UlBRARY OF CONGRESS.^ # # f [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] t J UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, j I / / I , Co"* '^/y-^ t'f-i^-'i'^. -rfn^i-f^' -^i f//^;^-^//'^^s/ r/^/-t/ THE Tr^w^-'^: ^W^ WhWMM^ l.Oi^ OR, A SHORT SERIES OF ESSAYS, MEDITATIONS, POEMS, ETC, BY MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESON. O'er sorrows long and sore I wept, Screen'd by an honest, humble pride ; For Pity, gentle maid, was deaf, And o'er our woes the world will chide. " The poor ye have always with you.-' R O M E i PICKARD & CARR, PRINTERS 1852. J k^\ m Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, BY MRS. FRANCES F. MATTESOy , In the ClerlTTOffice of the District Court of the United States of the Northern District of New York. INTRODUCTION. My presumption in selecting the title for this little work was from the consideration of the cir- cumstances connected with its existence. Wearied with completing a volume which I was about to have published, I had determined upon a rest for my mind, thinking it might prove benefi- cial to my health ; and in the following four weeks this work, with the exception of the " Reminis- cences of Youth" and "Contemplating a Divorce," was consummated. The two poems above named were among the first of my feeble efi'orts. The only merit in them is the true picture of the cir- cumstances they are designed to portray, without any claim to beauty of illustration. Aware that Merit is a preposterous height for Genius to soar upon, yet, while her own unfledged pinions are free, may she not venture, even should not her talent multiply an hundred fold 1 a2 THE WILD POET'S REST. CONTEMPLATION. I LOOK not over space to blank That Time has left behind ; Yet on the present linger still — To future half inclined. Still, I would retrospective turn To gaze while memory thrills ; For something in the lurking past My heart can cherish still. I love to linger where those friends My aching heart have blest ; Where those I loved and cherished mosfe My youthful form caress'd. When all the sunshine of my youth Is shrouded in the past, Jesus will light my soul with love — My burden there I '11 cast. A 3, THE WILD poet's REST. Then shout Hosannah to the Lamb That bought redeeming love ; Christ for redemption shed his blood- 'Tis registered above. REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH. I WILL tell you where learning first entered my brain, Where Fancy, so ruthless, first built her domain ; And I '11 tell you some truths — where I was first taught. And the knowledge from home stock I with me had brought ; And I '11 tell for learning how I made amends, For I labored for teaching and cost of my pens : Yes, for learning was scarce, and came hard, 'tis true. For I trod in the wild path as the natives withdrew. Orthography I learned from Webster's old book, Although it was pick'd up by hook and by crook ; Alexander's my grammar — yet here was my woe ; For, if I learned grammar, how could I spin tow 1* This book was my bane, and near took my life ; For to read it and study I kept up a strife. * The usual occupation of country maidens. REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH. 7 Then writing was bad — should a girl learn to write, When she to some banquet her love might invite ? " Oh yes," said my father ; " she's our first-born, 'tis true. And it will lessen the care that devolves upon you." For my mother had learning that turned to account, So in selling and settling she got the amount. My father in store had a very old book, Some heir-loom concern, from a very old nook ; There was in it waste paper, accounts, and the like, And for this old crony I made a bold strike. I first copied verses, wrote letters, and such. And of this old ledger contrived to make much. I was nurse to the children, the pigs often fed, And, for lack of a gardener, my portion I wed. I drove up the cows after twisting the yarn. And the sheep always safely I locked in the barn. Then, as evening approached, on some landscape I gazed. Till my head would turn giddy in wild Fancy's maze. Then I turned to my flowers as evening appeared, And next to the heavens all my energies reared. I fancied, like brothers and sisters and friends, Those stars had their pastimes — and I oft made amends 8 THE WILD foet's rest. For some bright one, wliose absence for months I would mourn, And then would rejoice as the truant returned. I read of my Saviour in each herb and flower, And the glad song of nature was sung in my bower; For each bird that carol'd his wild notes so free Brought joy to my heart — ! 'twas music for me. At length all my fancies from childhood were changed, And through the green forests of wild youth I ranged ; Not reckless, or heedless, or thoughtless, in truth, Yd had all the wild fancies, if not follies of youth. I roved not regardless of thorns in my path ; Still I fled from their wounds and smothered my wrath. This love for all nature was a fancy of mine — A waif of delusion, and nothing sublime ; For the day was not distant, and forced its way through, When despair lent its pall to hide hope from my view. For I wedded, alas ! and sorrow was joined In the same list with gladness — and this wa^ purloined — Ri::\iiNisoENeEf^ of YouTir. y Little tliiuking, indeed, that I wedded witli grief, Yet the time left for hope, I must say, was but brief. All nature seemed changed : 'twas a wane harvest moon, And I oft fancied midnight approaching at noon. All nature seemed clothed in the rags of dismay, For the bright autumn tints were turned to decay. Then winter approached, so languid and drear That food, fire and bev'rage ne'er listed of cheer ; For the chill frosts of love had congealed all the soul, While sorrow had bar'd out affection's control. I sought for relief in the frost glist'ning air, And look'd to find hope in the solace of prayer ; But all nature seemed barren — the frost lock'd each rill, And the grand snow-capt forest waved proud on the hill ; The clouds roll'd on, sullen — the snow noiseless fell, And furnished a death-robe for forest and dell. At length April showers unlock' d nature's chest, And the flowers of May received their behest ; Yet deep boding sorrow hung over my head, .Suspended and dangling on one brittle thread, 10 THE WILD POET'S TEST. My frail bark was launched on the broad stream of time, And the sure knell to future, was tolling its chime, In unfathomable depths, and no anchor for hope, Yet no buoyant heart with mine here could scope. I toiled on, regardless of fortune or fate. The victim of hatred, yet I could not hate. Soon I was a mother — then, in sad mingling train, Came my fondest affections and hopes to maintain. One dwindled away, while the other in might Grew — the pride of my soul, my joy and delight. While caressing this babe, my fancies oft flew, To the scenes when in years he to manhood had grew: I hastened through infancy, childhood and youth, And joyed in my heart that the paths led to truth. Yet often, indeed, my hopes met some blight — Still I nerved to my task, and brought in my mite ; I oft nursed in sickness, and tears often dried, Yet a cold sparing hand my own wants supplied. I was called Good Samaritan, though a mania behest, And though I oft nursed in sickness, the tasty I dressed. ESSAY, 11 ^^0 one talked of fashions, the next cheered with hope. For no sorrowful bodings with my mind's peace could scope; But oft 'twas my frail wish, outstripped by relief, Which would come quite unlooked for, but I must be brief, For this talking and thinking of scenes that's gone by, Brings pain to the heart and tears to the eye. ESSAY. Some strange presentiment prompts me to proclaim My injured innocence — 'tis not the love of fame — Fame o'er my cradle a misty curtain drew, To eclipse my glory e'er I admiration knew : Yet, love of Nature, which was by birth-right mine, Grew with my growth, and flourished at my prime, Each beauty of nature and of art I scan'd, And all the schemes for future greatness plan'd ; But sorrowing mishaps brimed my cup of woe, And to hide misfortune now, dismay may throw : I feel to condemn this unwary infamous blight, And with equal combatants would join in equal fight. 12 THE WILD poet's KEPT. Nay, let me contend not with murmuring, fell des- pair For demons rashly beat the foetid air. Were the world all sunshine, it would bind us here too long — At least its trappings would our hearts enthrong. Sorrows are gentle schoolings for the eternal world, For those to whom brighter glory God will there unfold, Despair is the mother of many a darling sin, Dormant still gropes to let the tempter in, I glory in retirement, yet friends to save, I'd wake slumbering energy from retirements grave ; My life has much of joy not from social converse riven. But from cloudless obscurity which discloses heaven. If face brighteneth face, and friends reflect this sheen 'Tis too bright for me and would create a spleen ; I would with equal lustre have all virtue shine. And all social intercourse, I would wish divine ; But varying scenes must varying truths impart, And learn us to know what leaves the head does not always reach the heart. ESSAY. 