Addressed to a little Orphan Child.
Poor little orphan child!
I see thee happy now,
With glossy ringlets waving
O'er thy sunny brow;
With tender heart as light and free
As birds in summer air,
With beauty, grace, that well might vie
With rose and lily fair.
Poor little orphan child!
The tears steal down my cheek,
For oh! how little dreamest thou
The world is cold and bleak;
How little knowest thou the toil,
The turmoil, care, and strife,
The tears, the sighs, that may beset
The orphan's path in life.
Poor little orphan child!
'Tis bitter hard to roam
In this cold, dark, unfeeling world,
Both friendless and alone,
Where friendship ends in selfish aims,
Lips smile but to deceive,
Unkindness mars the spirit's peace,
And leaves the heart to grieve.
Poor little orphan child!
For thee is pained my heart;
Should sickness pale thy rosy cheek,
And light and hope depart,--
Oh, who would then be near to bathe
The weary, aching head,
And twine around thee, arms of love,
And joy and gladness shed.
Poor little orphan child!
Thou'lt miss a mother's care,
To watch thy youthful steps,
Thy little griefs to share;
No voice is like a mother's voice,
No look so sweet and mild,
No smile is like her loving smile,
Upon a darling child.
Oh! ye who revel in your ease,
The orphan's cry should heed,
Nor with a cold indifference
Treat them in hour of need.
Ye know not of the anguish deep,
That rends their aching heart,
Or of the woe and misery
Your cold words may impart.
Poor little orphan child!
May angels guide their way,
For there are thousand treacherous paths,
That lead the feet astray.
Sin comes in many a dazzling form,--
Fearful the tempter's power,
Oh, God of love forbid thy fall,
In the dark, trying hour.
Poor little orphan child!
Should tears e'er dim the eye,
And grief and sorrow fill the soul,
And friends no one be nigh;
There is a friend above, on whom
Cast all thy earthly care,
Who ne'er forsakes the fatherless,
But hears the orphan's prayer.
Poor little orphan child!
I would not shade thy brow,
By telling thee of after years,
To make thee sorrow now.
Oh, no! in childish innocence
Play on with life and glee,
With dimpled cheek and joyous laugh,
So happy, pure and free.
Poor little orphan child!
Blest be thy passage o'er
The ever changing sea of life,
To Canaan's peaceful shore.
There mayst thou safely land
Where sorrow ne'er will come,
To join thy loved--that happy band
In one eternal home.
Oh! Let me be on the Stormy Sea.
Oh! let me be on the stormy sea,
Where darksome clouds arise;
When the waters dash and the lightnings flash,
Along the dismal skies;
There I should be so wild and free.
Oh! let me roam, on the ocean wave
Oh! give me a home.
Oh! let me be on the stormy sea,
When the tempests madly rave;
Where no voice is heard, save the wild sea bird,
As it skims o'er the foamy wave;
No strife and care would reach me there.
Then let me roam, on the ocean wave
Oh! give me a home.
Oh! let me be on the stormy sea,
For there is the home of the brave;
We never fear when danger's near,
Tossed on the towering wave;
Boldly they sail through wind and gale.
There let me roam, on the ocean wave
Oh! give me a home.
Oh! let me be on the stormy sea,
Where the raging billows bound;
Where the roaring surge and mournful dirge
Is ever heard around;
Where the wild winds sigh, as they whistle by.
Oh! there would I roam, on the ocean wave
Oh! give me a home.
Oh! let me be on the stormy sea,
Far down in the briny deep;
On corals gay, myriads lay,
In their last silent sleep.
Beneath the wave, a wat'ry grave
They've found. No more they'll roam--
'Neath ocean's wave they've found a home.
The Exiled Prisoner.
Lines occasioned by the Story of an Exile who died of
grief on meeting a former friend.
I met him in his gloomy cell,
Where all alone and sad,
He spent the darksome day and night
In homely vesture clad.
No golden sunlight ever threw
Its lustre o'er his room;
No gladsome voices ever cheered
Its dreariness and gloom.
Oh! he was fair and beautiful,
With clustering auburn hair,
That waved in many a ringlet o'er
The brow of genius rare--
The loved in his sweet native land,
The pride of his dear home,
Once he, who sat within these walls,
In iron fetters lone.
I wept as I did on him look,
For we were friends in youth;
Together trod the selfsame path
Of wisdom and of truth;
Together roamed o'er hill and dale,
As happy, light, and free
As joyous birds in summer air,
In boyish pride and glee.
Ah! strangely altered now his face,
Depicted with despair;
Yet still methought that I could trace
Some former beauty there.
Yet something of the light had gone
That flashed his raven eye,
And pallid cheek, and thin, white lip,
Told of full many a sigh.
Oh! tell me, friend, in grief he cried,
About my joyful home,
And those bright, sunny fields o'er which
We used to sport and roam.
Oh! is the waterfall still there,
Wherein I used to play,
Without one thought of grief and care,
Through all the livelong day.
And is my father, mother, there,
And brother, sister kind?
And do they know my hopeless lot,
In this dark cell confined?
Oh! could I see them but once more,
And press them to my breast,
And meet their sweet, forgiving smile,
My weary soul could rest.
Ah! had I not too fondly loved,
I had not seen this day,
Apart from all that I hold dear,
Alone to waste away.
A rival came--with vilest art
Allured her from my side,
And triumphed in my loss, until
She found him false, and died.
Sick of the world, I left my home,
Far from parental care;
I roved, a wild and thoughtless thing,
Exposed to every snare,
Till tossed on fortune's faithless sea,
I sought to drown my woe
In revelry and crime, that's brought
Me in this dungeon low.
