I ..-u /;'«,','■ b X o It z in z u 8 n s U. 3 X >• >• OS < n < K K Ul u n X J P u u X ■_ 3 H a: < z i u (0 Id 5E ^ < o u w " = o u H KI 5 Ul JE z Of o lb If) Q lu 3 Z q E J a. > III DlTiaM Section ^59 5 II 77~ /?'' ■ ■ 7' /-./.;'• // #^*#^' HA rtford: Sroc'kett Hut oh ins on (Leo. S 'I. .G 18 1933 o? THE FIRESIDE. BY REV. C. W. EYEEEST. HAETFOKD: BROCKETT & HUTCHINSON. 1852. i '^ ^s^^^^^^^^^^> Entered, according' to act of Congress, in the year 1852, by C. W. EVEREST, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Connecticut. ^*i^^m>^^^*^a^a^*^*^^0m^*^^0m -§3 DEDICATORY SONNET, TO HAYNES LORD. Old Friend! while down Time's turbid stream we glide, As fades Life's morning landscape from the view, Nor Youth's gay scenes their gorgeous light renew, And bright hopes sink within the whelming tide : While skies grow dark, and loud the shrieking gale, And the bold seaman, with a dauntless breast, Stands by his helm, or trims his laboring sail. While heaving billows toss their foaming crest; Hearts change not mid the tempests. If the band Of Friendship joined — though chance may force apart, Turns each to other still, with faithful heart, And oft in Memory hand is clasped in hand. Memorial of our " Past," though poor it be, Accept these humble lays I dedicate to thee ! C. W. E. Hajmden, Feb. 6, 1845. 92 ^' S3 Should auld acquaintance be forgot. And never brought to min' ! "' Should aold acquaintance be forg'ot. And days o' lang; syne 1 BURNS. PREFACE. In committing this humble volume anew to the / press, a word of explanation is proper. The lead- I ing poem of the collection was published by itself, several years ago ; and, by the good nature of the author's many friends, the edition was soon ex- hausted. Subsequently, under another name, this present volume appeared, and passed through two editions. It has long since ceased to haunt that most respectable, but (if the habit become con- firmed,) most undesirable resort — namely, book- sellers' shelves. The author hopes, therefore, that he will be pardoned for again commending his lit- tle book to the notice of the public, under a new ; and more suitable title. If his "Songs of the Fireside " shall be greeted by any with a smile of welcome, and by others with a smile of generous forbearance, his highest wish will be accorded to him. C. W. E. Hahden, Ct., June, 1852, i ■»^N^S^^^»^^^^i^»»^^^^ • a- ^ ,t,0^0t0*0»g When a frienJ with friends rejoices Bj the taper's beaming' ligiil. Simple songs, by kindly Toices, Sometimes cheer the lingering night. ■ CONTENTS. Pag-e. Vision of Death, 11 A Summer Day's Ramble, 25 Notes to A Summer Day's Ramble, . , 35 Fugitive Poems, 37 Sonnets to Haynes Lord, I. The Church, 39 II. The Ministry, 40 The Evening Lay, 41 Her Spirit hath flown to its Rest, . . .45 Oh Cling not to Earth, 46 The Flight, 48 Farewell to a Friend, . . . . • 50 Sailor's Evening Hymn, 51 Burning of the Ben Sherrod, and Death of Watson Adams, ..,.•. 53 The Night Storm, 57 Take up thy Cross, 58 Epitaph, 59 Lines written at a Solitary Grave, ... 60 When in Fond Memory's Magic Glass, . 61 To a Sleeping Child, 63 Christmas, 65 Elegiac Hymn, 68 The Monarch's Wish, 69 Vlll. CONTENTS. . Page. Thanksgiving, . . . . . . . 71 The Farmer, . . . . , , .74 The Veteran, 76 Songs at Evening, 79 Sonnets to James Dixon, .... 81 On the Death of an Infant, 83 Birth-Day Verses, 85 As thy Day is so shall thy Strength be, . .88 Song, ......... 89 To the Memory of Bacon, , . . .90 Rest, Soldier, Rest, ...... 93 The Prince of Peace, .94 When from those we love, we part, . , 96 The Ruin, 97 •Song of the Sybil, 102 Faith, 104 Epitaph for an Indian Monument, . , . 105 The Friends we loved in Childhood, . , .106 The Skater's Song, . . . . . .107 Watch with the Dead, 110 The Floweret, 112 Song of the Wayfaring, 114 Minstrel sing that Song again, . . . .116 The Sleeping Pilgrim, 118 Christ in the Tempest, ... . 123 Life — its Seasons, 125 Notes to Fugitive Poems, .... 128 \ ©- VISION OF DEATH. — 32 S' litres hare their time to fall, And flowera to wfther at the north wind's breath ; And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thiue own, oh Death ! MRS. HEMANS. l^- ^' VISION OF DEATH. I. Go, Death, to thy mission !— the mandate was given. And the echo rolled back through the chambers of ; Heaven : Then faint in the distance its mutterings grew, And a being of horror came forth to my view ! He seemed one commissioned for terrible deeds, For dark was his chariot, and pale were his steeds; One hand grasped a sceptre, the other a dart. And the glow of his eye told the pride of his heart; The San, at his glance, shed a sicklier ray. And Nature, astonished, in fear shrunk away ; The heavens grew black at his pestilent breath, And owned liim the monarch invincible — Death ! He cast a proud glance over Earth's happy throng. And breathed to the Nations his horrible song : m 12 -§3 VISION OF DEATH. 1. " I am lord of the Earth ; I am lord of the Main ; All Nature I hold in my withering chain : From my shadowy realm, in the chambers of night, I will come on my pathway of mildew and bhght: The surest destruction 'tis mine to impart; My arrow shall pierce to the manliest heart ; I will shroud man's proud hopes in the darkness of gloom, And bear him from all that he loves, to the tomb ! " I will spare neither innocence, virtue, nor truth j The aged, the manly, nor childhood, nor youth ; The monarch will find that no sceptre can save ; The beggar must go with me down to the grave ; The sad and forlorn, with the happy and gay, Must leave all behind them, and hasten away : Man alike is my prey, nor shall favor be shown — I will give each an arrow, a pall, and a stone ! 3. t^ " The being, who, sporting in infancy's mom, Is amused with Life's rose, but espies not its thorn, -^ VISION OF DEATH. 13 j I will mark ; and my dart shall in pity be hurled, To bear him away from a cold-hearted world ! It were best that he drink not too deeply of Life — He would turn with disgust from its fountains of strife : In the grave's quiet gloom shall he rest from its woes, Nor Earth's saddening conflict disturb his repose I 4. " I will visit the couch of the mother's first-bom, And the mother, despairing, shall sorrow forlorn ; I will tear the fond wife from her little-ones' clasp, She must come at my call, she must shrink from their grasp : The father, though dear to the group of his heart, From his wife and his infants for ever must part : < In the hall of affection my banner shall wave — I am lord of the Earth, I am lord of the Grave ! 5. " I will visit the maid, in her jessamine bower, When she waits for her lover to come at the hour: He will come, but to find I have laid her at rest. And cold is the heart that beat warm in her breast! I will visit the bride, when arrayed for the groom. And bid her prepare to descend to the tomb ; ki9 At my withering touch all her roses shall fade, And the couch of the bridal a bier shall be made ! 6. " I will sever the pair at the altar united ; The joys of connubial bliss must be blighted ; If locked in each other's embrace, they shall part, Though the absence of one break the other's fond heart! I will come to the scene when long-parted ones meet, And in Friendship's fond welcome delighted shall greet : I will tear them apart ; they shall ne'er meet again, Till they meet in a land where no parting gives pain ! ' 7. " I will visit the sage, when, through night's lonely hours, O'er the lore of past ages devoutly he pores ; He shall cease his pursuits, he must moulder to dust — No learning can save — I am true to my trust ! i VISION OF DEATH. 15 I will come to the dungeon, an angel of peace, And grant to the captives a joyful release ; Their chains cannot bind, they will come at my call, And Sorrow no longer shall hold them in thrall ! 8. " I will visit the proud one, exulting in state. Who shall spurn the poor beggar that kneels at his gate : I will humble his might ; I will sadden his hall ; And his coucjh shall be spread with my funeral pall ! I will come to the orphan, despised and rejected ; I will visit the widow, by false friends neglected ; And the lordlings, who left them in sorrow to sigh, By conscience affrighted, despairing shall die ! 9. " I will curb mad Ambition, when wading through blood, And mounting the throne o'er the hearts of the good; I will call upon avarice, toiling for dust ; His treasures, forsaken, neglected shall rust : The scoffer shall start at my coming, and quail, And the stoutest transgressor turn suddenly pale ;i 16 VISIA)N OF D EAT H. I will conquer oppression, and tyranny quell- But unto the righteous— if all shall be well! 10. " I will come to the banqueting-hall in my power, When music and beauty alike rule the hour : The song shall be hushed, and the dancer's gay tread, For the proud and the joyous shall sleep with the dead ! I will follow the hunter, when bounding with speed .J He follows the game over valley and mead ; \ He shall find that a hunter, with woe in his breath, Is close on his track — and the hunter is Death I 11. " I will speed to the soldier, at rest on the plain, And the bugle, at morning, will call him in vain ; He shall sleep in my arms, with no shroud but his mail. Nor awake when the war-cry swells loud on the gale! Where the cloud of the battle is dark in the air. And foemen encounter, then look for me there ! The proud, vaunting warrior shall bow at my will ; I will say to the war-horse — lie down and be still! \ VISIONOFD EAT H. 17 12. " The sailor careering on Ocean's rude wave, Shall go down through its depths to a fathomless grave; I will visit the hammock, and visit the deck ; I will ride on the tempest, and shout in the wreck ! When the storm rages loud, when the breezes are fair, And Ocean is calm, I will hasten me there : On the coral the sailor must sleep, 'neath the surge. And the murmur of waters his funeral dirge ! 13. " I will go where is echoed the bacchanal's song, And enter, unseen, with the reveling throng : Woe ! woe ! when the red wine by me shall be poured, The lights shall go out round the festival board ! I will visit the gamester's low hall of despair, And alas for the lip that shall welcome me there : The wild curse of horror no more shall be said, But the blood-gushing bosom be crushed 'neath my tread ! 14. " T will visit the good man, to sickness a prey, . And bid him prepare for a happier day ! , | m^ 18 VISION OF DEATH He will not be affrighted, but welcome me on ; He is tired of the world, and he longs to be gone ; He knows I will calm all the woes of his breast, And bear him away to a mansion of rest ; He will not plead to linger where pleasure is sad. But will smile at my presence, look up, and be gladj 15. " Mortal ! proud mortal ! prepare for my call : Thou Shalt sleep, at the last, 'neath my curtaining pall ! I will come — the dread herald of woe to the gay, When the giddy and careless will think me away ! I will come — and the hall, shall be shrouded with gloom. And arrayed with the emblems of Death and the tomb ! Be prepared ! that my summons shall cause no affright — For my arrow is noiseless — my footstep is light I " II. Thus boasted the Monarch, and onward he rode, To bear his destruction in terror abroad ! His shafts, all unerring, sped fatal and wide, } And the dead and the 'dying fell thick by his side ^l^^^^>^t^^^^*0^^^^^^t0^^*^0^ Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain. Thou art gone, and for ever ! SCOTT. K' A SUMMER DAY'S RAMBLE: ^- The Morning dawned. The purple light streamed high O'er the far eastern hill-top, and the Sun Moved slowly up his pathway in the sky. The dews slept lightly on the meadow's breast ; The mists crept slowly from the winding rill ; / While Nature's songsters, in the balmy groves, Rejoicing, welcomed in the smiling day ! It was a morn in Summer ; and my eye Looked out upon the blooming landscape spread, Where joyous Thames, along our eastern bound, Pursues his froHc pathway to the Main, l The scene invited : the low wind went by, With a soft, wooing whisper ; and the breath Of fragrant Summer stole upon the sense. It seemed ungrateful to the kindly good Which bounteous Nature had so freely given, To stay shut up within confining walls ; And, with my gun and faithful dog beside, I wandered forth, and sought the waving woods ! 