13 Mankind are based on subtlety and skill, But reason and justice should our bosoms thrill. What fruit would grow from this vegetating state, If truth and justice on its branches sat? What matters if none do here imperial shine If they secure the glory that will prove divine ? But ah ! it is a matter, and more a boast than strife, That a goodly influence we portray through life. Worth on an eminence disclaims her regal sway, And shuns the greatness which she might portray, 'Tis hers as captives to bind the most worthy good, And spread their influence as the deluging flood, Thus to raise the fallen, lend sympathy to distress, And their Maker's image on each heart impress. But pride and weakness are e'er checks upon the good. To steal from their precints this refreshing flood. 'Tis weakness in a woman, in a man 'tis pride. The first we should pity, the other may deride. I feel this day, that I have wiser grown — Yea weaker and wiser, for every moment flown ; For faith keeps pace with all our hopes and fears, And on time's disappointment some new fancy rears. \i THE WILD POET\s REST. I feel the just accountability of time, That each month, each day, each hour may not h& mine. Yea, feel each burthened hour, o'erwhelm each other, With relentless power to become a mother, To force the young offspring on our fostering care, To be fraught for succession with some talents rare ; Feel too 'twere safer to abide in some Ion© haunts That fortune had defended from our various wants. Although through selfishness, we God's works would scan. In all his relations he is just to man ; And though at times some clouds may loom aboY« my path I shall not infer that I deserve God's wrath. I feel I owe it to universal will, That while scanned, that I as while scanning should stand still, And while o'er creation, I my contemplation throw, A generous sympathy through my heart should flow. ESSAY. 15 I Jo not complain that I'm condemned by fate, To occupy the lengthened shadow of the great ; Enough that I still occupy a space, And in that occupation blessed with grace, With patience, though weak, and magnanimity and love, Each act of Omnipotence to still approve. I feel how sadly I have been condemned, Feel, too, some latent good is lurking at the end, For man is not in penance doomed to bow, Or tear from his heart his holiest vow. I would not envy, it would not bo brave. For envy in the humble would but show a knave ; Yet oft, like some avarice, swells a heart's desire — 'Tis to be like the patient godly I'd aspire. And yield to God's grace to point my course. For kingdom, or righteousness, will not be taken by force. AVho would draw distinctions between love and hate. To see what nice discriminations fools can make ? Or who'll decide who trespass on this vast estate, He that with a rapture loves, or with a vengeance hates ? Although love is weakness, yet it vengeance takes, 16 THE WILD poet's rest. And hatred, malignant, oft for faults entreats. Woe to the scourge that binds the human heart, And woe to the justice prejudice imparts, No vengeance lies in the decrees of God 'Tis man to chasten with avenging rod. God throws His sunshine on the evil and on the . good, And in blest effusion sends the fertilizing flood. And although in chastising he may seem severe, At mercy's fountain He will still be near ; 'Tis only justly he can chastisements deal, And through clouds and darkness He will love reveal. But we're moving onward to an humbler space, To yield the conflict to another race. I rejoice that God is the propelling power. That time and its changes are only by the hour. To-day we have, to-morrow is not in time. Till onward propelled, by the repeating chime. To all those changes I patiently submit, I am but an atom, my God is Infinite, Although much there is, we cannot comprehend, ^Ye feel his wisdom will to some good portend. Let Christians all their daily movements scan, Are they conscientious between man and man. iiArrjNEss A\i) FiMi:\L).iH, And all within by mercy moved' 46 THE WILD poet's REST. Once may the selfish murderer die, And this may end all feud and strife ; He may repent, believe and love. Yet will his wretched victim live. The slanderer, too, may just atone For all his lingering, living deaths — Worse, far, than murder done outright, For poison lives beyond his breath. But can the living wanderer thrive Who o'er Time's waves must bear this blight ? Yes, Jesus will his footsteps guide, And conscience pure reflect its light. FATE. A firm believer in the rule of fate, My first example shall be quoted from the great, The proud Napoleon, Emperor of state, Whose rank and dignity fell a prey to hate, Who, swelled with an avaricious love of power, Grew like some Asiatic plant, and perished like its flower. But mark to what end hi.s selllsli avarice tends, For to injured innocence the guilty must make amends. See Josephine, raised to immortal fame. For countless millions her memory retain ; A nation's honors her distant heir has blest. While all there is of him must with his ashes rest. Could Josephine go doAvn with broken heart And to her posterity no rank impart ? No. View Hortense's son — the hapless child To whose barefoot dancing happy seamen smiled — Fitted at last with her mother's altered shoes, That she this ocean party might still amuse. Is there no overruling fate in this 1 Or can mortal now the interpretation miss ? *See her proud son, the President of France — Was it for this she joined the ship-deck dance ? Nay, watch that mute mother, in silent devoted prayer. With true mother's yearnings for that distant heir. Was there no fate to intervene in this ? Who studies fate and yet that fate can miss 7 See her proud ofispriug, reared and crowned for state, While his has proved an heir to a preposterous fate; 48 Tin: WILD poet's rest. Not that by prediction I claim hers to be great, Or that his should have been heir to this prepos- terous fate ; But to speak this language to a numberless world, That through justice injustice must be hurled. See Kings and Emperors and Princes fall — Founded in envy or hatred, if at all — And see rank and honors from goodness arise ; Then doff your enmity, and true goodness prize. Judge not, but watch to see the weight of woe Or weight of worth (lod to the good bestow. Do we not often, in creatures less than Kings, Se justice balanced, from man down to insect wings ? Enough that God the acts of all surveys, And good or bad for all some truth portrays ; Shall man with ignominy stamp the face of man, Unless by some proof he shall sustain his plan 1 Should religious motives which he deigns to bear Teach him suspicions should in his judgments sharc\! % Nay, guilt diould first be by impartial witness proved, Then in the judgment should be mingled love ; Lest judges arc judged by that avenging rod FATE. 49 That owns for its judgment an Omniscient God. Man in his folly is oft cut down at noon, For his day of prosperity often arrives too soon ; Or in prosperity is stripped of his display, For his noontide splendor is too bright a ray. So it is too often with rancorous, envious pride, Which sails too fast to keep within the tide ; Thus Nature points it in the book of fate, And death winds up the great or small estate. Then why such envyings, bickerings, strife, When the present hour is all we claim of life ? Why not in charity, in harmony in love, Live here expecting we may meet above ? 'Tis God to judge the innate acts of mind, And by redeeming love the best must be refined. Christ showed the possibility was small To save the great, while he the humble calls. The great and noble have their place in wealth ; The poor may ope them if 'tis not by stealth. They in societies may form for love, Temperance and Odd Fellows, or whatever they approve ; May hold their pastimes, weddings, wakes and fairs, Yet to immortal greatness may be rightful heirs. 50 THE WILD POET'S REST. Although the rich in prouder circles inrve, They are seldom envied and can scarcely love. And envious, lurking passion to be great Are found in atoms as they're found in State ; In the stone that lies encumbered with the moss, And mineral world, accumulating dross, And vegetation reaching for the skies, While birds and insects from flight to flight arise. Winds, frosts and snow to upper regions hie, And fishes, sporting, the highest water try, And sometimes sporting are by the angler caught ; Birds by the sportsman from their heights are brought. Vegetation by nature or by man brought low. Teaches us that all to the Creator bow ; While winds pressed on by frost condensed and air, In the rude whirlwinds or the tempest share. All things are limited to God's infinite power — • Man in His image, imperial dower ; For man, save in nature, to be God-like, A solemn impress on his heart must strike ; And, like the crude metals we so dearly prize, In the pure refining all the beauty lies. A RETROSPECT. A RETROSPECT. 