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THE DREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 By JAMES MOORE, M. D. 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 The World's Battle;" " The Life ofWashington ; " " History of the Great Rebellion ; " "The 
 Kimeliad," a poem in three cantos; " The Shepherd of the Wissahickon," a poem 
 in three cantos; " Kilpatrick and our Cavalry; " " The Centennial," a 
 poem ; " The Triumph of Truth ; " " The City of God ; " " Our 
 Redeemer's Kingdom ; " " The Mansions in Heaven; " 
 "Saint Paul," "The Star in the East," " Hap- 
 piness," "Divine Attributes," "Divine 
 Providence," " Redeeming the 
 Time," &c, &c, &o. 
 
 " Our life as a dream, our time as a stream, glides swiftly away." 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 Allen, Lane & Scott, Printers, 
 
 233 South Fifth Street. 
 1879. 
 
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THE DREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 By JAMES MOORE, M. D. 
 
 U 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ; The World's Battle ; " " The Life of Washington ; " " History of the Groat Rebellion ; " " The 
 Kimeliad," a poem in three cantos ; " The Shepherd of the Wissahickon," a poem 
 in three cantos; " Kilpatrick and our Cavalry; " " The Centennial," a 
 poem ; " The Triumph of Truth ; " " The City of God ; " " Our 
 Redeemer's Kingdom ; " " The Mansions in Heaven ; " 
 "Saint Paul," " The Star in the East," " Hap- 
 piness," "Divine Attributes," "Divine 
 Providence," " Redeeming the 
 Time," &c, &c, &c. 
 
 " Our life as a dream, our time as a stream, glides swiftly away." 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 Allen, Lane & Scott, Printers, 
 
 233 South Fifth Street. 
 
 1879. 
 
PREFACE. 
 ^-»-i 
 
 The whole earth is full of the glory of God. It 
 shines out in the sun, moon, and stars, and everywhere, 
 by sea and land ; in the crowded city, and the desert 
 waste, in the mountain, hill, plain, river, stream, and 
 brook. What we are wont to call the beautiful in any- 
 thing, in nature or in art, is the glory of the Creator. 
 The more it is contemplated, the more man is prepared 
 for communion with God, and all the bliss therewith 
 joined. 
 
 Nature is the handy-work of Jehovah. How beautiful 
 it is ! View it, and ponder, and turn again, and, be- 
 hold ! what fresh beauties which escaped former obser- 
 vation ! If the mind be cultivated, what enjoyment 
 there' is, in looking on the fair face of nature ! 
 
 There is harmony in the sighing of a reed ; in the 
 breeze that sweeps the field waving with yellow grain; 
 in the ripples, rising on the stream. The wild beauty of 
 the wooded ravine ; the sylvan shade ; the irregular 
 masses of mossy, picturesque rock ; strongly affect the 
 passions, and awaken emotions, tender and subdued, 
 that purify and elevate the soul. 
 
 It will make me happy, if this little poem, contribute 
 to the enjoyment, of the kind friends and patrons, of my 
 former efforts. 
 
 J, M. 
 
 •, ; 
 
THE DREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Our country is but new, nor yet remote, 
 
 The time when vessels from afar, afloat, 
 
 Turned swift their prows from the all-foaming main, 
 
 And sought our rivers, and each fertile plain, 
 
 That stretches from Atlantic's rolling tide 
 
 Toward the far west ; within our waters ride 
 
 The tall and anchoring barks, and swift descend 
 
 The hardy, venturous men, to whomrnor end, 
 
 Ambition placed; filled with the love of gain, 
 
 They dare defy alike the stormy main, 
 
 The warring winds, the elemental rage, 
 
 And 'gainst e'en destiny a dubious war they wage. 
 
 Some urged by tyranny their country leave, 
 
 And flee the lands where cruel men deceive, 
 
 And wield the sword which persecution draws, 
 
 Their will made right to them the only laws, 
 
 And all refusing to their sway to bow, 
 
 Met with such treatment as none meets with now. 
 
 Our commonwealth her deep foundation laid 
 In justice, truth, religion ; by whose aid, 
 She flourished with that glorious toleration, 
 That in the end distinguished this great nation, 
 Where liberty of conscience all enjoy, 
 Nor for belief can any bring annoy. 
 Or on him force his creed, or dare invade 
 His glorious freedom which the laws to aid 
 Kestrain, correct, enforce, so undismayed 
 None can molest or dare him make afraid. 
 
 (3) 
 
Straight as the lines that marked each rising street, 
 
 The plan of Penn included justice meet, 
 
 The red man him obeyed in perfect peace, 
 
 The wranglings of the quarrelsome must cease ; 
 
 While on the growing colony and town, 
 
 Prosperity and trade bring high renown. 
 
 Development did here more rapid run, 
 
 Than elsewhere, 'neath the genial livening sun. 
 