26 A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. The light breeze sported with the bended boughs, Which wove above my head their living screen, And shut out all the garish light of day. Save where some straggling sunbeam struggled through. I wandered on, beneath the grateful shade, Pausing at times, to list some streamlet's voice, Or drink the music of some forest bird, And sometimes resting by the torrent's brink, That gushed, in living freshness, from the rock. I wandered far : the Sun rode high in heaven, And even in the deep woods I could feel The burning fervor of his strengthening beams. 'T was Noon-tide — and around me all was hushed ! It seemed like Nature's Sabbath ; not a sound Came startling on the still and quiet air, Save the faint murmur of some distant rill. I did not dare to break the solemn gloom. And startle Nature with the deathful shock : At that still hour, it seemed a grievous sin To harm God's happy creatures in their rest ! The birds, unscared, close nestled on the boughs. As fearing nought ; and sometimes from his perch The timorous squirrel ventured softly forth, And cast familiar glances at my dog ; While he, poor fellow, constant at my side, Kept on his course, obedient to my word. There was no murder in his honest face — | His fangs all bloodless like his master's gun. ] Poor Tray, mute comrade of my lonely hours, ] A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. 27 Not such thy 'customed mood: yet thou too seem'dst To share the spirit which pervaded all ! We wandered thus, unconscious for a time, Till suddenly I reached the forest's verge. And. in the distance, 'spied a place of graves ! A burial-spot hath ever charms for me ; I love to linger with the quiet dead. To muse all thoughtful o'er their lowly rest. And think how soon my frame may lie as low. But here, from men afar, mid woodland shades, New charms invite, new beauties clothe the scene — The while, with eager step, 1 sought the stop. It was a place from vulgar gaze well screened, And, by the humble stones which met my view, I knew that 'neath the earth whereon I stood The old Mohegan warriors slept in death ! 2 There was no pompous state to mar the scene : The heaving turf showed where each warrior slept. Except at times some plain ungarnished stone. Which told but little, save the sleeper's name. And there was Uncas' grave ; and by it stood The shameful mockery of a " corner-stone," 3 For what was once a Monument designed. When a just frenzy for a moment worked Within the White Man's veins : but all beside Was simple, like the h^earts that slept below. It was a time and place for thought well meet. And freely, then, my unchecked Fancy ranged ! '^ ) i28 A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. 'Twas strange, methought, what change had marked the scene ! Few years agone, and all this spreading land Was the wild Indian's realm. The forest wide Spread o'er each hill and vale, in solemn state. The clustering wigwams sent their wreathed smoke, To mark the Red Man's home ! Amid the shades Ranged the free stag at will, and fearing nought But the winged arrow, with its feathery death ! 'Twas peaceful all, save, when at midnight's hour, Around the Council-fire's unearthly glow, The stalwart savage warmed in fierce debate : Or when rang wild upon the startled air, The fearful yell of battle, or the din Of meeting warriors in the deadly strife : Or save, vvhen, for some unforgiven wrong, The tortured victim's dying shriek arose. To fright the brooding Night — then all was hushed ! The Red Man roamed his forest-kingdom o'er. Ambition's promptings all unheard, unknown. Nor recked of lands beyond his own broad realm. A fearful change came o'er the placid scene ! A pale-browed stranger sought the peaceful shore, And asked a home. Unconscious aught of guile, The simple Indian bade him welcome in. Nor deemed he pressed a viper to his breast ! What need to tell the tale so often told, How the harsh discord of the settler's axe Disturbed the forest's gloom — and where, of eld, ^ A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. 2J Danced the light shallop o'er the sparkling wave, Up rose the busy mill, with jarring clang ; And how, where long old Nature held domain, In fond affection with her red-browed child, The noisy hamlet, with its toilsome strife, Intruded on the scene ; till, step by step. The land was wrested from its rightful lords. And, as at touch of some magician's wand. Thronged towns and cities rose throughout the realm ! The Red Men passed away, like morning mist, When Sol rejoices in the Orient sky ! They passed away — save in the Western land, A few lorn wanderers from their fathers' graves. Chased by the wave of population on ! All gone — their very name almost forgot, With scarce a vestige to recall their race. Except at times some lonely burial spot, Still rescued from the ruthless spoiler's grasp, Like that amid whose humble graves I stand ! While thus I gave my restless Fancy scope, And thought was busy with the vanished Past, Resistless slumber o'er my senses stole. I slept — and in my dreaming ear I heard, Methought, strange voices, murmuring sad and low! It might, perchance, have been but Fancy's wile — But seemed it more like Nature's wailing voice. Mourning her lost ones, with a mother's grief, And then a spirit tone did answer make ! CS^ e?^ 30 A SUMMER DAYS RAMBLE " Where are they — the Red men — the noble and brave 1 Have they passed from "the Earth to Oblivion's cold grave 1 Where are they 1 " — it cried, with a sadness forlorn, And anon on the gale a faint answer was borne : J " With their goodness and their worth, They have vanished from the earth : For the White Man, in his wrath. Lurked beside the Indian's path ; And, with cruel, treacherous hands, Drove him from his rightful lands : This he gave for Friendship's token, And the Indian's heart was broken ! i " \Vhere the Red Man's wigwam lay, Now the Pale Face makes his stay ; Where the light canoe was plied, There the White Man's vessels ride ; Where the Chiefs in council met. Now the Pale Face's lodge is set; All unstrung the bow is laid. Rust is on the hatchet's blade ; And the music-tones are hushed, From the happy hearts that gushed; Now the battle-song is o'er. And the whoop is heard no more ; Death's submissive, tranquil slaves. Sleep they by their fathers' graves ! " 52 ''Have they all from the scenes of their sorrow departed 1 Are there jio7ie of that race of the desolate-hearted 1 " " Yes ! a wretched few remain, Groaning 'neath Affliction's chain; But their eye hath lost its brightness, And their nimble step its lightness : Sad of heart, and sick of soul, Hastening to their final goal — Torn in spirit, lost in name, Wounded by unconscious shame — Soon will all their griefs be o'er, For their sun will rise no more ! '* "Do they cling to the spot which their infancy cherished. Where their hopes, and their friends, and their country, have perished 1 " " With a torn and bleeding heart, They were doomed with home to part : Though they plead, with deepest woe. Still the spoiler bade them go : And, with bosoms swelled with grief, ■ Pangs that could not know relief, Faltering step and trembling hand. Slowly left their fathers' land ! But amid their dark despair, Still one dreadful hope was there : 32 A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. And, with streaming, aching eyes Raised in anguish to the skies, Prayed that Vengeance's direst pall, On th' oppressor's head might fall ; And the gentle winds of even Bore their withering curse to Heaven ! " Now, the lonely Indian's gun Echoes toward the setting sun; And no happy note of gladness Breaks upon his spirit's sadness ; For he mourns a blighted race, Weary of their deep disgrace : Soon will mild Pacific's breast Guard their last, unbroken rest ! " I woke, and gazed in solemn awe around ! The Sun his high meridian bound had passed : No form appeared, nor sound of spirit's voice, Save that which lingered in my waking ear. And echoed round my heart: 'twas hushed and still. E'en as before my sleep. The tall old oaks, Sad lingering monarchs of their perished race, Like giant sentinels, stretched out their arms, To guard their comrades who reposed below : While through their leaves, and through the wav- ing grass, The sad wind, hushed, with mournful whisper eS- sighed : ^^ A SUMMER day's RAMBLE. 33 And just below, around the hillock's base, The laughing river, where their barks were launched, All sportive in its tide, came gaily on ; But, as it neared their bed, it checked its mirth, And gently murmured by their dewy couch. Till past their bound — then gamboled on its way. Rest, warriors, rest! my sorrowing heart ex- claimed : 'T is very meet that Nature's weary child, When the brief chances of Life's day are o'er, Should lay at last his head upon her breast, And rest from all his labor ! Sleep in peace, Far from the busy city's hated throng ! Ye did not live to see your sorrowing tribes Driven like outcasts from their natal soil ; Ye would not stay to see your fathers' graves Treated with scorn, and opened to the day ; Ye died in honor, and ye rest in peace ! I turned : the sun was speeding to his rest; My dog was whining, restless to depart ; I seized my gun, and sadly moved away. Yet, ere I quite could leave the hallowed spot, I cast one lingering, farewell look behind : It fell on Uncas' grave ! Farewell good Chief- Brave, noble Uncas, best of all thy race. Thy bleeding country's last, her proudest hope — Rest, champion, rest, thy labors nobly done ! What though for thee no stately marble rise, .82 K' 34 i. SUMMER DAY*S RAMBLE •S3 No towering pillar high, nor storied urn, To tell thy goodness to a coming age 1 Thou need'st them not : while Truth shall live, ''■ Or Fi'eedom dwell with men, thou shalt not die, Thy virtues, writ in living hearts, shall be Thy Monument— thy name thine Epitaph ! (TO NOTES. I Where joyous Thames, along' our eastern bound, Pursues his frolic pathway to the Main. The scene of this poem is found in the vicinity of the city of Norwich, near the banks of the river Thames, in the south-east- era part of Connecticut. 