'Taint worth my while to fever now, Or tune the Poet's lyre ; Fame's golden sandals I can wear, Wrought by artistic sire. Sweet melodies are now attuned Each prosperous heart to woo, And in the eager strife for song To soften sorrow too. Yet will I yield my dearest strife To vanity and pride, When hopes of heaven and joys of earth Are ranged within this tide. Nay, I can never yield the palm To indolence and ease ; 'T would never soothe my weary woes, Or lurking strife appease. That vital spark, whose embers warm Will never cease to strive, While memory with this heart of mine In peaceful concert live. Til]': WILD POET .< RKST. HOPE AND TMIST IN GOD. How blessed is man when simultaneously tlirougli all the secret breathings of his soul he relies on God, and contemplates in all the fullness of his faith his trust in his Redeemer, lives upon his lov^, and sees througli all his Maker's works a beauty yet sublime. He moves erect, regardless of all the pride and pomp of earth. What virtu- ous majesty in Ins bosom burns. Then fearless, too, he onward moves, and loves his neighbor as himself Then happily he his vocation fills— whether to feed his flocks or fertile lands to till or other occupation as usefulness direct — and ii all his acts are holiness and love, tempered wit' that meek, pungent grief for faults whicJi God aj proves, and is working its way in purifyin strength to purge from sin, and through redeen ing grace to secure a place at God's right ham where angel songs await his coming feet to giA him welcome and fill his soul with overwhelmin love. What rapturous joy ! In heaven, at re; from all the doubts of sin and sorrow here belov to occupy a place among the blessed inheritors ( HOl'K AND TRUST IN COD. 53 God's own patrimony. Then wliere's tlie goading stripes of earth, mixed up with all its vain deceit its pain and sickening sorrow, too, and love of life and dread of death, to chill the poor desponding sinner's heart? 'Tis here below, lashed to the worldling's best estate. Woe then to wealth and all the gaudy trappings here on earth, where man a prisoner dwells in slavish fear of all save God alone, and love for none but self — aping some self- ish whim or hugging some fancied scheme, which, as the loadstone, draws him on to interminable woe ! None envy this strange fate. ^Vho could that e'er on bended knees, beneath hope's bright- ening rays, had felt in moving love and gentlest whispers God's holiest gifts of love and grace se- cure his hopes within ? Blessed moment ! oft returned to feed the hun- gry cravings of the soul, for which no earthly food is meet. But ah ! — from thence to raise to feel the bitter pangs of life, sorrow, distrust, envy and hate, and cold and hunger too ; and more, the piercing moans of children asking bread, and none to give, with hardly grace, at times, sufficient to ask for strength to bear this weight of woe. So weak sometimes is woman, that doubts arise and weakness fill the soul ; but then a sunny morn 54 THE WIT.D poet's REST. will come and roll repentance on like floods of light, and that which shrouds the soul in gloom to-da}*^, shall be its joy to-morrow. For hope can bid the murmuring heart be still, and solace in anticipation's blessed security her hopes for heaven. The truant mind, like a school-boy, wanders back to daj^s gone by to dwell at times with sorrows past, though torn from memory's grave. "Who would not wander from luxury to scenes of poverty, to where unshaken principles of faith in sweet redeeming love have bound each living tie to trust in God ? yea, where gaunt hunger gathered near, and glittering frost was waving in the sun- light and where night drew on and evening hung her spangled banner o'er the earth, and still no succor came ? then o'er the dying embers of a flickering flame a mother nerves her feeble frame to ply her task till all is finished — another scant supply is earned ; and then, with humble prayer, she nestles close beside her little ones to rest till morn. Then with what tranquil hope she burns the straw that softened her rude couch, to warm her little ones and thaw the crusts that should sustain them yet another day. Bright, flicker- ing flame ! no brighter than the hope that cheers frail woman on to love and duty. Blessed* lioly Sabbath day — ^so often mourucd and passed. Solemn indeed tlie fast wlicu we're compelled to wait for food ; yet joyous to go back where sor- row's wasting seeds were sprouting into life for an abundant harvest. And ! for the tranquil joy and blessed acceptance, tempered with Grod's rich grace for all his mercies here below. Who would not watch again the coming morn to witness with what silent joy the festive board is spread ? one quart of meal and luscious extract of the cane is as a stalled ox in all the pomp and pride of epicu- rean feast. Then with what love-thirsty eyes that mother feeds her sight on scenes like this ; then bears to God her thanks in spirit meek that none but the truly blessed can feel. DESPONDENCY. When o'er our hearts the midnight hangs That forms 'neath fell despair, And all the woes that rend the soul Dissolve in liquid air ; Then glory, like a swelling tide, Breaks in through sorrows course, And all the innate acts of love Lie bosomed in remorse. D 56 THE "WILD poet's RES'I. We tread again tliose paths of woe Wliere fell despair was wooed. And by the lucid light of love Stroll o'er the waste we strewed. But in the rich perspective of The joys the blessed must feel, We shrink away to hide the faults Our want of strength revealed. LIVE AND LET LIVE. Who feels the just responsibility of this in- junction ? Who feels how often it means we should shrink away within ourselves to give place tc others or to yield a favorable position to a friend or even an enemy ? Who does not abide the law rather than his own conscience? We feel the warm blood flow; propelled by our exulting natures, towards self, when we have practiced some little self-denial, or, perhaps through love of applause, yielded some favorite position to a superior or some particular friend. But who has joyed in his heart that he has had the mighty conflict in his own bosom, and finally triuni plied, of seeking an LIVE AND LET LIVE. 57 enemy a,nd bestowing upon him an emolument that he would be able to appreciate, or who has devoted his time and talents solely for the purpose of doing good, or set apart a share of his abundance for the benefit of the needy and unfor- tunate !■ Or who that has given employ to the honest laborer that has not required the last effort, whether or not he was able to give the required satisfaction, (without jeoparding health, or may- hap absenting himself from those who were lan- guishing at home anxiously vdshing his return) or Vfithheld from their sufferings all that he was not in the strict sense of the engagement bound to re- pay ? We know that there are exceptions to this general rule, yet how many there are who take advantage of honest poverty to fatten on their very groans, and how many there are who allow them- selves to frown at a poor laborer for hastening to leave his work when the happy hour has arrived that he is accustomed to wend his way to the little family circle that constitutes the all of life with liim. Christ has been annointed with the precious ointment and passed away from earth leaving the poor whom he has declared should always remain, d2 58 THE WILD rOET'6 REST. and in remembrance of Ilis wise consideration ought we not often to gladden their hearts, a ful- fillment of the obsequies of redeeming love? — Must we not feel deeply the impressions of these holy injunctions? Can we pass over them un- thought of? And how inconsiderately do people complain of the worthy mechanic because he does not meet his engagements as does the millionaire the affairs of his purse, which quite too often an- other's grasping avarice has placed at his control. And some have even tried to impeach them for failing to fulfill tlieir engagements made to secure that sustenance which nature so rigidly requires ; but let them bring home to the door of their own consciences their pressing necessities and the dan- ger of the opportunity's passing by to secure the fleeting prize which must be another's if it should escape, coupled up with the various wants and ills of mechanical life — surrounded, too, with liabili- ties which must jeopard a business reputation if they are not promptly met, and they will not chafe and fame and disparage the conciencc-bruised, goaded mechanic, who, amid his daily toil and sleepless nights, is buoyed up by the very energy he seems to be wasting. And with a common un- LIVE AND LKT LTVl-J. 59 derstanding, unless arrested by despair or ill health, no statemanship will compare with the brilliancy of his career. He rears and sustains a family for usefulness and honor, accumulates a little fortune quite sufficient for their necessities, and his sons and daughters walk forth into