mind was brought.
And when I heard thee sweetly sing,
The bold gay "Cavalier,"
I thought that was the sweetest tone
E'er fell on mortal ear.
"Sweet Maid!" 'twas love's most plaintive voice,
That echoes from the soul,
And makes the listening spirit pause
In that divine control.
And when thou sang'st the "Soldier Boy,"
I heard the drum and fife,
The bugle's blast, the cannon's boom,
The keen, sharp shriek for life!
And when thou sang'st with gentle voice,
The "Bonnie Breast Knots" too;
'Twas like the words of peace and love,
That follow war's wild crew.
And when I saw thee lightly whirl
Through that ecstatic dance,
My happy spirit flew with thee,
As in a joyous trance.
Sweet maiden, when thou pass'd'st away,
I felt a soft regret;
And oh! thy genius and thy charms,
I never shall forget.
Sweet maiden, fare thee--fare thee well!
Thou sing'st and flitt'st away--
A thing that charmed us, and shall be,
Remembered through life's day.
MONTICELLO.
On Monticello's classic brow,
I stood and gazed around on earth;
And feelings of no common glow,
Within my bosom had their birth.
The glorious memory of the past,
When valor, single-handed, won,
The brightest boon for man at last,
Freedom for every sire and son.
I thought how strangely, wildly rung
That dictum in the world's dull ear,
Breathed with a firm, unfaltering tongue,
"No tyrant's pride shall flourish here."
But, look upon yon humble tomb,
Oh! does it hide some humble one?
Now, part the mountain's leafy bloom,--
Is this the grave of JEFFERSON?
Huge shame confound this long neglect,
That thus o'ershades his resting place,
Who, living, sought to raise, protect,
And fit, this home of Adam's race.
Who guards that most illustrious tomb,
And welcomes there the pilgrim's love?
A stranger to his native soil,
Stands sentinel his grave above.
Virginia! oh! retrieve thy name,
No longer scorn thy source of pride;
Pay double tribute to their fame,
Whose shades so long in vain have sighed.
Rear monuments to tell the world,
The virtues of departed worth,
Till yonder sun in night be hurled,
The glorious heritage of earth.
Then through the ages that succeed,
The hearts shall come from every shore,
To worship where their relics lie,
Whose glorious fame can die no more.
TO MARIAN.
Dear Marian, thou art far away,
And I'm disconsolate to-day,
In sorrow sighing;
My pleasant thoughts lie like the leaves,
O'er whose cold heads Æolus grieves,
Complaining, dying.
'Tis weary, dreary, dreary here,
The yellow leaves are falling sere,
With mournful rustling,
The little bird has hush'd his song,
And close the greener boughs among
He's coldly nestling.
How sad the high wind's sounding dirge,
As 'twere old ocean's moaning surge,
Around our dwelling;
I well may tell the reason why,
But oh! the teardrops in mine eye
Are swiftly swelling.
The world is sad, and I am so;
Does Marian hear my plaint? Oh, no;
She's far away.
Ye envious streams--ye hateful hills!
Ah me! what cruel anguish thrills
My heart to-day!
But soon may Fortune learn to smile
Upon her sad and helpless child,
And let us meet,
No more to part, no more to sigh,
But happy live, and happy die,
In union sweet!
THE SPIRIT OF POESY.
O! radiant spirit, bright Poesy, where
Is thy dwelling, thou seraph of beauty, so fair
In the rainbow thou laughest at sweet summer's even,
And thou ridest the tempest that rends earth and heaven;
On the lawn gemm'd with dew, 'mid the forest in green,
On the mountains' huge brows, in the valleys between,
In the blue rolling ocean, in sky, earth and air--
Thy spiritual loveliness broods every where,
Thou quaffest morn's tears in a chalice of light,
And thy form in the splendor of Phoebus flames bright;
Thou kissest the rose-bud so fay-like and fair,
And the lightnings thou wreathest in thy dark-streaming hair!
Thy melody trills in the silver rill's flow,
And it roars in the earthquake that thunders below;
All heaven is fill'd with thy presence divine,
All earth in the smile of thy beauty doth shine:
From heaven to earth, and from earth swift to heaven,
Thy golden-wheel'd chariot is viewlessly driven:
And thou robest all things in the raiment of love,
By fingers of seraphim woven above--
And the song which thou sing'st is the melody flowing,
Like droppings of nectar, from angel lips glowing--
And God is the Fountain, O, Poesy bright,
Whose waters now flood me with mystic delight!
THE WATER.
The water, see it, leaps from the mountain's high brow,
Like a roll of smooth silver, and laughingly now
See, it skips, like a child, through the valley so green,
Throwing beauty and blithesomeness over the scene.
See the dew-drops of morning that glitter so bright,
Drunk up by the leaves and the flowers with delight;
See the fair delicate fays, for their heavenly feast,
In colors more lovely their light limbs have drest.
See the dark-rushing showers exultingly come
Down, down to the earth from their high, cloudy home!
How the countless drops twinkle, and dance, and rejoice,
Then creep to the ground with a tremulous voice!
Oh the water, the water, it shineth so bright!
It falls like a beautiful raining of light,
And it gladdeneth the earth, and the sky, and the sea,
'Till the world laugheth out in her fullness of glee!
See it all smileth fairest--'tis beauty above,
In Heaven and Earth 'tis but beauty and love;
With harmony dancing--a scene like a dream,
When Heaven comes down on the spirit to beam!
Oh the water! the water! man, quaff its bright flow;
It will gladden thy spirit, but give thee no woe:
As it fresh'neth the world, so its rills will impart
Health, gladness, and sweetness and joy to thy heart.
But oh, the foul demons (horrific to tell)
Have mixed a fierce poison, the wild flame of hell;
And it killeth each fairest and loveliest thing
That the earth ever knew in her bridal of Spring.
'Tis the wild stream of hell! oh it burneth the soul,
It scatheth, and blighteth, and killeth the whole;
Yet, a Vulture, it gnaweth the quivering liver,
Forever consuming, but satiate never.
Ay, it fills the wide world with the wailing and woe,
That liken the shrieking of Devils below:
And the words of the eloquent never can tell,
The abyss of this anguish, this foretaste of Hell.
Oh God of the curst! turn this fierce stream away,
In trembling, and misery, and anguish we pray;
Make the waters of Temperance flow wide o'er the Earth,
Till she shine as of yore in the smile of her birth!
BLANNERHASSETT'S ISLAND.
On beautiful Ohio when you sail,
And view its banks, forever green and fair,
And feel the falling sunlight, and the gale
That freshly stirs that wild and western air;
You may observe a lovely island there,
A greenery spot, enclosed by waters bright,
A spot of beauty, and a spot most rare;
There the fair summer moon sheds softest light,
And summer stars look down from heaven's cerulean height.
Around that isle, a mournful story clings,
That ever wakes a soft and sad regret,
In those who feel the sorrow which it brings,
All swift and fresh upon the memory yet,
Of those who sail beyond it, brightly set,
An emerald within that crystal flood;
Its sad, strange name a feeling doth beget
That wakes a sigh in bosoms meek and good,
And leaves the thoughtful sprite in no ungrateful mood.