2 The old Mohegan warriors slept in death. At the time of this visit, which was several years since, these graves were distinctly visible, and at the head of several were small slabs of slate-stone. Whether " the march of improve- ment" has yet spared the little mounds and their "frail memo- rials," or whether they have shared the usual fate of the Red Men, and whatever appertains to them, we know not. 3 And there was Uncas' grave , and by it stood The shameful mockery of a " corner-stone." The reader may not have forgotten that, several years ago, it was proposed to erect a suitable monument at the grave of this best Chief of the Mohegans — this ever friend of the Colonists. When President Jackson, during his administration, made his celebrated tour through New England, the time of his visit to Norwich was deemed a suitable one for beginning this laudable enterprise. Accordingly a procession was formed, which marched to the grave of Uncas, and the " corner-stone" was laid by the President. All superstructures require foundations: but we have yet to learn that foundations alone avail. ( We are happy to add, that, long after our " Ramble," when ] years of neglect had intervened^ a suitable monument has beeu -, erected. ■^ FUGITIVE POEMS. ^»^>^^%*%»* ' '52 ^ .5? There 's fennel for you, and columbines : There 's rue for you ; and here 's some for me: we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: you may wear your rue with a difference — There 's a daisy : — 1 would give you some violets ; but they withered all SHAKSPEARE. ^■ ^ FUGITIVE POEMS: SONNETS TO HAYNES LORD. I. THE CHURCH. Lo! where the Church invites our wandering feet! We rove unheeding o'er Life's changing way ; Along its path forbidden Pleasures greet, And woo and win our erring steps to stray Adown the course which leads from endless day ! Poor wanderers to a realm of boding night — Ah, whither turn — ah, where for refuge flee ! Despair not, mourner ! robed in heavenly light The Church unfolds her gracious doors for thee ; Here may'st thou refuge find — salvation free. Divine retreat by God's free mercy given! The hungry soul is fed by food divine ; O'er all the path God's radiant glories shine ! Peace leads the soul in bliss — and Mercy guides to Heaven ! -Sf '§3 40 FUGITIVE P OEM S. n. THE MINISTRY. Friend of my soul ! within this hallowed home, By God's good Spirit, we have found a rest. : Oh, may we never from its precincts blest, Won by the spirit's Foe, despairing roam ! Unworthy of His love, our sovereign Lord Hath chosen me a herald of His name : Joyous I go, His message to proclaim, And plead the merits of the gracious Word f Oh ! may His mercy ever be adored By my Life's offering : may His courts be prest By ransomed wanderers panting for his rest : And when, at last, my race on Earth is run, May I, with thee, receive the dear " Well done. Good faithful servant blest, — thy crown of joy is won ! ** K- **^^N/^i.^N^%^^-.qJ2 ft? FUGITIVE POEMS. 41 'ors THE EVENING LAY. The sun had sunk in stately mien, Behind the glowing west ; And Nature spread her loveliest scene To tranquilize the breast : Wooed by the hour, I wandered forth, Far from the city's strife ; Forgetting, as of nothing worth, The joys and ills of life. The silvery moonbeams kissed the flowers. In Summer's loveliest trim ; The birds within their silent bowers. Had ceased their evening hymn ; Unconscious, through a smiling vale, My path had led afar ; When, on the evening's gentle gale, I heard a light guitar. A maiden kneeled within a grove. Bathed in the hallowed glow ; Made sacred by the holiest love A mortal heart can know : Here she had wandered all alone, From home and friends away ; And, in a voice of sweetest tone, She breathed an Evening Lay. 42 -m FUGITIVE POEMS. ^- It did not to the class belong By Genius' favorites given ; 'T wras but a simple, artless song, Of grateful thanks to Heaven : Far from the crowd, she knew no fear Her debt of love to pay ; And thought that only God was near, To hear her Evening Lay. I gazed in awe : so fair, so young. Glowing with holiest fire ; It seemed an angel's sinless tongue, An angel's golden lyre ! Gently the numbers died away, I saw the maid depart ; And sorrow, with resistless sway, Stole o'er my saddened heart. I lingered, as by magic spell, Along that valley's plain ; Then gave a look of sad farewell, And sought the world again : The dreams of bliss— Hope's flattering tale, Enticed my feet afar ; But oft would Fancy rove the vale, And hear the sweet guitar. I 've tasted what Earth calls delight, I' ve bowed at Folly's shrine ; And Wealth has opened on my sight Its beauties half divine: -22 K' FUGITIVE POEMS. 43 ^^■^^^^^^^v But what are all the swelling train, That roll in pride along 1 I 'd give them all to hear again That country maiden's song. Where Pleasure's stream has murmured by, I 've knelt me down to sip ; I 've drank the light of Beauty's eye, The smile of Beauty's lip : And Pomp has played his wildering part, And Wit has ruled the day ; But nothing yet has touched my heart. Like that sweet Evening Lay. I 've stood beneath the fretted dome, To holiest worship given, When the loud anthem's swelling tone Pealed to the listening heaven ! Awhile, entranced, I marked the strain, Then turned in grief away, And sighed to hear but once again That simple Evening Lay. When tossing on the couch of rest, A stranger to repose ; And harrowing cares distract the breast, Of earth and earthly woes ; When plodding o'er Life's mournful track, To wretchedness a prey, Then soft on Memory's pinions back Is borne that Evening Lay. 44 FUGITIVE POEMS. Let Age its onward numbers roll — 'Twill calm my troubled breast, And heal the sorrows of a soul By earthly cares distressed : But though before its withering pace Our early loves decay ; It cannot from my mind efface That simple Evening Lay. ^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 45 fe. HER SPIRIT HATH FLOWN TO ITS REST. Her spirit hath flown to its rest, Afar from our sorrowing clod; To the bright happy land of the blest, ' And the smiles of its glorious God : She lingered a season below, But to wash from her spirit the stain : Then soared from our valley of woe, To the far heights of glory again ! She hath fled to the mansions above, And found out the blood-ransomed throng; She hath drank of the fountains of love, And joined in the Seraphim's song ; She hath gone to the land of her birth. Where the anthems of holiness rise ; She wearied with dwelling on Earth, And returned to her home in the skies ! Her spirit hath flown to its rest. Its sorrows and sufferings o'er ; It hath gained the far dime of the blest, It will visit our cold Earth no more ! Then weep not — 't were sinful to mourn. That the Tyrant our fond hope hath riven : Though she 's gone, and no more may return, She bathes in the glory of Heaven ! 46 -^ FUGITIVE POEMS. OH CLING NOT TO EARTH. Lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven. Matt. tL 20. Oh cling not to Earth ! for its sunshine and roses Oft lure the fond heart in Life's innocent morn : But the sunlight is gone when the cloud interposes, And Life's smiling rose-buds have many a thorn. I' Oh cling not to Earth ! for its treasures are fleet, .And its purest enjoyments but bloom for decay : Thou wilt find them at best but a glorious cheat, Still smihng and tempting — and passing away ! S Oh cling not to Earth ! though its cups of delight, Are sparkling in beauty to tempt thee to sip ; Thou wilt find that their dregs are but mildew and blight, And that while thou art tasting they pall on the lip. Oh cling not to Earth ! do not yield it thy heart, For its joys are succeeded by sadness and gloom; Its friendships are broken, its hopes all depart. And the lamp of its being is quenched in the tomb. ^^' da FUGITIVE POEMS. Oh cling not to Earth, then, but look thou above, Wiiere the flowers never droop, nor the pleasures decay ; Turn — turn to that region of holiest love, And lay thee up treasures that fade not away. ^' S2 48 FUGITIVE POEMS. *^ THE FLIGHT. I SEE them yet — ^the vision haunts me still ! The mad steeds dashing o'er the trembling pave, With eye of flame, and nostril wide dilate, The loose rein dangling 'round their airy hoofs ! And while bold hearts shrunk back, with fear aghast, Lo ! high upon the bounding chariot's seat A maiden form appeared ! Alone she sat — No strong sire nigh, to quell the coursers' rage. No voice to breathe inspiring words of cheer ! Yet proud she seemed, with cheek unblanched the while, Her eye untearful, and with brow as calm As when, in festive scene, at Pleasure's call, Amid the joyous dancers' flitting forms She moved, the goddess of the glittering hour ! 'T is meet for men of iron hearts and frames. To gaze undaunted into danger's face i 'T is meet for them — for they were formed for strife, And should not quail at peril's trial hour ! The warrior, when he lists the clarion's sound, May rush, unshrinking, to the cannon's mouth ! When Ocean's storms are loud in wildest wrath, The daring seaman, in his trembling barque. May smile, in mockery at the tempest's power ! The " boy may stand upon his burning deck," FUGITIVE POEMS. 49 And look serenely from "his post of death." Bat when does Courage more ennobling seem, Than when, upon a light and fragile car, That seems more fitting e'en a Fairy's tread, A lonely maiden, with majestic mien, (While ghastly Death seems hurrying for his prey,) Looks forth all calmly on the wild steeds' flight, Nor shrinks, in terror, from their foaming rage ! I see them yet — the vision haunts me still ! It will not heed my bidding, to depart ! But ever, to my restless Fancy's view, Those frantic barbs, like spirit- forms, go by! And high upon the bounding chariot's seat, (As Phaeton erst gazed, but with more fear. Upon the flying coursers of the Sun,) I see a fair girl, gazing o'er the scene. With brow so calm, the daring thought alone Would fire with zeal the warrior's fainting heart, And nerve his arm for desperate deed anew ! (60 FUGITIVE POEMS. j FAREWELL-TO A FRIEND. Farb thee well ! For the boat upon the strand Waits to bear tliee from the land ; And the ship within the bay, Pants to course her watery way. Fare thee well ! may God protect thee, And his constant love direct thee — Guide thee o'er thy devious track, And return thee joyous back ! Fare thee well ! Fare thee well ! and oh ! if never We again on Earth may meet thee, And in Friendship's welcome greet thee ; If, cut down by early doom, Thou shalt seek the sailor's tomb ; Or, upon some distant shore. All thine earthly labors o'er, Foreign hands shall deck thy bier, Watered by the stranger's tear — Then — fare thee well for ever ! FUGITIVE POEMS. 51 SAILOR'S EVENING HYMN. Thee we praise, thou God of Ocean, Whom the raging seas obey ! Thou, who still'st their wild commotion. By thine own Almighty sway ! Now, while day's fair light is ending — Night leads forth her shadows dim— From thy throne of glory bending, Hear the Sailor's evening hymn ! Over all thy works so tender, Creatures all thy goodness share ;' And, from yon bright worlds of splendor Thou dost mark the Sailor's care ; To his cry, propitious ever, Turnest in his deep distress ; And with all a father's favor, Dost thy wandering children bless. Thou alone art our protection, While our watery course we keep ; Thou dost mark our whole direction, O'er the lone and trackless deep ; When our bark doth trembling ride O'er the madly tossing sea, Vain the pilot's art to guide, Unless Thou our pilot be ! ^' 52 FUGITIVE POEMS. ■^ Master ! grant us yet thy love : Send us still the favoring gale ; Bid the sky be bright above ; Gently swell our whitening sail ! Guide us safe our journey o'er All the wide extended Main, To the stranger's distant shore, Monarch of the watery plain ! Ever thus, thou God of Ocean, Calm and tranquil be our day ; Let no tempest's rude commotion, Fright us on our peaceful way ; Prosperous winds and skies be given, Till Life's dangerous sea be past; Then, within the port of Heaven, May we anchor safe at last ! Eg. -?a FUGITIVE POEMS. 