fashionable life with more good sense, a better reputation, and more likely to fill exalted stations than the haughty, overbearing sons and daughters of the millioniare, who have been fostered in the lap of careless indo- lence and ease, however much they may recoil from the term mechanic. They understand the miseries and sorrows of life as well as its luxuries, and are prepared to go forth to mingle their sypa- thies with the unfortunate, and instead of mani festing the spirit of irony and control, they will endeavor to mitigate the accumulated ills of life and the suffering of the unfortunate. This is the balm of liberty, and they the true pioneers and champions of democracy to whatever party they may chance to belong ; and from such does come the budding promise of reform. The very word mechanic should have a broad significance. It is to do, to act, and refrain from doing, to make the beginning and end of days meet as well as things ; d3 f)0 THE WILD poet's rest. and it is even to begin and end an honest life, for honor, honesty and virtue are refined hj the mach- inations of the mind. The pious minister is me- chanical if his labors are productive ; else let the simplicity of truth be its own teacher. The states- man is mechanical, although with an aristocratic significance he would term it political : yet in the machinations of his gigantic mind there is all the skill in forming a constitution of laws that hur- ries the overtasked brain of the laboring mechanic, and very many are still to learn to which of these should belong the greatest abundance of happi- ness even in this life. "VVe can realize how readily the grasping aspirant will catch at emolument, but most willingly would I leave it to the prosper- ous to decide which should claim the pure, unal- lo^^ed happiness. The proud advocate of our rights and privileges most mechanically plies his energies and abilities to the nice discriminations and various intricacies of his profession. The salesman, too, is mechanical, and must enter me- chanically into the spirit of his calling to realize prosperity. Yet there must be seed time and harvest for the mechanic as well as the humble tiller of the soil ; his plans must be mechanically LIVE AND LET LIVE. 61 inaturctl, and all should forbear as much as possi- ble to infringe upon his arrangements. I would by no means foster neglect and indolence, nor weak- en the obligation all owe to each other ; but let all abide the law of their consciences, for by the law comes transgression ; and we read that he that provides not for his household denies the faith and is worse than an infidel. The mechanic casts his bread upon the waters ; and while he waits in all the uncertainty of hope, he must patiently submit to all the buffettings of time, and amid the world's rude storm be often tempest-tossed. They are the budding promise of enterprise and improvement, and on the wings of improvement comes a tonic for reform and virtue for this our hale American peo- ple, healthy in arts, in science, in virtue, and in re- ligious sympathy and love. Ready, too, to meet the flooding tide of wild, emigrating foreigners, who come nude as it were to our shores, touching the great mass of mind, from countries that make a boast of their improvements and advancements in civilized life, whose very watch-word should be oppression and tyranny above the heads of their^un- enlightened millions. Let them come, and may God give them grace, and our institutions wisdom, and may firmness of purpose be their guide to virtue. 02 THE WILD poet's REST. TO MRS. DE KUQYFT. Lady dear, oft I turn my mind To thouglits of thee, that thou art blind ; Yet as I stray me o'er thy page. Thy sorrows my whole soul engage — Then kindred waters move. I feel the love within thy soul Which does thy spirit meek control, And guide thee to an angels hand, To lead thee on o'er earth's cold strand, And fill thy breast with love. I need not ask of kindred worth A place beside a genial hearth, Or home in every Christian's heart. For Christ will circumscribe the chart To limit thee thy bounds. They will extend to every heart Where Jesus ever claimed a part For his redemption in the skies, From whence his holy incense rise To waft our thanks to God. HUMAN NATURE. 63 There is no blindness in the soul — Jesus' pure love will light the whole, And, as the beacon for mariners stands, To guide you to the j^romised land Where milk and honey flow. Go on, and in thy love-bound course May God, the ever living Source, Dictate thy heart and guide thy feet, Till angel missions are complete To guide thy soul to Heaven. IIUMxlN NATURE. Tell me who will bear our sorrows, Who, our losses will sustain. Who will bear for us our burthen, Who will not of us complain ? Jesus meekly will our sorrows Promptly by his tone sustain. And He will buoy the humble spirit When all earthly friends refrain. G4 THE WILD POET S REST. Who will feed us wlieu we hunger, Who will lave the burning brow. Who will plead with God for mercy To restore a forfeit vow ? O, it is the faithful Christian Will sustain an aching heart. And, amid the world's affliction. They will always have a part. When the fevered pulse is beating Beneath a burning, anxious brow, 'Tis the gentle hand of friendship That can cheer thee then or now. And none but parent, wife or sister, Or some humble Christian friend, That would plead with God for mercy, Can the sin-sick soul defend. Where's the friends that fortune gave you When she wore a smiling brow ? They are gloomy in the distance — Misfortune drives them from you now- Where's the hand that is not reaching To a more prolific place ? THK DREAM. 65 Where's the heart that's not aspiring For a more exalted space ? the hand that is not reaching Is chained to an honest heart, Pointing forward to God's mercy, And every day secures his part. And the heart that's not aspiring Must the love of Nature feel ; And, amid the world's rude tempest, It a tranquil mind reveals. THE DREAM. As I in dreamy slumbers lay, I saw a sunbeam o'er me stray, And all within was light and love. Which by the spirit I would prove, To test the joys I felt. For angels there in spirit throngs. With harps of burnished gold — and songs And heavenly anthems, so sublime, Were sung beneath the holy shrine, That angels, veiled, adored. 66 THE WILD poet's REST, Then, as I rested in delight, A gleam broke o'er the spirit's might, And I in rapture caught the love Which in my soul a hope could prove, Bright, radiant as the sun. This light was as the sunbeam lies. Just tipped with beauteous rainbow dies, And all was as if liquid light Had turned the gold to brilliant white And diamonds lustering hue. Then, as I lay transfixed in love, A seraph pointed me above. Where Jesus all this love portrayed. And then, to speak as I assayed, I broke this heavenly charm. or THE MIND. OF THE MIND. I will strive to treat you of the mind Witliin, wliicli is so much inclined To arbitrary sway ; A shapeless, helpless, termless nerve, Which terminates as others swerve, And vibrates o'er the whole. This soft, this fleshy, pulpy part, Thougli terminating at the heart, idust be the seat of life ; And as it changes from this mass, Back it will in silvery torrents pass, Just like a lirjuid light. It forms a stream like flooding rill. Unseen it can the system fill, With life inspires the whole ; It gives sensation to each part. It is connected with the heart — From thence is sudden pain. The heart conveys it to the blood. And from this grand, prolific flood It is sustained and fed ; or 08 THE WITJ) poet's rest. And when, from sudden grief or pain, The heart will not this mass sustain, The breast is rent with pain. From thence it mounts up to the head. And with the brain would seem to wed, Or hold it in control ; It is the love, the light, the whole. And in the center is the soul, The pure, enlivening stream. It works as would a smothered fire, And warms to life each soft desire, And animates with hope ; And as it breaks upon the sight. It floods the soul with liquid light. And mirrored beauty brings. It joins the nerves that pierce the heart, And shields each other inner part. And stimulates the brain ; And when the stomach sickens deep, It does retire to prostrate keep, Or loses its control. OF THE MIND. G9 Tiie same wlion faiutncss o'er you steal — It dies within, or does conceal, Both tranquil and resigned ; And when returning sense inflates, It does this mystic mind instate, More brilliant than before. It makes us to our fate resigned. Then restive, cannot be coniined Nor reconciled to fate ; But sure it is the all of life, Begins and ends all feud and strife, And sometimes is dethroned. The centre part, on which we turn. The chime that makes our bosoms burn With pure, celestial fire ; And as it o'er the vitals rolls. It rolls o'er all, propels the whole. And bids our bodies move. Back as it tapers to the mind, To all that's thought, it is inclined To elevate the soul. THE ^^'ILD poet's REST. Soul is the center of tlie mind. Holy