Oh! cruel Fate that bids me dwell
In this cold, living tomb!
Oh! mother, couldst thou see me here,
And know my deepest gloom,
Thou wouldst forgive thy erring son,
And heal his broken heart;
Repenting, thou wouldst soothe his grief,
And words of love impart.
Upon his knees, his hands he clasped,
In agony he cried--
We part! the past comes o'er my brain
Like an overwhelming tide;
'Tis like a dark and troubled dream,
That fain I would forget--
But oh! through all the day and night
Its horror haunts me yet.
Ah! wildly now he gazed around
The cell; no more he said,
Save in some broken accents wild,
For reason now had fled.
I looked again--his noble form
Lay stretched upon the floor;
He gave one last, one bitter groan--
The prisoner was no more.
The Clouds.
How beautiful the clouds,
The morning's purple clouds;
How sweet they calm reposing lie
In yonder deep blue azure sky,
Streaked with crimson pale and red,
Fair as violets in their bed;
Gliding, floating, moving ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
How beautiful the clouds,
The noontide's burning clouds;
Mountains of pure white driven snow,
In upper regions on they go;
Pillars of ever living light,
Piles of crystal gems as bright,
Gliding, moving, hurrying ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
How beautiful the clouds,
The dark and rolling clouds;
With tempest, storm, and fury crowned,
Where lightnings fiercely play around;
Terrific, grand, sublime, they rise
When pealing thunders rend the skies;
Whirling, heaving, rolling ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
How beautiful the clouds,
The golden sunset clouds;
Tinged with yellow, mellow light,
Warm, rich hues that gladden sight;
As sinks the wave in ocean's breast,
So fades the many-colored west;
Fading, passing, gliding ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
How beautiful the clouds,
The evening, moonlit clouds;
On tireless wings of snowy hue
They move through heaven's ethereal blue;
Like fairy forms of crystal light,
Arrayed in robes of silver white;
Gliding, floating, moving ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
And in our weary march,
The whirling, passing clouds
Are emblems of life's hurried way,
Swift passing down its fleeting day;
In smiles and tears the restless mind
Is ever seeking--ne'er to find--
A resting place--but hurrying ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
Youth's hopes, oh! what are they,
But clouds of changing hue;
Sometimes they're tinged with golden light,
Beaming with softening beauty bright;
Like clouds they fade, they pass, they die,
And leave no trace upon the sky;
Fleeting, fading, passing ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
I'd be, when life shall wane,
Like white-winged clouds of even;
Through fields of endless day I'd roam,
And find me there a starry home;
Beyond this world, far, far, away,
To Heaven's own light I'd wing my way;
Through realms of bliss there roaming ever
Onward, onward, stopping never.
The Unchanged.
I saw her 'mid the birds and blossoms when a rosy laughing child,
Playing by the silver rivulet, joyous in its murmurings wild;
Now wandering o'er the sunny green with buoyant step and free,
In the mild and balmy breeze that fanned the flowery lee.
In life's fair spring-time, when the heart is lightest, free from care,
When fancy spreads her pinions wide and soars on wings of air,
Earth's mantling robe, so brightly decked with rainbow-colored hue,
Came o'er the soul in visions soft as falls the pearly dew.
The morn of youth was on her cheek when love her bosom thrilled,
With golden dreams of future bliss her gentle soul was filled--
Unsullied by the world's cold strife, its darkness and untruth,
When in its tender infancy, the guileless love of youth.
She thought the world could ne'er be lone while one might not depart,
Who was the worshiped idol of her young and trusting heart;
His dark eyes woke the flame within of soul-lit lustrous hue,
To be unquenched--the holy light of pure devotion true.
Genius marked his lofty brow for wreathing chaplets fair,
And from the deeply-treasured fount of knowledge rich and rare,
She quaffed the crystal streams that flowed, with kind and fervent
heart,
As flowers will gather sweetness that may never more depart.
And oft she gazed with rapture on that bright angelic face,
So radiant and beautiful with eloquence and grace;
His voice, like tones of music sweet, bound with a magic spell,
As gems of wisdom from his lips in heavenly accents fell.
In fashion's brilliant halls, where gay alluring pleasures throng,
No flattering smiles could win her from her childhood's happy song;
When many a garland twined her brow and passion's voice soft fell,
She was true to him who knew not how she had loved so well.
Ah! cruel fate that bids the shades of change with fleeting years,
Sad separation's bitter pang must dim with burning tears--
Like some lone beacon's glimmering ray the star of hope shall be,
To guide the bark by tempest driven o'er life's dark, troubled sea.
The cherished love of early years say not she can forget,
That springs in youth's fresh vernal prime, and with its tears are wet;
Its tender buddings crushed may be, and blighted its return,
Its wasted fragrance lingers still around its broken urn.
When time shall fade youth's glowing charms, its joy and romance fled,
Love's purest flame is shining o'er the altar of the dead--
Through desert paths and weary of life's ever-changing day,
With light and peace his memory shall pave her lonely way.
I saw her in the moonlit vale, a lovely maiden's form,
Her spirit in illusions wrapped, her cheek with vigor warm;
Untouched by sorrow's withering hand, so pale, for hers were dreams
Of other years--that for the night had cast their halo beams.
And may the silken tie so fond, unbroken e'er remain,
Bright angels hover round her way to shield till life shall wane;
Unchanging be the heart's first love, till in immortal bloom,
In yonder Paradise her home and rest beyond the tomb.