53 ^0^^^^^^l^^t^^^f^f^^^'^i^1^^^^^f^0^f^f^^^^^0a0^^*^^^*^*^*^t^ BURNING OF THE BEN SHERROD. AND DEATH OP WATSON ADAMS, The Sun went down the purpling west In all his regal pride, When the gallant steamer stemmed the breast Of the Mississippi's tide, l Full many an eye from the vessel's deck, Gazed forth on the parting gleam ; Nor deemed that a blackened and mournful wreck Would greet his returning beam. Thus gladdening joys are gaily thrown O'er Life's young morning bright ; An hour — and the golden hopes are strewn By the withering hand of Blight ! The Night came down at the daylight's close, Like the wings of a brooding dove ; And gathered Earth's children to calm repose, With whispers of peace and love. And the gallant steamer held her way, All hushed o'er the liquid track, While her sleepers dreamed of the coming day, And loved ones welcoming back. 54 -53 FUGITIVE POEMS 'T was midnight's hour. O God ! the cry Which rose on the startled air; An hundred forms, all ghastly, fly To the deck in wild despair I Then a fearful shriek from the doomed rung out, As the flames burst fierce around ; The lurid sky gave back the shout, And the waves prolong the sound. Ah me ! the fainting heart would fail To recount the scene anew — How demons seemed riding the fiery gale, And mocking the ghostly crew ; How bearded men, in stem despair. Gazed forth with gushing tears : And Woman's tender form was there. And Childhood's budding years ! A lingering few survived, to tell The mournful tale of woe. How brave hearts in the red flames fell, And some in the waves below. The Sun rose up in the golden east. To tread his pathway o'er, When a black hull rolled on the river's breast, And corpses strewed the shore. ^■ ■52 FUGITIVE POEMS. 55 And stranger forms did o'er them weep, And bore them with kindly hand, And gathered them to their dreamless sleep, In that far-oflf stranger-land. The time is long since passed, I wot, And the river rolls on in pride ; But not a sign marks out the spot Where the good Ben Sherrod died ! And thou, my friend, dear loved and lost ! Upon that night of gloom, How was thine heart with anguish tost, Above thy beckoning tomb ! A mother's love, all fond and warm. Came o'er thy memory then ; And many a dear remembered form, Thou ne'er should'st meet again ! But it little boots where the good and just Shall end Life's wearying roam ; For the spirit soars with unwavering trust To a bright eternal home 1 And it little boots where their ashes sleep ! For we know, when the call is given, The angels their holy charge will keep. And bear them away to Heaven ! ^- ^- 56 FUGITIVE POEMS. -S3 Farewell, dear shade ! May my Life's day, Like thine be nobly blest ; That when the summons shall call away, My spirit with God may rest FUGITIVE POEMS. 57 S^«^a^>^>r^^^M^»^i^w^^W^^ THE NIGHT STORM. A FRAGMENT. How mournful sighs the Tempest round, to-night ! The Storm King is abroad in sullen wrath, And loud his wail upon the solemn blast ! It strikes a sadness to mine inmost soul, And fills my breast with gloom ! Though all within Looks bright and cheering, still the storm without Howls at my casement, with its plaintive tone, And sad despondence weighs upon my heart ! How fearful must this night wind's piteous moan Strike on the blood-stained murderer's startled ear! While wakening Memory whispers in his breast, And Fancy paints his victim's awful form. His shrinking soul will deem that demons call, And beckon him away to waiting doom ! Oh ! ever, when the Tempest roams thus wild, And moans and sighs throughout the live-long night, It frights my Conscience from her soft repose, And rouses her to action : Then in turn Will she present in black array my sins. And fling my past transgressions in my teeth ! 'T is ever thus, the Storm Sprite's solemn voice Will rouse her from her rest, though deep it be : Nor will she slumber in repose again. Till reformation 's promised, and once more, Paths long forsaken be again re-trod ! 'S3 53 FUGITIVE POEMS. TAKE UP THY CROSS. If any man will come after me, let him deny bimBclf, and take up his cross, and follow me." — Matt. xvi. 24. Take up thy cross ! the Saviour said, If thou would'st my disciple be : Take up thy cross, with willing heart, And humbly follow after me. Take up thy cross ! let not its weight Fill thy weak soul with vain alarm ; His strength shall bear thy spirit up, And brace thy heart, and nerve thine arm. Take up thy cross ! nor heed the shame, And let thy foolish pride be still : Thy Lord refused not e'en to die Upon a cross, on Calvary's hill. Take up thy cross, then, in His strength, And calmly Sin's wild deluge brave : 'T will guide thee to a better home. It points to glory o'er the grave. Take up thy cross, and follow on, Nor think till death to lay it down ; For only he who bears the cross, May hope to wear the glorious crown ! ^* 52 FUGITIVE POEMS. 59 EPITAPH. The following epitaph was written for a double tomb-stone, placed at the ^ave of two little brothers, who died suddenly. After the death of the eldest, the grief of the other was inconsol- able. " Place me in a coffin," said he, " and let me go to my brother." Hand clasped in hand, along Life's morning path The brothers wandered. Soon the eager Foe Stole on their footsteps, and, with cruel grasp, Bore one resistless to the silent tomb. The wail of Childhood, of its joy bereft, Smote on the Tyrant's ear. He paused, he turned, He pitied— and the parted playmates met ! ^% GO FUGITIVE POEMS '^ ^• LINES WRITTEN AT A SOLITARY GRAVE. It was an unknown grave, in a sweet retired spot ; and the simple epitaph only told that it was the " resting' place of a Chrisiiaa." Sweet, though narrow is his bed, Where he rests from mortal woe : Gently, stranger, softly tread, For a Christian sleeps below. 'T is no place for lamentation ; Dry at once the falling tear ; Hope may whisper consolation, For a Christian slumbers here. Here no tempest-clouds are driven, To disturb the solemn gloom ; But the straying winds of heaven Whisper round the hallowed tomb. Weep not, then, in idle sorrow ; Mourn not, then, the sainted dead ! Faith may resignation boiTow O'er the happy Christian's bed. It were worth a world like this, All its pomp and all its pride, All its fancied wealth and bliss, To be sleeping by his side. When in death our eyes grow dim, And on time we close our eyes, Stranger ! may we sleep like him, And with him in joy arise ! a^ K- FUGITIVE POEMS. 61 WHEN IN FOND MEMORY'S MAGIC GLASS. When in fond Memory's magic glass, With earnest eye intent we gaze, And there in quick succession pass The buried joys of former days ; We read Life's folded leaves again, Scenes that of erst we loved so well, When young Love wove his flowery chain, And Hope her magic spell. And Childhood's happy home is there, And Childhood's free and blithesome hours ; Again we prove a mother's care, 'Neath young Life's radiant morning bowers ; A reverend father bows him then, Fervent his gladsome child to bless ; Brothers and sisters join again In Love's endeared caress. Then, when Time rolls his years along, We rove the flowery paths of youth j We list to Hope's delusive song, And deem her golden promise truth : Bright beam the skies above our head, Fair are the vales beneath our feet- Onward we rush with eager tread, To scenes with joy replete. 62 ^^ FUGITIVE POEMS. The dead — the dead — the peaceful dead, Come crowding from the spirit land ! Again we list the well known tread, Again we grasp the friendly hand ; We gaze on each familiar face, Loved in our early hour of pride ; And, joyous in the fond embrace, We deem they have not died ! . Thus, when in Memory's magic glass, With lingering glance we fondly gaze. And there in quick succession pass The loved, the lost, of other days ; Again we live those seasons fair, And love those scenes we loved so well ; And weep when Earth's returning care Has broke the spirit-spell ! s- FUGITIVE POEMS. 63 TO A SLEEPING CHILD. Happy dreamer ! Sleep hath lightlj O'er thee flung her soothing spell : And the orbs which shone so brightly, 'Neath their curtains slumber well. But perchance thy Fancy rovest Where thy footsteps love to stray, With the little friend thou lovest, Mid the butterflies at play. • Ha ! a smile of beaming pleasure — Hast thou caught the fairy thing ? Dear one, gently clasp thy treasure, Lest thou harm his silken wing : See, he struggles : soft winds straying Woo him with their balmy flow, Where his joyous mates are playing — • Prythee, let the captive go ! Still thou smilest in thy dreaming : Have thy footsteps sought the vale. Where the leaping brook is gleaming, Babbling wild its frolic tale 1 See, its lingering waves invite thee — Simple child, they will not stay : Thus will Life's wild hopes delight thee, Bright, and false, and fleet as they. ■^^ 64 FUGITIVE POEMS. S3 Now thy laugh is wild resounding : Reckless of the streamlet's glide, O'er the velvet turf thou 'rt bounding, Seeking where the violets hide : Pretty roamer, with thy blossom Hie thee homeward, o'er the plain ; For thy mother's anxious bosom Yearns to clasp her child again ! Fare thee well ! May God direct thee Wheresoe'er thy feet may stray : Ever may his love protect thee All along Life's devious way ! And when thou in Death shalt slumber, All Earth's cares and sorrows o'er, May thy ransomed spirit wander Joyous, on a happier shore ! ,K- } '33 FUGITIVE POEMS. 65 CHRISTMAS. 'T WAS Night upon Judea : all was hushed : And in her peerless capital the hum Of varied voices, and the bustling tread" Of busy footsteps long had died away: Silence sat brooding upon town and tower ; The flocks and herds had sought their peaceful rest; And Night's broad mantle wrapped Judea's realm. 'T was Night: but though unconscious Earth did sleep, The courts of Heaven, that never know repose, Were doubly wakeful with angelic joy ! For never since the glad Creation's morn Was night so pregnant of such high events : For He, whom ancient prophets long foretold Should come — ^Jehovah's well-beloved Son, Who filled in highest Heaven the second throne — In human nature's humblest mien should come, The Great Messiah of his chosen race, And only Saviour of a ruined world — This very night should be of woman bom ! Night waned apace ; and in the distant East, Where Magi studied their mysterious lore, A star arose, of strange, unusual light, And slowly, westward, took its flaming way ! The wondering Sages, filled with holy fear. F UGI TIVE POEMS. j66 < Girt up their loins, quick bound their sandals on, And, taught by some unknown, directing power, Followed, with willing steps, the guiding star ! 'Twas Midnight's hourj and on fair Bethlehem's plainS The wakeful shepherds watched their sleeping flocks. 'T was silent all, save the far streamlet's sound, And the light whisper of the passing breeze ! Then lo ! the Angel of the Lord came down. And heavenly glory beamed upon their sight ! The simple shepherds shrunk away in fear. And prostrate fell : " Fear not ! " the spirit said, " For tidings of great joy to you I bring, And all mankind. The promised Christ is born ! In David's city ye the babe shall find, In manger lying, clad in mean attire ! " Then suddenly appeared a heavenly host, And shouted " Glory to the Highest, God — Peace upon Earth — good will to all mankind ! " ^S^ Thus was the time which drew a Saviour down ; Such was the Night on which our King was born ! Long hath His Church the festal day revered. And sung Hosannas to the prince of Peace ! "T is meet the birth-day of the King of Kings Should thus be honored by his ransomed train ! 