and pure, by Grod designed To bear it liome to heaven. When we in dreamy slumbers lie, This sleepless spirit cannot die, But shows its pure estate ; And when our bodies in the dust Must wear away, corrupt and rust, 'Twill wing its way to God. It has its origin in mind, Was by the great '• I am" designed, His glory to enhance ; It was the worli not made with hands, But beckoned forth at Crod's commands, And must to him return. It is the pulse that moves the mind, Yet never was by G-od designed, Nor cannot fade away. See all the moving, rising storms. That rend the breast like piercing thorns 'Tis aiia'uish of the mind, OF THE MINR 71 Fraught with the passions armdl witli woe, With misery deep aucl sorrow too, And ending in despair ; Then back to struggle o'er the whole, Till, in the center of the soul, It meets the fount of love ; Then feci the joys that rise from thence, To rouse the innate life of sense. And dies the soul to charm ; Till, as the dreamy whisper strays, It o'er our senses softly plays, To seal the soul for heaven. Not as the ruder blows would come, To turn our exiled bodies home To mingle with the dust ; But as the gentle, soothing hand, Or afj the mystic, magic wand. Would touch present to prove Or, as the gentle, parting glance. That o'er the dying features dance, Filled with a heavenly love. 72 Till: WILD roEi'8 rest. Love is the joy that swells the soul For God or man beyond control — A pure, cxtatic bliss ; Love is the light of spirit fire That lights to rays each soft desire, And illuminates the soul ; It is the holy light of heaven, And from the love of God 'tis riven, Christ's diadem to form. Angels must bow before its ray — Eclipsed would be the open day Beneath this halo sheen. Let man be calm — contemplate all — The mind, the light, the love, the soul, Which doth his bosom warm. MY FLOWERS. Hail roseate flower ! Come, let me gaze upon Thy beauty yet. Nay, lend thy gentle breath To mine, and, as thy beauty dies. Let me inhale fresh odors from the expiring Ag(my of life with thee. MY FLOWERS. 73 Immortal thought ! a life that sweetens With the expiring agony of nature ! Fit emblem of that living love that brightens As the lengthened shadows of objects gather near To bless its setting sun. mingle with the love that in my bosom lies Clogged with such cumbrous load of life, And death, and sense, and flesh and blood, And all the lesser ills that there Pertain to life. And these, mixed up with those chimerical germs Which sprout from thence, and with the light Of love and beauty twined. And, richer still, Those mellow rainbow tints, that seem to smile In open face of day, and tell that angel shrine Was shielded there. 74 THE WILD poet's REST, HOPE. There is a well within my soul, A source of pure delight, Whose waters all the woes of earth Can never serve to blight. For in this love a heavenly shield And garniture portrayed Must o'er the secret acts of mind Be in ready voice essayed. God does not ask for sable robes — It is our love he seeks ; Deep in the inner soul of man This precious gem he keeps. He does not ask that in the face We mock before his throne ; But from the secret depths of soul Our sacrifice be borne. Faith on the shoulder ne'er can ride, But in the secret heart ; And through the cherished springs of love She must her joys impart. A DIALOGUE. 75 A DIALOGUE. Fidelle. Good morning, George. George. Good morning. \Exit.\ F. "Well ! Ah, lie could not once liave passed me thus. But see the prosperous look he bears along. And I, how frail and wan — and sad, may- hap, for disappointment wrings my brow to-day, and sorrow has crept into my heart, and there 'twould seem must still abide. And slander, too, with her taper finger pointing scorn, has singled me. But he — can he join in this silent scheme my heart to grieve 1 Enter Charles. C. Good morning, Fidelle. You muse alone — how's that ? do you love solitude 1 F. Yes, solitude's my guardian now, and thrice repays me for the wrongs I've suffered. C. Yet you are fair as when the sunny sky of youth warmed o'er our joyful heads, and teach me to love you still, dear Fidelle ! Pray, where's your husband ? F. For shame, Charles ! do not treat me thus. Do not thus mix up love with sorrow, reproach and and hate ; for I must add degrees of hate, if thus you sum up matters fraught with insult. e2 76 THE WILD POEl-'S REST. C. 0, Fidelle, I would not insult you ; but I have heard of late — F. Hush ! name not what you have heard, but call to mind the genial spirit of my youth — the youth you so profane — and find what good and evil flowed from thence ; and between my love of all that's good and just and all you felt was crime, make true your mark — then judge from that. C. Now tell me, honest, have you no secret love ? Has nothing damped your soul but the rash conduct of a villain ? F. Nay, you must be serious, Charles — I have no words to waste in jest. I have been too often wronged — -I cannot say accused. God ! who thought a day would come when I should be as- sailed with slander's tongue ! C. Fie on these things ! the world must have its way, and I must profit by it. I am guilty — I — ^yes, and do not screen it. I care nothing, and fortune smiles on me ; the dimes are thick as snow-flakes in my path, and I, with true confiding •wife, can love another. F. Oh Charles ! 'tis open blasphemy to hear thee thus confess thy faults. that it were true in spirit meek, and thou wert blessed with hope's illuminating love. But there comes George. A DIALOGUE. 77 C. Just witness now his loft}* step and haughty brow — a sickly fund for charity, so long monopo- lized. But — Enter GrEORGE. F. Good morning, G-eorge. I spoke you once this morning, and so painfully lingered on the sound of that known voice I hardty could receive it a response. G. Yes, those are wearisome days ; and then I have so many thus to claim respect, from some pretense or other, it makes it tiresome. F. And yet, 'twere never so to me. G. Ah, I feel it, and you have erred therein. The world must never give too much to friend- ship's drafts, or poverty ensues, and then reproach and scorn ; and believe me, Fidelle, I could but poorly bear this blight. F. And yet, to do some little good while chance is left? G. I do believe in faith, not works. I study to be faithful to m}^ G od, and it's more than I can do to deal with all the little affairs of men and creatures. But I must go — good morning. F. Nay, George, when I shall meet you with extended hand, and you with all the tender sym- pathy of youth shall grasp my own, then shall I e3 78 THE WILD poet's REST, joy to greet you, for I sliall know that God has been dealing with your heart. Good morning. C. There, Fidelle, what say you now of friend- ship ? There's thy much loved Father's proto- type of wisdom— he cannot brook contempt and scorn. And one would think he'd left his wisdom, too, with other guests save us ; and I have often seen him play the hypocrite, and prate of love, morality and religion. F. Ah, Charles, it is not late I found it thus. My much loved father would have chained me to this blight — this offspring of hjnDocrisy. C. Ah ! and he is rich. F. I realize it so, yet would not sacrifice my conscience for all the ill got wealth that he'd ever possess. I felt my father's prejudice oft warm to- wards him ; and yet, if I must be a slave, better I should choose my master. C. I too, have dreads like that, and know full well 'tis hard to be compelled, and harder still to be guided, by a master repugnant to our choice. But is not this a cold, heartless world ? F. There are cold, heartless people in it, and a mixed multitude — cold hearted aspirants, grasping avarice, self-conceit, and professing Christians too — these are the deadly list ; then haughty pride A DIALOGUE. 79 and vanity, and criminals, and hosts of others, of whom the world are well aware, and therefore not so dangerous. Then the unfortunate and honest poor come in, who never need look up in the pres- ence of these worthies. C. A pretty catalogue, indeed ! Come, finish your summing up, and let us have the whole — myself among the rest, F. The Christian, Charles, of whom I would not speak but with a venerating awe, so full of life, of love, of hope — here is the link between God and a sinful world, and who in heart makes interces- sion for us. Yes, whatever be our crimes, the Christian bears the guilty weight of woe to God and in an holy pleading seeks for our sin-sick soul's relief C. Truly, Fidelle, thou persuadest me to be a Christian. F. Would to heaven, Charles, I could point you to your faults, and teach you how to look at them in their true magnitude ; and feel you felt them, too, and feel you did feel that far off evil day that too, mayhap, may be near at hand. C. ! I feel it ; and oft a shudder passes o'er my frame in spite of my gayest humors. I 80 THE WILD poet's REST. know a trying day will come and often feel it may not be distant. F. Then look upon your faults — I will not say crimes, for I trust you are purer yet than some — yet look, and consult j^our better judgment; do not suffer yourself to pass an evil deed unnoticed ; see to it that you cause no one to grieve ; do noth- ing your conscience shall rebuke ; look back on deeds already passed ; think often of your dying Lord, and all the love and magnitude of Jehovah ; think of a spotless life, a hopeful death, where the light of heavenly love can fill e'en the dying cham- ber with her halo sheen, and make her death damp wholesome as the morning dew. C. I feel rebuked — what shall I do ? F. Seek God through faith, and he in mercy never will be deaf. Disband each thought that brings a cloud o'er conscience, and those loose deeds by which thy heart is lumbered up will soon remove where fruits for heaven will spring till all your acts by grand cement be joined to holiness and love. C. Then will I grasp your hand. Already I feel that God 's been dealing with my heart. Good morning. F, Good morning. Heaven bless you and nerve your heart. L SOLILOQUr. 