Here Blannerhasset[E] dwelt; a blest recluse,
In this green Eden of the leafy West;
And felt sweet Peace her softest balm infuse,
Into his once too world-disturbed breast:
There did he find a deep and quiet rest:
The mockbird sang his vespers, while the star
Shone sweetly o'er the rippling river's crest;
There no rude sound the halcyon calm did mar,
And Grief was absent still, and Hate was banished far.
So Blannerhasset with his partner, dwelt,
In kind connubial tenderness, in this
Most gay and blooming scene; here, here they felt
That feeling which if earth hath aught like bliss,
Is bliss! the tender look! the touch! the kiss!
And, often mid this sylvan scene was heard,
(Where no vile Envy gave its serpent hiss,)
The voice of love, the only, joyous, word
Which blended with the notes of wind, and rill, and bird.
Sweet pair! with all that's best of life, possest,
Wealth, love, refinement, learning, genius, birth;
Bright, blooming offspring, virtuous, good and blest
Charming their hearts, with that young, pangless mirth;
And, when at evening mild, they saunter'd forth,
Beneath the rosy sky, they looked toward heaven,
And wondered why this was so bright an earth,
And why that God whose gifts to man are even,
This wondrous happiness to them alone had given.
Then came a dark-soul'd man, with magic eye,
And glozing tongue, and Blannerhasset's mind,
Became his slave, he could not now deny
His devilish spell, a villian, smooth refin'd,
Whose mighty arts his thoughtless victim bind,
In fearful chains: Burr was this Satan's name,
Who crept into this Eden unconfin'd,
And drove this erring pair of later fame,
Like that of old, to roam and sigh o'er earth the same.
"Come, go with me," said Burr, "and you shall find,
Strange honors, riches, and a deathless name,"
And Blannerhasset thought the villian kind,
Who fed his soul, on novel dreams of fame,
While Burr aspir'd to breathe a sinful flame,
Through Blannerhasset's sweet and guiltless wife,
But she his artful cozening overcame,
And brav'd the demon with victorious strife,
And sacredly maintained the whiteness of her life.
But they were ruin'd, this sequester'd pair,
Who shunn'd the world's alluring charms to crime,
Soon they were driven forth in dark despair,
Like the sad consorts of that earlier time.
A grief fell on that island's blooming prime.
They pass'd away, and never saw again,
Their island home amid that pleasant clime.
Awhile they roamed o'er earth's most desolate plain,
But soon securely slept from life's wild woe and pain.
This is real history of that isle,
That ever draws the weary traveller's eye,
He sees its fairy greenness brightly smile,
Amid that river; as he passeth by,
Perchance his human eye's no longer dry,
While he recalls that mournful history;
And he may ask, with sudden sorrow, why,
The dream of rapture doth so early flee
And souls so meek and good, the prey of fiends should be.
That isle is now as lovely as of yore,
Gay Nature smiles as sweetly, the wild air
Is resonant with music; the green shore
Exhales a constant fragrance, sweet and rare,
But those who made its borders still more fair,
Have slept the sleep of death, long years ago,
Yet is their memory fresh, and ever there
The pilgrim's heart will feel the thought of woe,
His eye will blend a tear with yon fair river's flow.
[Footnote E: Transcriber's note: Spelling is different in the title of
the poem; both have been kept as in the original.]
TO BETTIE.
Give me thy heart, give me thy hand,
Thy love, thy dower, thy goods, thy land;
Give me o'er thee a free command,
Then shall I be a monarch grand.
This brave great world is little worth,
Its largest wealth is but a dearth;
But fond and mutual love can make,
Another richer for its sake.
Give me thy love, thy heart, thy soul,
O'er thee a sovereign control,
Then though huge seas of sorrow roll,
I will defy their wish'd control.
Give me thy destiny, thy all
Which thou dost best and dearest call;
Then let the darts of envy fall,
Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
I will contemn their power; I will
Still strain with joy's ecstatic thrill,
Thee to this bosom, dearest! till
I rest in heaven from earthly ill.
Give me thy heart, thy unstained hand,
And though I scorn it, give thy land,
Then, by a rainbow sweet and bland,
Shall life's cerulean arch be spann'd.
Beneath that arch of beauty, flowers
Brilliant as bloom in heaven's own bowers,
And bathed in joy's ambrosial showers,
Shall strew the earth through charmed hours.
Beneath that bow, rich melodies,
Like odors that in heaven arise,
Sweet as an angel's breathing sighs,
Shall rise and kiss the smiling skies.
Give me thy heart, hand, bosom, all
Which thou dost nearest, dearest call,
Than let the darts of envy fall,
Let ruffian malice ban and brawl.
Till life's long summer shall depart,
The tender thrill of joy shall start,
We'll laugh at Boreas' icy dart,
Beside the fire which warms the heart.
EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.
Sweet bud of life, God knew this earth,
Was not a home for thee;
He took thee, even from thy birth,
To bless Eternity.
THE MILLENNIUM.
The promis'd years, the better times,
By God himself foretold,
Have dawn'd, and banish'd hateful crimes,
The latest age of gold.
Not now a brother fears to tread
The way a brother goes,
Not now the wife's sad heart is fed,
On brutal cuffs and blows.
Not now the human eye is fierce
With cruel thirst of gore;
Not now the angry spear doth pierce
The bosom. Such are o'er.
This scene become a Paradise,
A scene of peace and love,
Wherein each living being tries
To work for God above.
The Bible fills the mighty world,
The end is drawing nigh,
When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd,
The soul shall rise on high.
The promis'd years, the better times,
By God himself foretold,
Have dawned with their triumphal chimes,
On the sweet air unroll'd.
TO A POET'S WIFE.
Thou art indeed a happy one,
And hast a charmed life,
A noble triumph thou hast won,
A bright-eyed Poet's wife.
His fancy plucks all glittering gems
From mountain caves and sea,
To form that best of diadems,
He proudly gives to thee.
That realm that doth thy power obey,
Is richer far than these,
More sweet its nights, more bright its day,
More bland its wandering breeze.
And gentle creatures move and kiss
The sceptre in thy hand,
And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss,
Amid thy fairy land.
The Angels' song comes down at times,
And flows into his song,
Like the triumphal, silver chimes,
That steal the heavens along.
LILLY LANE.
Come to my calling,
Lilly Lane,
Like music falling,
Come again.
The earth is dreary,
Sorrow's reign,
My thoughts are weary,
Come again.
The flowers upspringing,
Bring me pain,
My thoughts are winging
To thee again.
Come to my sorrow,
Come again,
Give night a morrow,
Yet again.
Oh! birds are singing
Many a strain,
The woodlands ringing,
Come again.
Yet I am weeping,
E'er with pain,
Grief's vigil keeping,
Come again.
The dawn gleams brightly
O'er the plain,
The airs come lightly
O'er the main.
They ne'er shall wake thee,
Lilly Lane,
All things forsake thee,
Lilly Lane.
I'll not bereave thee
Lilly Lane!
I'll never leave thee,
Lilly Lane.
On thy grave I'll mutter
"Lilly Lane!"
With a frantic, dove-like flutter,
"Lilly Lane!"
Around thy tomb I'll hover,
Near the main,
Like a bleeding dying plover,
"Lilly Lane!"
A SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.
To-day my gay and happy heart,
Was lost in pleasant dreaming;
And I had won a loving part
In all the by-gone's seeming.