'T is meet to deck his courts with signs of joy, And press the altar's steps with willing feet : And while the old aisles ring with sacred praise, And the loud anthem peals its swelling note, Thus be the tribute of our grateful heart : Thou, who didst come to save ! To take upon thee all our mortal woe, And suffer death in love for man below, And triumph o'er the grave — List to the song we raise ! We bless thee for thy love's transcending care, That thou didst deign to leave thy glories fair, In worlds of heavenly praise ! Saviour ! be thou our friend ! Guide us in mercy o'er Life's changing path : In mercy shield from every storm of wrath, Till Life's sad conflict end ! Thus, by thy succor blest, Let us abide, while mortal life remains; Then may the star which 'lumined Bethlehem's plains Guide to thy heavenly rest ! ?9 68 FUGITIVE POEMS. ELEGIAC HYMN. Sister ! thy loved form is lying Peaceful in the grave's still gloom ; And the mourning winds are sighing Sadly o'er thy lowly tomb. ^ Life was opening gay before thee, Wooing to its wearying roam ; Bright the skies were beaming o'er thee, When thy Maker called thee home. By no terror w^ast thou shaken. When thy spirit might not stay ; Like some flower, by Spring forsaken, Thou didst fade in death away. Sister ! while our hearts deplore thee. Once the loveliest of our band. We may trust that Mercy bore thee To the bright and better land ! Though thy beauteous form reposes, 'Neath the cold and darksome clay, Faith thy ransomed soul discloses In the world of perfect day. Hope, by humble Faith attended, Points to realms divinely fair ; And when Life with us is ended. May we rise and meet thee there ! ^' FUGITIVE POEMS. 69} THE MONARCH'S WISH. •• Oh ! that I had wing-s like a dove ! for then would 1 fly away and be at rest. Lo ! then would i wander far off, and remain in the wilderness." Psalm Iv. 6, 7. The wearied monarch sat apart, A moment from his troubles free, Saddened in soul and sick at heart With earthly pomp and vanity : And while with burdening cares he strove, And griefs were gathering in his breast, He sighed for pinions like a dove, To flee away, and be at rest. He languished for a calm retreat, Some far away, and peaceful shore, Untrodden but by sinless feet, Where Earth might vex his soul no more. Hate had usurped the bower of Love, Wild was the phrenzy of his breast — And Oh ! for pinions like a dove. To flee away, and be at rest. 'T is thus with Life ! its best estate Is but a feeble ray of joy ; An hour, of golden hopes elate, Which hastening clouds and storms destroy; And while the heart reluctant clings, And woes o'erwhelm the laboring breast, Oh ! for the turtle's gentle wings. To flee away, and be at rest. 70 FUGITIVE POEMS. ■S3 And though once more Life's joys invite To sip their flattering streams of pain, Who that has tasted Earth's delight, Would ever sigh to taste again 7 Its brightest hopes, its fairest things, But serve to wound the bleeding breast; Oh ! for the turtle's gentle vvings, To flee away, and be at rest ! But there shall come a sweet release From all these storms that darkly roll ; And Mercy's voice shall whisper peace Upon the tempest of the soul : For Death the envied treasure brings, And calms the turmoils of the breast, And gives the spirit deathless wings, To flee away, and be at rest. u 'S2 FUGITIVE POEMS. 71 j '-^ ■; THANKSGIVING. Oh 't is a joyous thing, in time like this, To mark a Nation turn with eager tread From toil away, and press the courts of God, With hearts of high rejoicing. It is meet, That frail dependent creatures should unite To bless the hand that feeds them,^ and supplies Their every want, from Mercy's boundless store ! When the long Summer, and its toils are paist, " When Autumn's hue hath tinged the golden ] grain," And the rich harvest far o'erpays our care, Oh then should hymns of glad Thanksgiving rise, To Him whose love hath crowned the closing year, And scattered countless blessings in our path ! Full well they knew — those holy men of old — Who first did set apart this festal day. That man is all too prone to share the gift, Then quite forget the Giver who bestows, And dark ingratitude alone repay ! And when their annual day of praise did come, They hailed its rising with a joyful eye. Sought with a willing step the house of prayer,' ^- ■53 72 FUGITIVE POEMS ^s^*^>^^^^^^^^^ •'^•^'^^^'^^^•-^•^-^■^ i And there, and round their own homes' cheerful board, They counted all their varied blessino^s o'er, And offered up the incense of the heart ! But they no more will hail its joyous light, For Death has called those reverend fathers hence, To the more glad Thanksgiving of the skies ! But though the just have died, their memory lives ; Their works of faith and love do follow them ; And each return of this rejoicing morn, Doth sadly whisper of those pilgrim sires ! Thanksgiving ! what associations throng Its simple mention : friends and home are there ! The distant wanderer turns his weary step Back to the natal mansion ; and the lips Of parents, a'ld the fond fraternal band Do bid him welcome to his home again ? And when the re-united household train Once more assemble round the festive board, What silent blessings rise from grateful hearts, That Mercy's angel hath watched o'er them still. Soon will another glad Thanksgiving mom Dawn on our land ; and if we hail its light, Let us be glad together, and rejoice With heart-felt gratitude for mercies past ! For thou and I, my brother, from the time Our eyes first opened on the things of earth. Have richly proved a Heavenly Father's care ! 1 ^33 FUGITIVE POEMS. 73 His hand first formed us, and hath still sustained, Through every change of being, until now, And with transcendant mercies crowned our lot ! liCt us rejoice together in the love Of such a Father, and improve His grace ; That when our Life's last sands are running low, And time with us hath gathered to its close, We may be guided to the realms of bliss, To join in one eternal hymn of praise ! Hartford, Nov. 20, 1836. -^ 74 ^ FUGITIVE POEMS. THE FARMER,. How blest the Farmer's simple life ! How pure the joy it yields ! Far from the world's tempestuous strife, Free mid the scented fields. When Morning woos, with roseate hue, O'er the far hills away, His footsteps brush the silvery dew, To greet the welcoming Day. Wlien Sol's first beam in glory glows, And blithe the sky-lark's song. Pleased, to his toil the Farmer goes, With cheerful steps along. While Noon broods o'er the sultry sky, And sunbeams fierce are cast, Where the cool streamlet wanders by, He shares his sweet repast. When Twilight's gentlest shadows fall Along the darkening plain, He lists his faithful watch-dogs' call, To warn the listening train. -22 ^' FUGITIVE POEMS. 75 Down the green lane young hurrying feet Their eager pathway press ; His loved ones come in joy to greet, And claim their sire's caress. Then when the evening prayer is said, And Heaven with praise is blest, How sweet reclines his weary head On slumber's couch of rest! Nor deem that fears his dreams alarm, Nor cares with carking din : Without his dogs will guard from harm, And all is peace within. Oh, ye who run in folly's race, To win a worthless prize ! Learn from the simple tale we trace, Where true contentment lies ! Ho ! Monarch ! flushed with glory's pride ! Thou pamted, gilded thing ! Hie to the free-born Farmer's side, And learn to be a king ! ^- THE VETERAN. I MARKED him, mid the household train ;3 'T was Winter's rule of blight : But Gladness held her jocund reign Around the hearth at night ! And Pleasure, in that old man's eye, Would cheering glee impart ; For Joy's bright sunshine seemed to lie All tranquil o'er his heart ! He told old tales of days agone, How erst a Nation's might Girt the red sword of battle on, For Freedom and for Right : And he had stood in danger's path, When fierce the contest grew : Where the cannon spoke its sulphury wrath. And thick the death-shots flew ! And when the crimson strife was o'er — War smoothed her visage grim — Then wild, from Freedom's farthest shore, Arose their triumph-hymn : i. } 'S2 K' FUGITIVE POEMS. 77 s^ And the old man's heart, with a patriot's pride, Would swell as he told it o'er, When he thought how his brave companions died, And the green earth drank their gore ! 1 marked him mid a careless throng, Where Childhood's laugh rung high ; And the old man smiled to hear the song Of gay ones bounding by : But I saw how he strove with a gathering gloom, And I saw that his eye had wept : For his memory roved by a grassy tomb, Where his loved companion slept ! I marked him on the day of God ; The church-bells called to prayer : With a cheerful step the veteran trod, To lay his offering there ! And I knew by the smile on his furrowed brow, When his hymn of praise was given, That his heart had forgotten its cares below, And his treasure was laid in Heaven I But Time passed on in silent course — 'T was Summer's golden reign ; How meet that the reapers should hasten forth. To gather the ripened grain ! ^^ 78 FU GITIVE POEMS. X^*^^^»^Ni ^ An Angel came, with a muffled tread, And a smile in his glorious eye ; And the old man bowed his reverend head, And laid him down to die ! ^S2 K- FUOITIVE POEMS. 79 SONGS OF EVENING. 'T is sweet when daily labor o'er, And all is calm and free, To tread old Ocean's sounding shore. And list the murmuring sea ; To catch the low wind's funeral sigh Above where thousands sleep — And hear the sea-bird's lonely cry Upon the far-off deep ! And when on Death's dim, shadowy shore. At Life's faint twilight driven — Calm let us view the waters o'er, And boldly launch for Heaven ! IL *Tis sweet at 'evening's tranquil hour. When all is hushed and still, To seek some favorite haunt or bower. And muse at silent will. }80 FUGITIVE POEMS. No doubts distract — no fears annoy, To vex the peaceful breast ; But all is pure and quiet joy, Mid slumbering Nature's rest And oh, when earthly care shall cease, At Life's still evening-close. How sweet to leave Earth's bowers in peace, For Heaven's secure repose ! No more to sigh 'neath Grief's control— From friends no more to sever ! While the celestial ages roll For ever, and for ever ! gg^ ^22 t FUGITIVE POEMS. 81 SONNETS— TO JAMES DIXON, Author of ** Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter Sonnets.' Bard of the pleasant lyre ; where'er thy strain Breaks on the stillness of the listening air; Whether in Spring-time, o'er the grassy plain, With careless step you rove, mid flowrets fair ; Whether through Summer's fervid walks you stray, And mark the waters and the winds at play ; Whether mid Autumn's stores of ripening gold Thou revest, pensive, mid the dying flowers ; Or Winter calls thee, with his voices cold, To muse, instructed, 'mong tlie leafless bowers ; My heart is with thee : Through the joyous hours I roam, with thee, o'er scenes so proudly told ! By brook, by glen, on mountain-top I stand ; Turns my fond soul to thee, and my loved Father- land! ^^flf*^»^\^»^%»^^» » • K' S3 82 FUGITIVE POEMS. II. Dixon ! our own New England clime is fair, And happy faces glad its pleasant vales ; And voices whisper on its haunted air, Where olden memories breathe their hallowed tales ! But come, my friend, and rove awhile with me, And Southern scenes shall spread a feast for thee ! The Bard is Nature's priest: where'er she reigns, There may he find an altar ; and his soul May offer up its incense ! Seek the plains Where the bright South doth woo with sweet con- trol : Here noble hearts will cheer us, while the strains Of warbling birds, more sweet than notes which stole From Orpheus' lyre, shall win us, for a time, To linger from our own to bless the Southern clime ! North Carolina, Ang. 1639. ■aa ■S3 FUGITIVE POEMS. 