 The cave-like houses where they first repaired, 
 
 Yield to substantial mansions where they shared, 
 
 In rural solitude and plenty great, 
 
 The peace more blissful than the toys of state, 
 
 Which many fled who freedom's flag unfurled, 
 
 And sought a refuge in the western world. 
 
 For this vast empire France and Britain stand, 
 
 In strife opposed ; wage war by sea and land. 
 
 St. George's flag at length in victory waves, 
 
 Shall colonists beneath its folds be slaves? 
 
 Forbid it heaven, and every patriot breast, 
 
 The chains were severed — but you know the rest. 
 
 But know you why fierce civil war should rage, 
 Infernal demons all their wrath assuage, 
 'Midst scenes of Mood and devastating waste 
 And woes and griefs that ne'er can be effaced ? 
 The loss of treasure, life, and all most dear, 
 While dreadful war pursues its sad career ; 
 Beneath the heavy tax the nation groans : 
 From town and hamlet rise sad, dismal moans, 
 Nor many a year shall the encumbrance free, 
 Burden to us and to posterity. 
 
 ( 
 The wise man may learn wisdom from the past ! 
 
 Experience may make fools wise at last : 
 
 And dreadful ills become the starting-point 
 
 Where all may yet be well, now out of joint. 
 
So time and tide may in their restless course, 
 Develop forces and unfold resource, 
 Which, nought but violence and shock can bring, 
 And dreadful anguish, and envenomed sting. 
 Adversity will often reason teach, 
 And bring the wholesome lessons out of reach, 
 And, should cemented union bless the land, 
 All parts and sections a fraternal band, 
 How grand the glory great the future praise 
 That waits the nation from ennobling lays, 
 Of future poets, who shall swell the song, 
 Triumphant, grand, as ceaseless time moves on ! 
 
 Some future bard unborn, in future time, 
 
 Will sing the mildness of our temperate clime, 
 
 The beauty, greatness, of Perm's city fair, 
 
 Its site convenient and salubrious air; 
 
 The mighty steamships that o'er ocean roam, 
 
 The merchant fleets that bring unto the home, 
 
 Of comfort, happiness luxurious wealth 
 
 Filled with contentment every joy, with health; 
 
 The richest products of the outstretched world, 
 
 Our flag on every sea, on every stream unfurled. 
 
 The riches of our merchants, then the lay, 
 Will sweet unfold, to the bright face of day ; 
 While labor, toil, and perspiration bring, 
 Such wages as may make the employe sing. 
 No strikes, or contests, ever having place, 
 But all harmonious and in every case. 
 No man without a homestead of his own, 
 All rents and taxes light, almost unknown : 
 No woman single, who inclines to wed, 
 Unknown divorce, from either board, or bed. 
 A man insures his property and life, 
 Such care prevails for children dear and wife ; 
 
6 
 
 And doctors get their pay, and parsons thrive ; 
 Good zealous souls the happiest alive ! 
 
 From Jupiter, and Memory, 'tis told, 
 
 The Muses sprung ; nine goddesses of old, 
 
 Sisters and virgins, modest, young, and fair; 
 
 Poesy, song, and music was their care. 
 
 O'er which presiding, with such liberal art, 
 
 They soothed, and charmed, and captive led the heart. 
 
 Their genial influence, each bosom felt, 
 
 And hardest hearts by them did soften, melt. 
 
 Sacred to them, the laurel and the palm, 
 
 Emblems of peace and victory ; when calm, 
 
 To emulous and troubled strife, gave place, 
 
 And the green wreaths victorious brows did grace. 
 
 Sacred to them was famed Parnassus' fount, 
 
 Renowned in song ; and that too in the mount, 
 
 Of coolest Helicon ; their favorite seat, 
 
 Or Pindus; their abode, and loved retreat. 
 
 The Muses loved retirement ; — solitude 
 
 Had charms for them, by fountain or by wood, 
 
 Each spreading tree that cast a grateful shade, 
 
 Each rocky dell, romantic, there they made, 
 
 Their visits oft, in chorus dancing round, 
 
 To show the bonds twixt arts and science found. 
 
 No sacrifice to them was ever made : 
 
 And yet, no poet wrote, without their aid; 
 
 Invoked at the commencement of his lay, 
 
 To help, sustain, suggest, and point the way. 
 
 The Muses still have shunned the noise and crowd, 
 
 The scenes that stun the senses ; where the loud 
 
 Discordant din is heard, and busy strife, 
 
 And sought the rural scenes of peaceful life, 
 
 Where silver streams through fields meandering glide, 
 
 Where rural swains mid arching trees abide, 
 
 Stretched out at length and deepest shadows hide, 
 
In thick impenetrable gloom the ray, 
 
 Of midday heat, shot from the orb of day ; 
 
 Or by the fountain of secluded grove, 
 
 Whose echoes spread the story of sad love, 
 
 The mournful accents of desponding hearts, 
 
 Smitten, subdued, by his most cruel darts; 
 
 The breeze Favonian well such freight may bear 
 
 Through scenes of solitude and waving air, 
 
 And waft it swift to the relenting fair. 
 
