iVAVj The Book of Human Life 33 On a Storm at Church ;>4 In the Autumn of 1820 ; ; (i Scene at the Door of the Cot ;;; The Delaware Song 39 Adventures of a Stray Leaf 4 \ To a Friend A\ r HO Commended His Verses, . . . 46 Autobiography of James Smith. Seventy-four years ago — some time before railroads came in fashion — there was a little cottage in Scotland, on the turnpike road between Edinburgh and New Castle, about three miles from the village of Kelso, (where the said pike crossed the river Tweed). In that cottage I first breathed the vital air. It was built of simple masonry, and from some cause its longest side wall formed an obtuse angle, from which circumstance it acquired the name of (i The Crooked House." A grove of pine trees had been planted by it, which had acquired a respectable size, and as no other trees grew in a considerable extent of country around it, they afforded crows a convenient place for nests, and thousands of these birds in the breeding season congregated in this grove, built their nests and reared their young there, and hence it acquired the name of ''The 2 (9) IO AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF Crows' Planting." This cottage was the hum- ble and peaceful residence of my parents. My father, whose name was John, was brought up to the business of a shepherd, and was in the employment of Mr. William Daw- son, an enterprising farmer who introduced many improvements both in the culture of the soil and the management of stock in that country. My mother, whose maiden name was Agnes Gray, was, like my father, a child of that class of true nobility who support them- selves by honest labor, and I am prouder of my pedigree than if my ancestors had been of the highest rank, yet stained with those crimes and vices which, as history affirms, have so often darkened and disgraced the ranks of nobility and royalty. The social and internal regula- tions of our family are well described by Burns' in his "Cotter's Saturday Night." The incense of sincere devotion ascended daily from our humble cottage, and our parents carefully instructed the opening minds of their children in the principles of revealed religion. I had three sisters, and was their only boy, and I believe they were impartial in their endeavor to "train us all up in the way we should go." For myself, I am convinced that my parents' early JAMES SMITH. I I instructions and consistent example have laid the foundation for any real religion that has existed in my heart and life. My mother's serious scriptural instructions directed me to the Savior, even after her voice was stilled in death. She died when I was eight years of age, and I am now seventy-four ; yet I still seem to feel her warm breath on my cheek as she poured forth her earnest prayer for blessings on her boy while kneeling with me alone in some secluded retreat. My parents were both members of the Pres- byterian congregation, which was at that time under the pastoral care of the Rev. James Hogg, whose church edifice was in the village of Kelso. It was by this minister and in this edifice that my parents dedicated me to the Savior in baptism. They were esteemed by their acquaintances as consistent Christian pro- fessors who tried to advance the interests of religion by their example and conversation in the sphere of life which they occupied. I will mention a single instance of my father's reprov- ing intemperate passion and profanity, which, even when a duty, requires great moral firmness and prudence, tempered with good judgment. Mr. Dawson, whose sheep it was his business 12 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF to tend, though a talented farmer and business man, often disregarded the rules of Christian morality in his walk and conversation. An infectious disease, producing frequent deaths, had attacked the large flock under my father's care. He attended them with almost sleepless assiduity, frequently separating the infected individuals from the flock, and applying all the known remedies faithfully, but still a number died daily. In this state of things, Dawson, with feelings irritated by the loss of his sheep, called upon my father and told him that "he must be either unfaithful to his charge or ignorant of his business," and working up his passion to an outrageous pitch, vented curses and imprecations against him. As soon as my father could be heard, he said with as much calmness as he could command : "Mr. Dawson, you are very foolish to talk so, for you know that you are but a mortal like myself, and have no power to damn me or anybody else. As to your sheep, I have faith- fully attended them night and day with my best ability ; and if you are not satisfied, give me a regular discharge, and I will give up the difficult task with pleasure." This speech stopped his scolding, and before JAMES SMITH. I 3 he left, he begged my father to stay and con- tinue his exertions to save his sheep. He retained him as a shepherd as long as he remained in Scotland, and treated him with every mark of respect, and used no profane language in his presence, and when he was preparing to embark for America, befriended him in various ways, both with his money and influence. The flattering accounts sent back from time to time by those who had emigrated to Amer- ica, induced my father and his family to try their fortune in the new world. Their removal took place in the spring of 1795, when I was three and a half years of age. I have been told that, when starting from my native place, I was put in a carriage loaded with the family goods, and commenced singing in my own childish style and native dialect in words like these: "Ah, we'll niver see the cruckit heuse nor the craws' plantin' na mair, " repeating the words in a way that seemed prophetic of poetical tendencies ; and whether poetic or not, it was certainly prophetic, for there is every reason to believe that the prophecy will be fulfilled. We went by land to Greenoch, and sailed from there in the brig Apollo, Captain Hilton; 14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 01 and after spending seven weeks on the ocean, landed at Boston Harbor some time in June. The celebration of Independence soon after our arrival, with its accompanying thunder of artillery, was to me a new and stirring scene, deeply impressed on my memory. Our family continued sixteen months in Bos- ton, my father engaging with a Mr. Tileston in digging wells and cellars, except in winter, when he procured a place in a shoemaking establishment, where he was employed in mending shoes during inclement weather. My mother, too, improved every opportunity that offered to increase the means of the family, by doing whatever jobs of woman's work she was qualified to perform and was able to secure, so that while living here, being blessed with health, their earnings exceeded their expenses by a handsome sum. But their governing desire had been, and still was, to purchase land in the country, so that their success in business did not make them content to remain permanently in the city. In compliance with an invitation from a Mr. Given, whose family had been fellow passengers across the Atlantic, and who had purchased a farm and settled in Westchester County, New JAMES SMITH. I 5 York, sixteen miles from New York City, our family removed to that place, and my father engaged in the business of the farm. In the course of this journey, however, my mother, in consequence of exposure to the inclement season, took a heavy cold, which settled on her lungs and introduced her into a course of pulmonary consumption, from which she never entirely recovered. I was now about seven years of age, and it was here amidst the rural scenes of Westchester that I remember the first impressions of an admiring reverence for the sublime and beauti- ful in nature. A small stream ran near our residence, whose course was through a deep ravine. Its sides were studded with rocks and crowned and fringed with trees. Its waters were occasionally precipitated over the rocks, making beautiful cascades that sent forth har- monious music, the whole enlivened by the graceful forms and merry songs of birds — a place which became to me a favorite resort. My first entrance into a school-house was in this place, and I remember well the first day I attended. The house was a small structure, the walls being constructed of clay mingled with straw. A Mr. Lyon was the teacher. l6 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF He examined me, and found that I could read in the New Testament, my faithful mother having taught me in her leisure moments at home. A boy older than myself, who had been two years at school, but was very dull to learn, could not read his lesson. To shame him, the teacher bade me stand by him and tell him the words. I know not what effect this plan had on him, but I know its effect on me was to feed my vanity. Our stay at this place was not more than two years, when we removed to New York City, and lived on Greenwich Street, not much more than a mile from the Battery, and at that time on the outskirts of the city. Here we staid one summer, my father working as a day laborer, and I was hired out, for little more than my board, to turn a wheel for spinning rope yarn in a rope-walk, so called, where about a dozen other boys were employed. In the fall we took a voyage up the Hudson River as far as Catskill. This occupied a number of days, for steamboats were not yet introduced. Here father took a room in a building called " The Old Stone Jug," which stood alone near the lower end of the village. Here my mother lived about a month with her children, while JAMES SMITH. 1 7 my father was making excursions into the coun- try west of Catskill for the purpose of securing a piece of land on which to establish a home for his family. A large tract of land in the County of Delaware, known as the Desbrosses Patent, attracted his attention on account of the easy terms granted to settlers. This attraction was sufficient to induce him to remove his family from Catskill to the house of John More, one of the first settlers of Delaware County, who lived on the spot now occupied by the village of Moresville. Here we staid a few weeks, until my father had located his future home. The tract of land referred to lay among the mountains where the head-springs of the Dela- ware River rise. It was principally covered with beech and maple forests. Desbrosses claimed to be its owner, and had it surveyed into one hundred acre lots, and leased it to tenants, giving them five years free of rent, after which they were expected to pay yearly twelve and a half cents per acre. Most of the lots were taken up when my father came, but he finally fixed on one near the head of Roses' Brook, in the town of Stamford. One part of this lot extended up the side of a mountain 1 8 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF called in that neighborhood "The Old Clump," which formed a part of the dividing ridge between the east and west branches of the Delaware River. On this spot our family arrived late in the fall, and lived in a room of our nearest neighbor's house until father could build one on his own place, which took several weeks. The name of this neighbor was Joseph Baker. During all our late movements, made neces- sary to secure our home, my dear mother's health had been gradually declining ever since taking the fatal cold before referred to, so that when we took possession of our own home in the country, a situation she had greatly desired, relentless consumption had seated itself immov- ably upon her lungs. Still following her active habits of industry as much as her increasing weakness would allow, she continued to strug- gle on through the next summer. It was a summer of scarcity among the new settlers, and as our own family had become almost destitute of means, it required the exertion of all my father's strength to procure necessaries, and prepare a little land to put in a crop. Thus my father struggled against destitution and my mother against disease till they reached the end JAMES SMITH. 1 9 of the summer in company, but the stroke of death separated them in the fall. My mother's mortal part, worn out by disease, sank into its original dust, and her spirit, prepared by Divine grace, joined her sister spirits in a happier world. But it was a sad bereavement to our family. My father thought it best to break up house- keeping for a time, as none of my sisters were yet old enough for housekeepers. The two oldest of the girls went into families to live, to render such assistance as they could, while I and my sister Nancy, five years younger than I, went to live in the family of a man who was a native of the same neighborhood in Scotland with my father, and who had settled upon the same patent in this country. But we sadly missed the tender care of a mother. We lived in this place about two years, and I was intro- duced to farming work in the summer, and went to school one winter, which about finished my going to school. All the additional literary knowledge I may have acquired has been gained by home study — by seizing and improv- ing broken fragments of time. Anxious to improve his lot and the interests of his family, my father soon recalled me to 20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF live with him, and I became boy of all work; at times laboring on the farm, and at times cooking and helping to keep the house. With- out playmates, my chief amusement was with my books, such as they were, and with pen, ink and paper. I spent many hours pleasantly alone in the chamber of our log cottage, study- ing parts of the Bible, taking stories from it and turning them into rustic verse, illustrated sometimes by a rude picture. After living some time in this way, my eldest sister joined us, fitted now by age and experience to be our housekeeper. During her administration, my father had his leg broken by the fall of a tree, while cutting trees to browse cattle when the fodder was nearly exhausted. He was obliged to lie forty days on his back with his leg in a box, before the broken parts were sufficiently knitted together to suffer removal. But he finally recovered, though in a somewhat crip- pled state, so as to be able to labor for a num- ber of years. The improvements on our farm, however, went on slowly. We chopped as much of the woods as we could each year, clear- ing it off in the fall, and sowing it with wheat. My love of nature and solitary rambles still continued, and in these I had a fine opportunity JAMES SMITH. 