83 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. Mourner ! bending o'er thy dead, Bowed 'neath Sorrow's galling chain, Raise in hope thy drooping head, For thy child shall live again ! Faith doth point with cheering ray Far from doubt and low despair ; And thy child in realms of day. Reigns in deathless glory there ! Beauty dwelt upon his brow — Deem not thou his brow is faded : ' Gladness dwelt within his eye — Deem not that its light is shaded : For that eye, for ever bright, Sparkles as the radiant gem, And that brow, in worlds of light, Wears a Seraph's diadem ! Spring shall strew her honors fair Where his form is lowly laid : Loveliest flowers shall linger there. First to bloom, and last to fade ! There shall wandering children stray, And his grave be kindly drest ; There shall smile the parting day, There shall moonbeams love to rest. 84 ■n FUGITIVE POEMS. ^^^t^t^l^l^»^l^^«^l^l^i^l^«^«^l^i^l^lM^«^N^«^«^M Mourner ! weep not then in sorrow, O'er thy cherished idol slain ; Meekly resignation borrow, For thine infant lives again ! Bow thee to the will of God, While the day of time is given : Then when Life's short path be trod, Thou Shalt meet thy child in Heaven. K- '2S FUGITIVE POEMS. 85* BIRTH-DAY VERSES. ••A birth-day ! tis a mournful theme To one whose hopes are fled ; "Whose spirit, like a faded dream, Lies desolate and dead." Oh Time ! I will not beg the boon That thou shouldst linger on thy track, To stay my Manhood's hastening noon, Or turn my dial's shadow back ! Should I the humblest wish e'en crave, Thou couldst not heed my mournful cry : For thou art but a vassal slave, And thou thyself, Oh Time, shalt die ! Then speed thee on thine eager flight. Regardless all of mortal care ; And while I bow in suppliant plight. Thy God and mine shall hear my prayer ! Aye, speed thy course ! For what is Life 1 A sunburst, chased by gathering gloom ; A Meeting hour of wildering strife; Gc, read its record on the tomb ! 86 FUGITIVE POEMS. Alone I rove ! a joyous throng Once with me pressed Life's opening bower ; And gaily rose tlie blithesome song, And Gladness led the jocund hour. Ah ! whither fled 1 Go, ask of Death ! Where lurks the Morning's roseate beam 7 Gone— like the vapor's fleeting breath, Gone — like the sleeper's changing dream ! Where, where hath Hope, the charmer, flown. Who sang beside Life's paths so gay 1 When chill Misfortune's blasts were blown, The bird-like music died away ! And what is love 1 A fitful flame, Too oft expiring in its birth : Friendship 1 Alas ! a gilded name, To cheat the trusting ones of Earth ! And what is Pleasure's boasted show 7 Go, ask of Folly's languid slave I 'T is but a meteor's sickly glow, O'er a lone pathway to the grave ! Oh Life ! is this thy palsying blight? Is such the path by mortals trod 7 Then speed, Oh Time, thy hastening flight, And I will bend the knee to God ! FUGITIVE POEMS 87 -33 Pass on ! pass on ! by Earth unblest ! Faith points to Heaven's eternal shore: There shall the weary pilgrim rest, When Time and Death shall be no more ! K- S2 cs- 88 -3:9 FU GITI VB POEMS. "AS THY DAY IS, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE." Mariner, on Life's dark sea, Seeking for some distant shore, From the waves of trouble free, Where the tempest comes no more ; Hush thy wild complaint of woe ! Lo ! the Master's promise free ! " As thy day of life below, So thy strength shall also be ! " Pilgrim in Life's vale of tears, Fainting 'neath thy wearying roam ; Seeking through the mournful years For a city yet to come ; Give thy doubtings o'er at last, Here the gracious promise see ! « As thy day of life is cast, So thy strength shall also be ! " Mourner on Life's desert plain, Nought around thy way to cheer; Sorrowing in a night of pain, 'T ill the morning light appear ; Lo ! the beacon-star of Heaven ! Cheering hope it brings to thee ! " As thy day of life is given. So thy strength shall also be ! •'* -^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 89 SONG. Lore not the world, neither the things that are in the world. I. JoAn, ii. 15. While earth invites thee, And its pomp delights thee, Turn thou away ; For the clouds of sorrow, Will gloom, ere the morrow, Life's fitful day. n. Turn then thy wandering feet^ From all its glories fleet, While time is given ! In blissful Hope rejoice, While Mercy's cheering voice Calls thee to Heaven ! -33 90 FUGITIVE POEMS TO THE MEMORY OF BACON. Friend of my soul ! while yet I hear Thy kindly voice's farewell tone,* Thou sleepest with the slumbering year, And Wintry winds above thee moan : Gone with thy genius' kindling fire — Thy Manhood's glorious promise vain : And I must tune my mournful lyre, To breathe for thee a funeral strain ! Ah ! feebly roams my hand along, O'er trembling chords to sadness strung ; For thee, thou child of joyous song, How can the solemn dirge be sung 1 Full oft my lyre its notes of woe Hath waked, when griefs my soul would bend How shall I bid its numbers flow For thee, my best, familiar friend ! Thou art not dead ! I see thee still ! For Memory wakes her magic power ; Again we climb the wooded hill, Or seek the valley's vine-clad bower : Now by the wild brook's prattling stream We rove, with careless spirits blest ; Or watch the day-god's parting gleam Gush from the chambers of the west ! -23 FUGITIVE POEMS. 91 'T is noontide in the leafy June ! Beneath some tall tree's fragrant shade, Where soft winds breathe a whispered tune, Our forms along the turf are laid : And there, while griefs and cares retire, And we in peace, alone, recline, Thou kindly list'st my simple lyre, And I do joyous list to thine ! The Autumn's pensive days have come. And Death o'er Nature's bloom hath past ; Among the funeral woods we roam. Where leaves are rustling on the blast : And while the breeze goes wailing by, And trees their leafless branches wave, We muse how Life's bright hopes must die, And man lie slumbering in the grave ! Alas ! alas ! and thou art dead ! The friend so true — beloved so well ! While hope her wildest visions spread — Fond Memory ! cease thy magic spell ! There 's gloom along thy mountain's side, And by thy free brook's pebbly shore : There 's sadness in thy Summer's pride, For thou, my friend, wilt come no more ! And thou didst die in Manhood's prime, From home and fond delights away : While I beneath a distant clime, Was doomed in loneliness to stray ! 92 FUGITIVE POEMS. I might not mark thy gathering care, When sickness, lone, thy form did bow ; Nor cheer thy sorrowing heart's despair, Nor wipe the death-damp from thy brow ! And thou dost sleep that hanowea sieep Which Earth may ne'er disturb again : No more thy sorrowing eye shall weep, No more thy bosom throb with pain ! And oft at Morn, at Noon, and Eve, With pensive steps will mourners come, Alone, o'er buried hopes to grieve. And weep above thy narrow home ! But now, farewell ! hard — hard to speak, To one of heart so true as thine : These flowing tears adown my cheek, Too well attest the grief of mine ! In yon bright Heaven a glorious rest We trust henceforth pertains to thee ; But the cold turf which wraps thy breast Is all that now remains to me. North CaroUaa, Jan. 1839. K- 22 FUGITIVE POEMS. 93 REST, SOLDIER, REST. Imitated from the " Rest, Warrior, Rest," of Dibdin, His trials are o'er, and his conflict is done, His battle is fought, and his victory won ; He lays by the harness which girded his breast, And turns him away for the conqueror's rest ! Bravely the foemen he quelled in his might, For his Captain was near in the deadliest fight ; But the shadows of Death gather thick o'er his eye, And the war-weary veteran has turned him to die ! Rest, Soldier, Rest ! His trials are o'er, and his labors are done, His battle is fought, and his victory won : He shall slumber secure from his mightiest foes. Nor the din of the conflict disturb his repose : Till the last trumpet's warning shall bid him arise. And his Captain in triumph returns from the skies; Then joyfully go at the glad summons given, To rest on the fields of his conquest in Heaven ! Rest, Soldier, rest ! THE PRINCE OF PEACE. -es- Awake, my harp, to heavenly lays ! Strike to the Great Redeemer's praise Who left the highest place In glory, by His Father's throne, And came, a stranger, and alone, To save our fallen race ! What nobler theme commands thy song 1 It might delight an Angel's tongue To dwell on one like this : Then let it all my soul inspire ; Be it my holiest heart's desire To praise the Prince of Peace ! He saw me held in Satan's thrall, He saw me drink his bitter gall, To win a burning wreath : Kindly he broke my master's chain, And led me from the hellish train, And snatched my soul from death ! He saw me far from glory stray, He saw me tread that downward way, That leads to endless woe : Gently he took me by the hand, And pointed to the happy land Where all the righteous go ! FUGITIVE POEMS. 95 lie saw me black and vile within, He saw me captive led by sin, Far from the path to Heaven : Softly he bade my sorrows cease, He whispered to my conscience " peace ! " And spoke my sins " forgiven ! " a Rt- 96 FUGITIVE POEMS WHEN FROM THOSE WE LOVE WE PART. When from those we love we part, And the spirit bows in sadness, What can cheer the drooping heart, What can breathe of joy and gladness? Only Hope presents the balm, When with sad farewell we greet them ; Only Hope the breast can calm, Whispering, we again may meet them ! When from those we love we part, Whom the hand of Death surprises, What can cheer the breaking heart. While the bursting sob arises 1 Holy Hope, beside us there, With the Page of heavenly story, Points to homes divinely fair, Distant in the realms of glory I I FUGITIVE POEMS. 97 THE RUIN. I STOOD within an ancient pile, From bustling haunts of men away, Where mouldering arch and broken aisle Told of the empire of decay I Alas ! no more these sacred halls Might list the anthem's echoing tone ; The ivy climbed the crumbling walls, The lone owl mocked the sad wind's moan ! 'T was Night's calm hour — and softly fell O'er Nature's breast the moonbeams bright : E'en the gray ruin owned the spell. All flooded in the silvery light I Entranced I mused : an Angel throng Came gathering on the haunted air ; Again I heard the choral song, Again I heard the murmured prayer ! Oh when the toilsome day hath fled, With all its cares and all its pain — How sweet to call the slumbering dead Back to the scenes of Earth again ! <98 FUGITIVE POEMS. The breast forgets its griefs at last — No more the mournful tear will start ; And Time flits all unheeded past The bright Elysium of the heart I Night waned apace : the echoed sound Of footsteps met my startled ear ; I sought the Temple's shadowy bounds Some other wanderer lingered near. A stranger came ; his wildered eye Told of a heart which griefs had known ; His bosom heaved the quivering sigh, And Sadness marked his murmured moan. He seemed like one. grown old with care, While Youth was loitering on his way — Wrapped in the mantle of Despair, While Life yet wooed with splendors gay. As some tired dancer, when the night Wears long, from Beauty's beaming smile Goes forth beneath the Moon's calm light, To breathe the scented air awhile : U: So he appeared, from revels gay, Where late at Pleasure's shrine he prest, To turn with lingering steps away, In silent converse with his breast. ■Wt -S3 FUGITIVE POEMS. 