 II. 
 
 When Doctor Shaw upon the western plains, 
 Served with our army, and partook the pains, 
 The hardship, toil, and oft the battle strife, 
 With which our braves contend in savage life ; 
 The fierceness and the cruelty he knew, 
 Of these wild men, which deep compassion drew; 
 Of female captives by the savage foe, 
 Treated far worse than death ; and every woe, 
 Then murdered foully, lest a tongue should tell, 
 The shameful treatment which was known too well. 
 Dreadful, as helpless captives ever found, 
 Which every listener in sorrow drowned, 
 But which my verse to stain I would no more, 
 Dare to relate, than scenes of sad Cawnpore, 
 Where British valor wept in grief and shame, 
 And vengeance burned with fierce and fiery flame, 
 Till retribution did what man can do, 
 To free the earth from such a fiendish crew. 
 
 Such were the scenes that in colonial life, 
 Prepared the victim for the savage knife, 
 Or murderous tomahawk ; 'tis sad to think, 
 How near the white man stood unto the brink, 
 
8 
 
 Of fell destruction till the waste and wild 
 
 Was gradually filled and nature's child, 
 
 " The noble savage" driven far away, 
 
 More seldom found the victor race his prey. 
 
 Yet, this fierce people is by kindness led, 
 
 Humanity true gratitude has bred, 
 
 The Indian chiefs met, this conclusion draw 
 
 Their best physician is this Doctor Shaw ; 
 
 Desire he might with them prolong his stay, 
 
 From their allowance be deduced his pay, 
 
 Which might have been, had but the powers complied- 
 
 But they declined the favor was denied ; 
 
 And from his savage friends the doctor parts, 
 
 With grief and sorrow to their valiant hearts ; 
 
 His sign on South Seventeenth street we may see, 
 
 Ready to practise now on you and me. 
 
 To those who wish to view the rural scene, 
 
 Where nature smiles, there need not intervene, 
 
 A long, or very troublesome delay, 
 
 Nor journey long, or any weary way. 
 
 The railway cars from any point will bear 
 
 The passenger who longs for purer air : 
 
 Soon with delight, he will rejoice to mark, 
 
 The glorious rural scenes of Fairmount Park. 
 
 How is it that no bard in glowing song, 
 
 Has traced the Schuylkill as it glides along, 
 
 With rippling waves, 7 mid scenes so soft and fair, 
 
 Romantic, wild, to wed the Delaware ? 
 
 Horace, the Tiber and the Anio, praised, 
 
 And other streams ; and Virgil too has raised, 
 
 Our admiration of the flowing verse 
 
 Whose rhythm delights us when he will rehearse, 
 
 His hero sailing up the turbid stream, 
 
 Amid a landscape like a fairy dream. 
 
 So too has Ariosto in its flow 
 
 Majestic, swoln, described the rushing Po ; 
 
While Thomson's verse, describes the silvery course 
 Of winding Thames, awaking pleasure's source. 
 Why then do scenes so lovely not awake, 
 The poet's rapture on the world to break ? 
 And paint a scene so lovely beauteous rare, 
 And lend expression in which all must share, 
 Of those who gaze on nature's lovely face, 
 Enraptured as her varying hues they trace? 
 
 No larger park than Fairmount one can see, 
 
 Throughout the world excepting only three ; 
 
 One at Vienna ; in Great Britain's isle 
 
 They boast of two, both famous this long while ; 
 
 The Windsor forest near the castle fair, 
 
 Where Kings and nobles did and do repair, 
 
 And Epping forest, where a summer day 
 
 It was my great delight some hours to stray 
 
 Where arching trees majestic, cast deep shade, 
 
 And darkening gloom the scene more solemn made. 
 
 When wearied with exertion, then at last, 
 
 Our company enjoyed a delicate repast, 
 
 And as the lengthening shadows larger grow, 
 
 With mirth and laughter reach Stratford le Bow. 
 
 In company, alone, at noon and dewy eve, 
 
 And in each season I would joyful leave, 
 
 Aught else to stroll through London's parks awhile ; 
 
 Nor much fatigued in many a weary mile. 
 
 Oh Fhiladelphians ! prize your Fairmount Park, 
 Set out at dawning and return when dark ; 
 Let oxygen your heaving lungs inflate, 
 And healthy, happy live, and die when late ; 
 In pastimes, picnics, spend the sunny hours, 
 Or shun the heat in nature's lovely bowers, 
 Concealed amid some sylvan, fairy scene, 
 Or by the rocks in some wild dark ravine ; 
 If solitude you love, you'll find it here, 
 Or company, with her your lady dear. 
 