21 to indulge, as the woods was the pasture for our cows, and it was my business to hunt them up every evening, directed only by the sound of a bell worn by one of them. I soon became thoroughly acquainted with all the mountains and valleys around our habitation, covered at that time with their primeval forests. But "The Old Clump" was the chief object of my attraction, its top being then bald of timber, and the view from it an extensive and noble one. To the east and south mountains peered beyond mountains, until their far distant tops met the blue sky. To the west and north the view was less rugged and sublime, but as extensive and beautiful, and the valley of Roses' Brook was spread out to view like a map, from its springs to where its waters min- gled with the Delaware. Amid such scenes it is not strange that I should feel at times the poetic inspiration, and, indeed, from my earliest years I have had sea- sons of such inspiration, which, however, a natural diffidence and the circumstances of mv life have kept me from improving, though they were not able to quench an ardent desire to improve all my faculties, and acquire a thorough knowledge of science and general literature. 22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF With an earnest desire for knowledge, however, it seemed to be a duty for me to remain with my father and help him in the labor of the farm. He was now in a crippled condition, his lungs, too, affected by disease, and his health delicate, so that our united labors barely sup- ported the family, which now consisted of four persons ; my father, two sisters and myself. I therefore gave up all thoughts of school, my sole means of mental improvement being the study of the few books which at that time I was able to procure. About this time I became conscious of the possession of another passion besides the love of literature. I became acquainted with a young woman of beautiful form and features, the moral beauty of whose mind I became convinced was fully equal to that of the body. She was the daughter of a family descended on her father's side from that band of Pilgrims who landed at Plymouth Rock. To be brief, this person became my companion through life. While attending the ministrations of Rev. Robert Forest, second minister of the First Presbyterian Church of Stamford, New York, I became thoroughly convinced of the entire JAMES SMITH. 23 reasonableness, the complete fitness and the perfect adaptedness of the gospel for the salvation of our sinful race, a system suited to raise the humble believer from a state of con- demnation to a state of friendship with God, and restore him to that course of progressive perfection from which the race had fallen. I felt my personal need of the blessings of this system of love and mercy as never before, and was enabled to accept the great gift freely offered in the gospel with simple faith, and place myself unreservedly in the hands of that Savior whose righteousness, wrought out for sinners, is per- fect and complete, and I am happy to add that my dear wife soon joined me in this Christian course, which we have been able, through Divine grace, to pursue steadily through the varying scenes we have passed. And we would say to all who may read these humble lines : If you would be happy, live a life of faith in the Savior, and let your conduct be gov- erned by the principle of Christian love. It was at an early age that I first formed my political sentiments. The Federal and Demo- cratic were the ruling parties of the day ; and my father, soon after coming to this country, united himself with the Federal party, proba- 24 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF bly because he believed its principles to be congenial with the politics of his native land. The nearest point at that time, where a news- paper was printed, was at Kingston, Ulster County, fifty miles distant. Two papers were published there; "The Plebian," Democratic, by Jesse Buel, and "The Ulster Gazette, " Federal, by Samuel S. Freer. A man on horseback brought them through Delaware County once a week. My father took the "Gazette" and our nearest neighbor, Mr. Daniel Hotchkiss, took the "Plebian." I had before formed a considerable taste for reading, and wished to acquire as enlarged a view as possible of the political sentiments of the coun- try which I had learned to love as ardently as if I had been a native. Mr. Hotchkiss kindly lent me the " Plebian," and I perceived, by reading the editorials of both papers and the extracts they contained from the leading political jour- nals and from the speeches of prominent poli- ticians of both parties, that the principles and favorite measures of these parties w r ere freely and honestly discussed in these papers. I soon made an arrangement with our neighbor Hotchkiss to exchange the papers, which gave me a good opportunity to read them both, JAMES SMITH. 25 which I faithfully improved, and I think without prejudice. I became gradually convinced that the funda- mental principles advocated by the Democratic party were most favorable to rational liberty and the impartial government of the people. This party regarded all men more on a level, and professed to exercise equal care and atten- tion to the interests and happiness of all without partiality to any class. This reason told me was the true object of political science, and that a system whose principles were Calculated to secure that object was the system, other things being equal, which every member of the community should support. When I further observed that the Federal paper seemed inclined to advocate principles that favored a particular class, and to centralize in some measure the governing power, which should be retained in the hands of the people and exer- cised by them at the polls, the observation confirmed me still more in preferring Demo- cratic principles as the true system of govern- ment. The poor, the weak and the ignorant certainly need the favor of the governing power as much as the rich and learned ; and as the Democratic system seemed to aim at extending 3 2 6 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF this favor to them, and to guard by its funda- mental principles its own administrators from favoring the rich more than the poor, with an apparent tendency in the opposite direction in the Federal system, I became fully and honestly confirmed in receiving the Democratic principles as the true system of politics. Allow me, before dismissing the subject of politics, to advise all who exercise the right of suffrage to maintain perfect independence in voting. A well-informed citizen, governed by good moral principle, can not be bought at any price; but such a one may be led astray by following subserviently the lead of a party. I have lived to see political parties, based on the purest principles of liberty and equality, per- verted and corrupted to favor aristocracy and despotism. Let our citizens make principles, and not party, their leading star in politics, and on this foundation they can remain firm amidst the conflict of parties. It would probably be uninteresting to my descendants to trace my progress as a farmer for a number of years after my father's death, which took place the next year after my mar- riage. I continued to occupy the same farm on which he settled, and as he had been for a JAMES SMITH. 27 number of years quite sickly, I found a variety of debts against the estate, which by a steady course of industry I was enabled to pay off. By the blessing of Providence on years of hard labor and strict economy on my bleak mountain farm, the forest was cleared, chiefly by my own labor, by chopping four or five acres in the winter, and logging them off and sowing the next summer. But the most inter- esting business was the rearing of our family. Our children were all born on this mountain farm, eleven in number; the two oldest and the two youngest boys, and the rest girls. The law regulating common schools in the State of New York was adopted about the time of our marriage, and one of the district school-houses was located near us, which offered a favorable opportunity for the early education of our children. * * * * * * * * * I have already intimated that from an early age I took a deep interest in poetry. I do not call that interest a talent, but perhaps only a fondness for it ; yet it is true that " Amaist as soon as I could spel], 1 to the cram ho- jingle fell, Though rude and rough ;" 28 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JAMES SMITH. and as soon as I was able to read and write, I took pleasure in reading poetry and trying to form couplets of my own. As a number of these home-made effusions still remain among my papers, and, however imperfect, may prove of interest to some of my descendants, I have decided to collect a few of them for their perusal or that of any who may wish to examine them. 1867. James Smith. POEMS, by JAMES SMITH. THE FARMER. As I walked out on one bright summer morn- ing, The hills and the fields looked pleasant and fair ; The lily and daisy the meadows adorning, With joy I inhaled the pure health-giving air. Phoebus darted his rays o'er the land and the ocean, Farmers went to their labor with cheerful devo- tion, And my soul, it was filled with a rapturous emotion, As I thought of the lot of the farmer so free ! O thrice happy farmer ! who goes uncontrolled By masters or lords to his own fertile fields, And by sweet singing birds he is gaily caroled, As he nurtures the products that kind nature yields; (29) 30 POEMS BY The pure, gentle zephyrs blow softly around him, No rude care or trouble appears to confound him, No lawless assassin arises to wound him, As he treads his own acres, a farmer so free. Columbia may boast of her proud social station, So largely composed of her farmers so free; In solid enjoyment there's no other nation, O much favored land, that is equal to thee ; From our dwellings the calm voice of gladness is sounding, With comfort and plenty our houses surround- ing. Our fields with the bounties of nature abound- ing, Rejoice and make happy the farmer so free. 1808. JAMES SMITH. 3 I A PRAYER. [Written at a time when the first Buonaparte was at the height of his career in Europe, and faction was running high in America, and the danger of our nation being drawn into war was imminent.] Almighty and eternal Lord ! Whose holy, wise and sovereign sway All nature owns, and at thy word The nations of the earth obey. Thou makest the empires of the world To dash like froth on ocean's wave ; While some, from Glory's summit hurled, Thou buriest in Oblivion's cave. And if thou wilt, thou can'st them save From war, and make all strife to cease ; Change bloody storms that madly rave, Into the gentle reign of peace. Come thou, Creation's glorious Sire, And bless our still dependent land ; Thou who didst grant our strong desire, And free us from Oppression's hand. By thine own power thou didst release Our land from Albion's heavy chain ; And thou hast given us rich increase, In peace and happiness to reign. $2 POEMS 1;\ Dispel, O Lord, the threatening cloud That overspreads our nation's sky; Let Reason's voice resound aloud, And peace and freedom still be nigh. But if we're drawn by many a wrong Into the vortex of the storm, The rights that do to us belong, Oh, guard with thine almighty arm. In every dark and trying hour, Warm all our hearts with patriot fire ; And send thy spirit-stirring power, Our hearts with courage to inspire. Oh, paralyze proud Faction's hand, That fain would ruin our domain, And longs to break the peaceful band, Whereby our union we maintain. Forgive the many crimes, O Lord, Committed in our guilt}* land ; Direct our councils by thy word, And lead our rulers by thy hand. 1810. JAMES SMITH. 33 THE BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE. Life is a volume, every day a leaf, On each of which we find some joy or grief. On every page the Maker's stamp we view, And to his glory every page is due. Although this Book fills every mortal hand, There's few can read, and fewer understand; And though upon each page their eyes they place, Mists often fill the intervening space, And through a medium false their glances fly, Till sense seems nonsense to their 'wildered eye. And if Philosophy should strive to clear Those mists away, and make the truth appear, Then Folly comes, and holds her lying glass Sly and unnoticed full before their face ; Whose magic power distorting every line, Bids Error as the highest wisdom shine. Alas ! their case the thoughtful soul must wound, Can no effectual remedy be found ? " There can," methinks a voice celestial cries, While heavenly radiance issues from the skies. The Great Supreme, dispelling doubt and strife Reveals to mortal man the light of life ; And Revelation, brightening every line, Bids Life's fair Book with fresh instruction shine. 34 POEMS BY A DESCRIPTION Of a violent storm of wind and rain at the Pres- byterian Church in Stamford, Delaware County, New York, while the Rev. Wm. McAuley was conducting the services. Calm rose the morning, though the sullen clouds Hung low and lurid o'er the neighboring hills. Scarcely a breeze disturbed the air below, When from their peaceful homes the Christians round Resorted to the temple, there to join In sweet devotion to the Great Supreme, And celebrate his wondrous love to man. There all in mute attention listening sat, To hear the gospel from their pastor's lips. As yet the hovering vapors dropped their stores In genial showers, but soon the gentle fall Impelled was driven obliquely thro' the air By strong and sudden blasts of stormy wind, Like war-like scouts of some invading foe, Whose powerful forces following close behind, Would scatter ruin and destruction round. JAMES SMITH. 35 And now the angry tempest opened wide Its horrid cave, and direful forces sent To rage with sweep terrific o'er the hills And flooded vales ; the swift-descending rain, Poured from the ample flood-gates of the skies, On pinions of the raging storm below, Rushed like a torrent round the sacred pile 'Mid roar of thunder ; its firm basis shook, And loaded galleries rocked like leafy boughs Swayed by the breeze of summer. Spouting streams Of mingled elements poured thro' shattered panes, And seemed surcharged with electric fire. Then did the massive timbers shake and bow Before the storm, and threaten sudden fall Upon the numerous throng assembled there. Some gaze with terror on the creaking joints, And many haste from danger seeming near To seek a safer station. The meanwhile, Kind Providence protects the trembling crowd, The fury of the storm at length is spent, And peace succeeds the terrors of an hour. 36 POEMS BY LINES Written in the Autumn of 1820, after a busy summer on the farm. Long has my bashful muse in silence slept, Not even the lonely shade hath heard her song ; Over her strings, inactive, silence crept, While Summer with its business moved along. Now squally Autumn with his tempests bring A leisure hour, and pleased I call to mind How I, when young and lonely, loved to sing A home-made lay, though rude and unrefined. Oh, then, how eager was the wish to stray In learned walks and nurse the growing mind, Till I with perfect skill might tune my lay, Or trace each mental path my will inclined. But vain the wish ; stern Poverty forbade Me e'er to stray where genial Science shines, And bound my steps to this secluded shade, Where needful toil each ardent wish confines. No doubt 'tis best I thus should spend my days, Else righteous Heaven had not decreed it so; Now, while Religion cheers my devious ways, I would not, for the world, this shade forego. For though my muse, unnoticed, sing the hours, Then hide her songs within my humble tomb, I know with stronger wing these tuneful powers Shall soar and sing" in an eternal home. JAMES SMITH. 