99 The stranger paused : o'er all the scene He gazed in solemn awe awhile — Then passed with sad and hurried mein, And trod adown the lengthening aisle. Near by a tomb whose mournful care Told where some weary sleeper lay, He knelt in lowly suppliance there, In the broad moonbeams' streaming ray. His locks strayed wildly o'er his brow ; His clasping hands were fiercely prest ; While sobs proclaimed, with mm-muring woe. The anguish of his heaving breast. A softening calmness o'er him stole, Like sunlight, at the tempest's close ; ' All tranquil grew his troubled soul. And thus his burdening prayer arose : " Oh Father ! through a world of care, Behold, thy suppliant roams unblest; My spirit bows to stern despair, And griefs afflict my laboring breast. " Lo ! to thy gracious throne I come ; Deign, deign to hear my humble cry ; No niore my erring feet would roam, No more from paths of virtue fly. " Oh take the wanderer to thy love, For Him who died on Calvary's tree : Then while throuo^h Life's lorn paths I rove, My soul shall find repose with thee. " Oh sacred Spirit ! lo, I bend To Thee ! O'er Time's tempestuous way Deign Thou to prove my guiding friend, And chase my gathering cares away. "In Pleasure's sinful paths no more I stray, by Sin and Folly driven ; Oh lead me to yon radiant shore, Where joys celestial bloom, in Heaven, " Oh Saviour ! Thou who once below Man's sinful nature deign'dst to share, To thee I bring my mournful woe, Assured Thou wilt not scorn my prayer. " By all Thy love, so freely shown, When Thou thyself to Death did'st give, Oh ! look from Heaven's eternal throne, And bid the trembling sinner live. " My panting spirit pines for rest ; Bend it obedient to thy will ; Kind Saviour ! view my troubled breast, And bid its heaving waves be stilL fS' I m- FUGITIVE POEMS. 101 ■n The prayer had ceased : The suppUant rose, And slow his silent way re-trod : His mien confessed that peace which flows From the forgiving grace of God. Thus ever, by contrition driven, When souls undone their loss deplore ; The kind renewing smiles of Heaven The moral ruin shall restore ! 102 '3 FUGITIVE POEMS. SONG OF THE SYBIL. In olden time, when Greece had lost her sway, And Rome was peerless mistress of the world, In a lone spot, in fair Italia's clime, Upon a beetling cliff's projecting point, That high o'erhung a slumbering vale beneath, A Sybil sat. Wan grief had marked her brow, And Care had left his lengthened furrows deep ; Disheveled was her hair, and her light robe, «. In careless fold, her shrinking form concealed : Her eye was restless, and her wasted hand Swept wildly o'er a lyre, beside her placed, And thus she sung : Life ! 't is a cheat ! For fair is the light of its morning skies, And bright are the hues of its varying dyes : But its splendor is fleet ; s And the promising glory too speedily flies — s Life ! 't is a cheat ! ] Hope ! thou art vain ! I For fond is thy promise in young life's hour, I And joyous thy song in its sun-lit bower ; \ But sorrow and pain ] Soon sway the lorn heart with resistless power — i Hope ! thou art vain ! 23 FUGITIVE POEMS. 103 Love ! what art thou 1 Though ardent awhile thy consuming flame, And thy maddening frenzy none can tame — Yet the altered brow, And the eye, and the mein, do all proclaim, Love ! what art thou ! Friendship deceives ! For sweet is its flattering vow of esteem, To the youthful heart, as the joys of a dream ; And while it believes, And the promising pleasures realities seem, Friendship deceives ! Death ! thou art blest ! For thou freest the soul from its shackles of blight ; And the shades of the good, clad in garments of light, Do joyfully rest, Or rove the Elysian fields of delight — Death 1 thou art blest ! « 104 FUGITIVE POEMS. '53 FAITH. Faith leaves our gloomy vale of night, Shrouded by sin from glory's ray, And, rising to the fields of light, Basks in a rich, eternal day. Faith calms the sinner^s stubborn will, When rise the waves of guilty pride ; She worships at the holy hill Where Nature's mighty Sovereign died. When dangers press, and anxious fear Sinks the weak heart, and checks the strong. Faith, like a pitying angel, near. Cheers the despairing saint along. And when Death's whelming surges roll. And Life's frail bark to wreck is driven— Faith fires the dying Christian's soul, And plumes his drooping wing for Heaven ! K ISi^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 105 EPITAPH FOR AN INDIAN MONUMENT. Chieftains of a vanished race, In your ancient buris-l place, 5 By your fathers' ashes blest, Now in peace securely rest Since on Life ye looked your last, Changes o'er your land have past : Strangers came with iron sway, And your tribes have passed away ! But your fate shall treasured be In the strangers' memory : Virtue long her watch shall keep, Where the Red Men's ashes sleep ! K> 106 ss FUGITIVE POEMS ^^m^^^^^^^^0^^^0^0^f^^^0^^^^^^''^^0^^^^9^^^^^i^^^»^^^^^*^i^^^^^^^^^^^ THE miENDS WE LOVED IN CHILDHOOD. A BALLAD. The friends we loved in Childhood, Oh, whither have they fled 7 Beneath the village churchyard, They slumber with the dead ! In peace they rest beneath the sod, Their earthly labors o'er : Oh, the friends that we loved in our early youth, We shall meet on earth no more ! The friends we loved in Childhood, When Life was young and gay, How blithesome were their bosoms Throughout the joyous day ; And lightly tripped their merry feet Across the flowery plain ; But the friends that we loved in our early youth We ne'er shall meet again ! K' The friends we loved in Childhood, How fond their memory seems ! They haunt us in our slumbers, They whisper in our dreams ! S2 11 FUGITIVE POEMS. 107 And then we wake, with saddened heart, To find our bliss but vain : For the friends that we loved in our early youth We ne'er shall meet again 1 The friends we loved in Childhood, Oh, peaceful be their rest ; And green may be the willow, That sighs above their breast ! And when in death we lowly sleep. Secure from all our pain ; Oh, the friends that we loved in our early youth. May we meet in peace again ! S2 108 FUGITIVE POEMS THE SKATER'S SONG. Away ! away ! for the rosy light Gleams bright o'er the eastern hill ; The Frost King came in a glee last night, And bade the streams lie still. Hurrah ! hurrah for the ice-bound lake ! No speed let our fleet limbs lack ; And the slumbering echoes shall startled awake, As we dash o'er our slippery track ! Away ! away ! 't is a glorious morn, And my heart leaps up to go ; The trusty skate shall bear us on, O'er the sleeping wave below ! The golden beams which the day-god sends The distant hill-tops lave ; But the brightest smile which his godship lends Is his flash on the frozen wave ! Away ! away ! for the skater's shout Is ringing along the air : The gathering bands are hastening out, In the gladsome sport to share ! Oh, there 's never a tone of music's own That the bounding soul can feel, Like the merry sound of the crackling ice, And the ring of the skater's steel ! -!a -2^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 109 Then up, and away ! for the moments fly ! Let 's hie o'er the snow-clad plain ; For the joyous streams all captive lie In the frolicsome Frost King's chain ! Hurrah ! hurrah for the ice-bound lake ! No speed let our fleet limbs lack ; And the slumbering echoes shall shouting awake, As we dash o'er our slippery track ! m 110 FUGITIVE POEMS. { WATCH WITH THE DEAD. 'T IS Death— but not like Death ! Too oft the spirit, at the signal given, Clings to its hold on Life, with gasping breath, ; And sob convulsive, till in terror riven : Making its all, its hope, of Earth, unblest, Forgetful of the high and glorious bourne of rest ! Too oft, alas ! Death's voice Startles some Miser, o'er his hoarded gold : No more its light may bid his soul rejoice, No more his eyes may glut its wealth untold ; While the lorn wretch must lay him down to die, And mourn a Treasure lost, " which worlds were poor to buy ! " And oft in Youth's gay morn, Death calls away, while yet the sky is bright ; Wliile golden hues the flowery path adorn, And Hope and Pleasure greet th' enraptured sight ! The sad heart mourns o'er Life's gay treasures fled, Yields the reluctant breath, and slumbers with the dead ! •?s. i FUGITIVE POEMS. Ill But when in ripened years, Like those which slumber now in Death's em- brace, The summons comes — no strife, no anxious fears The parting spirit rend ; the mortal race Is run ; the soul awaits its call in peace, And soars on joyous wing, exultant in release ! How sweet the soft repose ! As anxious mothers come, the Death drew near, (Or like soft winds to lull the dying rose !) Breathed a hushed whisper in the willing ear : While the glad spirit stretched its joyous hand, And roved with her grim guide, to seek the better ^ land! And when my race is run — Or be it soon, or even in age, unblest — As the tired soldier, when the fight is done, Lays by the harness from his girded breast^ So may my spirit, in the strife victorious, Lay by its earth-bom cares, for heavenly mansions glorious. K^ R- 112 'S FUGITIVE POEMS ^«^^^«#N««#N^^*«tf%^«^«#N«^i% THE FLOWERET. I MARKED, when the morning sun shone bright, Where a floweret in beauty grew ; Its petals oped to the rosy light, As it laughed in the sparkling dew ! And a grateful fragrance the blossom flung To the sportive winds at play : While o'er it a raptured wild bird hung, And caroled his love-taught lay. I came again, when an hour had flown, And sought for my floweret fair ; All vain, alas I for the blossom was gone, And sad was the silent air ! I mourned when I thought on its radiant hue, And remembered its look of pride ; I bowed me in grief where its beauty grew. And wept where my floweret died ! Then I turned my gaze to the azure sky, And I thought on the God above. Who heareth the hungry ravens' cry, And whose hohest name is Love ! S3 ^^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 113 -S3 6- And I dried my tears as my Fancy roved To the realm by angels trod ; For I knew that the blossom from Earth removed, Bloomed bright in the gardens of God ! Oh, ye, who have watched o'er its fragrant birth, As it oped to the balmy day. Weep not that no longer it smileth on Earth, To gladden your weary way ! No more shall ye fear for the Morning's blight, Nor dread the cold chills of Even ; For afar, in a realm of celestial light. Your floweret is blooming in Heaven ! 8 K- 114 -g FUGITIVE POEMS ^^^f^^^^^>^^f^^^^^r^^^^^^^^^^^^f^^^^r^^F'»^'^»i^s^>^^^'t^-^s^s^»^^^»^i^^^^»^>^^*^t^^t^^ SONG OF THE WAYFARING. Here let us rest, my weary friend, Beside this rippling stream ; For long has been our tiresome march, And fierce the sultry beam : Let 's sit beneath this spreading shade, Which "woos our steps to stay ; And we will drink the cooling wave To loved ones far away I Fill high the cup ! though we full oft Have quaffed the ruddy wine, This purling stream will sweeter seem Than juices t)f the vine. Then let us not for goblets sigh — Their gleams too oft betray ; But we will drink the crystal wave To loved ones far away ! 'T is sweet to muse on distant friends. To Memory fondly dear, And feel we are not all forgot, While resting lonely here ; Oh, sweet the thought that they may think Full oft of those who stray ; And now, perchance, do kindly drink To loved ones far away ! ♦23 53 FUGITIVE POEMS. 