10 
 
 Yes ! by all means take lovely Helen there, 
 Let her with youth' enchanting scenery share, 
 And from your brow dispel invading care ; 
 Her lovely lips, perhaps, will kiss impart 
 " For love burns brightest in the purest heart." 
 
 The pious here a present God will find ; 
 
 What scenes to elevate the soul and mind ! 
 
 How richly o'er the landscape as you go, 
 
 Does the great Father all this goodness show ! 
 
 The air is balm, and whispers the mild breeze, 
 
 Amid the foliage of great forest trees ; 
 
 The joyful birds, perched here, or fluttering there, 
 
 With softest notes, warble a song so rare, 
 
 As oft will fill with wonder and delight, 
 
 While loveliest flowers, unfold their petals bright, 
 
 And strew the wild, romantic, winding way, 
 
 Irregular, up hill and down, in scene so gay. 
 
 Smooth on its course, the rippling river glides, 
 
 Dancing its w r aves in light, unmoved by tides. 
 
 Upon its yielding bosom steamers ply, 
 
 Or sturdy oarsmen all their sinews try ; 
 
 A happy party on the decks are seen, 
 
 Enjoying the fresh breeze, and fields of green, 
 
 That line each margin of the beauteous banks, 
 
 Where shrubs extend, flowers, trees of varied ranks. 
 
 At varied landing see those come, and leave, 
 
 How seeming happy ! what a web they weave ! 
 
 See Anna rests on her fond Robert's arm, 
 
 Dear girl ! secure she now defies all harm. 
 
 See childhood's little feet the grass pursue, 
 
 Perhaps a gaudy butterfly in view, 
 
 Throughout the bounds the fugitive they trace, 
 
 And back return all panting with the chase ; 
 
 Children of opulence delight to drive, 
 
 And rightly, this will make the scene alive. 
 
11 
 
 Onward they rush, as rolls the sounding wheel, 
 Up mounts the blood, they gayest spirits feel ; 
 But not e'en they enjoy the calm repose, 
 Or bliss imbibe that contemplation knows. 
 
 Each, in his way will his own thought enjoy, 
 
 Nought need his musing ever here annoy, 
 
 Wide are the bounds, his own path he may take, 
 
 And no intruder will the calmness break, 
 
 That steals upon the mind when quite alone, 
 
 And reason sits exalted on her throne ; 
 
 Whether by Schuylkill's banks he may incline 
 
 To meditate, or by the groves of pine 
 
 And varied shrub that on the margin grows, 
 
 Through that wild scene where Wissahickon flows ; 
 
 Romantic, where a hermit once of old, 
 
 Expected prophecy would so unfold, 
 
 That she th 7 expected, would his vision bless, 
 
 The woman, sun clad, of the wilderness. 
 
 This shadowy life is often called a dream : 
 Flows on so constantly that like a stream 
 By some it is compared ; but ah ! its flow, 
 Is broken oft, and interrupted so, 
 That few there are, who have not felt the shocks 
 By most endured, while driven against rocks. 
 Penn, Washington, and Morris here have dwelt : 
 Each in his way life joys and sorrows felt; 
 The traitor Arnold, Baron Steuben, here 
 The Revolution's heroes all appear, 
 Who lived retired in these delightful shades ; 
 Show, human glory glitters but, and fades. 
 And Solitude, Lansdowne, and places wont 
 The great to entertain ; as fair Belmont 
 Or as Mount Pleasant, in the days gone by 
 Show varying time doth as a shuttle fly ; 
 
12 
 
 And teach mankind, of every nation, race 
 That here man dwells not ; this is not his place. 
 
 Mark ! further on, that city of the dead, 
 
 Its storied marble ; as you solemn tread, 
 
 Those silent streets, reflection here will tell, 
 
 That but the dust remains ; no echoes swell, 
 
 No whisper sounds, — they sleep ; 'tis sleep of death, 
 
 The life has fled, — th' animating breath. 
 
 Affection's hand may strew the fairest flowers, 
 
 Love's voice may sound amid these gloomy bowers, 
 
 Deep heave the sighs, the tears in torrents flow 
 
 In all the bitterness of heart felt woe, 
 
 From swollen eyes, and heaving bursting hearts, 
 
 But all in vain ; not all affection's arts 
 
 Can one response perceive amid the gloom, 
 
 That circles round the dead in narrow room, 
 
 Where each has found a lowly grave, or tomb. 
 