I saw that most renowned maid,
Before her father falling,
Those savage hearts, within the shade
Of antique trees, appalling.
I saw the deep and gushing love,
That fearful moment started,
That murmur'd like a turtle dove,
To cheating hope departed.
I saw the kind and gentle deeds,
That gemm'd her after being
That little camp, from sorest needs,
And frequent slaughter, freeing.
I thought that she was kindly sent,
In gracious God's foreknowing,
To save from fatal detriment,
This infant nation growing.
I saw the savage maiden's form
With Culture's graces, glowing;
In virgin beauty, bright and warm,
Like vernal roses blowing.
I saw her sweetly, deeply smile
On Rolfe beside her sitting,
As o'er the neighboring stream the while
The shades of eve were flitting.
I saw her wed in love beneath
The forest's lofty awning;
While white and dusk maids bring a wreath,
Like night commixt with morning.
I saw the strange and novel fame,
She left to song and story,
Which down the future's track of flame,
Beams forth with deathless glory.
FAREWELL TO ALBEMARLE.
Farewell, ye verdant hills and vales,
Farewell thou rolling river,
Whose waves flow onward to the sea,
Returning, never, never.
From all thy scenes, I might have gone,
I might in joy have parted,
But since my love remaineth here,
I wander broken-hearted.
I go from one with whom to part,
Is grief that can't be spoken,
From whom to rend my faithful heart,
That heart, even now, is broken.
SHE WOULD HAVE IT SO.
I loved her; and beneath the moon,
We met among the flowers of June;
I gave her my all, my love's rich boon,
I loved her, but we parted soon,
She would have it so.
I loved her; through my span of life,
She might have been my cherished wife;
And I had striven, with ceaseless strife,
To make her days with pleasures rife;
She would not have it so.
I loved her; for she bent on me
A smile and look of sorcery;
Until my heart could not be free;
Alas! that such deceit should be;--
But she would have it so.
I loved her; and my heart was broke,
Beneath the heavy, crushing stroke;
As 'neath the lightning dies the oak
When she in scorn and anger spoke;
She would have it so!
TO FANNIE.
Fair maid, in those beloved eyes,
The dream of pensive beauty lies,
The radiance when the day grows less,
The charm of twilight loveliness.
Those eyes are mirror of thy soul;
As in the waves that deeply roll,
The sun and moon and stars are seen,
Reflected with undimmed sheen.
Thus in the depths of those fair eyes,
I see the brightness of the skies,
I would my image there might shine
In orbs so blessed and divine.
ON HEARING THAT MY LOVE WAS ANGRY.
Sweet love! and wast thou angry then,
And did a lovely frown,
O'ershade that brow of whitest pearl,
That cheek of softest down?
Nay, be not so; thou can'st not be,
Less lovely to my sight;
Though darkness shade the cliff and vale,
Yet starry is the night!
TO A POET.
O poet, would'st thou make a name
That ne'er will die,
But be coeval with the lights
In yonder sky?
Strike not a single, trembling chord,
In the heart-lyre;
But wake the full and sweet accord
Of every wire.
Of joy, of grief, of hopeless love
And pining care,
Of terror, pain, and deep remorse,
And wild despair.
Of Hope, of Faith, of Piety:
Each fibre move;
But yet the sweetest note shall be
The note of Love.
Strike! poet! strike each quiv'ring chord,
In that strange lyre,
Then, men thy golden songs will hoard,
Till time expire.
THE CHILD'S PRAYER.
O Lord, I kneel at mother's knee,
And lift my trembling heart to thee.
Send down thy grace, I meekly pray,
To drive my evil thoughts away:
Alas! even now I feel my heart,
From God is learning to depart.
But Thou, even now, canst change my heart,
For very good, O God, thou art;
And thou can'st give me ample grace,
To run aright my earthly race;
Nor wander whither I must die,
Far from the comfort of Thine eye.
Yes Lord! I beg thy Heavenly love,
To fit me for a home above;
That I may sing the anthems sweet
Where pardon'd children all shall meet;
And that on earth my walk may be,
O God, forever nigh to Thee.
CRITICUS.
The Southern Muse--so long with drooping wing,--
The Southern Muse, alas! too sad to sing--
Her fair head drooped and dim her mournful eye,
While pitying breezes sighed in sorrow by,--
At last--at last--a wondrous friend has found,
Whose power shall make her through all time renowned:
Oh! now to her what magic shall belong,
To charm the nations with a peerless song!
Hail Criticus! thou marvel of the age!
Oh! thou wilt fire her with a noble rage!
Oh! thou her song wilt kindly patronize,
And make her honored in the nation's eyes.
Oh! glorious vision which transports my soul,
While thoughts of triumph through my bosom roll;
The Goddess comes, she brightly smiles once more,
Nor sadly sighs, as long she sighed of yore;
Her breath the fragrance of the Southern grove,
Her voice the voice of victory and of love;--
Approaching proudly now, with sweetest strain,
Greets Criticus, her godsire--but in vain.
How modest! Criticus! thou wilt not wear
A single honor--nobler is thy care--
Thou wilt not, merely, reign the Muse's sire;
But thou wilt sometimes woo her willing lyre!
Earth! hear that song! The strains that softly sweep
From mermaid's shell, across the moonlit deep--
The tones of visions which have only dwelt
In that deep bosom which has wildly felt--
Those notes like far off music from the plain,
Where grief nor hate can e'er be known again--
That haunt the spirit 'midst this lower sphere,
And wake the dreamer's ever faithful tear--
How die away in saddest silence all
Those strains, O Criticus! when thou dost--"squall!"
Sagacious Criticus! no witling's wit,
Compares with thine, or durst compare with it.
How could Parnassus rise in days of yore,
Ere thou had'st taught the clumsy rocks to soar?
How could the muses in their ambient bower,
In loftiest lays, anticipate thy power!
How could the sparkling Helicon flow free,
How durst it ripple, and not wait for thee?
No business had the Stagyrite to name
The rules of verse; old Homer was to blame,
For laying out too soon the Iliad's plan;
Homer was nothing but a "blind, old man!"
Light, light that Ajax prayed for, now has come,
And poetasters hence may read their doom!
O Grant us, sweetly, Grant, thy gentle roar,
And pigs shall squeal, and asses bray no more![F]
Great Criticus! illustrious lord of song!
To thee a double wreath shall e'er belong:
The Critics' cypress and the Poet's bay
Shall twine in love to deck thy brow for aye;
For far o'er Dunciad's heroes shall thou reign,
And ne'er shalt lose that honored seat again.
And still, while future ages roll along,
Our Southern minstrels to thy court shall throng;
There lowly fall, and humbly beg thee grant
The sweet reward of their melodious chant;
A verdant laurel for each beaming brow,
To bloom through ages, as it bloometh now--
Or, if thou frown, receive thy chastening rod,
Thou, Bard's Mæcenas, and thou Poet's god!
[Footnote F: 16 lines above were written by Prof. E. Longley.]
TO MARY.
Now lovely Vesper shows her lamp,
In yonder slowly darkening sky;
It is the hour, when musing here,
I heave for thee the bursting sigh.
Thus, Mary, as yon mournful pall
Of darkness falls on all things round,
Ah! tell me shall the gloom of fate,
My cheerless pathway thus surround?
But, as yon lamp--the lamp of love!