115 But look, my friend, at yonder Sun — 'T is hastening down the west ; And we must speed our weary course, Till night-fall bid us rest ; But draw once more from out the stream, And yet one moment stay ; And we will drink a parting cup To loved ones far aw^ay I 116 $ ^ FUGITIVE POEMS MINSTREL, SING THAT SONG AGAIN. Minstrel, sing that song again, Plaintive in its solemn flow ; Memory owns its magic strain, Loved and cherished long ago : Lo ! the Past, the mystic Past, Rises through the vista dim ; Just as twilight's shades are cast At the Day's departing hymn ! •53 Minstrel, 't was an eve like this ; Stars were spangling all the sky ; Every zephyr spoke of bliss, Floating in its fragrance by : • Then, within our moonlit bower. One, with voice like Music's own. Sweetly charmed the lingering hour. To the soft lute's silvery tone ! As the witching cadence fell Wild within our bower of Love, Angel bands might prove the spell. Bending from the courts above ! Minstrel, chant once more the air, Soft as Spring's departing breath : She who sang its numbers there Slumbers as the bride of Death ! -22 ^' FUGITIVE POEMS. 117 Minstrel, chide thou not my tears — Thou hast waked a mournful theme : Memory roves the slumbering years, ^ Like some dear, forgotten dream : Day will come, with joy and gladness. Cares once more will fling their blight; Chide not, then, my spirit's sadness — Minstrel, let me weep to-night I 118 FUGITIVE POEMS. ^tf^^^^^'v THE SLEEPING PILGRIM. A FRAGMENT. As the night advanced, one after another of the throng disappeared, for the enjoyment of their allotted "accommodations." Feeling little inclina- tion to sleep, we lingered in the forward cabin. It was still crowded, despite the lateness of the hour. On one side were seated a group, earnestly discus- sing the great political events of the day. At a little distance, a band were surrounding a table, eagerly absorbed in the magic of a game at cards. Yet amid the varied scenes, our attention was suddenly arrested by one object of absorbing interest. An old man was reposing upon a settee. He had numbered full four-score years. His plain garb be- spoke the most abject poverty. His head rested upon a coarse wallet — perchance containing his earthly all. He was lying upon his side, and still held within his grasp a rude staff— the sole com- panion of his loneliness — which rested upon the floor. What it was that so peculiarly attracted us, it is diflicult to define. But his age, his coarse attire, his rude staff, his simple wallet — the easy composure of his aged frame, together with the silvery locks lying carelessly over his furrowed brow — all combined, formed a picture, the like of ,^ •S3 FUGITIVE POEMS. 119 which, in all our acquaintance with mankind, we had never gazed upon. Here was the exact coun- terpart of our " Sleeping Child." We beheld before us a hoary pilgrim, way-worn and weary with the journey of life, resting as it were by its way-side, to refresh his flagging spirits from their toils. All that Fancy had ever pictured to us of such a cha- racter, all of the spirit's dreamy ideal, was here fully and perfectly embodied. No part of the pic- ture was wanting. We sighed that Merrill was not with us, to cause the canvas vividly to exhibit what our sketch but feebly portrays. We turned, and addressed some one near us, and directed his attention to the object of our interest. He stared at the old man— then at us — laughed, and passed on. Poor fool ! No doubt he pitied our derangement ! Long and earnestly did we gaze upon the simple scene before us. We wished to invite the sleeper to our own more welcome couch ; but we would not break his peaceful slumber. He had forgotten, for a time, his cares, and we left him to the sooth- ing influences of " kind Nature's sweet restorer." Sleep was long a stranger to our pillow. And when, at length, the dreamy power did prove propi- tious, still wakeful Fancy wandered to the old pil- grim's side. ** The time is long past, and the scene is afar,** but the old man still holds a place in our memory. Perchance ere this the clods of the valley are green ^ ]20 FUGITIVE POEMS. '^ upon his breast. But we see him still, reposing by Life's way-side, in his dreaming rest. And once, when the vision rose with peculiar vividness, and would not " down at our bidding," our Fancy thus portrayed the hidden sentiment of our heart : — Sleep, weary Pilgrim ! Night hath closed around thee, And Day's tired watchers fold their limbs to rest ; No more doth press the chain of care that bound thee. No more doth Grief harass thine aged breast ! ; Sleep, weary Pilgrim ! Time hath left his token In the thin locks which guard thy temples gray ; Thy manly frame with Age is bowed and broken, And all thy Life's delight hath passed away ! Then rest, lorn Pilgrim ! and, in sleep reposing, Bid Time roll back the periods of his flight — While wizard Memory, hidden charms disclosing, Calls up lost scenes to glad thy raptured sight ! They come, they come ! thy foot is on the moun> tain, Whose rugged paths thy boyhood loved to tread : And now thou lingerest by the gushing fountain, Where gloomy pines their solemn shade o'er- spread ! ,6^ FUGITIVE POEMS. 121 Dream on ! the Summer's morn, with flowery treasure, Doth woo thee forth to rove the dewy vale : \ Thy glad heart thrills to Hope's entrancing measure, And joy comes wafted on the scented gale ! The live-long day thybhthesome steps are wending, Or pausing mid the reaper's fragrant toil j When Night's dim shades with Day's fair hues are blending, Back to thy cot thou bring' st thy simple spoil ! The grave gives back its sleepers : wild resound- ing, The pleasant woods return a jocund shout : A merry band, on sportive pastime bounding. Seek where the nut-trees spread their treasures out I Sleep on, old man ! I would not break the vision Which charms thy spirit, with its rapturous spell : For Earth no more can bring thee joys, Elysian, Like those blest scenes thy boyhood loved so well! Sleep, weary Pilgrim ! soon the hastening morrow Will rouse her sleepers to the busy day : J And thou wilt waken from thy dream in sorrow, \ To view thy pleasures flit in gloom aw^ay. 122 FUGITIVE POEMS. Then gird thy loins, and on thy staff reclining, Press on. nor gaze in fond despondence back : Cheer thee, old Pilgrim, from thy vain repining : Soon, soon shall end thy journey's painful track. And when the goal shall greet, thy steps inviting, Thy failing heart shall find new vigor given : Lay thee right gladly on its breast delighting, ' And sleep the sleep which waketh unto Heaven ! FUGITIVE POEMS. 123 ^' CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST. Lone Night, descending with her sable shroud, Had darkly canopied the troubled deep ! All, all in gloom was mantled ; and the barque That bore the Saviour, with his timid band, Held silent on her way : no kindly ray To aid its guidance — not one glimmering star — But all was deep, impenetrable gloom ! Still to its doubtful course that gallant ship Moved on, obedient, through the dread profound ! Hark ! to the warning ! Mark the quivering gleam ! Down— down — the Tempest plunges on the Sea, And the mad waves rise up to buffet it — And now like angry demons they contend ! Loud peals the thunder, quick the lightnings flash, The hoarse-toned Tempest howls along the wave, And Galilee heaves from her rocky base ! But ah ! by the red lightning's fitful glare, What barque is plunging mid the billowy strife, And dashing madly on to fearful doom 1 'T is His — the Saviour's ! Now it mounts the wave. And rises, threatening, to the frowning sky, -S3 124 FUGITIVE POEMS. And now, down, headlong, in the yawning depths, While swelling seas break o'er it in their wrath ! But where is He — the Master? heeds he not The bursting anguish, and heartrending cry 1 Upon the deck, amid the billows' roar, And breaking surges, lo ! he sleepeth there, Calm as an infant, on its nurse's breast I But now a wave, high rising o'er the deep, Lifts its dire crest, "nd, hke a vengeful fiend, Comes as a mountain on ! The 'frighted band Fly in their frenzy to their sleeping Lord, And in despair's lorn accents shriek for aid : " We perish Master ! save us, save us, Lord ! " He rose, and with a calm, benignant mein, Looked on the storm : then, with a majesty, As if the Tempest were his willing slave. Commanded, " Peace, be still I " The thunders hushed ; The trembling lightnings fled away in fear ; The foam-capt surges sunk to quiet rest ; The raging winds grew still : There was a calm ! tS" ^ FUGITIVE POEMS 125 LIFE-ITS SEASONS. Life hath its Spring-time ! Childhood's mom, When pure is young affection's ray j Gay are the flowers its path adorn, And bright the hues of opening day": Wild music lingers in its bowers. Grateful the fragrance of its flowers, And all betokens bliss : Hope weaves her wild, enchanting song, And sings, at every path along, That all shall be like this I Time's rapid footsteps never stay — Life's golden Spring-time speeds away ! n. Life hath its Summer ! Ardent now Is Manhood's toil. Ambition's sway ; Hope lighteth still the fevered brow, And sweetly sings the coming day : ^ 126 FUGITIVE POEMS. Fond are affection's whispers, bland, And warm is Friendship's proffered hand, Summer's horizon fair ; But ah ! anon a cloud is seen ; Dark and more dark its threatening mein — A Tempest gathers there ! Sunlight and storm are o'er, at last ; Life's fitful Summer-time is past ! IIL Life hath its Autumn ! Where have fled Those flattering promises of Spring 1 Alas ! like withered roses, dead, Around no sweet perfume they fling : Hope hath been false, as she was fair ; The smile hath fled, and gathering care And woe around are cast ; Gloomy is Life's late lovely bower, Here falls a leaf, there fades a flower, And chill the dreary blast ! The showers of ruin fall around ; Life's withered foliage strews the ground ! IV. Life hath its Winter ! Snowy Age, When Manhood's noblest vigors fail ! Weary becomes the chequered page, Cold is the Wintry, piercing gale : '33 K FUGITIVE POEMS. 127 ««N^«««^N^I^k^ The faltering step, the trembling limb, The flagging pulse, the eye-ball dim, Alike deliverance crave : Fainter — yet fainter — hark ! the breath ! Oh haste thee, tyrant, angel. Death ! Welcome the frightful grave ! 'T is finished ! Life's short journey 's done- The Sun hath set— the Seasons run ! K^ '^ NOTES. I The melancholy event here commemorated, will doubtless be fresh in the memory of the reader. Mr. Adams, who met an untimely fate, by the less of this vessel, was a young gentleman of superior talenU and attaimnents, and a resident of Hartford, Cu 2 AflU the mourning winds are sighing Sadly o'er thy lowly tomb. This Hymn was sung at the Baptist Church in Hartford, when a funeral sermon was delivered by Rev. Henry Jackson, upon the sudden death of a young and lovely daughter of Rev. Gurdou Robins. She had been buried during the preceding week. 3 I marked him mid the household train. The occasion of this article was the death of Mr. Ezekiel Hunt- ley, (formerly of Norwich, Ct.,) at the residence of his daughter, Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, of Hartford. Mr. Huntley died at the ad- vanced age of 87, full of years and virtues. 4 Friend of my soul ! while yet I hear Thy kindly voice's farewell tone — Richard Bacon, Jr., a young gentleman of great worth and su- perior endowments, died at Hartford, Ct., Dec. 29, 1838, under circumstances peculiarly distressing. He was buried at Sims- bury, where his family resided, Jan. 1, 1839. 5 In your ancient burial place. This Epitaph was prepared for a .Monument erected by the citizens of Farmington, Ct., over some re-interred bones, which had by accident been disturbed, in an ancient burial spot of the Tuuxis tribe. The same place is now a Christian cemetery. ^S2