 The mighty Meade, rests in a simple grave; 
 A headstone marks the spot ; valiant and brave, 
 He did his work, and fairest honors won, 
 Then hence departed, when his work was done, 
 His monument no time can e'er destroy. 
 His praises shall the future bard employ. 
 Kane lies within a tomb by Schuylkill's side, 
 Scooped out from rock ; his name shall still abide, 
 To future generations ; Disston's ample tomb, 
 Conspicuous rises somewhat like a dome, 
 He once shed joy on many a humble home. 
 What beauty in the monuments around ! 
 How stately, costly Laurel Hill are found, 
 Thqse grand memorials that affection rears, 
 And what a tale they tell to future ears ! 
 This cemetery's a most lovely spot, 
 Where those may rest, that share the common lot, 
 But, further on, words never can express, 
 Where at the lovely Church St. James The Less, 
 
13 
 
 Are laid the last remains, and earthly dust, 
 Of those who Christ th' resurrection trust ; 
 The beauty, stillness, and the deep repose 
 Are such as one may fancy, who there goes, 
 And joins the worshippers assembling there, 
 As I have clone ; at solemn hour of prayer. 
 Sweet is the influence of that sacred place, 
 Leaving upon the spirit lasting trace, 
 In scenes most solemn ; loveliest in nature's face. 
 
 You lately saw that city of the dead, 
 
 O'er all the plain the monuments outspread; 
 
 One day the marbled tombs shall sudden rend, 
 
 And each shall forth its trembling tenant send ; 
 
 Soul with the lifeless clay shall then unite, 
 
 And death forever shall be put to flight. 
 
 A dreadful trump — in awful notes shall sound, 
 
 The heaving banks of Schuylkill shall resound; 
 
 The hoary rocks that crown her margin, part, 
 
 And fiery flame from crevices shall dart. 
 
 A mighty conflagration shall o'erspread, 
 
 The grounds Centennial, city of the dead, 
 
 The rivers all become a liquid flame, 
 
 The melting universe fade at the name, 
 
 Of Him who comes in majesty divine, 
 
 All by this glory quenched ; no luminaries shine. 
 
 Dread Judge he comes ; and nations at his bar 
 
 Shall all appear — the distant from afar, 
 
 The sea her dead shall yield ; none absent now, 
 
 The dead and living at his bar shall bow, 
 
 The former resurrected, latter changed, 
 
 All that in life o'er all the world have ranged. 
 
 Their sentence dreading, some with fear shall quake 
 
 An intense agony their spirits shake ; 
 
 Some shall behold, all void of fear and dread 
 
 A burning world, consuming flames o'erspread 
 
14 
 
 And wait the sentence joyful as the doom, 
 That speaks them heirs of bliss in endless home. 
 Death, Hell, the Grave, are objects people dread, 
 As children darkness when around overspread ; 
 The guilty conscience shudders but to think, 
 He stands well nigh upon destruction's brink; 
 That life extinct, a reckoning must be made, 
 And the last mite be unto Justice paid. 
 The grave the good man truly never fears, 
 He calmly sinks down in the vale of years, 
 The fear of dying, and the dreaded tomb, 
 For him have lost their terror and their gloom; 
 No apprehension he of hell retains, 
 Of dreadful fire, and eternal pains; 
 Since faith has put his anxious doubts to flight, 
 And the great moral Sun has shed its light, 
 Which now and ever dissipates the gloom, 
 That hangs for others o'er an opening tomb, 
 No fears he that last Day, or its dread doom. 
 By liveliest faith in Him who did redeem, 
 The fallen race and him, he well may deem, 
 Upon a rock eternal he has laid 
 On sure foundation all his hope is stayed, 
 Storms, winds, and rains, th' elemental war, 
 His house destroys not ; nor can even jar, 
 E'en for a moment, with most violent shock, 
 It falls not founded on eternal rock. 
 Such are they, who the Gospel having heard, 
 Obey with meekness the blest Saviour's word, 
 And firm rely on their Redeeming Lord. 
 
 III. 
 
 ( 
 
 Delightful 'tis to breathe the freer air, 
 
 And range through nature's scenes so gay and fair; 
 
 The exercise conducive is to health, 
 
 Which is possession purchased by no wealth. 
 
15 
 
 In winter closely muffled, warmly clad, 
 Much pleasure may in rural scenes be had, 
 The frosted ground, the ice, and driving rain, 
 The falling snow, may threaten, but in vain 
 The votary of nature charms to stay, 
 Th' elements won't fright him on the dav 
 Which all intent and curious t' explore, 
 His plan he still pursues nor loath gives o'er. 
 
 Thus in the fresh reviving breath of Spring 
 What new delights will time the votary bring ! 
 The ice and snow dissolved, augment the flow, 
 Of every rivulet ; the stream below 
 Is swollen high, a freshet in its force, 
 Sweeps all before it in the river's course ; 
 The buds begin t' appear, and every tree 
 More fresh and vital seems ; and one may see 
 The blades of grass bedewed at early morn, 
 The beady drops like globules on the thorn : 
 The birds through forest wide and shady grove, 
 Warble their praises ; joyful sing their loves. 
 The cattle all partake the impulse strong 
 And bound, and rush, the landscape fair along ; 
 The little lambs in friskiness employ, 
 Their active limbs and show their inward joy. 
 Man with a bounding heart and pulses thick, 
 Finds thought, and impulses so fresh and quick, 
 That age feels some renewal and in joy, 
 The grandsire wil] oft skip around as boy. 
 All nature smiles, and o'er the dewy grass, 
 As tripping light full many footsteps pass, 
 Thought, manly, full and strong, will upward rise 
 To bounteous heaven ; in grateful sacrifice. 
 