37 THE SCENE AT THE DOOR OF THE COT. [Written on the occasion of a gathering of friends at the door of his cottage, on the western slope of <• The Old Clump," where his home was located.] The blush of the evening had painted the west, And shed a mild light on the green mountain's breast ; The scene was enchanting, as if 'twere designed To tune for delight every chord of the mind. At the door of a cot with tranquility blest, Encircled by friends that were dear to my breast, There happy we sat, while the murmuring flow Of Roses' Brook silvered the valley below. The pleasure-winged moments flew swiftly away, Till the west had forgotten the bright crimson ray ; But still, how exhaustless the sweets of the feast, For now fairer glories adorned the east. Old Clump's glowing summit attracted our sight, Where clouds edged with silver were floating in light, And the hill-crowning trees, while delighted we gaze, Seemed kindling and lost in the silvery blaze ! 'Twas the moon in her splendor ascending the sky, 38 POEMS BY How beauteous she shone from the mountain- top high ! Time, thou rude tyrant, thou never shalt blot, From my memory the scene at the door of the cot! 44 How great," we exclaimed, "the Creator must be, Who formed in their glory the beauties we see ; The moon all resplendent and every bright star Sing loudly, in silence, his praises afar. How dark were the mountains before she arose; Now, clothed with mild lustre, the whole land- scape glows ! So Pietv rises o'er mountains of care, And drives off the darkness of gloomy despair. " Oh, lives there a mortal to folly resigned, Who can turn with disdain from the feast of the mind. How base are his pleasures, how sudden their flight ; 1 never will envy his brutish delight. But virtue and friendship the bosom can warm ; Beneath their sweet influence all nature can charm, Oh, the pleasing remembrance time never can blot, Of the sweets I enjoyed at the door of the cot. 1819. JAMES SMITH. 39 THE DELAWARE SONG. Ye fair and ye brave who reside by the fountains Where Delaware's waters first shine in the sun, Attend while I sing of your forests and moun- tains, Whose richness and beauty can ne'er be outdone ! Here, spread all around me in beauteous confu- sion, Hills, vales, fields and woodlands and glitter- ing streams lie ; While far in the distance, in splendid delusion, The lofty blue mountains seem bearing the sky. 'Tis scarce fifty summers since this checker'd landscape With forest was covered o'er mountain and dell; Whose shades only echoed the scream of the panther, The howl of the wolf, or the Indian's dread yell. 4-0 POEMS BY How changed is the scene! Now each beautiful valley Is smiling' with meadows where crystal streams flow, And thoroughfares skirted with orchards and buildings : Thus Art teaches Nature with beauty to glow. No proud, lordly castles appear in the distance, Nor hovels of benders to Tyranny's nod ; Each man is a lord without Splendor's assist- ance, And bows him alone at the throne of his God. For Liberty sent from the fair Court of Heaven, Hath always presided o'er Delaware's sons ; Her free inspiration the impulse hath given, That Tyranny's minions so vastly outruns ! And see, the bright spires of Jehovah's fair temples Are vying in height with the neighboring hills ; And here pure Religion, all peaceful and dove- like, Leads heavenward to soften life's numerous ills. JAMES SMITH. 41 THE ADVENTURES OF A STRAY LEAF. [The author of this note is the subject of the poem, and is personified by the leaf whose wanderings are recorded. Having been appointed temporary editor of "The Stray Leaf," a periodical issued in manuscript for the benefit of the students of Delaware Literary Institute at Franklin, New York, he had requested his father to contribute to it, and this piece is in answer to that request. He left home to teach in a neighboring county, and afterward returned to attend the Franklin School, and to these circumstances the wanderings of the "Leaf" refer.— J. R. S.] Twas on a maple's verdant bough that graced a stately hill, Whose base was washed by Roses' Brook, a sparkling crystal rill, I first unrolled my infant green beneath the skies of May, The robin sang, the sunbeam smiled, and all the world was gay ; But soon I felt a sad reverse that shook my tender form, When chilled by winter's lingering air or pelted by the storm, Till cruel frost, one night in June, in icy terror frowned, 42 POEMS BY Severed me from my parent tree and threw me on the ground. Withering in hopeless grief I lay, till from " the cold northwest, A bitter blast" blew me away across the mountain's breast. In vain I sought the sheltered side of hillock, tree or stone, 'Twas but a momentary rest — the winds still urged me on ; Away from Delaware's green vales, o'er Pine Hill's woody top, And down the Esopus' narrow vale, with trundle, leap or hop, And o'er the hills and thro' the dales to where the Rondout stream Flows thro' the broad and fertile plains where yellow harvests teem. But time would fail to tell how oft I slipped thro' danger's jaws, Or how I barely 'scaped my fate beneath a tigress' paws;* Or how I proved the sterling worth of many a Dutchman's heart, When he with hospitable hand performed the friendly part. *See " Sorrows of a Pedagogue." JAMES SMITH. 43 At length a kindlier wind arose, born of the south's warm beams, Which wafted me right briskly back across my native streams. And sure, the Ruler of the wind has been supremely good ; Borne on its wings I've soared aloft safe o'er each threatening flood. And now I'm harbored in a place which bears that sage's name Who first drew lightning from the cloud and roused the patriot's flame. And here a youthful twig is set of that celestial tree, Whose fruit exalts mankind to be enlightened, great and free. On Nilus' banks that sacred tree first flourished bright and fair, Whence healthful sprouts to Grecia's vales were borne with pious care, Next, planted by the Tiber's stream, it blest Italia's soil, And gradual spread thro' Europe's fields to Britain's sea-girt isle. It lived thro' Barbarism's frost and Supersti- tion's blight, 44 POEMS BY And cultured rose on Britain's plains in fruit and foliage bright; And to Columbia's wood-fringed shore o'er wide Atlanta's sea, Young hopeful shoots its friends conveyed of that celestial tree. Columbia's children shout with joy when these exotics come ; Her native forests melt away to make them ample room. And now thro' all her happy vales these sacred plants arise, They spread their leaves and bear their fruit beneath congenial skies. To feeding the material frame their fruits are not confined ; But like the fruits* of heavenly fields they feed the immortal mind. And here its friends a twig* have set, and watered it with tears, And prayed that Heaven might bless its growth thro' many future years. And even now the blessing comes, its boughs begin to spread, Luxuriant, where the Ouleout flows along its pebbly bed. ^Delaware Literary Institute, Franklin, New York. JAMES SMITH. 45 And, strange to tell, they say that I must have my native green Restored, and 'mid these growing leaves assist the joyous scene. But sure, 'twill be a wondrous change; a maple leaf like me, And withered too, to live and grow on such a sacred tree! But whether this be true or not, a change must come to me, When blown across the bounds of time into eternity, Engrafted on the Tree of Life, may I its foliage join, And while heaven's endless day moves on, in growing verdure shine. 46 POEMS BY TO A FRIEND WHO HAD COMMENDED HIS VERSES. Thanks to thee, friend, for the kind word you grant my humble lays ; Like Burns, my highest meed is still a friend's esteem and praise. A single word from Friendship's lips, for friendly purpose told, Can thrill the soul with more delight than heaps of sordid gold. My lungs first breathed the vital air old Scotia's hills among, Where streams all murmur minstrelsy and breezes sigh in song. Then Fate encircled me with scenes of true poetic pride, Amidst the hills of Delaware, on Old Clump's shaggy side ; Where woody mountains, winding vales, and crystal floods appear ; Where tropic heats and arctic colds alternate rule the year. I strung my harp with mountain strings, and poured the rustic song, And smiled to hear its echoes play the rocks and hills among. JAMES SMITH. 47 'Twas Nature and fair Nature's God, my ardent lay addressed, And oft dear Freedom's patriot flame inspired my youthful breast; And when I heard the song of some more favored kindred mind, My pride was 'roused ; I felt my lay was rude and unrefined. I longed to go where Science bright doth her adorers bless, That I might clothe my rustic muse in Learn- ing's fairest dress ; But while I wished and longed to fly where lights of science shine, Lo ! on the vernal clouds of May appeared a form divine ! His flowing robe of radiance mild was from the stores above, And by the glances of his eye I knew that form was Love. He hovered round me with a smile might cure all mortal woe, And came unto my humble cot and begged me not to go. My former wishes and my plans were banished and forgot, 48 POEMS BY I only wished to live with Love within my hum- ble cot. Hours, days and months unheeded flew on radiant angel wings, I sipped with Love the streams of joy from Heaven's own crystal springs; And strange to tell, beneath the folds of his bright drapery I found a troop of boys and girls, the very imps of me. Their little hands about my knees with purest fondness hung, And sued for aid and guardian care with prat" tling, artless tongue. And with delight for them I broke the stubborn mountain soil, And thence supplied their simple wants with unremitting toil ; And oft the muse to cheer my toil would tune her artless lyre, And kindly w r arm a farmer's heart with her poetic fire. And I with partial ear was pleased, and madly thought her lay Might please a city critic's ear in this fastidious day. JAMES SMITH. 49 But disappointment was our lot, and so my muse took flight, To where a shingly ledge adorned the moun- tain's western height ; And there upon a moss-fringed birch, the rocky pile that crowned, Sat like a moody, sullen hawk till autumn gloomed around. I tried in vain each art to win her from this scene away, Until with proper spirit fired, I said, (i Sweet Crony, stay. There you may feast on spirit sighs, as on the winds they pass ; I'll go to seek more solid joys in growing grain and grass." I seized my ax, and made the woods thro' all its shades resound, , Till many a beech and maple lay in death-like silence round. When bowed his sturdy forest sons, Old Clump would loudly groan, And echo gave the mountain-tops a voice to join the moan. And when Sol dried the leafy boughs, I bade the flames arise, 50 POEMS BY Which like a crater's volume dense rolled upward to the skies ; Then piling up the massive logs, I made the face of night Shine with their beacons on our hill like con- stellations bright. My sharp-toothed harrow ruthlessly tore up the virgin soil, And waving fields of wheat and rye repaid my ardent toil. My sturdy team broke every root that crossed the ploughshare's way, And crops of oats and barley smiled in Phoebus' ripening ray. Then Agriculture's noble lamp shone far with brightening rays, For Buel trimmed its fading light and made it brighter blaze. Respected Sage ! my opening mind in boy- hood's tender age First drank the patriotic stream pure from thy " Plebiari s " page. I read thy " Cultivator" o'er with pleasure and with care, And tried to profit by the rules I found recorded there. JAMES SMITH. 51 I strove to keep my well-fenced fields all rich and dry and clean, While rotary cropping, year by year, diversified the scene. Among the Old Clump's crystal springs my half-blood Saxons strayed, And noble cows, with udders full, their milky stores displayed. I turned the waves of Roses' Brook to churn the creamy flood, And pails of buttermilk supplied my Berkshire porker's good. Our mountain cot became a house upon the southern slope, And love still blest its larger rooms, and often joy and hope, And piety on dove-like wings, descending from above, Refined and strengthened the sweet reign of heavenly joy and love. Now, when I heard your friendly voice speak well-intended praise, The moody muse was roused to sing a song of other days ; But I must clip her wing, that would to Fancy's regions soar, S 2 POEMS BY JAMES SMITH. For nothing suits the present age but sordid, golden store ; And yet, if I could serve my age in some effec- tual way, Even life itself, to gain that end, were small to give away. When I review my by-past hours, alas ! how vain they seem ! Like to the fancy-painted scenes of some delu- sive dream ; But I will cut my story short with this reflection wise, The honest friend to whom I write will not my lay despise. PART II. POEMS OF J. R. SMITH "0 joy! that iu our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive." — Wordsworth. CONTENTS. PAGE. Uncle Sam, an Allegory 57 Address to the Comet 103 Far from Home 106 Sorrows of a Pedagogue 107 On a Mouse 109 The Errand of Charity Ill Hospitality 113 The Aborigines 114 The Progress of Liberty 119 The Bird Convention 125 The Bridges of Plum Kiver 133 Uncle Sam among the Spirits 139 The Celebration 148 A Fancy Sketch 1 53 Fame 157 Beauty 16] Home 162 Friendship 1 64 (55) 56 CONTENTS. PAGK. Dawn 166 Ox Receiving a Brother 3 rRE. 168 i?le to V. B. Webster Esq 176 The Atheist's Hymn .180 The Mountain Spring 182 The Spellbound 1 83 John Milton 186 Robert Burns 188 Battle of Kennesaw Mountain 190 The Battle of Schacksville 192 The Drunkard's Address to His Bottle 196 James A. Garfield 199 Which of the Twain? 