With brilliant smile, relieves the gloom,
Say, shall thy heavenly smile relieve
The darkness of my mortal doom?
Alas! I do not know thy thoughts,
If thou wilt slay, or sweetly save;
Yet I shall love thee fondly still,
Until I rest within the grave.
SONG OF THE CONVERTED HEATHEN.
The sky to me did never speak,
The sea rolled ever dumb,--
Of him beneath whose wondrous power,
Their mystic forms had come.
The sacred light was curtained back
From my exploring eye,
And I seemed left to grope in night,
And there at last to die.
When lo! upon a day there came
A Man, with placid brow,
Who rent the curtain--and the light
Is gushing on me now.
The sky doth speak to me of God,
The deep and rolling sea
Is ever grandly singing, Lord,
To my bowed soul, of Thee.
Oh! I can see around them now
A radiant light doth shine,
A light that mocks the pencil's pride,
A light that is divine.
SIN OF THE CHORAL SINGER.
Hark! the organ's solemn peal
Ascends the lofty fane,
To win the soul's repeal,
From everlasting pain:
To waft the voice of praise
To Him who reigns above,
Which blends with burning lays
Of Seraph's holy love.
Hark! the deep-toned, solemn peal!
Again it strikes the air!
My trembling accents steal
To join the anthem there.
I strive to lift my mind
To God's most holy throne;
And, with my thought refined,
To think on Heaven alone.
But earth-born love intrudes
And brings me back to earth;
To dreamy solitudes
My spirit wanders forth:
To walk with one, a youth,
With bright and sunny hair,
Whose words are only truth,
Whose love is heavenly fair.
God! forgive my grievous sin!
God! forgive my erring love!
Write not my sentence in
Thine awful scroll above!
God! forgive thy creature's love,
Who only loves too well!
Let not that virtue prove
My doleful doom to hell.
But make my passion less--
Its burning purify;
And make it meet to bless
My spirit in the sky.
A PORTRAIT.
In those mild eyes, there is a light
Which dwells not with the evil; and
A calm repose upon thy features, which
Says thou art innocent. Around thee gleaming
There is a robe of more than loveliness,
Of form, and face, and hair: it is the charm
Of most majestic Goodness; which exalts
An earth-born frame into an angel's stature.
Oh! if this world had many like thyself,
It were a heaven for blessed ones to dwell in.
HALLOWED GROUND.
What bids the soul of man to gaze,
Upon a spot of earth,
As a sun of focal rays?
The spell of human worth!
The spot where human virtue stood,
And struck for holy truth,
Still stirs the world's ecstatic blood,
A thing of mighty youth!
When can the name of Marathon,
Fall powerless, on the soul;
Whilst thoughts of right, or injury, done,
Along its fibres, roll?
Can Waterloo grow trite by time,
Or Yorktown fail to fire,
Man's breast, with hatred most sublime,
To wrong, till time expire?
What hallows thus the hills of Greece,
And flings that light o'er Rome,
Which when her very fragments cease,
Still crowns her history's dome?
'Tis truth's great warfare bravely fought,
That hallows in the core,
A mount--a plain--a barren spot--
With fame which dies no more.
And when can earth forget to glow,
Beside each glorious shrine?
Not till yon stars shall dart below,
And sun shall cease to shine.
TO SPRING.
Hail, beauteous maiden, gentle spring!
I see thee slowly move,
On lowering wings, on yon green hill
From yon blue fields above.
Hail, beauteous Spring! my bosom swells
With joy to feel thee near,
Thy joyful advent now dispels
The winter, dark and drear.
Hail, beauteous Spring, the meads are green,
The lordly elms rejoice;
Yon river flashes in the light,
The springs send up a voice.
The blue-bird sings thy welcome sweet
From yonder blooming tree,
The redbreast pours his simple note,
A tribute glad, to thee.
The cuckoo comes to join thy train,
With his melodious lay,
Until his song, a rapture! runs
O'er all thy pleasant way.
Hail, heavenly Spring! a thousand throats,
Re-echo with thy praise;
Thou bring'st the time of flowers and light
Of bright and cloudless days.
Hail, beauteous earth! thou art the type
Returning with each year,
To tell us of another land
Whose sky is always clear.
All hail, bright spring, celestial maid!
Who fill'st my singing heart;
But never tongue or lyre shall speak
The Transport which thou art!
ON HEARING THAT MY LOVE WAS PROUD.
And art thou proud, my darling love?
Thus should it ever be;
For beauty hath, the clearest right,
Of sovereign majesty.
Oh! art thou proud, my darling love!
Then not to do thee wrong,
Thou e'er shalt reign the sole, bright queen,
Within my heart and song.
TO LIZZIE.
Oh, Lizzie, when I read your card,
Which you had printed in the paper,
Wherein you said your case was hard,
My fancy cut a glorious caper.
I said, that is a prudent fair
Who has the true idea of living,
And would not on the "desert air,"
Her fragrance still be giving.
So I at once resolved to try
So conquer all my vacillation,
And fix my wand'ring heart and eye
On only you, in all creation.
I know that I had often sigh'd
To other ladies quite as pretty,
But then it could not be denied,
To let you pass, would be a pity.
With real pain and much ado,
I cut the other chords that bound me,
And said the ties proposed by you,
Should now be tightly drawn around me.
Farewell, I said, to blooming Nell,
Who is too long my passion trying,
For here is one, whose stanzas tell,
Like me, for marriage she is dying.
I am a student small and neat,
Not twenty-five, and somewhat dashing,
With active limbs and beard complete,
And wear a vest that's slightly flashing.
My brow is broad, my eye is black,
And quickly changes with my feeling,
And to your own, it flashes back,
The thought their glance was just revealing.
Some gentle blood runs through my veins,
And I suppose you truly know it,
And then, to crown my boastful strains,
The world has sworn I am a poet.
I'd like to wed and with you dwell,
Within some happy rural valley,
Where zephyrs round the lily's bell,
In summer sigh, and faint, and dally.
Now Lizzie! I have written back,
In answer to your publication;
So let us promptly tread the track,
Before the first of next vacation.
I'll get the license; get your dress,
And flowers to make a bride's adorning;
Then let us to the chapel press,
With bridal friends, at early morning.
We shall be happy. So will, too,
Both clerk, and priest, and mantua-maker;
My tailor--ah! a fellow true,
Will say "I'm proud to see you take her."
And then must come the honey moon,
Ah me! that sets me deeply sighing,
You leaning on my heart, whose tune,
To yours is still in love replying.
MONTICELLO.
'Tis true that when the god-like die,
Their glorious monument
Are earth's great mountains and the sky,
Their names with all things blent--
But, then, some storied heap should show
The grave of worth entombed below.
'Tis true, the pilgrim wandering slow,
O'er sad Achaia's plain,
Will feel his bosom warmly glow,
And memory fire his brain--
Achilles' strength--and Homer's song
Across his breast will roll along.
But, had the Grecian chisel wrought,
No pile above their graves,
Say, could ye point out, save in thought,
Their own, from tombs of slaves?
A crumbling column, only shows
Where Greece's mighty dead repose.
But tombs of men, more wise, more free,
Amid a brighter day,
Are like the mounds ye scarcely see,
And note not by the way.
No Mausoleums climb the skies,
To tell where greater Glory lies.