 When grass is withered and the flowery plain, 
 Is stripped of all its sheen, and pouring rain, 
 
16 
 
 With greater cold, and seared each withered leaf 
 Is wind impelled ; and fairer days are brief, 
 Man then may moralize each autumn day, 
 And think of pleasures that are fled away 
 May sigh o'er blasted hopes, the death of those, 
 Dear to his heart who yet his eyes should close; 
 But gone and fled to an eternal clime, 
 No more they mingle in the scenes of time. 
 His own brief hour, much shorter than a span, 
 May in this season, wisdom teach to man ; 
 And in the yellow, seared, and falling leaf, 
 His trust in heaven can mitigate his grief. 
 
 But, in the summer season, when the lark, 
 And songsters of the groves, fill all the park, 
 And all the varied lovely sylvan scene, 
 With melody ; nought then can come between 
 Man's soul and rapture, as the rising sun 
 Prepares his chariot the course to run ; 
 Darts forth his beams, and in meridian blaze, 
 Parches the ground, and dazzles those who gaze ; 
 Dances, with rays fantastic, on the stream, 
 And makes the landscape like a fairy dream ; 
 With light, and shade, and every lovely hue, 
 That paints the scene with colors fresh and new. 
 Then may the lovers of the beauteous see, 
 New charms in every rill, each herb and tree, 
 And breaking forth in song and joyful lays, 
 Their great Creator then adore and praise ! 
 
 Fairmount ! in every season dear to me, 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, will there be 
 A period when I cease thy charms to love, 
 Or wander through thy garden, hill, or grove ? 
 A quarter century at least is fled, 
 Since to thy fair resort my footsteps led, 
 
17 
 
 Enjoyed thy purer air, and peaceful shade, 
 And strolled, or sat, or mused ; and by thy aid, 
 My anxious, wearied mind, refreshment took 
 When in thy scenes I read as in a book, 
 The goodness of that Power whose gracious hand, 
 Formed thee our city's pride with scenes so grand. 
 How oft when in thy garden's fair retreat, 
 Beneath the lofty hill that crowns thy seat, 
 When I beheld thy sparkling fountain play, 
 And flashing back in spray the sunlight gay ; 
 How often at the base of Lemon Hill, 
 When musing there, my heart serene and still, 
 I wished I could transfer to thy loved shades, 
 TV Aonian Muses, fair accomplished maids, 
 Who by their harmony and love of art, 
 Might soften, move, refine each sterner heart, 
 And in the glories of that beauteous band, 
 Make thee renowned and praised in every land ! 
 
 Time passed elsewhere, I often may repent, 
 And wish the past, recalled and better spent : 
 That which elapsed, when visitor to thee, 
 Was pleasure still ; might ever useful be ; 
 But, chiefly that, by many a pleasant road, 
 It pointed still, to all-pervading God, 
 Relieved my weariness, and painful smart, 
 And sent me back again, with purer heart. 
 The hand of art doth now to thee extend, 
 The culture which of man, has proved the friend, 
 Which elevates the soul, and can refine, 
 And teach to dig in wisdom's golden mine. 
 Led by fair Science, brighter every day, 
 And fresher as out-beams the moral ray, 
 Grand in its aim ethereal and sublime, 
 It soars aloft amid the wrecks of time, 
 And celebrate by bards, in loftiest rhyme. 
 
18 
 
 May every artizan who wends his way, 
 To spend in thee a pleasant holiday, 
 Enjoy such bliss as never felt before, 
 And may to-morrow yet increase it more ! 
 May every woman, widow, maid, or wife 
 Find here all joy, that brightens this short life ! 
 On all as them, be choicest blessing given 
 The peace secure, serene, foretaste of heaven ! 
 May lovers feel their hearts united here, 
 And grow each moment to each other dear ! 
 And may their vows, if here they plighted be, 
 Be fortunate in the most great degree ; 
 May every little child that here doth play 
 "Hejoice in a delightful holiday, 
 And when in future years they hither roam, 
 May they be happier each time they come, 
 Fresh beauties may they see each lovely charm, 
 And go as come, shielded from every harm, 
 Let citizens of each degree and rank, 
 Be grateful still, ever disposed to thank, 
 A bountiful Creator for these joys, 
 Which nought but pride or apathy destroys ; 
 And all with better cheer from hence depart, 
 Mellowed and softened ; of more tender heart : 
 More joined unto their fellows in the race 
 And kindness showing fair in every place, 
 Crowned with all joy may all in future rise 
 That visit here to joys of Paradise. 
 