81 A SOLILOQUY. While straying o'er tlie woes of life And quaintly viewing all its strife, With sympathy I'm moved ; For, with the vices of the age, We're prone to blot the future page, For this the past has proved. For where has pride e'er been inflate. Where sin it did not quick instate To propagate its kind 1 Who does not of this worldly strife Compound the mysteries of his life, Or be to folly joined 1 Who loves his neidibor as himself, Or who has not some secret pelf Or project still to move? Who does another's faults reprove, And still that erring spirit love, An aching heart to soothe ? O, churlish nature ! how we swerve, Lest acts of sympathy should serve To blight some vain self-love ; 82 THE WILD poet's REST. If I could ape another's whim, And in a broader channel swim, I could their flattery share. She that nobly acts must nobly feel, And friendship true must still reveal A nature kind and rare ; So I must write just what I think, And from those thoughts I ne'er can shrink, Or clothe them in disguise. So if my theme be quaint or sad, E'en should you think me fool, or mad, Or taken by surprise ; I must dole forth in strains of thought, Just as 'tis from the fountain brought, Or purified from theme. For subject matter, themes and things Must share the fate of men and kings. And time must bear them helice ; Whether I am sad, or grave, or gay, 'Tis all a prattle by the way. To swell this tide along. Yet I a stream would still maintain, That would my heart of folly drain, And swell with worth my song ; APRIL 16TH, 1852. 83 As justice sympathy and truth, Has been the watchword of my youth, So may it guide me still. And, as meek grace has claimed a part, To cleanse and purify my heart, May love those chambers fill — » And when my flight of time is o'er, To peaceful realms let me soar, To drink in soft delight. APRIL 16tli, 1852. Varying seasons, marked with wonder. As onward to old age they roll, Till o'er the weary pulse of nature Time can scarcely hold control. Varying seasons and scenes too varying, In fleet succession on the wing ; Snow-flakes trespass on our borders, Whence the daffodills should spring. And still dread winter seems to linger, As if some boding ill was nigh. For in her searching frosty breezes, Naught but winter seems to sigh. 84 THE WILD rOEx's REST. Yet, when we turn to ages by-gone, We seem to chide our unbelief, And wander back o'er pages sacred Through faith to guide us to relief. Seed time and harvest is the promise, Day and night shall test my love, And, to replenish weary nature, Summer and winter shall in turn revolve. AN APPEAL TO THE MIND. Come, mind, absolve some secret gift, And let thy gems of thought pour forth. For in thy vestibule of song. The recreant fancy shares its growth. Though wild from thence each strain is brought, And discords harsh assail the ear, Within her love-pent cells the soul Will vibrate strains to nature dear. And in imagination's shield Will lull each fancied pang of thought, AN APPEAL TO THE MIND. 85 And gentle whispers soft -will steal, 'Though with love's message ever fraught. Comej calm this burning strife within? And lave once more this feverish brow And deep within my ravished soul Instate once more thy sacred vow. The poet's pen with genial fire May light o'er earth the seraph's course, And from the innate depths of mind Praw forth an ever living source. But still the soul must be inspired With an unbounded, lively hope, To bear it o'er this earth's cold waste, Which must through ages onward scope. Come, let thy streams of love long pent Pour forth in lucid torents free, Till in immortal bliss of thought Is formed of love a boundless sea. 86 THE WILD poet's REST. ON SLANDER. 0. Slander ! when will tliy hideous surge roll back to overwhelm the baleful agitators of thy deadly scourge ? For surely the blight of earth and curse of Grod must signalize the slanderer's doom, unless averted by repentance sincere and heartfelt. For, of all the evils that beset us here below, the infamous tongue of slander is most des- picable in its effects. We may screen ourselves against a murderous assault, may secure our treas- ures against the midnight marauder of our premi- ses, may by alertness escape the grasp of the as- sassin, by caution secure ourselves against the de- vastating contagion of disease and premature de- cay ; but to the slanderer's infamous blight, howev- er reluctantly, we must submit, till the unrelenting disturbers of our peace are arrested in their mad career by the interposing hand of Jehovah. For if the slanderer has acquired a dislike for your ap- loearance, or an envy for your position, or a mis- apprehension of your motive, all the honor and honesty of his better nature is smothered in a de- ON SLANDER, 8T terrained purpose to carry out his design. He conveys his ideas and ill collected objections to the thoughtless rabble ; from thence 'tis conducted to the aspirant and would-be called worthy ; — whence, with the most unhesitating scruples, it is adopted by the worthy, without ever investigating the character or intention of the victimized suffer- ers, till they are weighed down with affliction and disgrace ; then who will esteem the effort com- mendable to restore them to society, even should they not be found wanting in all the essentials of religion and virtue. We need not cite the wis- dom of the age in which we live, nor call to mind the follies of the past, nor brand with infamy in the association of imagination a panting future, to bring proof of the deadly phenomena, nor seek for it among the fallen of the earth, or in low places? for the superficial great and the professing good have chosen it as a stepping-stone to greatness — and we every day see people having no virtue to recommend them, or smothering it, if they have, for the sake of rearing an eminence from some one or other they can contrive to put down to base a temporary distinction upon, to elevate them for a time to something .superior to themselves. And 88 THE WILD poet's rest. scarcely do any escape tlie miglity and multiply- ing rabble that join to mingle in this most shame- ful scourge, forgetting that while they point the finger of scorn at others, that they themselves are the very outlaws of a crime that has long been de- servedly condemned ; forgetful that he that sin- neth in one point is guilty of the whole. But we need not quote from Divinity on the gracious ex- amples of a too often crucifed Saviour — these sub- jects have become too commonplace among them. Neither cite any of the just denunciations of this crime — their hearts, I fear, have become callous to the impression of admonition. And do we not" often see them cut down in the midst of their cor- rupt machinations, yet bearing no warning to oth- ers who follow them with a lofty tread to that narrow place where they must of necessity rest from their folly and arrogance, turning to tread the same elevated ground that has sustained its fallen occupants, and fearlessly following on in the same course of wickedness and folly, till they are arrested by the interposing hand of Jehovah ? — Blaspheming his sacred covenants by associating themselves with His grace and love, and as it were perjuring their very souls by openly transgressing ON SLANDER. 89' the very commandments tliey have subscribed to, and repudiating the holy examples of a Saviour ; often securing themselves from merited justice by the machinations of falsehood, or screening beneath the purity of Christian charit}?-, to the great dis- comfort of their humble brethren? Still popular this baleful sin is destined to be appreciated by the unthinking, who are caught in its unwary trap- pings as lovers of a present pastime. 