201 On the Close of Life 202 POEMS, by J. R. SMITH. UNCLE SAM. AN ALLEGORICAL DESCRIPTION OF OUR NATIONAL CHAR. ACTERISTICS AND CERTAIN INCIDENTS OF AMERICAN HISTORY IN RHYME. I. There lives a man, no matter where, Nor shall we tarry to declare His birthplace, pedigree or nation, Or whether high or low his station ; Indian or Saxon, Turk or Jew ; Yet one thing of this man was true : Although in words he scouted bigamy, In practice he allowed polygamy ; And when he came to man's estate, Was not content with a single mate ; But what all Christian rule surpasses, He married thirteen buxom lasses; All joined to him in close connection, Of different features and complexion, And diverse too in acquisitions, Tempers and tastes and dispositions. (57) 58 POEMS BY So, if he were a Christian man. He lived upon the Turkish plan ; Like Turk exulting in supplies Of beauty from some scores of eyes, And taking refuge from life's storms Amidst a bevy of fair forms, Like travelers when gales intrude, Who seek the shelter of a wood, Or like our Mormon saints, who take To such fair covert at Salt Lake, And do in pure Religion's name What might make sinners blush for shame ! But, reader, do not be too critical, Since his polygamy was political. ii. As he was rich in stream and wood, Rivers and lakes and acres broad, He gave each spouse with liberal hand A princely bridal gift of land, And built for each a mansion grand, Supplied with servants, flocks and herds, And all domestic beasts and birds ; That each with cares of small amount Might live upon her own account, While their fond lord had naught to do But pass among them to and fro, J. R. SMITH. To soothe their sorrows, cares and pains, And share their joys and count their gains; So passing around, to be explicit, He paid them each a yearly visit, With clerks to help him calculate The income of his big estate. Thus long our hero lived in peace, And saw his family increase At strides that only find expression In arithmetical progression ! in. A merry man he was reputed ; A fact I've never heard disputed. In humor and conviviality He was a blade of sterling quality, Who loved a story or a song, And could spin yarns a half mile long, And never showed his memory brittle When he could find a stick to whittle. He also, when the sign was right, Would take a rough-and-tumble fight, Indulge at times the social dance, Or try his hand at games of chance ; And never deemed the sport a sin, If he could only play to win. For 'twas his object, let me say, Whate'er he did, to make it pay. 59 60 POEMS BV Though liberal, yet acquisition Was stamped upon his disposition. He loved to count his coins and stocks, And hear the clink of Mammon's box. Yet Avarice never dwarfed his soul, Since it was held in stern control By qualities more noble far, Which with it held eternal war. Good nature, wit and love of friends For many faults might make amends. Gladly he opened wide his hand At every charitable demand, While wider still, as flower to sun, His soul would ope at chance for fun, And when well pleased at anything His laughter made the forests ring, And mountains trembled all around — Proof his good nature was profound. Sometimes, I'm sorry to declare, He has been known to drink and swear, And smoke and chew*a vulgar weed, The product of Satanic seed ; When fiery passion filled his breast, Then would he storm like one possessed. But had he faults? They're shared by all, His virtues were not few nor small ; J. R. SMITH. 6l He loved his friends, as the world goes, And he was generous to his foes ; Of common sense he had his share, Though manners he had none to spare ; Republican in politics And versed in politicians' tricks, He knew enough to hold his own Against the scepter and the throne, And even from childhood one could see In him a love of liberty. Nursed amid Nature's scenes sublime, He grew the noblest child of Time. And like young Hercules in fable, Who strangled serpents in his cradle ; So our young hero rent the bands Made to confine his infant hands; And of his future greatness proof, Bade purple tyrants stand aloof. iv. He was no Atheist in religion, Although his various creeds were legion ; For as he deemed the choice but small, Between the sects, he chose them all, Nursing like Rome 'mid ancient nations, A Pantheon of denominations. 'Tis said at first he was tyrannical, 62 POEMS BY Intolerant and puritanical ; But being convinced in early youth That force could not establish truth, That hanging Quakers was but cruel, And witches made indifferent fuel ; He, being wiser grown, they say Cast such vain practices away. One Scripture he fulfilled, 'tis plain, For he took homeless strangers in, Assigning each his rank and place By the complexion of his face. White men could wander forth at will ; Red men he'd civilize or kill ; Black men his pleasure must fulfill ; For the black man, our hero said, Had Canaan's curse upon his head, And 'twas his mission, so Heaven willed, To see this ancient curse fulfilled ; Therefore he caused the sable race To take the abject bondman's place, For he deemed, to toil and serve with rigor, Was good enough for any nigger. These notions you can plainly see Savored of aristocracy ; And yet, deny it no one can, Our hero was a generous man. His hospitality was so fine, J. R. SMITH. 63 He asked the whole world in to dine ; Nor seemed to care, he was so clever, If all his guests should stay forever. And so it chanced that Turk and Jew, And Scotch, and Dutch, and Irish too, Europa's children, scores on scores, Flocked to his hospitable shores ; And Afric's sons of feature sable Were kept to wait upon his table, To drive his coach, to hoe his corn, And other industries adorn. Thousands he had of girls and boys, Famous for rowdyism and noise ; Thousands of darkies came and went Within his big establishment. So with his wealth you'll understand He was a great man in the land ; Greater, if you'll believe my story, Than Solomon in all his glory ; And now, if you would know his name, His neighbors called him " Uncle Sam ; ' Though I must add with truthful pen He had a longer cognomen, Which he would sport on great occasions When he did business 'mong the nations, As men at church wear broadcloth sleek, Who have worn home-spun all the week. 64 POEMS BY V. Now Sam was young and tall in stature, And rich ; yet such is human nature, At intervals he underwent The hidden ills of discontent, And sought to conquer the disease By means that could not give him ease. From time to time more wives he wed, As interest or fancy led, And to provide estates for each Seized all the lands within his reach, Driving the owners far away, Some with and some without their pay. "Red men," he said, with frank confession, " Have the priority of possession ; Yet they are savages at best, And therefore must go farther west. Israel drove out the Canaanites. And therefore red men have no rights ; And further, you will understand, The saints must occupy the land. Now I have tried to make 'em work, But found them dreadful hands to shirk, And as I've power their pride to humble, The pesky red-skins needn't grumble ; For if with blacks I can not mate 'em, J. R. SMITH. 65 I can at least annihilate 'em ; And if their lands they will not till And occupy, I know who will." So, lord of all his eye could see, Our hero triumphed gloriously, And saw with ample joy and pride His wealth increase on every side ; And sons and daughters multiplied, Thick as the stars in upper sky. But joy and peace, like earthly flowers, Are transient in this world of ours, And wealth secured by oppression Proves a precarious possession ; Beauty is vain, and fame a bubble, And Uncle Sam got into trouble, And I who write this faithful history Would to your view unveil the mystery. VI. Some children of the sable race Within his borders found a place, Who had been brought from Afric's wild While yet our hero was a child ; A part of young Virginia's dower* "^Slaves first brought to the colony of Virginia (see U. S, History). 66 POEMS BY Bestowed in some unlucky hour, And Sam by marriage took possession Of this first germ of dark oppression, And thus o'er his fair lands were strewed The seeds of negro servitude, Which in his soil took vigorous root, Spread far and brought forth bitter fruit, Like the foul weeds, whose rank increase Are foes to agricultural peace ; Yet faster far the mischief rose 'Mid southern heats than northern snows. In th' tropics was the race begun Of these dark children of the sun ; Since Ham, as ancient records say, First peopled torrid Africa. His progeny where'er they wander Stand heat like any salamander, Yet tremble at a northern breeze Like quivering leaves on aspen trees ; So northern spouses soon agree To set their shivering servants free. Their children held the doctrine forth, " Slaves yield no profit at the North," And conscience sometimes gave a sting About the justice of the thing; Therefore 'twas settled firm and strong, That what's unprofitable must be wrong. J. R. SMITH. 67 So little Rhoda, Massa, Maine, With all their sisters in the train, Including Eboracea fair, And Pennsylvania plump and square, And all that breathed the northern air, Published at length the firm decree That their bond-servants should be free ; Determined, independent elves, To cultivate their farms themselves, With work their stalwart sons could do, Who had grown tall and robust too, 'Mid the bracing air of northern plains Where half the year old Winter reigns ; While dames that dwelt 'neath milder skies, Where cotton blooms and palms arise, And warm suns drive in quickened flood Through haughty veins the fiery blood, Declared they'd keep their servants all Until the stars of heaven should fall ; And that each foolish northern sister Who her fair hands with work would blister, Was bringing deep disgrace and shame Upon the proud patrician name. Black men, though born in human shape, They held a kind of speaking ape, Designed to serve with sable grace The proud, far-famed Caucasian race ; 68 POEMS BY Yet the free northern sisterhood Did not regard this reasoning good, Nor could they see a close connection 'Twixt bondage and a dark complexion. VII. Thus rose contention most uncouth Between Sam's spouses North and South, And discords he could not control Vexed day by day his honest soul, Till he admitted, when too late, He should have chosen a single mate, Or not been quite so unsuspecting And free and easy in selecting; And that in marriages political A person couldn't be too critical. " But now it's done, " said he, " 'tis fit That I should make the best of it ; I've seen some trouble in my day, And scorn to let this paltry fray Destroy the peace and harmony Of my extended family." So saying, he, to quell the row, Brought forth his legislative plow And drew a furrow east and west,* Long, broad and deep, o'er earth's green breast, *Line of the Missouri Compromise. J. R. SMITH. 69 In all two thousand miles or more, From the eastern to the western shore, And thus his southern wives addressed : " Fair dames ! This is our high behest: South of this line is Slavery's home ; Thus far, no farther can it come ; There sow and reap and live at ease, And rule your servants as you please , But if you bring them o'er the furrow, You'll do it to your grief and sorrow. For this the penalty must be, That they shall evermore be free ; And northern dames, to end the matter, Please keep your own side of the platter." Now this wise measure, it appears, Stilled the contention many years, And seemed for strife a sovereign balm. But ah ! 'twas a deceitful calm, For one of Uncle Samuel's boys, Famed for his eloquence and noise, Sometimes surnamed "the Little Giant," With subtle tongue and logic pliant, Obtained the loan of Samuel's harrow, And used it to his grief and sorrow ; For he dragged the long, long furrow over, Seeded with diplomatic clover, JO POEMS BY So smoothly it could not be seen, Where once the famous bounds had been ; And thus it quickly came to pass That Sam's peace-line all went to grass ; And then his boys with angry din Once more the old dispute begin, Filling his legislative halls With bludgeons, blows and angry brawls, Until the noisy strife resounds O'er all his far-famed metes and bounds. VIII. The foremost in this strife, I ween, Were two dames of "the Old Thirteen." One dwelt on a plantation fine Far southward of the old peace-line ; A proud brunette, quite fair to view, But dreadful bold, and saucy too, And pretty strong on aristocracy For one who went with the democracy. No doubt, she had her virtues too ; And to her friends was always true ; And also, as the world well knows, Was most relentless to her foes, And brave, I'd have you understand, As any Roman in the land ; And taught her rising sons to be J. R. SMITH. 71 Leaders of modern Chivalry ! But then, she looked with pride and scorn On all who were to labor born, And, as a matter of propriety, She banished them from her society, And, in their low and servile station, She dubbed them " Mud-sills of Creation; " So from this term you may divine, Her cognomen was Caroline. The other, quite as proud as she, Lived somewhere by a northern sea ; A thrifty housewife, pert and saucy, Her neighbors called her "Little Massa. " Though small, she had an active mind, To various industries inclined. Schools, churches, shops and factory spindles Her zeal and industry enkindles, Until, among her native hills, Wealth in a thousand streams distills. Learning and scientific knowledge Flowed from her common school and college. Having her share of wit and sense, She soon was famed for eloquence, And, when she spoke her mind, was heard, For she joined the action with the word ; And what she willed, in language plain, J2 POEMS BY Showed a strong purpose to maintain. Of labor she was not ashamed, Though for the practice often blamed, And called a mercenary jade, Who cared for naught but work and trade ; Yet was she never given to fears Of other people's scoffs and jeers, But when she had a work to do, Rolled up her sleeves and put it through. When young, 'tis said, she was a child Forward and saucy, pert and wild ; While yet upon her mother's knee, She boxed her ears and spilt her tea ; And when the insult she would spurn, Gave her a " Bunker" in return. With Caroline, as rival, mated, She was by her both feared and hated. IX. As gunpowder, when touched by fire, Ignites in an explosion dire, So mutual hatred in the minds Of factions oft occasion finds, To join explosive elements That drive out sober truth and sense, J. R. SMITH. 73 And fan fierce passions to a glow — Our rival matrons found it so ; And I, to make the matter plain, Must the occasion here explain. Oppression, when 'tis brought to bear On human nature anywhere, Is sure to foster discontent ; Which the oppressor must prevent, If he his victim would secure, And bid him patiently endure The hardships of his lot, and be Content with abject slavery ; He must convince him, if he can, That it is ever Nature's plan To give the wise and strong command, To rule the weak with iron hand ; That liberty is but the dower Of knowledge, wisdom, wealth and power — A sovereign and exalted state The black man can't appreciate. Scripture describes his state, says he, il Cursed be Canaan," don't you see? " Servant of servants must he be." Yet thoughts of freedom would intrude In spite of all this logic shrewd ; And therefore, Cato, Cuff and Zip 74 POEMS BY Would master sometimes give the slip, And take the subterranean train, The land of liberty to gain ; For their worst habit, I must say, Was, that they sometimes ran away, Leaving their masters to pursue With horsemen armed, and blood-hounds too, The trouble soon became so great, That Sam, the evil to abate, Called in his ministers of state — Priests, counselors, magicians wise, Such as he kept with him to advise, All learned men, adept at figures — To stop this stampede of the niggers. While some advise to let them go, And on the subject race bestow Freedom, as the effectual way To heal the breach and end the fray, Others, like Egypt's king of yore, Would bind them faster than before, And, to produce the needful awe, Bid them make brick without the straw. But Sam declared it wouldn't do To let those lazy niggers go; Like Egypt's frogs they'd multiply, And fill his land with vagrancy — J. R. SMITH. 