 How strange the dream of life ! could that good man, 
 
 When first in humble scenes his course began 
 
 Foresee the grandeur of his future state, 
 
 Or form conjecture of his fearful fate? 
 
 No ! none can for a little moment see 
 
 What may the very next come, prove and be, 
 
 The turning point, pivot of destiny. 
 
19 
 
 A noble statue, base of Lemon Hill, 
 
 Memorial to this great man to all still, 
 
 And we may hope to generations will, 
 
 Point out and show, and clearly indicate, 
 
 How people loved the ruler of the State, 
 
 The State a Unit ; and by proclamation, 
 
 Set free the bondsman ; great was the salvation ! 
 
 Will not reflection tell each thoughtful mind, 
 That after all man's to the future blind ? 
 This man in manhood's prime, in height of power, 
 Finds all is gone, within the briefest hour, 
 Yea ! moment, for no doubt unconscious he, 
 Had no sensation, what his state might be. 
 Another citizen whose gift is found, 
 The great adornment of this classic ground, 
 Who full of virtues and of generous heart, 
 Was called in peace, but suddenly to part, 
 With life and all held dear e'en when he strove, 
 To show for man, deep tenderness and love, 
 If this can not what else the heart can move ? 
 
 Thus, every scene must in the end have close. 
 And every scene varied with joys or woes, 
 This chequered life this ever varying dream, 
 Presents to view not objects as we deem : 
 And dangers, deaths, unthought of, frequent sent, 
 Result from what is called accident; 
 Which means a thing or an event that may, 
 Happen or otherwise, as is seen every day. 
 Nothing can guard, no prudence or foresight, 
 It may occur at morning, noon, or night, 
 May be in youth, or in man's early prime, 
 Uncertain all as all unknown the time. 
 Man's life and all, is under Providence 
 And He most wisely just and good; from hence 
 We may this easily infer 'tis for man's good, 
 Whate'er He brings about ; well understood, 
 
20 
 
 To him that lives as he would hope to die 
 The candidate for bliss beyond the sky. 
 But, mark the dream of life so soon to end, 
 What that the waking up may chance attend? 
 When time is done, eternity is here, 
 Nearer than e'er we deemed or doth appear, 
 We live, and move, and act, and in the end, 
 As at the first; God is our Refuge, Friend. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The State-House bell, rung freedom through the land, 
 
 A joyful sound, and an effect most grand : 
 
 It may be said, this was the nation's birth ; 
 
 The mightiest nation ever on the earth. 
 
 A grateful people joined to celebrate, 
 
 The happy period, that had marked their fate. 
 
 Than Fairmount Park, no fairer scene was found, 
 
 And every nation of the earth around, 
 
 Met with another on this classic ground. 
 
 In emulation all the nations strove, 
 
 The prize to gain ; as when for lady's love, 
 
 The mailed knights, in tournament contend, 
 
 Enter the lists, and fight till sunset end, 
 
 The dubious, dangerous, often fatal strife, 
 
 Involving honor, glory, peril, life. 
 
 Thus, on this sunny plain, the high emprize, 
 
 Was neither martial fame, nor glance from eyes, 
 
 Dark, brilliant, lovely ; of th' approving fair, 
 
 Though glorious beauty was conspicuous there. 
 
 No ! different the design, though one might see 
 
 In that place valor bright, fair courtesy, 
 
 And noble mien, fair damsels as of old, 
 
 On field as grand, as that called " cloth of gold." 
 
 For when, unto our magnates, it seemed well 
 
 A century past, memorial should tell, 
 
21 
 
 Our nation's trials, and its varied story- 
 Its suffering, triumphs, and its martial glory ; 
 Its progress in all arts, each science fair, 
 Resources, riches, and all good or rare, 
 By sea or land ; in mountain hill or plain, 
 Where'er the nation can extend her reign ; 
 And that all peoples, who had aught to show, 
 To Fairmount plain should there competing go. 
 
 The nations heard and went ; and such display, 
 Was never witnessed in the palmiest day 
 Of Greece, or Rome, or any ancient age, 
 Or modern ; e'er inscribed on history's page. 
 The noblest triumphs of the human mind, 
 Invention, science art ; one here might find, 
 Arranged with order, in such vast array, 
 As each beholder held a summer's day: 
 Another, next, a week a month or year, 
 Yet infinite the field in which appear, 
 Fresh wonders still ; which wonders still extend : 
 To grasp all which, and give beginning end, 
 Seemed far too vast; and noblest minds despond, 
 The whole to comprehend, their thoughts beyond. 
 For, vast as are the expanding mental powers 
 How small the knowledge in this life of ours ! 
 How little one man knows, beyond the art, 
 Or portion small, of knowledge but a part, 
 He practises ; and that but well to know, 
 Most probably requires, the life he lives below : 
 E'en, when his apprehension is not slow. 
 'Tis thus the mind informed, is humbled still, 
 How small the little segment each can fill ! 
 For life is short, th' illustrious Coan says, 
 And art is long ; requiring many days, 
 Or years, to practise, prove extend or know ; 
 While fair occasion passes swift, ne'er slow, 
 And e'en experiment will oft deceive, 
 The crisis dangerous, often makes us grieve. 
 