YOU TOLD ME THAT YOU LOVED ME.
When summer's rosy twilight fell,
Upon yon river's gentle swell,
Leading the spirit by its song,
As through the land it sweeps along;
We watched the stars, those worlds of love,
That swim yon azure seas above--
We heard each other's heart-pulse beat,
In unison divinely sweet.
Your virgin hand was laid in mine,
I gazed into your spirit's shrine:
We lost the sense of stars and earth,
And of the dancing waters' mirth:
We only saw each other then;
We look'd as if no more again,
And our tumultuous hearts should die,
In that wild dream of ecstasy.
I clasped you to my bosom there,
I played with your dishevell'd hair;
And then the thoughts which long had slept
Within us, waken'd; and we wept.
We wept to think of what had past--
The doubt--the trial--joy at last--
We wept to think of mournful fears--
We wept to hail the future years.
I ceased to shed such happy tears,
I whisper'd comfort in your ears,
I press'd you closer to my heart,
Till mine no more could throb apart.
But then we smiled, we laughed to feel
The heaven which deep love can reveal;
We laughed that Love had ever bound,
His golden bands our souls around!
Do you not know the boundless bliss
Which follows true love's lightning kiss;
For, in that hour with heaven above,
Your cheeks, your mouth received my love.
And when that deep, blest trance was o'er,
And we could clasp and kiss no more;
Love's dear confessions had been made,
And we no more could be afraid;
When Angels' pens had writ the vow
Which nothing can dissever now;
Our hearts return'd to Nature's face,
To planets, and the waters' race.
All, all was calm; all, all was bright;
The moon was climbing to yon height,
Of Heaven's blue cone, rough round with stars,
With Venus--but no angry Mars.
THE SONG OF THE SLAIN AT THE BATTLE OF TICONDEROGA.
Farewell to the land which we sought o'er the wave;
We made it our home; it will now be our grave:
Farewell, ye proud mountains, and valleys uneven,
And thou, bright shining Glory, now setting in heaven.
Farewell to our hearthstones, our cherished ones there,
Our wives and our children, now reft of our care:
Farewell, everloved of our souls--nevermore,
Shall we look on your faces--our lifetime is o'er.
We march to the field--'twill be red with our blood,
Which shall make of its soil there a horrible mud;
Where our bones by wild beasts on the desolate plain,
Shall be torn, and be whiten'd by tempest and rain.
We march to the field--and our comrades in war,
Shall shout to the heavens their triumph afar--
And Victory shall perch on our banners on high
And Tyrants fore'er from our country shall fly;
Yet never shall we view that glorious sight--
We sink, with yon sun, in the deathgloom of night;
Farewell to our homes and our country for aye,
We go to our graves, with the setting of day.
Farewell, yes, farewell, Earth, Heavens and all
Which here in the last hour of life we recall:
Farewell! we are doomed to the night of the grave,--
But our mem'ry shall live with the names of the brave.
TO MY COPY OF SHAKSPEARE WHICH HAD BEEN LOST.
Hast thou come back, my Shakspeare! bard,
Who didst dethrone and drive away those others,
From cold Parnassus, fate that seem'd too hard,
To be inflicted on thy gentle brothers.
Thou didst spare one, left him enthroned fast,
The blind old man of Scio, hoary Homer,
So that of all the harpers first and last,
To call him king, is not a base misnomer.
There on those far and ever whiten'd rocks,
You two sit monarchs of a rich dominion;
But I forgot dark Milton's sacred locks,
Serenely resting from his seraph pinion!
Hast thou come back, great bard, to charm and bless
My heart with many a grand, illusive vision,
And show those gorgeous fields of happiness,
With vistas and with rivers all Elysian?
Stay now with me; no more through all the years,
Wilt thou and I, O glorious friend! be parted;
Or, if e'er so, my overflowing tears,
Will prove that I am grieved, or broken-hearted.
Yes stay, and I shall haste to thy converse,
With full delight, at rosiate morn, calm even,
And I shall dream of rich and golden verse
From angel lyres within the bowers of Heaven.
I LOVE THEE.
I love thee--oh! I love thee,
With fervor, deep and wild,
Thy beauty's charm most strangely,
My spirit hath beguiled.
I love thee--oh! I love thee,
The Spring's first, freshest flower,
Comes not across my spirit,
With such a holy power.
I love thee--oh! I love thee,
The fibres of my heart
Are closely twined about thee,
As if by magic art.
I see thee--oh! I see thee,
In the sunbeam, in the bud,
In all that's fair in nature,
In all that's bright and good.
I hear thee--oh! I hear thee,
In the melting music-words,
That swell, at joyous morning,
From the woodland choir of birds.
I crave thee--oh! I crave thee,
Thou angel sent from God!
To beautify the pathway,
Which must by me be trod.
I love thee--oh! I love thee!
And, dearest, I implore,
That bliss may still await thee,
On Heaven's far brighter shore.
ON ----.
A brainless beauty, a would-be coquette,
A brow of marble, but a heart of jet;
An eye that shows no vestige of the deep
And stained thoughts that in her bosom sleep:
By day a vestal, but by night a bawd;
Her ways a riddle, her whole life a fraud;
At church an angel, but at home a shrew,
Cheating her mother, to her sire untrue;
Vain without talent, without merit proud;
By all who see her, still a fool allow'd;
Without all love, with but the show of truth,
She stares and simpers at the scornful youth;
Or ambling loosely on the village street,
While strangers sneer upon the fool they meet:
She lives and moves the true epitome
And climax of all d----mn'd Hypocrisy.
Here I enshrine her, where all time shall see
Her name preserv'd in deathless infamy.
SERENADE.
Far o'er the landscape green,
The moonlight like a lake,
Lies; 'tis a lovely scene,
To bid my lady wake;
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
The night is rich with smells,
Like thoughts from heart of love,
Wafted from flower bells,
On unseen wings above;
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
The Nightingale, a wo!
Within the grove complains!--
The stars are coming low
To hear her killing strains!
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
O see! my lady, far
Beyond yon western steeps,
The moon, with one white star,
In paly parting, weeps:
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
Before the envious day,
Shall gaze upon thy charms;
Come, lady, come away,
And rest lock'd in these arms!
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
Oh lady, see! the moon
Her silver chariot stops,
(A list'ning to my tune,)
On yonder green oak-tops!
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake!
My song can make her pause,
But wake and doff that frown,
Nor man's, nor God's great laws,
Forbid thee to look down:
My lady, lady, wake,
Wake, oh! wake.
THE OLD MILL WHEEL.
The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns
Throughout the livelong day,
And flings the current of the stream,
Abroad in glist'ning spray:
That old, black wheel has turn'd for years,
Beside the mossy mill,
That stands, like some old, sacred thing,
Beneath the clay-red hill.
The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns
Like time's unresting one,
Which day and night, and night and day,
Hath never ceased to run:
The old mill-wheel, an emblem true,
Of Time that ne'er stands still,
I love to see it turning so,
Beside the mossy mill.
The old mill-wheel, it turns, it turns,
As in my childhood's hour;--
As when I bathed beneath its rim,
In its refreshing shower:
But they who were my comrades then,
Are sleeping on the hill,
And now, to them, forever now,
The old Mill-wheel stands still.