75 His Southern spouses, at the word, Would bolt and leave his bed and board- It wouldn't do them any harm To stay and help him till the farm ; Besides, they needed his protection, Therefore he'd keep them in subjection. His boys, to bring the vagrants back, Should blood-hounds turn, he'd head the pack : If this did not reform their habits, He'd shoot them like so many rabbits ! And so a famous law was made,* Binding his boys to learn the trade Old Nimrod followed, poets say; The hunter who made man his prey In lands and ages far away. For Samuel thought the strongest tether To hold his sable flock together, And also to conciliate Each disaffected Southern mate, Was thus to keep in strong control These seekers for the Northern pole. Was it some powerful magic spell Bade black men love the North so well? Desert their sunny South, and go To dwell in lands of ice and snow? ^Fugitive Slave Law. 6 76 POEMS BY The North was chill and distant far, And coldly beamed the Northern star ; Yet its cold beams upon them shine As Freedom's sun with light divine; And they, to reach its warmth and light, And 'scape from Slavery's gloomy night, Would oft ten thousand dangers dare, Even for one puff of Freedom's air. Oh, Liberty! where'er thou art, Thou'rt dear to every human heart ! Now, Southern boys were filled with glee At Uncle Samuel's policy, For 'possum hunting was a sport To which they often would resort; They loved the chase with dog and gun— And hunting niggers would be fun. But many Northern boys declared The law tyrannical and hard; They could pursue the wolf and bear And other wild beasts anywhere, But to hunt down men, and women too, Though clothed in skins of sable hue, Because they sought— the hapless elves— The freedom they enjoyed themselves, Was asking more than they could do, And to humanity be true. J. R. SMITH. yj As God had given them forms erect, They for themselves had more respect Than change to baying dogs, to chase Poor fugitives from place to place ; And should such vagrants cross their track, They'd help them onward and not back ; That law they never should obey, But scorn it to their dying day. Then Samuel swore — for he was mad, To think his boys dare cross their dad — That if his laws they did contemn, He'd send his "posse" after them, And teach them better than defy His lawful, wise authority. Though much he blustered, it was plain The law proved impotent and vain ; Still, sable bondsmen, undismayed, Stole Northward through the midnight shade, And masters feared, with every breath, Slavery would run itself to death, And they be left — unhappy elves — To labor and support themselves ; And this would kill them in society, And shock their notions of propriety. 78 POEMS BY X, Time doth not wait for men to jangle, Although he helps to disentangle The knotty thread of their affairs, By winding off their days and years From Fate's dread distaff — thus revealing Events the future is concealing. It soon occurred, as you must know, That Samuel's neighbor, Mexico — An ancient dame of Spanish race, His peeress, too, in rank and place, But not in youthful life and power, As she must learn some future hour — Had a big daughter, Texas named, Who for her waywardness was famed ; A strapping damsel, passing fair, Who wore a "lone star" in her hair, And, with her acres broad and green, Was rich as any household queen ; And yet, wherever lay the guilt, She with her mother had a tilt, And gave her sturdy blow for blow, Jacinto for her Alamo, With such strong hand as bade her rue it, And Samuel Houston helped her do it. J. R. SMITH. 79 And thus the huzzy whipped her mother, And, all parental love to smother, And force of natural affection, Of Uncle Sam she sought protection, And, with her coquetry and art, She won at length his honest heart; His household joined, and was allied With dames that took the Southern side. In this all Southern dames exult As in a favorable result, For much they feared that Northern power Would match them in some evil hour, Or Northern fair ones steal away Sam's heart from them some luckless day (For to this time the Southern fair Had plainly held the larger share). They thought that Texas' broad domains Would so increase their earthly gains, That they might fear no diminution Of their peculiar institution. Ambition is a blear-eyed elf, And sometimes overleaps himself. And, in his eagerness to clutch At power, oft grapples far too much! So his shrewd scheming came to pains, While Sam grasped Texas' wide domains. 80 POEMS BY He, to conclude a settlement With Mexico, was not content Till he obtained two daughters more, Whose lands reached the Pacific shore. The one was California fair, Of rugged brow and golden hair — An heiress rich in mines of gold And various forms of wealth untold. Young Mexico was called the other, Named after her respected mother, Who dearly loved the solitude Of inland streams and mountains rude. 'Twas thus Sam plucked his peeress' pinions And took the third of her dominions. But mark the end ; the Southern clique Gained small advantage by the trick, For, while young Texas bowed the knee To Southern power and slavery, Fair California would be free, And brought her wealth to aid the cause Of liberty and equal laws. And thus power held the balance still, With trembling poise 'twixt good and ill, And his ambition still prepares Our hero for new toils and cares, And troubles that his heart had broke, Had it not been composed of oak. J. R. SMITH. 8 1 Earth's glory is a brilliant star When in prospective seen afar, But ne'er repays the toil and pain Required its radiant crown to gain. While Glory's star Sam's brow adorns, He finds it still a crown of thorns. XI. O blest Contentment! happy he Who lives and loves and dies with thee ; Though in the lowly vale of life, Apart from public noise and strife, Should fame ne'er reach his still retreat, Nor crowds pay homage at his feet, Neither shall Slander's poisonous breath Blast his fair name with early death ; Enjoying what kind Heaven bestows, His soul lives on in calm repose, Till He who gave him being here Removes him to a brighter sphere, And grants him, though obscure he be, The meed of immortality. A glorious truth without a doubt, Which Sam was slow in finding out; Who, following some delusive bubble, Was always getting into trouble. 82 POEMS BY And so again he thinks to wed Miss Kansas, a fair Indian maid. Who, lovely as a poet's dream, Lived down by broad Missouri's stream. And soon this wild, romantic notion Brings to his household new commotion ; For Southern dames forbade the union Unless she'd join in their communion, While Northern ones declared that she Must cleave to them and liberty. Thus rose a sad domestic jar That caused a mimic civil war ; And some pulled one way, some another, Till with their angry strife and pother, They came full nigh, in quarrel grim, To pull poor Kansas limb from limb And now the rampant Southern bevy Their utmost force begin to levy. To occupy fair Kansas ground With planter, negro and bloodhound, While Northern dames poured in their sons By thousands, armed with swords and guns, Saw-mills and grist-mills and Sharp's rifles, Arid many such-like Yankee trifles, And so filled up the region fair, That Southrons yielded in despair ; J. R. SMITH. 83 Though hard they strove to drive them out With fire and sword and cruel rout, False voting, anarchy, disorder, And ruffians from Missouri's border; But they laid their failure with propriety On the wicked " Emigrant Aid Society." XII. But Sam had other ills in store ; One trouble paved the way for more. Scarce from the Kansas broil recovered, He soon a fearful plot discovered, To which Guy Fawkes' bears no comparison, And well designed to vex and harass him. As some sly rogue, with quick alarm, On bee-hive raps to wake the swarm, Rousing the armed tribes within, Who sally forth with buzz and din — So old John Brown with nineteen men Made Dame Virginia quake again, And ruffled up the F. F. V.s, Who fluttered like a swarm of bees, Took Harper's Ferry arsenal, And held it with its guns and all, Till old "Sic Semper" sent her sons In squadrons, armed with swords and guns, 84 POEMS BY To take John Brown, the great Fee Fum, Who to devour them all had come. After a long and bloody fight, In which great prodigies of might And valor shone, they stopped the row, With the loss of one man and a cow. John Brown was taken and locked in prison, To answer to the State for treason ; But John declared his conscience clear, Said, for himself he had no fear ; For what he did was done to free Th' oppressed from chains of slavery. If he should try his scheme again, He might improve upon the plan ; But while life lasted, he'd withstand This stain upon his native land. "I freely yield my life," said he, " A sacrifice to liberty. Yet know, like Samson, my example, I've tried the posts of Slavery's temple, And I proclaim to one and all 'Tis even now tottering to its fall." Thus like a martyr-prophet, he Predicts the death of Slavery. J. R. SMITH. 85 Many rejoiced when Brown was hung, Though the same noose in which he swung, To Slavery proved a fatal rope, Strangling her proud, ambitious hope To bind the free North at her will, And pipe her slaves from Bunker's Hill. For thousands held (and as it stood, No doubt their reasoning was good), If one mad Abolitionist, With nineteen madmen to assist, Their mad designs could thus prevail, To turn all Slavery's votaries pale With sudden terror, and elate, Shake the firm pillars of the State, Where was her safety and her honor, Were the whole pack let loose upon her ? So every Southern wall and town Dreaded the name of old John Brown, And feared his ghost might rise once more, With arm more powerful than before, To break th' oppressor's power and bring Sure vengeance on a swifter wing. XIII. Thus around Sam's devoted head Clouds of domestic trouble spread, Thicker and darker day by day, Filling his soul with dire dismay. 86 POEMS BY And soon he hears with terror dread Low thunders muttering overhead, And rumbling sounds beneath his feet, The ominous prophecy repeat, As if the heaven and earth would meet, And mingle in convulsion dire, Of earthquake, storm and angry fire. The time long dreaded now had come, Sam's Southern wives forsook their home ; They left without one fond good-by, Or love-glance from one sunny eye. Their sons in wild rebellion rise, And break in twain paternal ties ; And hard they strive to rend in twain His mighty realms, but strive in vain Sam heard the news with sudden start ! It almost broke his honest heart, To think the mates he loved the best Should first fly the domestic nest. Trembling, he grasped at objects round, Then reeling, tumbled to the ground ; And for a long and dreadful day He in a deathlike torpor lay, While friends looked on with tearful eye, And thought that Uncle Sam would die. J. R. SMITH. 87 Then doctors to the sick man came, For his disease each had a name ; And each a separate remedy, Which they would all at once apply. Some called the ailment catalepsy, And some a stroke of apoplexy, Some an affection of the heart Beyond the best physician's art ; Some as a certain cure propose A gentle homeopathic dose. Some order plasters for the breast, With anodynes and quiet rest; While those of allopathic order Pronounced no help for the disorder But pills and powder, which they say Must be applied without delay. Now, as one brought a monstrous plaster* In which to wrap his swooning master, As if he feared (and no great wonder) His various parts would fall asunder, Sam woke and sprang up with a bound, And glared upon the doctors round. " Hands off! " he cried ; ' ' I'm yet alive, And still expect to live and thrive ! ^Crittenden Compromi-e. 88 POEMS BY But all your drugs and cataplasms Can never terminate my spasms. And yet, I think 'twould do no harm To bleed a little in the arm ; So if you please, keep cool and steady, And go and get your lances ready." Lances were brought, and Sam was bled, Till the poor man was almost dead. Opposing schools would prove their skill ; Some aimed to cure and some to kill. Our patient saw his own best blood Poured from his veins in copious flood, And soon in accents faint and low Commands to stop the purple flow. But quacks that ope the gates of life With nerve unmoved and bloody knife, Have little power or skill to close, So still the crimson current flows ! The news soon reached Europa's shore, That Uncle Sam lay at death's door, And " the great Republic " was no more, And kings and lords the words repeat, As if to them the tale was sweet. For with his democratic airs, Sam was no favorite of theirs. And yet, the patient didn't die; And I must tell some reasons why. J. R. SMITH. 89 XIV. Our hero had an overseer, To do his business year by year; An office of responsibility In times of trouble or tranquillity, And quite as honorable a station As king in any other nation. For his estate had grown so fast — Great was his power — his empire vast — And at set times he made a choice, Among the thousands of his boys, Of one he thought would fill the place With honor, dignity and grace, That he might guide his ship of state, And called him his Chief Magistrate. He always chose to have his way In what concerned his general sway; But left all matters to his spouses Pertaining to their several houses. His rule concerning overseers Gave each a stated term of years, And most of these had tact and skill To execute their master's will, Who thus far, it was understood, Favored the Southern sisterhood ; For well they knew, through rain or drouth, Sam's heart was with the sunny South. 9° POEMS BY Though rich and great, he was but human Being often ruled by crafty women, Who, versed in Slavery's magic arts, Had stolen full many Northern hearts That bowed in homage at her shrine As if a goddess all divine. Others with puritanic pride Leaned stoutly to fair Freedom's side, Supported by the Northern boys, Lovers of liberty from choice. Thus oft opposing parties met In Sam's great council duly set, Each fully bound to advocate Freedom or Slavery in debate ; Until his council-halls became With strife and bluster all aflame. Grave councilors from North or South Railed each on each with open mouth ; Used pistols, bowie-knifes and bludgeons, Like any vile unhung curmudgeons; And though great talent oft appeared, By which the ship of state was steered, Yet the greater part in the gift of railing Possessed a talent most unfailing; And in the gentle strife, 'tis said, The Southern boys came out ahead. j. r. smith. 