22 
 
 This true in nature, medicine, science, art, 
 
 And universal knowledge, thing apart: 
 
 Thus, wise men, yea ! the wisest frank will own, 
 
 The knowledge small that they have made their own. 
 
 The Exposition humbled lofty pride : 
 
 Subdued a vanity that few can hide ; 
 
 But raised the thoughts of all to high amaze, 
 
 At human genius ; powers exacting praise, 
 
 Of his great Maker, so endowing man, 
 
 With loftiest powers: though his life's a span. 
 
 Oh ! hallowed spot, where in this favored place, 
 The nations met in peace and fond embrace ; 
 What amicable feelings yet they prove : 
 What mighty forces ever made to move ! 
 Not Pisa's plain, or fair Olympiads race, 
 Compares with the proud glories of this place ; 
 Nor prize so great, they ever bore away, 
 From chariot race, in that more early day ; 
 Though noble steeds rushed on in proud career, 
 And mighty prince, or king, was charioteer. 
 Not all the lists of mediaeval time 
 Not noblest conquests ever told in rhyme, 
 Could equal this ; and the result how fair, 
 Since all mankind the benefit can share. 
 
 Nature and art, had here a grand display, 
 Here cultivation shed benignant ray : 
 Heaven's bounties clustered in a narrow space, 
 And mighty wonders; which the mind could trace, 
 Could comprehend, if only time allowed : 
 But time is short, man soon puts on the shroud ; 
 Or, more correctly ; it is put on him, — 
 His eye is closed in death ; not merely dim. 
 
 The scene is pleasant as in days gone by: 
 And pleasure we enjoy as time can fly, 
 
23 
 
 The truest pleasure, and the richest joy, 
 
 Which nought can e'er impair, much less destroy ; 
 
 The truest happiness, and pleasure found, 
 
 By human hearts upon this mortal ground, 
 
 Is knowing God ; in nature, and in grace, 
 
 Striving his goodness in all things to trace. 
 
 In Revelation, He a book imparts, 
 
 To warn, instruct, and comfort human hearts ; 
 
 The book of Nature ever in our view, 
 
 Is given for study to the good and true ; 
 
 And he that in the end aspires to rise, 
 
 Into the glorious mansions in the skies 
 
 Will joy to find a method and a road, 
 
 Whereby his soul communicates with God. 
 
 Such lives a life of constant happiness, 
 
 His joys his own, and more than earthly bliss : 
 
 While worldly men pursue their devious ways, 
 
 His heart is full of melody and praise. 
 
 The song of birds, the fair and blooming flowers, 
 
 The charming scenes in which he many hours, 
 
 If time he has; in them delights to spend, 
 
 And freshening joys, his cheerful steps attend. 
 
 Delights and joys, to sordid minds unknown, 
 
 To avarice, ambition ; all his own 
 
 The treasures vast of earth, however profuse, 
 
 Beyond the thoughts of nature, or the muse, 
 
 Revealed in raptures, which the soul can share, 
 
 In meditation, study, fervent prayer. 
 
 The city Fathers, by an act provide, 
 No deleterious matters, e'er should hide, 
 Within the purer waters of the streams, 
 That give the fluid, each so useful deems. 
 By engines raised, and many a pipe conveyed, 
 The thirsty city has its thirst allayed ; 
 And as the source, or sources ne'er are dry, 
 ; Tis just to hope a plentiful supply; 
 
24 
 
 And that a grateful people still may use, 
 This universal solvent, not abuse. 
 
 On many a sign, with pleasure one may mark, 
 The wholesome regulations of the park ; 
 If as the water's morals, are preserved, 
 And regulations likewise are observed, 
 Penn's city proudly may erect her head ; 
 And pattern of all others take the lead. 
 Then reader ! fare thee well and should we meet, 
 Amid such pleasant scenes each other greet ; 
 We may, perchance, have time to chat awhile, 
 And mutually enjoy fair nature's smile. 
 But, when our journey o'er we meet above, 
 In scenes exceeding fairer, we shall rove, 
 Grander, more joyful, that Elysium's plain, 
 For those who met there had to part again ; 
 To mortal life returning — world of pain, 
 While we in Paradise of endless bliss; 
 Shall reap perennial fruits of righteousness. 
 
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