SERENADE.
How sombre is the gloom!
I see no beam of star,
Gleam o'er the garden's bloom,
Or silent wood afar;
So dark the thoughts which shroud
His soul who sings to thee;
Oh lady, cold and proud;
Who scorn'st to think on me;
Lady, lady, wake!
List oh! list.
The firefly lights the night,
A moment and then dies;
The lilacs pine for light,
With sweet and odorous sighs:
So Hope's deceitful beam,
Illumines my despair,
While I still sigh and dream,
With many a sobbing prayer,
Lady, lady, list!
List and smile!
Lo! now the clouds break off,
And heaven once more is free;
The mounts their garments doff,
The mists rise from the sea;
From yonder casement high
She looks, she looks, oh see!
She bends on me her eye
Of heavenly brilliancy:
Lady, lady, dear;
Lady dear!
VIRGINIA HOME OF HONOR.
Oh, home of honor, native land,
When roaming o'er the sea,
The eye still turns, the heart still yearns,
O dearest home, for thee.
When ranged around the social board,
We bid our sorrows flee,
We own a pride that we are sons,
O dearest home, of thee.
If earth retains one single draught
Of pure and tranquil joy,
Within whose sweet and sparkling wave,
Is mixt no sad alloy;
'Tis here we taste it while we sit,
Beneath our natal tree,
'Tis here it glads our heart of hearts,
O dearest home, with thee.
When we are cast on foreign shores,
Beyond the dark-blue sea,
Sad memory oft returns to weep,
O dearest home, with thee,
And when the knell of death shall come,
And set our spirits free,
Our hearts shall find their sweetest rest,
O dearest home, with thee.
HYMN TO THE FATHER.
Heavenly father, God of mercy,
Look upon a sinful soul;
For, the waves of sad contrition,
Now above me darkly roll.
Ah! my crimes are dark and grievous,
The huge burthen hard to bear;
All the day and night I'm sighing
Whelm'd in grief and dark despair.
Ah! how deeply I have fallen
From my high and happy state,
Where, enrob'd in thy dear image,
Once, in tranquil peace, I sate.
Black with sores, a loathsome leper,
Lo! I wait before Thy throne;
Cans't thou, Maker, wilt thou heal me,
Make me whole and all thine own?
Oh! Thy grace is freely gushing,
Boundless is Thy wondrous Love;
And for all Thy erring children,
Lord, Thy tender bowels move.
Hail! Supreme, Exhaustless Mercy,
Christ hath freed my soul from sin;
And a holy calm comes o'er me,
And a heavenly peace within.
O BIRDIE! SPEAK TO ME.
O Birdie! speak to me,
Speak from thy silent grave;
It doth not roll o'er thee,
Death's dark and Stygian wave!
Sweet! speak, I'm sick, to hear
The heaven of thy voice,
Which wont, while life was dear,
To thrill me and rejoice.
Speak, Birdie! speak to me!
Speak from the flowers which bloom,
Beneath the cedar tree
That hides thy dearest tomb!
Speak, angel! speak to me;
I know thou art not dead,
That the dear soul in thee
But, bird-like, upward sped!
Yes! Birdie! speak to me,
Maid most bright, most dear;
Ask, if I'm true to thee,
Ask if my grief's sincere?
Ask if the warm tears roll
From my devoted heart?
O Birdie! then my soul
In peace shall hence depart.
TO ONE.
I love thee, and my trembling lyre
Will learn no other strain;
I marvel if thy gentle heart
Will ever cease disdain;
I marvel if our future lives,
Will mingle into one,
And glitter like a happy stream,
In an unclouded sun.
I see that mid a wooing throng,
Thou art a central star,
And vying youths, with noble pride,
Have brought their gifts from far:
I only think the smiles thou giv'st,
So freely unto them,
If given to me, would bless me more,
Than thrones or diadem.
I love thee, and this throbbing heart,
From thrall no longer free,
Must heave in joy, or ache with wo,
Till Death's dark hour, for thee.
I feel that I must know thy love,
Or all of life will be
One long, deep wail, one throb of pain,
One speechless agony.
THE WANDERER.
With none to share my ship with me,
A wand'rer o'er life's stormy sea,
One brilliant star, like lamp of love,
Smiles calmly from its throne above.
Oh! brightly o'er the surging wave,
That lustre shines to bless and save;
And on through billows thund'ring roll,
Conducts me to my heavenly goal.
That star by gracious Love was placed,
To look, in beauty uneffaced,
Over the wildest wrath of storms,
And scatter round its glittering charms:
It is Religion, and its ray
Is fed by angel hands alway:
It beams with beauty so divine,
The wand'rer smiles to see it shine.
Hail, one bright star on all life's main;
Though surf roll high, and cordage strain;
And cowards, ship! may quake for thee;
Thou walk'st victorious o'er the sea.
Oh! proudly, as an ocean-queen,
Thy frame, majestic still is seen--
Until thou rest in heaven at last,
Thy sailing done, thy anchor cast.
TO BETTIE.
Why, beauteous Bettie, longer shed
Pearly showers of causeless grief,
Why bend down that lovely head,
Like the autumn's rain-wash'd leaf?
Though in weeping, sad distress,
Thy dear charms have lovelier grown,
As drench'd Nature o'er her dress,
Wears the rainbow's splendid zone.
Yet why shed those beaded pearls
From those eyes of softest blue,
And why loose those auburn curls
O'er that sweet neck's damask hue?
Every liquid, falling gem,
Flashing like the diamond's ray,
In an eastern diadem,
Let me kiss them all away.
Then, from out this stormy gloom,
Thy dear smile shall brightly steal;
O'er my heart's enliven'd bloom,
O'er the joy thy thoughts reveal.
Why, beauteous Bettie! longer shed,
Showers of pearls so bright to see?
Bid dark doubt be quickly sped,
I am faithful still to thee.
BABY SONG.
Rock'd on Mamma's heaving breast,
Heaving like the pearly deep,
Hugg'd to that sweet, honey rest,
Sleep, little baby, sleep,
Baby sleep.
White like the new moon's falling beams,
O'er the wooded, westward steeps,
Falls the white throng of her dreams,
While my baby sleeps,
Oh, she sleeps.
Closed her soft and sparkling eyes,
Oped her mouth like a tulip's cup,
In a starry trance she lies,
Like a bud at night shut up;
Baby sleeps.
Around her scarcely parted lips,
Now a smile--a laughter!--creeps,
Losing all their sad eclipse--
Angels near! while baby sleeps
Deeply sleeps.
Rock'd upon dear Mamma's breast,
Heaving like the wild sea deeps,
Joy hath brought Mamma sweet rest,
While our baby sleeps,
Softly sleeps.
MY OLD VIRGINIA HOME.
Around my old Virginia home,
My heart forever clings;
Whene'er I hear its name pronounced,
I think a thousand things.
I think how once a little band,
Came to these forest lands;
And struggling long, built this fair home,
And left it to our hands.
I think how our forefathers fought,
To keep it free from chains,
How they rejoic'd at vict'ry won,
With loud, triumphal strains.
My cherish'd old Virginia home,
Tears, tears come to my eyes,
When thinking on thee, loveliest land,
Beneath the boundless skies!
TAKE THOSE PLEDGES BACK.