91 XV. Thus long, Sam's craft with gallant form Swept on in sunshine and in storm, Veering at times, yet on the whole His prow was turned toward Freedom's goal, Still, tacking oft, it was not clear Which way the captain wished to steer ; He called the oppressed of earth to flee From foreign chains and slavery, While holding at his sovereign will Four million slaves in bondage still. At length it chanced an overseer Was chosen the ship of state to steer, Who pledged his word as Freedom's friend, That slavery should no more extend, But that all realms free from the stain Their freedom ever should maintain. This was the fire that touched the tow That set Sam's commonwealths aglow; The secret of the dread commotion That shook the land and rocked the ocean ; The spark within the magazine That glared in many a fearful scene Of murder, strife and civil war, And set contending States ajar; 92 POEMS BY While distant nations looked aghast, Lest the fierce storm careering past, Should drag them from their moorings far, Into the fiery gulf of war. XVI. What mean those martial sounds that rise, In peaceful vales, 'neath quiet skies? Why gleam afar those lances bright? Why glow those watch-fires through the night ? Why brother face to face with brother, Preparing to destroy each other, Whom we but yesterday did see In friendly converse glad and free ? These warlike signs from shore to shore, Mean only this and nothing more : An honest ruler, good and great, Is called to steer the ship of state ; And angry factions look with spite On him as pledged to Freedom's right. They call him fire-brand, fool and ape, A monster in the human shape, And say he never shall disgrace The White House with his homely face, His awkward gait and free soil creed, Or if he does — they will secede. J. R. SMITH. 93 And yet this monster was a man Built upon Nature's noblest plan, Tall both in body and in soul ; As wise and firm to hold control As any that have filled the station Since these broad realms became a nation. Said Uncle Sam in accents firm : "Our Abram must serve out his term. He's chosen by a fair majority, And therefore rules by just authority; So I'll just take for this disorder An extra dose of law and order. My gadding spouses too shall come Back to their duty and their home, In one united family, Or I will know the reason why; But now with coaxing we'll have done, What say you, Abraham, my son?" Called to respond, * the overseer Spoke words dispassionate and clear, Advising all to peace and love, With counsels drawn from heaven above, T' observe the laws without dispute Which he was sworn to execute ; ^Lincoln's Inaugural. 94 POEMS BY That whatsoever might befall, He'd mete out justice unto all, According to his best ability, With fairness and impartiality. XVII. But his advice was labor lost ; Their heads seven haughty matrons tossed, Declaring they were all agreed From Sam's dominion to be freed ; He'd proved himself unkind and hard — A husband worse than o'd Blue Beard ; They'd not stay with him one day more, Though forced to beg from door to door. Their sons, too, said they'd gladly go — Cut loose from lands of ice and snow, Yankee ''school-marms " and pulpit quacks, Peddlers of Abolition tracts, And wooden nutmegs, and what not, For they were all a low-bred lot, A whining, peddling, paltry pack — They'd leave 'em, never to come back. If their old sire would let them go In peace, and as a gift bestow Those lands and tenements and houses Now held by his absconding spouses, And every fort and arsenal, J. R. SMITH. 95 And custom-houses one and all, With harbors, roads and thoroughfares, To have and hold forever theirs, They'd leave in peace and not in passion ; If not, they'd give their dad a thrashin'. "This plan," quoth Sam, with ample reason, " Would pay a premium for treason ; And my vast realms in twain be rent — The glory of a continent. Therefore the thing can not be done, The vixens must take all or none ; For thus to cut me into twain, Methinks would cause me too much pain About the pericardium, And send me straight to my long home. Nor would my farm be worth a fiddle, Thus sliced up and cut down the middle." The overseer thought Sam was right ; Rather than part, he'd better fight, And so the living child* bestow, According as war's fortunes go, On North or South, than mutilate By a division his estate. *A reference to one of Lincoln's speeches. 96 POEMS BY Now while wise men in council met, Still o'er the question fume and fret ; And plans of settlement devise, And talk of peace and compromise, Sam's boldest, most contentious wife At Charleston ushers in the strife : Removes the emblems of his power — His stars and stripes — from hall and tower, Raising her stars and bars on high To flaunt in a divided sky. Sam's fort at Charleston, good and stout, Was made to guard from foes without ; But landward, as the walls were thin, It ill could guard from foes within. " So here," thought she, " I will begin, And give Sam such a rousing blow, That he'll be glad to let us go." So her attack on Sumpter's fort Inaugurates the cruel sport, Which in its progress soon became As bloody, wild and fierce a game As rival parties ever played Since our rebellious world was made. J. R. SMITH. 97 XVIII. The bitter strife was loud and long, 'Mid yell and shout and battle-song, And bursting shell and cannon's roar Re-echoing from shore to shore. Fiercer and fiercer beats the storm Upon each proud and gallant form, Who face the war-dog's sulphurous breath, And press to victory or death ! Sure, those who lit the flames of war, And waked this fierce, domestic jar, Though brave men follow where they lead, Must answer for the reckless deed. He who can paint the tempest's form, When scattering mingled fire and storm, May also paint the fiercer rage When angry hosts in strife engage. My weary pen its motions cease, And my sad spirit longs for peace. O gentle Peace ! resume thy sway, And change this dreadful night to day ; Let Charity, with wing of light, Scatter these demons of the night ; Oh, bid this bloody carnage cease, And let the gentle bow of peace Smile in a brightening firmament Upon war's passing fury spent ! 9cS POEMS BY One remedy ; Emancipation In this dread crisis saved the nation. For Uncle Sam declared he'd try it, And bade his overseer apply it. And when the dose was fairly swallowed, The patient's constitution rallied. Ere his convulsions were yet over, 'Twas prophesied he would recover, And from that most eventful day His pulse resumed its healthful sway. So 'mid the doctors, great and small, Old Abe was greatest of them all ; Though we admit he was assisted By hosts in Freedom's cause enlisted, And human bravery and skill Combined to execute his will ; And a kind Providence helped secure The bold decree and make it sure. Had Doctors Grant and Lee ne'er met, Sam might be in convulsions yet. XIX. How glad the sight when storms are o'er, To view the glorious sun once more Gild scenes in beauty still arrayed, Though strewn with wrecks the storm hath made. J. R. SMITH. 99 As the dark war clouds roll away, The sun of peace resumes his sway ; Though the war demon in his wrath, Leaves desolation in his path ; And mourners sadly bow the head O'er comrades mingled with the dead. Angel of Peace ! we hail thy glad return, Within our hearts fierce passions cease to burn, No longer War wheels past his bristling files, And in fair Nature's face thy presence smiles ! Hushed is the scene ! the sun is sinking low, Gilding the quiet waters with its glow, Where many a shrub and flower inclines to view Its graceful form in Nature's mirror true ; While far away yon stately mountains stand In silent grandeur, guardians of the land. Though in the general quietude they seem Forgetful of their trust, lost in a dream ! Clad in the brightly glowing tints of even, Their tops reciprocate the smile of Heaven. Even busy Zephyr's gentle motions cease, Save where he softly whispers, i( All is peace." What mortal man, that claims Reflection's power, Can look on Nature's face at such an hour, 100 POEMS BY And see no sign of blessing in the glance, Nor feel his soul in Virtue's strength advance? Hail, sovereign Peace ! child of celestial birth ! Thou best and dearest gift of heaven to earth ! Long mayst thou fill with influence serene Each human heart and each terrestrial scene, And sway thy gentle sceptre o'er our race Until thy spirit beam in every face, Till war's loud thunders cease from shore to shore, And men shall learn the dreadful art no more ! xx. But while the gentle voice of Peace Brings to contending hosts release, What cry rings through the startled air, That seems the echo of despair? Abraham has fallen ; the good and great, The helmsman of our ship of state, By murderous bullet stricken down, Even at the height of his renown ; And soon around our fallen chief We bow the head in bitter grief. And as we bear him to his rest Amid his prairies of the West, And from his ashes turn away , This wreath upon his urn we lay . J. R. SMITH. 101 " A nation mourns a father slain, Not upon war's ensanguined plain, Not stricken down by bloody hand In some remote and hostile land ; But by the hand of treacherous son This dark, infernal deed was done. In the house of friends, a treacherous blow Lays our dear chief and leader low ; Strange, that the human form conceals Such spirits as this deed reveals ! Strange, that so foul a deed was planned And acted in our native land ! T'was surely righteous Heaven's design That we should suffer for our sin — The sin of foul oppression long, A nation's by-word and her song, A sin of which our sons partake From Southern gulf to Northern lake. For which through four long bloody years We've bent with mingled groans and tears O'er noble sons and brothers slain Upon the ghastly battle-plain ! And now, as victory brings release From bloody fields, with pledge of peace, Behold ! how Slavery's fiendish heart Such deadly hatred can impart. 102 POEMS BY She strikes, amid her mortal pangs, At Liberty, with poisoned fangs, By smiting down, with rage and hate, The honored leader of the State ! " There ceased to beat as pure a heart As God to mortals doth impart ; Thus passed from earth as brave a soul As e'er o'er mortals held control ! For he was of the noble few Who to themselves and God are true ; Who even to scorners kindness show, And live to bless both friend and foe ! Praying like Christ for murderers still, And ever rendering good for ill. Now shrined in human hearts, he stands, Beloved and honored of all lands, One whom Humanity proclaims Among those great and noble names To whom supernal powers decree The meed of immortality ! And while above earth's noise and strife He dwells in an immortal life, His mortal part, in slumber sweet, Shall rest in Springfield's still retreat, Till from his ever-honored clay Angels shall roll the rock away." J. R. SMITH. I03 ADDRESS TO THE COMET. I wandered forth one evening fair, As I have often done, To breathe the sweet and balmy air, And view the setting sun. Upon the hill he seemed to stop, To take a farewell look At mountain, cottage, village spire, And ever murmuring brook. At length, with graceful nod and wink, As any beau knows how, He bobbed his head behind the hill, And left me with a bow. When he was gone, devoid of fear, The stars by myriads came, Arcturus and a thousand more I can not call by name. But soon a strange, unbidden star Came blazing through the sky, With an enormous tail of fire, The fear of every eye. 104 POEMS BY O'er earth his fiery rays he shed, With a disastrous glare, As through the spacious heavens he flamed, The sons of men to scare. But I, a mortal brave and bold, A stranger to all fear, Th' illustrious traveler thus addressed, And thought he'd stop to hear : a Hail, long-haired stranger ! stay thy course, And tell me where thou'st been ? What hast thou done these thousand years ? What wonders hast thou seen? M Hast thou not swept thy fiery tail O'er some unlucky world, And planet against planet dashed, All to dread chaos hurled? 4< If you passed near old Saturn's ring, Describe it, if you please, And tell me if Miss Luna's face Is really made of cheese ? " Or if beyond Uranus' path Another planet still Pursues his never-ending round, Inform me if you will. J. R. SMITH. 105 " If I can find these mysteries out, I'll be a happy elf, Since mortals here on earth will think I found them out myself." Thus I addressed the wondrous star ; And this was what I said, But the proud vagrant of the sky Deigned not to turn his head. But off he whisked with pride and scorn, And to the northward stole, To help the old Bootes chase The Bear around the Pole. And so I turned upon my heel, As stiff and proud as he, Declaring I'd not talk to one That wouldn't talk to me. MORAL. Reader ! if you're a humble man, With manners blunt and plain, Don't make too free with the high-born, Or such as sport a train. 106 POEMS BY FAR FROM HOME. Say, lonely stranger, tell me why The glittering tear-drop dims thine eye ; That sudden tear that seems to start From a full, overflowing heart? Alas ! 'tis that on earth I roam, A weary wanderer far from home ! What means the sigh that strikes mine ear, Like Autumn's gale from forests sear, Or murmur of the ocean's breast When not a wave remains at rest? Alas ! 'tis that on earth I roam, A wanderer from my native home ! How oft in visions of the night, When busy Fancy takes her flight, My own, my long lost home I view, And friends so constant, kind and true ; Yet waking, weep that still I roam, A friendless wanderer far from home ! Oh, could I view my native shore, And breathe my native air once more, And see where once in childhood's hour I ran to pluck the favorite flower, No more upon the earth I'd roam, A stranger to my native home ! 1835- J. K. SMITH. I07 SORROWS OF A PEDAGOGUE. Comic ye who live by rod and rule, The sovereigns of the common school, And let your souls in pity melt At all the sorrows I have felt ; Sorrows that even you can feel, Unless your hearts are made of steel. A woman once — no matter where — A prodigy of talents rare, Was in such powers of tongue arrayed, She'd cast Demosthenes in shade ; Zantippe, once a famous scold, With her a station couldn't hold, For she would storm at such a rate, She'd battel- down a city gate ! You doubt ? Wait till my story's through, And then, perhaps, you'll think so too. A boy of hers once went to school — An urchin who despised all rule. The master tried in vain each art To capture his rebellious heart, That lie might get his lesson well, And learn to read and write and spell, 108 POEMS BY Until at length he in his search Found an old-fashioned twig of birch, And to the lad he did impart This needful, salutary smart. The boy went home both mad and sore, And there he told his story o'er. Then came his mother in a rage, Threatened the master to engage ; Brandished her fists and wagged her jaws, To vindicate her injured cause. Thus some fell tigress fierce arrayed, From a thick jungle's tangled shade Comes forth to growl and scratch and bite, And for her snarling offspring fight. The master scarce could stand the shock, Though braced as firmly as a rock ; His hair upraised, his face turned pale, His trembling frame began to fail; Ten Furies hot from Pluto's realm Could scarce his senses so o'erwhelm. The very trees that stood around Drooped their green branches to the ground, And shrinking from the fearful sight, Rolled up their leaves in sheer affright. J. R. SMITH. IO9 A streamlet near that dimpled by, Did from her Gorgon presence fly; And a stone wall that saw her frown, Beheld, turned pale and tumbled down. Should I report her speech in full, Such eloquence might crack your skull ; Permit me then, without emotion, To sink it in Oblivion's ocean. 