0, ye that on profession of your faith do deign to make profession of love and meekness, and Christian charity, how do ye stand accused when in your lonely meditations within the home of prayer you do attempt to bear your pleadings hence for mercy ; asking God to forgive you as you forgive others, with the sentiment swelling in your bosom of ail your weak accountabilities to man? 90 THE WILD FOEt's REST STILL m ARE BROTnERS. Brother, do not turn aside To shun a sin-sick soul, While o'er his weary aching heart, Friendship can hold control What if his crimes be dark and foul Or sin has steeled his heart, For Jesus loves a sin-sick soul O, ne'er from him depart. Who knows hut gentle words may guide Him to a fount of love, And to the hapless wanderers heart, The joys of heaven may prove. Perchance the heart from fortune's blight Has got enshrined and cold. And, too. when fortune proudly smiled, It might have been too bold. Mayhap an ossifying change Had formed around the heart. And Jesus is swelling the sin-sick soul, This cartilage to part. A MEDITATION. Virtue 'S a plant within the breast AVhich must be braced and wed, And from some kindred earthly source It must be sustained and fed. Christ has His bless'd example left That sin should be forgiven : Beware you forfeit not his love — It is the light of heaven. Though he a kinsman may not be, Allied by blood nor ftime, Yet he a blessed Redeemer had To cleanse his soul from stain. And him a mother once held dear. And smiled her son to press, And all that mother ever had As brothers Christ may bless. 91 A MEDITATION. O man, in beauty and for love God did thee consecrate above, And in his love-pent bosom He Did form thee, independent, free, To make thee blessed and good ; 92 THE WILD POET'S REST. That thou might of earth's joys partak®, And all its sorrows learn to hate — That in that joyous peaceful realm His heavenly love should thee o'erwhelin Like a refreshing flood. The love in His rich bosom pent A living Sacrifice has sent. That all, through faith in Jesus' love, Should drink His joys and reign above In an eternal day. Go taste the fount of that pure life, That will thy bosom ease from strife. Inflate thy mind and swell thy soul, Beyond the power of sin's control, And bear it e'en away. The brightest jewels were not made For those in sable weeds portrayed, And sparkling wit does seldom cling To those whence noble virtues spring. To elevate the soul ; But as the dews in jewels bright, Hang clustering 'neath the damps of »ight, So gathers freshness in the breast, THE DEVOTED BRIDE. 93 Where love must every virtue test, And still the mind control. We view poured forth the copious flood Of all save that extremely good, For which frail man impoverished lies, And half the charms of life denies. To satiate his pride. Blessed is the soul when she can feel The joys of heaven within revealed. And that true light of beaming love Which Jesus gives to own above, To crown his hallowed brides THE DEVOTED BRIBE. Come draw me a picture to my heart congenial, And let me in the distance hide ; For the scene I would have presented Is the inspiration of the youthful bride. Give her in all her angelic beauty. With the spotless robes and the jewels bright, With her marble brow and placid features, E'en the heart of stoic to delight. f2 94 THE WILD poet's REST. Reclining pensive be her position With the brilliant rays of the light of love, Transfixed to that heavenly circling diadem, Each bearing the purity of her soul above. An angel hovering, pointing to blessings. And doling secretly of sorrow too, Lest in imaginative fancy She soar from earth, angels to woo. TO MRS. FRANCES BRIGGS. ON THE DEATH OF HER. CHILD. Weep not that the flower on thy bosom thus reared, By the rude blasts of fortune has never been seared. It has gone, and the sorrow that 's swelling that sound, Will linger on dreamy o'er that quiet mound. Yet 't will spring up to glory in eternity's years, Eor earth must be verdant, moistened with sor- row's pure tears, A PAKArilKASE. 95 And angels will foster this oifspring of love, And your bless'd Redeemer adopt it above. Dear Frances, kind accents I'd breathe through your soul, But I feel that no sympathy your heart can control. But listen in faith both tranquil and mild, To Jesus in love-tones adopting your child. I feel this rude cavity in your frail bosom cleft, I feel this sad blight from the world's glory reft, I feel this deep wound, and 'tis sad but to feel. When my own heart so well knows it never can heal. A PARAPHRASE ON THE 7th chapter OF MATTHEW. O for a consciousness within, That I a dying mortal speak ; And I a dying world address, And meekness from my Saviour seek. Then should I swell each note of love. And bless each weary anxious heart, Each waning hope I would improve, And strive with every sin to part. f3 96 THE WILD poet's REST. Then with a telescopic eye, My own rash faults I'd quickly scan, Leave all the judgment to my God, For he can deal in love with man. I would not give my pearls to swine — Ah, feel reproved for fear that I Should make display of something pure, That quiet in my heart should lie. God says to every creature, ask And I will of my grace impart, And will a secret joy infuse, Which shall like torrents swell the heart. For, if the evil of your hearts Will teach you precious gifts to give, Will Jesus when His children plead Refuse to let a sinner live ? Then whatsoever you would wish That man should do to you, in love Do ye the same them before, For this the holy prophets prove. A ^AE A PHRASE; 9T Enter ye the straight and narrow path, But do not strive to choke the wajj For many meek and humble souls Will travel here you can't delay. Beware of prophets false and vain. Who only strive to deal with man, Jesus the Lamb must guide you homCj 'Twas for redemption he was slain. Now ye shall know them by their fruit, Yet trust till it is fully ripe, Then meekness should your judgments share, Lest sorrow ±o some heart you strike. But when you_^find the tree corrupt, Just move its branches from j'our soil, For it will cumber up the space, Although the ground it might not spoil Not all that rudely speak my name. Will I for blessing ever hear. For if they profit not through faith, They cannot by their works come near. 98 THE WILD pokt's rest. For wlioso hearetli of my word, And listeth not to build thereon, Him will I liken to a fool, Wliicli built liis house upon the sand. And wlien those hearing what I say, Shall meekly to my standard flock, In wisdom I shall liken them To those that built ujion a rock. THANKFULNESS. God ! how I thank Thee for this sweet re- tirement from all the vain turmoils and follies of life. What sweet communion refreshes my whole heart. Not retirement from business, but from all the vanity and turmoils of strife and popularity,, which through frailty, I might, mayhap, as well as many others, have fallen into. How does my heart expand with undulating love, which vibrates to' love of life and all the charms beyond its ice-bound shores. Yea, the day has dawned when tranquil- ity call cheer my soul, and in the distance omens TTIANKFULNESS. 99 of pure jo3''S to come. I have tasted deep the cup of bitter woe, but God does not willingly chastise ; I feel the arm beneath, which has sustained the darkening cloud that hung with crushing w^eight to blight my worldly hope. But, 'tis only through adversity that I've been brought to feel the joys that cluster near my heart, and by the woes of life have learned to multiply the joys. How I bless the nameless love of heaven, that I was not for- saken by myself. How often, at the suspension of «very hope, I mourned not, wished not, anticipated nothing ; almost as it were letting go of life, look- ing steadily on the eclipsed glory of my little uni- verse of circumstances, till some cloud would break away — then with what trembling joy I seized again on life and hope, and from my weary soul the gladsome song of humble thanks that I'd been spared from wicked desecrations, warbled forth till all within was peace and love. Then with what thankful praj'-er I made my weak amend for all God's care and kind sustaining grace and wisdom to protect. 100 THE SUNBEAM. As once to write I had prepared. With cheerful fire and room well aired^ A sunbeam o'er my paper strayed, And, as it danced, my hand I laid To hide its brilliant hues. But instantly it rose above, In my sad aching heart to prove, That all within my bosom swelled, Would yet through time by love propelled, Burst forth beyond control. So 'tis with mind both true and pure, Naught can it from its beauty lure, Its jewels bright must be portrayed, True as the dancing sunbeam played Above a withered hand. That seraph fire that lights the soul, Will burst and burn beyond control, As sunbeams o'er the waters roll, A.nd will that inner fire unfold, To light our paths to heaven. Al'KIL 20TII, 18G2. . 