Take back those pledges, dearest maid,
Which once I warmly gave,
For then I dreamed I would be free,
And nevermore thy slave.
Yes! take them back once more, for love
Hath made me only thine;
And I should give these gems away,
Whose heart's no longer mine.
'Tis said the heart can often love,
But that can never be;
Though I have bow'd at other shrines,
I never loved but thee.
I feel that thou art dearer far
Than aught this world can give,
And come what may, come grief or joy,
For only thee I live.
Yes! take those pledges back, dear maid,
And let them fondly speak,
The deathless flame that will not fail,
In spring, or winter bleak:
For they have told an honest tale,
That I shall change no more,
Till I shall clasp thy form again
On Heaven's eternal shore.
SONG.--UNDYING AFFECTION.
I loved thee in my happy youth,
When I was free from guile,
And I have kept that early truth,
And wear as fond a smile:
I've look'd to thee, through every storm
That lower'd upon my way,
Thou say'st my fair and fairy form
Hath made thy rainbow's ray.
I loved thee in that early time,
Life's best and brightest years;
I gave thee in thy manhood's prime,
My changing smiles and tears:
And now when evening shades come o'er
The length'ning path of life,
And we must think of love no more,
I am thy faithful wife.
FREEDOM'S HOME.
O freedom's home! thy banner streams,
A meteor on the gale;
And I behold the haughty flags
Of Europe fade and pale.
And, crowding on the surging sea,
They cleave the billows bright;
They come to rest beneath its folds,
Attracted by its light.
O freedom's home! forevermore
We'll join our hearts and hands,
To make thee bright with peaceful wealth,
The gem of richest strands:
But, if a tyrant e'er should threat,
This Eden of the free,
Dear home of freedom, we will bleed,
And yield our life for thee.
NATIVE MOUNTAINS.
Native Mountains! on your summits,
Stream the gleaming floods of day,
While a thousand silver cascades,
Leap within the early ray;
There amid your flowery valleys,
Stands the cot of her I love;
Clamb'ring o'er your rocky summits,
I behold it from above.
Native Mountains! how my bosom
Swells with happiness and pride,
When I gaze upon ye soaring
O'er your vales so green and wide.
All my wishes, all my pleasures,
Still are closely, sweetly bound,
To ye, lofty native Mountains,
With your valleys blooming round.
THE TRAIN IS COMING.
The train is coming, coming,
It whistles, don't you hear?
I saw the smoking engine,
And soon they will be here.
The train is coming, coming,
It is already here,
I think that handsome Willie,
I'm sure, he'll soon appear.
I've waited long to see him,
And thought the train was slow;
But now I see it stopping,
And Willie's come, I know.
I got, on Sunday morning,
The sweetest billet-doux,
It had a white envelope,
And his initials, too.
I read it, then I started,
To hear the sermon through,
But I could not hear the sermon,
For all that I could do.
For it said that he was coming,
Without mistake to-day,
That he was growing weary
Of things and folks away.
But list! the bell is ringing,
And here is Willie's card;
I'll meet him in the parlor,
For I am quite prepar'd,
To answer any questions
That Willie now may ask,
And then to serve and love him,
Will be my daily task.
LINES.
Far hath lovely Fanny flown,
O'er the mountains, o'er the sea;
All our peace with her hath gone,
We are wed to misery.
As the rainbow fades away,
As the short-lived spring departs,
Shone she brightly o'er our way,
Fled from our repining hearts.
Yet the rainbow will return,
And the Spring will come once more;
But the fair whose flight we mourn,
Walks on Death's Elysian shore.
LOVE SONG.
My heart is newly gushing,
With love for thee, with love for thee,
With thoughts as wild and wasteful,
As yonder sea, as yonder sea.
Oh yes! my soul is wretched
With longing pain, with longing pain,
It gives a ceaseless moaning,
Like yonder main, like yonder main.
Thy strange and matchless beauty,
Is like the sea, is like the sea;
Thy face in love or anger,
Is sweet to me, is sweet to me.
Thy maiden soul is precious
As yonder deep, as yonder deep,
Within its glassy clearness,
Bright jewels sleep, bright jewels sleep.
Thy sinless mind resembles
Yon deep, blue sea, yon deep, blue sea;
The glorious things of heaven
Are seen in thee, are seen in thee.
Oh main! as some poor sailor
Is lost in thee, is lost in thee,
My soul is lost in sighing,
No hope for me, no hope for me.
PARTING SONG.
We meet with smiles, we part in tears;
This is our earthly lot,
We cannot find a place on earth,
Where friends have parted not.
And oh! it is the saddest thought,
That we no more may meet,
That we may see their face no more,
Whose friendship was so sweet.
We meet with smiles, we part in tears,
But Mem'ry long will bring,
Their image in our waking thoughts,
A blest and sacred thing:
And we shall pause amid the crowds,
Where we are strangers now;
And deeply think of what has been,
Till grief will shade our brow.
Till grief will shade our aching brow,
And tears will freely flow,
Till we shall weep, as we have wept,
O'er friends now sleeping low;
For, who may tell, if e'er again,
Those friends shall meet our gaze;
Who've wander'd forth from all our love,
Where Death's dark angel strays?
THE SONG OF MAY.
To mountains hoar and russet plain,
A joyous sprite, I come again;
With many a sweet and joyous strain,
And break grim winter's icy chain.
From yon blue chambers far above,
On brilliant wings, I lightly move;
I come, and lead the cooing dove,
And all the choir that fill the grove.
To leafy wild, and city's hum,
The queen of joy, I come, I come;
The little rills no more are dumb;
But hail me, as I come, I come.
With breath that glads both land and main,
I come again, I come again!
On hillside, bank, and level plain,
The flowers appear, in beauteous train.
To blooming land and azure main,
Each year I duly come again;
A stranger from yon heavenly plain
Of light and bliss; as poets feign.
TO MY LYRE.
O harp, with whom my childhood played,
Within that verdant dell,
O'erbower'd by boughs of grateful shade,
I go--Farewell! farewell!
If I have durst to raise thy tone
To sing a theme too high,
Thou, thou must bear the sin alone,
O harp, not I, not I.
For, thou had'st witch'd me with a love
Where reason had no part;
I felt that thou would'st e'en approve,
And fondly heard my heart.
The song hath ended. Silence falls
Round the enchanted dell;
Awhile I heed no more thy calls,
Sweet harp! farewell! farewell!
YOU ASK WHY I AM LONELY NOW.
You ask why I am lonely now,
In all this brilliant scene,
And why I look on beauty's charms,
With cold, unalter'd mien.
You say that, many a loving heart,
Would joy to be my own,
That none of all the human race,
Should ever live alone.
I'll tell you why I'm lonely now,
If grief will let me speak,
And why I glance on woman's charms
With cold, unalter'd cheek.
'Twas in my boyhood's happy days,
I loved a blue-eyed maid;
The light of heaven o'er that young cheek,
In changeful feeling stray'd!
I loved her with a love as true,
As ever dwelt on earth;
Oh sure my worship was too deep,
Even at that shrine of worth.
She loved me not, that knowledge fell,
Upon me like a blight;
Ah me! I am too fondly weak?
Is this a teardrop bright?
You asked why I am lonely now,
And I the tale have told:
And I shall yet be lonely, till
The grave my heart shall hold.