1836. ON A MOUSE, IN A SCHOOL-ROOM AFTER SCHOOL. BY THE PEDAGOGUE. Poor little forager in the realms of knowledge, What art thou doing here? Thou carest naught for rules of school or college, Thou'st wandered from thy sphere. Thou seek'st the fragments of the cold colla- tion Dropt on the school-room floor By careless hands; they are thy honest ration, Go add them to thy store. IIO POEMS BY Why fear and start? no dog or cat is nigh thee To worry and devour, The noisy human stream has now passed by thee, This is thy lawful hour. If man would fill his place in God's creation As well as thou dost thine, Methinks there would be then but small occa- sion To chide or to repine. Thou only seek'st, to satisfy thy hunger, Cold morsels cast away ; Or the torn leaf of some old " Sander's Reader," To line thy house of clay. Thou art a modest thief compared with many Whom this vain world calls great ; Who having power, do plunder human rights, To exalt their lordly state. Betwixt us twain, though thou'rt a tiny atom, The difference is small ; Thou seekest crumbs of food, and I of knowl- edge, Each at our nature's call. J. R. SMITH. Ill But death, with thee, 'gainst earthly ills con- tending, Must ever end the strife ; While I, beyond the chaos of the present, Seek for a higher life. THE ERRAND OF CHARITY. Down from the crystal gates of heaven Fair Charity in robes of light Flew on seraphic wings to earth, To scatter Rancor's gloomy night. Her sisters, steadfast Faith and Hope, Attended her o'er land and sea ; Full fair was that celestial band, But she was "greatest of the three." She came, and from her radiant face Shone Peace serene and heavenly Love; Forgiveness beamed upon her brow, And beauty like to that above. She came, and from her presence fled Censure, Distrust and carping Hate ; Stern War let fall the lifted spear, Pride bowed the head no more elate. 112 POEMS BY She came, and green eyed Jealousy Flew back to regions of Despair ; But Meekness caught her heavenly glance, And met an answering spirit there. Fierce men, in jarring discord met, Looked up as her bright form passed by, And angry scowls of boding hate Were turned to smiles in every eye. And Doubt and Falsehood fled from hearts Taken as by a glad surprise ; For mutual Trust was planted there, And Truth met Truth in answering eyes. And as her radiant visage shone Around our waked and happy shore, Men wondering at her beauty said : " How strange she seemed not thus before ! ' J. R. SMITH. 113 HOSPITALITY. There is a place beneath the sun Where welcomes can not be outdone ; Where there's no mincing hospitality, But of a noble, generous quality. Not such as leaves your mind perplexed, Now pleased half, and now half vexed, Causing the honest soul to doubt Whether he's welcome in or out But such as bids you feel at home, And hushes every wish to roam ; Chains you enchanted to the spot, Whether you would be so or not. With hearts as genial as their fire, Whose tongue or patience need to tire? With minds as generously stored As their own hospitable board, Who need despond, were he refined As the most famous of mankind ? Thank Heaven ! that there are some such places, Which like Sahara's green oases, This world's cold, dreary desert graces ; And yet, let us be thankful too, That these oases are so few, Lest, were a greater number given, Content, we'd seek no other heaven. 1840. I 14 POEMS BY THE ABORIGINES. I love to sit and muse at evening's close, Where runs the rustic streamlet rippling by, Upon the course of human joys or woes, While silent night steals over earth and sky. When the bat wakes, and the dull owlet's cry Breaks from the dark wood gloomily, oh ! then, How sweet, how sad, to cast Reflection's eye O'er all the varied states and strifes of men, While darkness shuts their forms out from the mortal ken. Where now the white man's stately mansion stands, Long since the Indian's rude-built wigwam stood ; Where now the plough-boy whistles o'er the lands, The shrill war-whoop hath echoed through the wood, While answering voices 'mid the solitude In chorus rose ; those voices now are dead. Echo hath long forgot these accents rude. The hut is dust ; its occupant hath fled, Or by its site his bones lie mouldering in their bed. J. R. SMITH. 115 Far West, the Sire of Waters, forest-crowned, The parting sun now crowns with golden smiles, Like the mild love-beam that hath almost bound Some dark misanthrope with its heavenly wiles. Upon his banks behold mysterious piles, The wonder of an age, with moss o'ergrown. No polished frieze, no sculptor's tool defiles Their sanctity ; but there they stand alone, To mark where chieftains sleep, where hosts were overthrown. All else hath perished; Time expands his wings In triumph o'er all else ; the warrior's fame, The chief's renown, the dwelling-place of kings, All sunk alike, have left not even a name. These mounds alone still linger to reclaim A nation's being from its people's fate — That nation's only record. Even the same Our Indian tribes now pass with tottering gait, And equal ruin still on their descendants wait. Yet where their children sported through the grove, Where their loved council-fires once blazed so bright, I 1 6 POEMS BY Where their young men and maidens told their love, Proud Science might not add to their delight. But ah ! these scenes have vanished ; a strange blight— The blinding glare of Civilization's ray — Hath darkened all their joy and brought their night, While westward sweeps the proud Caucas- sian's sway, To engulf their scattered tribes, who most despairing say : "0 white man! when you wandered to our coasts, We welcomed you as if from heaven above ; But had we known ye would requite your hosts, Death in return for kindness, hate for love, Then had the war-whoop pealed through every grove, Then had our sires dashed down the calumet And grasped the arrow ; fiercely had they strove To crush the viper ere his fangs were set Deep in the stricken heart, where they are rankling yet. J. R. SMITH. 117 "But 'tis too late; our bows are snapped in twain, Our shafts are spent, our warriors sleep in graves O'er which the oppressor riots. Hope is vain, How doubly vain, since broad Atlanta laves, With his extended line of murmuring waves, Not even a pebble that our sons may claim. Who are our sons? Dependents, vassals, slaves. Ah, then, scourge on ; our forms may yield to shame, Our spirits never — these your scourges can not tame. "And yet, ye talk of Indian cruelty — Ye who can boast of love, but show it not ; Who say the hand of Science to the sky Hath raised you far above the red-man's lot. Sure on Columbia's brow there is a blot That Time can scarce erase or Science shroud, And even Religion's light illumes the spot To show it darker. From yon threat'ning cloud The spirits of our sires for vengeance call aloud." n8 POEMS BY But vengeance, ye affirm, the red-man loves, And is there not a cause? O white man, say? Why then those martial sounds amid our groves? Why our brave warriors slain in bloody fray? Why, from our reservations driven away To barren hills, leave we our native bounds, To bitter want and misery a prey? While far and near, o'er all our hunting grounds, The white man's smoke ascends, the wood- man's axe resounds. Great Spirit of our fathers ! can it be That thou, upon a throne of love divine, Dost grim and Moloch-like delight to see ' Our children offered on this bloody shrine? It can not be ; thy face hath ceased to shine, Hid in the shadow of Oppression's night, And yet of hope, though late, thou givest a sign— For lo! from out the darkness, on our sight, A gleam of Learning's ray and pure Relig- ion's light. J. R. SMITH. II9 THE PROGRESS OF LIBERTY. This earth shall yet be free, though scarred and worn And reeking with oppression, crime and wrong, Through gloomy centuries of moral night, While bigotry associate with vice Divided all the empire of the mind. The time must come, in the revolving years, When man his glorious birthright shall assume And stand erect, the image of his God, Emancipate from Error's crippling bonds, In his primeval beauty, save the scars Which years of sin and degradation deep Have left as sad memorials of the Fall. The fearful bondage that enthralls the mind And fetters all its energies divine Must be removed afar. The human soul Shall cast away its chains and, with Heaven's aid, Bursting the spirit's Bastile, sally forth From moral dungeons, where it hath endured A living death, a loathed, sickly life, Death's fittest emblem ; thence in sweet relief Shall it look forth o'er all the earth and breathe The universal air of Liberty. 120 POEMS BY Ye victims of Oppression, who have felt So long the yoke of bondage on your necks ; Ye slaves of foul Intemperance, who bleed Beneath the scourges of a cruel lord, Who hopeless cry, "How long, O Lord, how long Shall we be bruised between those baleful powers — The love of gain, the lust of appetite, Till, 'neath the upper and the nether stones, Our cherished joys and hopes are ground to dust." Lift up your heads, deliverance is for you ; Ye countless band that bow at Mammon's shrine, Or yield to Pleasure's fascinating charms, Break now your glittering fetters and be free. Self-torturing votaries of Superstition, Low bowing down to gods of wood and stone, Claim now your primal birthright and rejoice ! The human mind Is still progressive, onward, upward still — Onward in knowledge, freedom, wisdom, might — Upward in virtue, purity and love, For God hath placed no limit to its course. J. R. SMITH. 121 And as it merges from Oppression's shade Into the liberty that Heaven bestows, It shall commune with angels, and assert Its lost celestial powers again restored. O Liberty ! without thee what is life ? A drear abyss, a rayless, black expanse Filled with all shapes of woe ; for Misery, Grim, terrible, with all her meagre train, Ushers the slave to life, nor leaves his side Till Death, the kindest friend he e'er beholds, Beckons his toil-worn form to final rest. How can the slave of passion or of power Enjoy the beauty of the visible world? How can his dull ear drink the harmonies That Nature breathes from her melodious lute? How can he walk the glowing landscape o'er, And bid his ..pinioned spirit wander free ; To range with zephyr 'mid the rainbow flowers, Muse in the ancient solitary wood, Climb to the height of heaven-sustaining hills Earth's prospects to command, or bid his soul Join in the music of the cataract, And gaze upon its grandeur till he seems A part and portion of its majesty, 122 POEMS BY Or upward rise to revel 'mid the stars, And see a God in all the glorious range ? How can he quaff from Learning's sacred fount, And send his spirit back through lapse of years To hold calm converse with the mighty dead, And drink in wisdom from her thousand springs ? His spirit with his body are in chains — The eye, the ear, the soul alike are bound, Whether his own dark passions forge the links, Of power oppressive from his fellow-man. Oh, Liberty ! thou sacred boon of Heaven, Spread thy broad wings in triumph o'er the earth ; Thy gentle reign, we trust, is nigh at hand. From manhood's strength foul Tyranny declines, And as he limps adown the steep of age, In his old, withered, palsied, faltering hand, He grasps with wild despair his battered blade, Which oft hath sought thy heart, but sought in vain. With this foul fiend thou'st many a conflict held, When he was in his prime and thou a child ; And oft to mortal eyes thou seem'dst to fall, But from each conflict mightier hast thou risen; J. R. SMITH. 123 All scarred, yet scatheless from ten thousand fields, While his vain prowess weaker still has grown, And soon the grave shall hide his hated form, And thou with man shalt dwell 'mid countless years, And sway a gentle sceptre o'er the earth. Even now pale despots tremble for their power, As the earth shakes beneath their tottering thrones. Long have they stalked o'er the submissive heads Of teeming millions, who have meekly bowed To bear the oppressive load ; but now their tread Is faint and fearful, as they hear beneath The fires of incensed justice, kindling long — Loud roaring for a passage, while around Red flames break forth with sudden, dazzling glare, And brother tyrants sink in hopeless plunge Amid the burning lava, as the shout, The free, glad, joyous shout of Liberty Echoes from hill to hill, from land to land ; And kindred hearts respond with glad acclaim, Where'er o'er earth's broad map such hearts are found. 9 124 POEMS BY Columbia ! my loved, my native land ! Last child of Time, great heir of Liberty, Hope of th 7 oppressed, and stronghold of the free — How glorious are the memories that cling Around thy natal hour, as Earth beheld Thy birth amid the throes of Revolution. Oh, be these glorious memories cherished still, And may Heaven save our country and her sons From the wild phrensy of blind souls that deem Gain, godliness, and riot, Liberty. Let Reason still guide Freedom in the path That leads to Peace and Truth and Righteous- ness, Lest Passion change her form to Anarchy, And, running wild in riot, wrap in flame Her stately temple, blast her spreading tree, And scorch and wither every patriot's hope. May myriad spires still pointing to the sky Tell of a God adored, and nations learn This salutary lesson, nor forget That there's a wise Supreme who rules the world, And they best rule on earth who own his sway. Freedom, like fire, its emblem, still must prove A useful servant but a tyrant lord, So may she rule our hearts, yet serve us still. J. R. SMITH. 125 THE BIRD CONVENTION. BEING THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE GREAT CONVENTION HELD AT TERRAPIN RIDGE IN THE SUMMER OF l880. DEDICATED TO THE CLASS IN TAXIDERMY BY THE INTERPRETER. I think 'tis Esop that makes mention Of birds assembling in convention — Domestic matters to debate And talk about affairs of state, And in sage council seek to find Protection against human kind. Such meetings oft are held, no doubt — If man could only find them out. But in some forest's deep recess, In language few can even guess, The birds hold court among the trees, Secure from human enemies, There to their griefs and joys give vent And chatter to their hearts' content. Such an assembly lately met, Whose acts have not been published yet, And I presume, as voluntary, Self-constituted secretary, To give you without further greeting A faithful record of the meeting. 