101 Tliongli jarriug discord lierc, and strife, May triumph o'er tins waning life, Christ gives a joy within the soul, Which like the sunbeam lights the whole, And never can be strayed. APRIL mi, mi Still winter lingers, rather waning In the unconscious lap of spring, And many agonizing struggles Every day essays to bring. Sometimes smiles like one departing, Doth expand the angry brow ; Yet with her hardy rigid nature, Winter could not yield till now. Now the panting struggle 's over — Though waning, yet she may not leave, Yet the friends we're now consoling, May give vent and nobly grieve. il32 THE WILD poet's REST. For the Prince has sent His offspring, Although in infant strength he comes^ He will give His balmy fragrance To our exiled snowstorm's home. TO LADY FMNKLIN. Lady dear, thy heart's pure anguish Sorrows deep in mine awake, And I linger on in sadness, Of thy joys to yet partake. Oft I linger, hope despairing, Then I nerve my heart again, Still to wait while chance is sharing, In thy bosom rent with pain. Does the God of Wisdom strengthen That pure nerve which naught can blight/ Or has he sealed thy doom in mercy, In a never ending night ? Nay, I feel it swell my bo.som, God Would not inflate thy mind j TO LADY FRANKLIN. 103 Instinct forms the tie of nature, To thy fate be yet resigned. I see thee bow thy head desponding, By that pure light instinct reveals, Then see thee roused again to action, By a power thy love conceals. But when all thy hopes are waning And Jesus gives thee peace within. By promise he will give in mercy, That pure spirit free from sin. For God will spare the unbelieving, Though far remote, companion dear. When the heart of wife is yearning, Between pure hope and boding fear. Then yield thy will to His resigning, He will with joy thy bosom fill, And with tones of blessed redemption, Jesus every nerve will thrill 104 THE WILD poet's REST, LOTE YOUR ENEMIES. Set not thy face against a foe, Lest in his secret heart, He feel relenting sorrow too, And Jesus hear a part. For we may often entertain Some angel in diguise, That to the naked wondering soul, Might take ns hy surprise. Take heed, that Jesus does not say, When you present your claim. Whence are you then, I know not you, I never had your name. O, we have set within thy courts. In sumptuous array, And many a sin-sick, dirty soul, Lord, we have kept away. Then shall He say to you, depart, It is the poor I love, CONSCIENCK. 105 Ye cannot in m}^ sacred courts Be registered above. Beware that grace is not a name To shield you in your pride, For, in the courts of heavenly love, Each sin will be descried. CONSCIENCE. Doubting' faith still seems to linger In the recreant breast of man, Don't believe it, is the answer From the multifarious clan ; I can read of men and matter, Deceptions, fraud, and unbelief, But to read of things eternal Haunts my soul with secret grief And they tell me of the poet. And heavenly inspiration love. But this is borrowed from great authors, Our inward sympathies to move ; 106 THE WILD poet's REST. They treat me of celestial glories, Above, beneath and out of sight, And these recreant descriptions Haunt my fancies day and night. But 'tis all a lucid figure, Borrowed from the works of men ; But these works have had a being, Where, 0, how, who from, and when 1 Has not God, through man portraying All his works to be divine, Formed within a seat for glory, For these beauties so sublime ? Has not he through ages dreary, Strengthened us through grace and love ? And does he not the secret conscience Prompt to seek his courts above ? Yes ; and the poet's recreant fancy Fans the flame of inward hope, And gives this glory inexpressible. No earthly joy could with it scope. But 'tis folly to believe them. For it's deceptive, fickle, vain, They tread within those haunts of fancy, NATURE AND SPRING MORNING. 107 Just for pride, applause and gain. Nay, there's something whispers near me, There is a heaven and sacred love, That there 's a God and a Redeemer, Angels and light, and heaven above. NATURE AND SPRING MORNING. O, sleeping, waking, bursting nature ! what dost thou not portray, to captivate the longing, insatiate, loving, hating, laughing, sorrowing, proud, prolific heart of man ? Image of his own redundant nature, always ready to bring forth love or hate, or rouse the bickering of strife or envy, or jealousy, to foster murderous designs or that pure extatic bliss which twines through systems to the love of heaven to animate his soul, and too, at times to let him taste the wonders of a Deity.-*- Come forth to this glad heart, and humble as it feels and small within, yet let it taste thy joys. In the first pure note that rises on the waking breath of morn doth faintly come the gladsome soun d of spring. Come verdant herbs, and clothe the earth again lOS TIIK WILD rUET's REST. that nature laugh once more in gay attire. And flowerSj transcendent beauty of the life that vegeta- tion wears, come forth and breathe again the health- ful breath of summer morn, that thy pure balmy fragrance may dance once more beneath the dews of night. Then dewy night beneath the mantling heavens combine with earth again and gentle show- ers, and then commute and spare the weary hand and watchful brow that screened thy beauties from the frost of death, and let us share the riches of thy proud prolific wealth. Where are the secret chambers that lock thy beauties from the eyes of man, Nature 1 Again I bid the iirst-born youth of winter's aged mother come. ^'^J, twain of earth, for thou wast formed to propagate thy kind, and in thy youthful prattle many rich melodies are joined to form the gladsome song of life with thee. The hum of human voices, the song of birds, the quick- timed music of the insect's tiny voice, the baying canine race from great to small, and cats and kits and children dear, and cooing of the doves — and winds that in the jetty angles of the haunts of men may strike a harsher note as if in voice of nature there must be passion too, to make her wisdom A'ATUREAXD SPRING MORNING, lOO tremble 'neatli its tottering throne. Then from this din to rouse how gladly can we hail the tran- quil sunny morn of Spring with her jewels bright arrayed. Her showers too, and after then her look of youth, and budding promise for sustaining life. That man may linger on till the day may come when he may feast his soul on anticipation's joys for never-ending Spring. Eternity, how long, where angel songs will glad our hearts, and the rich halo sheen of Heaven will ever be the fra- grance of the morn, and where redeeming love will amply crown the glory of the whole. 0, healthful morn ! still bear me on, although not joyous as when the sunny morn of youth did smile to give me welcome ; yet with a gladsome heart, and as the wayside stream doth pass along, so let me pass, mingling the rays of hope that light my soul with other streams of love, more fitful still to bear us on, till in a fount of boundless love, transparent as the light of Heaven, we form a crystal lake, whose waters strife will never more essay to move. 110 DISAPPOINTMENT. DISAPPOINTMENT. I have felt all worldly sorrows, Tasted grief in all its forms ; Have drunk too deep of pride and folly. Have lived too long, amid life's storms ; And, as I've gazed on all its wonders, Let me look within my breast. To see if all v/ithin enacted, Scrutinized, would bear the test. And then, within some secret chamber, Let me by myself remain. While I view the dear deception Which is reapt from worldly gain. And when the great may think me weary, From their fancied pure neglect, Let me, solaced by reflection, From their pride no more expect. But the poor, when they're afflicted, Let me linger o'er their grief, And as far as love and counsel, Let me give them sweet relief — Yet when they shall cease to love me, And may wish me to depart ; May I, in dread dismay beguiling, Seal my sorrows in my heart. CONTENTS. Anticipation and Frailties, « ► - - 23 A Sentiment, - - 26 Anticipation, -------27 A Cheerful Disposition. ----- 40 A Retrospect, -51 A Dialogue, - - - - - r - 75 A Soliloquy, -"- 81 April 16th, 1852, * 83 An Appeal to the Mind, 84 A Meditation, 91 A Paraphrase, - - 95 April 20th, 1852, 101 Contemplation, - - - - - - 5 Contemplating a Divorce, . - - - 33 Conscience, ,_.-►-- 105 Disappointment, . - - - - 31-110 Despondency, -------55 Essay, 11 Fate, 46 Happiness and Friendship, - - - - 17 Hope,- 45-74 Hope and Trust in God, - - - - 52 Human Nature, - 63 111. CONTENTS. Introduction, 3 Live and Let Lire, - 50 Love your Enemies, - - - - - lOi Morning Contemplation, 28 My Flowers, 72 Nature and Spring Morning, - - - - 107 On the Nativity and Crucifixion of Christ, - 24 Of the Mind, 67 On Slander, - 86 Pride, - - - - - - - - 20 Reminiscences of Youth, - - - - G Reflections, - - - - - - - 44 Still we are Brothers, 90 The Poet Fire, 19 Thoughts, 29 To Mrs. De Kroyft, - - - - - - 62 The Dream, C5 The Devoted Bride, 93 To Mrs. Frances Briggs, - - - - 94 Thankfulness, - - - - - - 98 The Sunbeam, - . . - - - -100 To Lady Franklin, ^ - - . - - - 102 WhoisGodl - - ^ - - - - - 35 Publisher's^ Note.— The first sixty pages of this little work was written the first week in February, and left in the hands of the Printers. The remainder was written in April. Erratum.— The word "this," on page 32, should be "his." The word " write," on page 31, should be " rise." And "e'er," on the 13th page, should be "e'en."