OLD HOMESTEAD.
Old homestead! old homestead! what feelings arise!
As now the old homestead greets kindly our eyes;
Old homestead, where oft we were merry or sad;
Each day as it fled, still some witchery had.
The homestead! how dear is its old, friendly look,
Its dun rolling hills, and its slow running brook;
Its time-worn, old gables, and cornice so plain,
Its roof that grew mossy from shadow and rain.
Old homestead! some dwelt with us, loved with us here;
Some smiled at our smile, and they wept at our tear:
Of those some have gone to a far distant land;
And some--where yon cedars like pale mourners stand.
Oh! memories most thrilling, most holy, most dear,
Still cluster around thee, old homestead, fore'er;
Thou hast a deep magic that never can die,
'Till 'neath the green valley, we endlessly lie.
LOVE SONG.
I love thee, oh! I love thee,
As the sweet bee loves the flower,
As the swallow loves the summer,
As the humming bird the bower;
As the petrel loves the ocean,
As the nightingale the night;
I love, I love thee, dearest!
Thou being good and bright.
I love thee, oh! I love thee,
There's nothing on this earth,
Can feel a deeper fondness,
A flame of purer worth;
The eagle loves its offspring,
Most faithful is the dove;
But thou! thy smallest ringlet,
Has more from me than love.
SUSIE.
A gentle maid, a dove-like soul,
An eye that knows no ill;
I met her from her rural walk,
Upon yon grassy hill.
Her apron filled with early flowers,
And some were lightly bound
Into a wreath that sweetly lay
Her snowy temples round.
And as I met her on that hill,
At twilight's magic hour,
My spirit felt her loveliness
And own'd her magic power.
And since our meeting on that hill,
I still have fondly thought,
Of what a store of pleasant dreams,
That eve to me hath brought.
LINES ON PARTING WITH ----.
Since Fate's tyrannical decree,
Sweet friend, dissevers you and me,
Now memory shall vanquish fate,
And yield the bliss we knew so late.
Yes, she a mournful devotee,
From scenes of busy strife shall flee;
To kneel beneath that cherish'd shrine,
Whose every offering is thine.
Oh! sometimes in the lonely hour,
My heart shall own a deeper power,
And tears shall tell, upon my cheek,
The grief that words could never speak.
BLUE-EYED ELLA.
Oh blue-eyed Ella's face is fair,
And beautiful her braided hair,
As fair the feelings that do speak
Upon her pure and placid cheek.
Oh! blue-eyed Ella's heart is kind
With warm desires by Heav'n refin'd;
Amid this world of crime and ill,
She walks serene and sinless still.
Oh! blue-eyed Ella! keep for me,
A thought from scorn and coldness free;
I fain would ask, I fain would find
A memory in so blest a mind.
ACROSTIC.
Far hath beauteous Fanny flown,
And sad Nature's drooping eye,
Now declares her pleasure gone,
Newly weeping from the sky.
Yet, when she shall seek again,
Mildest maid! these haunts she loved,
In that hour, will Nature's pain,
(Caus'd by her) be all remov'd.
Here sad Nature shall regain
Increase of the joy she proved,
Ere you fled the flowery plain.
TO THE MUSE. L'ENVOI.
Dear maid, with whom I, happy, wander'd back,
To roam o'er that now sacred, hallow'd ground,
Where Smith who trod old ocean's stormy track,
The noble state of chivalry did found.
Delightful hours thou mad'st them all, when I
Went musing there with thee, my spirit guide,
I saw the chieftain with his eagle eye,
And all his val'rous comrades, by his side.
I saw the doubtful scene; the hard assay,
The daring crown'd with victory at last;
I saw the ancient forest fall away,
I saw the little empire spreading fast.
And, on through other realms in charmed life,
I follow'd, by thy silver accents led,
So sweet, the summer air with bliss seem'd rife,
And harping angels hover'd o'er my head.
But yet--farewell! with sadden'd, sinking heart,
I turn from all the joys I late have known,
Where from the rushing crowd I oft shall start,
To find myself dejected and alone.
Yet, sometimes thou return, and with those eyes
Bright as an angel's, look on me again,
So I shall feel the wonted raptures rise,
And I shall lose the deaden'd sense of pain!
J.W. RANDOLPH,
121 MAIN STREET, RICHMOND, VA.
In addition to the largest and best assortment of LAW, MEDICAL,
THEOLOGICAL, CLASSICAL, SCHOOL and MISCELLANEOUS BOOKS, in
Virginia, offers for sale the following works on Masonry:
ALLYN'S RITUAL OF FREEMASONRY, with 30 plates; to which is added a key
to the Phi Beta Kappa, the Orange and Odd Fellows Societies, with notes
and remarks; by A. Allyn. 12mo. muslin, $5 00
THE MYSTIC CIRCLE, AND AMERICAN HAND-BOOK OF MASONRY, with plates; by
G.H. Gray, sen., of Mississippi. 12mo. sheep, $1 50
THE FREEMASON'S MANUAL, a companion for the initiated through all the
Degrees of Freemasonry, 100 plates; by Rev. K.J. Stewart, K.T. 12mo.
muslin, $1 00
THE VIRGINIA TEXT-BOOK OF ROYAL ARCH MASONRY, with plates; by J. Dove,
M.D. Grand Secretary of the Grand Royal Arch Chapter of Virginia. 12mo.
muslin, $1 25
THE FREEMASON'S LIBRARY, AND GENERAL AHIMAN REZON, with plates; by S.
Cole, P.M. of Concordia and Cassia Lodges, &c. 8vo. half sheep, $1 50
THE TRUE MASONIC CHART, OR HIEROGLYPHIC MONITOR; by R.W. Jeremy L.
Cross, G.L.; to which are added Illustrations, Charges, Songs, &c. and a
History of Freemasonry. 12mo. muslin, $1 25
THE CRAFTSMAN AND FREEMASON'S GUIDE, compiled and arranged from Webb,
&c., by C. Moore, Editor of the Masonic Review, Cincinnati, with plates.
18mo. sp. $1 00
A LEXICON OF FREEMASONRY; by A.G. Mackey, M.D., Author of the Mystic
Tie. 12mo. muslin, $2 00 THE FREEMASONS' MONITOR, with additions,
notes, plates, &c.; by T.A. Davis. 12mo. muslin, $1 50
THE HISTORICAL LAND-MARKS and other Evidences of Freemasonry, explained;
by Rev. G. Oliver, D.D., plates. 2 vols. 8vo.
THE MASONIC TEXT-BOOK, containing a History of Masonry, Laws, &c., of
the Grand Lodge of Virginia, and other valuable Masonic information;
edited by J. Dove, M.D., plates. 12mo. muslin, $1 25
THE KNIGHT TEMPLARS' MANUAL, with plates; by Jeremy L. Cross. 12mo.
muslin, $1 25
THE ANALOGY OF ANCIENT CRAFT MASONRY TO NATURAL AND REVEALED RELIGION;
by C. Scott, A.M. 8vo. muslin.
THE TRUE MASONIC GUIDE, with plates, &c.; by R. Macoy. 12mo. muslin.
THE MASTER WORKMAN; or, True Masonic Guide, with plates; by H.C. Atwood.
12mo. sp.
All other Masonic Works can be had by ordering of
J.W. RANDOLPH.