126 POEMS BY While rambling one summer day, I to the wildwood took my way, And in its depths my footsteps stayed To enjoy the cool and peaceful shade — When round me rose such din and clatter I paused t' investigate the matter, And found the adjacent trees and bushes Alive with catbirds, larks and thrushes, And whippoorwills and kites and owls And bobolinks and orioles, Wrens, bluejays, blackbirds, hawks and pig- eons, And others from surrounding regions, All perched and chattering away As if 'twere their town-meeting day. I hid behind the leafy screen, Where I might see and not be seen ; Though I confess 'twas hardly proper To play the secret, sly eaves-dropper — A fault for which I make apology To universal Ornithology. Still, poets (so my plea avers) Are Nature's true interpreters, And, hence, may enter when they please Into her hidden mysteries ; J. R. SMITH. 127 And by this power I now translate The substance of this sage debate Into Humanity's dull speech, Else far beyond all mortal reach. Tossing his topknot high in air, A saucy Bluejay took the chair And, with a nod by way of greeting, Explained the object of the meeting : "This day, though seeming fair," he said, 4 ' Is unto me a day of dread ; And so methinks this time will prove To all the tenants of the grove — For in the future I can trace The ruin of the feathered race! " "Who," said the Owl, "oh, who, who, who, Has so severely frightened you?" "I," said the Catbird from a tree, In feline tones, "'twas me, 'twas me." "Please come to order," said the Chair, "This interruption is not fair. A native, I was hatched and bred Here on Old Terrapin's woody head ; And think you I am such a fool As to be frightened by an owl, Or by the silly catbird's cries, Or any other wing that flies ? 128 POEMS BY All those who have a grudge to pay, I'll satisfy some other day ; But now, you'll please to understand, I've other business on my hand. I was about a fact to state Which to my knowledge came of late, That did to me such horror send, It bade my feathers stand on end ; And yet, you all will witness bear That I am very hard to scare. You know yon town of honest fame, Elizabeth they call its name — A place where precious ore is found, An English town on Yankee ground, With sprinklings of Dutch and Scotch To constitute a true hotch-potch, And then, to make the mixture thin, Some down- East Yankees are thrown in. Now, there has come to yonder town A man they call Professor Brown, To teach some taxidermy classes, And men and women, lads and lassies, All rush to learn the cruel art — Which proves mankind devoid of heart; And, strange to say, the men are joined With women gentle and refined. J. R. SMITH I29 The sequel mark: Oh, sin and shame ! Each modest maid and gentle dame — Those who once only wished to tame us — Now disembowel and embalm us, Give us glass eyes and legs of wire, And all our beauty to admire ; In neat and graceful postures place us, To grace their mantels and show-cases, And say we look, the more the pity, 4 Exceedingly sweet and awful pretty. ' Then say, O friends, with due reflection, What can be done for our protection?" ''Can it be possible," quoth the Thrush, "Men do such things without a blush, Unmindful of the good we do 'em By guarding fruit and singing to 'em ? I with my children may make merry Over a random plum or cherry, But 'tis no more than lawful pay For keeping bugs and worms away ; What would their fields and orchards bear If 'twere not for our guardian care? Oh, maidens, with your winning arts, Have you such malice in your hearts? 'Tis bad enough, I will engage, To be imprisoned in a cage ; I30 POEMS BY But to be turned into a mummy, And sit forever acting dummy For any single living creature, I own is dead against my nature. I love to sing, and sing I will — No man or maid shall keep me still ; I'll take yon oak tree's topmost spray, And sit and sing the livelong day ; And, if they strive to do me wrong, I will so charm them with my song, Their base intentions they'll give o'er, And praise my notes and ask for more. Then pubitty, pubitty, chee, chee, chee, Hurrah for the land of liberty ! Come, cheer up, cheer up, chee, chee, chee." Longer had been the thrush's song, Had not a hawk, that joined the throng, Spoke out in tones so loud and shrill, It made each songster's blood run chill. Quoth he: "As monarch of the sky, I am man's bitter enemy ; His boasted rights I ne'er regard, But forage on his poultry yard. And so I think it only fun To hear him crack his paltry gun ; J. R. SMITH. 131 For when I please, I can arise Beyond its reach in upper skies." " You well deserve," replied the Hen, "The usage you receive from men ; You are so full of scurvy tricks — The very thief that stole my chicks ! ' The Hawk replied : li This doth but show How things are ordered down below — How all that have the power will wreak Their vengeance on the poor and weak. Through earth and air, in Mercy's spite, Weakness is sin and might makes right. All things, from insect up to man, Prey on each other as they can. Although superior power in part May be o'ercome by fraud and art, To cheat and plunder is the rule — The honest man is deemed a fool. Man, for his pleasure or his gain, Will kill and cause all creatures pain ; So blame not me, my worthy dame, Whom hunger drives to do the same." "A lying plea," the Kingbird said, Perched on a dry branch overhead ; " You say you're monarch of the sky; Your power and prowess I defy. 132 POEMS BY Monarchs are greater still than kings, If I know aught about such things — I am a king by name and right, And this I'm free to prove in fight; So if my title you'd disprove, We'll try the issue o'er yon grove." * 'Agreed,'" the angry hawk replied, Swelling with mingled rage and pride. So both together rose on high, To end the quarrel in the sky. Jeers from the angry hawk were heard, The kingbird never spoke a word, But, darting with a quick surprise, Aimed straightway at his rival's eyes, And fighting with a skill profound, Soon brought the boaster to the ground. " Our champion's dead," all now began, " Oh, who will help us fight with man ?" " Who?" said the Owl, "oh, who, who, who! Small need, if this course you pursue, And thus each other fight and slay — You'll prove to him an easy prey. Now, comrades, hear what I advise, For friends and foes account me wise : Mankind are mad on Art and Science, And use each possible appliance J. R. SMITH. 133 To lead her to reveal the laws Of Nature and each hidden cause ; And this, my deepest thoughts confirm me, Makes them to practice Taxidermy, And for the crime make this apology — That thus they study Ornithology. So the best wisdom I can teach Is just to keep beyond their reach." When this speech came to a conclusion There rose a very great confusion — A fluttering of approbation, A chattering of confirmation, The sound of which awakened me From slumber underneath a tree. THE BRIDGES OF PLUM RIVER. Come, rustic muse, from regions far away, And to our humble vale a visit pay ; Thou who didst aid a Burns in numbers rare, To celebrate the famous " Brigs of Ayr," Come, help an unknown bard in his endeavor To celebrate the bridges of Plum River. For we, since our new bridge has been com pleted, Have a clear case of history repeated ; 134 POEMS BY Since side by side the old and new are standing, As for the honors of the place contending, Or so, at least, they stood not long ago. And folks thus tete-a-tete will talk, you know, For they've an understanding and a spirit Which from the source of being they inherit. And that a bridge may have a spirit too, The "Brigs of Ayr " bear testimony true. If this conclusion you should fail to see, Its opposite you can not prove by me. So with your leave the converse I'll record Between the new and old bridge, word for word ; As once upon a time I passed that way, These are the words they said or seemed to say : NEW BRIDGE. " Unsightly hulk ! thou scarecrow and affright To every passer-by ! out of my sight ! Why stand so near me, dotard ? I declare, Your rotting presence taints the very air ; And yet, you haven't sense enough to see Your room is better than your company ! ' OLD BRIDGE. "Oh, you talk mighty big for one so young; Among your elders you might guard your tongue, J. R. SMITH 135 And show respect to age, though dressed so gay, Since you are but a thing of yesterday. I'm built of honest timber through and through, Though rather worse for wear — pray, what are you ? And what good reason have you for complaint, You mongrel mixture of wood, iron and paint? And yet you're neither one thing nor the other, A mighty power to stand the wind and weather ! When you shall stand as long as I have stood, And brave as many years the storm and flood, Bearing the public burdens day by day, Till like myself you have grown old and gray, Then you may have some reason for your boast; Till then your windy words are labor lost ; And until then 'twere wiser, I'll engage, And more becoming, to respect old age." NEW BRIDGE. " Respect old age, you dotard ! No ; not I ! When men grow old and useless they must die. And why not you, whose walls are tumbling down — A thing condemned, a nuisance to the town? Your day is done, your usefulness is o'er. And yet you stretch yourself from shore to shore, I36 POEMS BY As if you never would the place resign, Although you know by right the place is mine. To fill it I have come from Pittsburg City, Being ordered hither by the bridge committee; Therefore I'm here according to the law, And give you formal notice to withdraw. I've heard my manufacturer declare A thousand pounds to each square inch I'd bear, And my abutments, built by good John Brew, Are deeply laid with stone, a half yard thro'; But should a muskrat creep upon your back, His weight might make your dozy timbers crack ; And yet, my equal you profess to be, And claim respect for age and dignity ! Know, too, your homely, weather beaten face No longer serves our modern age to grace ; For you're the product of that early day When carts and lumber wagons bore the sway, And people dressed in linsey and sheep's gray; Now all mankind with taste and splendor shine, And ride in carriages and phaetons fine. For a full twelvemonth past, the people say, They feared your rotten timbers would give way, J. R. SMITH. 137 And plump them in Plum River's crystal wave, Where they might find, perchance, a watery grave, Or thy abutments, built of cobble-stones, Would tumble down some day and break their bones ! " OLD BRIDGE. M And you will stand and listen to the rabble, And take for gospel all their senseless babble. Well, let them talk; but know when I was young, My solid timbers all were staunch and strong, My well-made joints all firm, as firm could be, Built by that master workman, John C. Lee ; And long have I withstood the floods that rose From summer rains and spring's dissolving snows, And patiently I've borne for many years The heavy tread of horses, cows and steers, . And the vast burden of the loaded wain Groaning 'neath bags of wheat or sheaves of grain, And streams of travel, constant as the tide That flows beneath me to the ocean wide. But, oh ! my lad, that was a trying day When Barnum's show and circus came this way, With elephants and beasts from every land, I38 POEMS BY All pouring o'er me in procession grand, And chariots and cages built on wheels ! How at the thought my vision reels ! While country boys and girls in garments scant, Perched on the fence to see the elephant ; But when old Jumbo trod upon my back, His mountain weight made my old timbers crack. And yet, I bore them all from shore to shore, But I can never stand such trials more ; For I confess that I am older now, And time has set his mark upon my brow. Yet age is called a crime, it seems of late, Which only death itself can expiate ; But I may boast, though feeble now I be, No men nor beasts have lost their lives by me. But well I've served my country many years, And ill deserve your youthful taunts and sneers. Why should I die despised by every one, Not loved for all the good that I have done?" NEW BRIDGE. ''Old bridge, I stand reproved, and justly too. I grant that to your age respect is due. So to your worth due deference I'll pay, And bless your memory when you pass away ; And when I'm old and feeble, hope to see A like respect from those who follow me." J. R. SMITH. 139 UNCLE SAM AMONG THE SPIRITS. One summer day, as Uncle Sam was taking An after-dinner nap, before awaking, His busy thoughts, from slumber still kept free, Expressed themselves in this soliloquy: "That I am growing old is very plain, It is so difficult to stand the strain Of business I have borne for many years ; And business still increases it appears, Driving me on from one thing to another, Till I am quite distracted with the pother. Once with enough to render life a pleasure, I've now so much I'm pestered beyond measure To manage it. Once with my family I was as happy as a man could be, But now the trouble that my children make Is quite enough the stoutest heart to break ! Once I had countless acres at command, And called the homeless sons of every land From this world's crowded fields to dwell with me, And help me rear a home for Liberty ; But nowadays they're rushing in so fast, Their very numbers bid me stand aghast — 10 I4O POEMS BY In crowds they come from every land and clime, By thousands and ten thousands at a time — Dutch, Irish, Swede and Danish in the van, And in the rear is Johnny Chinaman! Within my bounds all hues and creeds unite — Hindoo and negro, yellow, black and w r hite, Prating of rights and freedom day by day, Till they take all my liberty away. At Freedom's fount I'd have all nations quaff, But I have been too generous by half; For if they throng my gangway at this rate, Who knows but they will sink the ship of state? The Arab in the fable gave consent To take the camel's nose into his tent; But soon the body following the snout, The honest Ishmaelite was crowded out. And so I must confess it is w T ith me, Amid this senseless bawl for liberty ; With all their creeds and 'isms' and notions strange, They're like my very senses to derange ! There never sure was such a hapless elf! I sometimes fear I'll be beside myself. But hark ! methinks the sound of wings I hear, Can there be listening spirits hovering near?" J. R. SMITH. 141 SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY {speaks). %i You're too desponding, uncle. It is plain You've had an overtaxing of the brain, And need, no doubt, a little relaxation From brooding o'er the councils of the nation ; And I confess, the state of your affairs Might give a younger man than you gray hairs. But you well know that I am your best friend ; With me your life began, with me 'twill end. 'Twas I that bid the wisest men of earth Gather in secret council at your birth ; And they proved skillful doctors I'll be bound, Since you came to existence safe and sound. The author of the immortal Declaration Breathed in your veins the noble aspiration For liberty, and from him you inherit Your principles and Democratic spirit. And let me tell you in this favored hour, With my tried friends and principles in power, Grant but the life-long honor due to me, And from your troubles you will soon be free ! ' SPIRIT OF FEDERALISM.