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POEMS 
 
 — BY 
 
 JOHN HOLLAND. 
 
 
 
 '^ '^f V/ash\t>l^' 
 
 1^ BOSTON: ^ 
 
 A. WIT.I.TAMS & COMPANY, 
 
 100 Washington Street. 
 
 18 5 8. 
 

 W'\ 
 
 \^ 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Fanny Fern : 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 Knowing that any attempt of mine to eulogize your present fame would 
 be like gilding refined gold, or^painting the lily, permit me to state that in 
 laying my fiirst collection at the feet of beauty, I am merely vindicating that 
 gallantry that has ever distinguished my countrymen, and paying a compli- 
 ment to one of the most illustrious women of the age. With admiration for 
 your past career, and hoping that you will long continue to add new leaves 
 to your wreath, believe me, my dear Madame, 
 
 Your very sincere admii-er, 
 
 JOHN HOLLAND. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The author of the following trifles, in placing them before 
 the world, does it not with the slightest intention of measur- 
 ing himself with the giants of the day. With no advantages 
 beyond a meagre English education, and working ten hours 
 a day for a livelihood, he has devoted his leisure hours to 
 the cultivation of verse, and found it to be so far, its own 
 reward. 
 
 It is with a view of courting public opinion that he sends 
 this collection adrift, determined to be guided by its reception 
 whether or not he shall make a second appearance with a 
 more liberal range of his productions. From the learned and 
 the great he can solicit no more than their kindly considera- 
 tion ; but from farmers, soldiers, sailors, and mechanics, of 
 every denomination, he begs a large share of their patronage 
 and favor. 
 
 The Axtthob. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Tyrants Away, * 
 
 Monmouth, ^ 
 
 Marion and May, 1^ 
 
 AJieu to Katy 13 
 
 Emeline, 1* 
 
 Mary and May, 15 
 
 A Canine Obituary, . 17 
 
 The Old Pine Tree, M 
 
 Address to The Sun, 21 
 
 Caroline, 25 
 
 The Happy Man, 26 
 
 Our Silence An A, 29 
 
 Vermont Jean, 81 
 
 The Irish Spartan, 32 
 
 Nancy White, 40 
 
 Kateof Aftondale, *a 
 
 A Song for the May, .......... 43 
 
 The Gem of the Three, 45 
 
 Kitty, » • 48 
 
 I Sigh for Thee, Mary, 48 
 
 A Highlander's Address, 49 
 
 The Ark, 51 
 
 June and Jennie, 53 
 
 A Fishing Medley, 56 
 
 A Morning Walk, 65 
 
 The Star of New England, 68 
 
 Epistle to T. Clarendon, 69 
 
 Does England Boast, . 72 
 
 The Shillelah, 73 
 
 John McCarthy, 76 
 
 Remember the Poor, 78 
 
 New England, 80 
 
 An Evening Walk, 96 
 
 The Deacon, 98 
 
 Mary M'Guire, 99 
 
 The Dog with a Curly Tail, 100 
 
 The Mechanic's Festival, 102 
 
 A Song for Star-Gazers, 103 
 
 The Mountain Pines, 106 
 
 I do not Sing, 107 
 
 A Winter Song, 108 
 
TYRANTS AWAY. 
 
 All hail to the land, where the stars are ascending, 
 
 And showering their lustre from mountain to sea, 
 Where the stripes with the breezea of heaven are blending, 
 
 Sure emblems of vengeance and sons of the free — 
 "Where liberty soars on her far spreading pinions, 
 
 And beckons the legions from over the spray, 
 To swell the glad throngs in her boundless dominions, 
 
 And join in the chorus of tyrants away. 
 
 Yes, tyrants away, tune your harps to the numbers, 
 
 The world never' echoed such anthem before, 
 Since Sparta corrupted, reclined into slumbers, 
 
 The chains of the tyrant have galled to the core ; 
 In vain has red slaughter with banners all gory. 
 
 Exulted o'er carnage while kings had their sway, 
 The millions were dupes to the despot's sole glory, 
 
 Their hearts never bounded to tyrants away. 
 
 Down tyrants, away, let it spread with the breezes, 
 
 And flee to the uttermost parts of the world, 
 Till echo extending, delirious it seizes. 
 
 And freedom's fair standard for aye is unfurled ; 
 No life blood can flow if the heart cease its motion, 
 
 No safety exists until sceptres decay — 
 Then onward in union, by land and by ocean, 
 
 While heaven smiles o'er us, 'tis tyrants away. 
 2 
 
6 
 
 Yes, onward by heaven, who dare be a craven. 
 
 While spirits of heroes awake from the dust ; 
 Give our souls to the skies, and our flesh to the raven, 
 
 But the sword of our birthright, it never shall rust. 
 Nations whose bread has been cast on the waters. 
 
 And washed by the waves of destruction away — 
 Their sheaves shall return over oceans of slaughter, 
 
 Their vineyards made vocal with tyrants away. 
 
 Let them shriek on their gods while the sabre is gleaming, 
 
 And the lightning of wrath flashes bright from the blade. 
 For the light which high heaven o'er mankind is streaming, 
 
 Reveals where our judgment has rusted in shade. 
 More grand than the day-god his splendor is pouring, 
 
 O'er landscapes that echo the songs of the day, 
 Is that land o'er the nations majestically scaring. 
 
 Whose war song far over is tyrants away. 
 
 Yet linger one tear for the loved ones at parting, 
 
 Then bright be the flame in each patriot's breast. 
 And then from thy slumbers in majesty starting, 
 
 Awake to thy glory, green isle of the west ; 
 For pure in thy skies to eternity smiling. 
 
 Are martyrs awaiting, the final huzza 
 Shall rend heaven's arches, whilst accents beguiling, 
 
 Shall float from thy harp-strings, of tyrants away. 
 
MONMOUTH. 
 
 *T was on a heavenly summer's day, 
 A thousand warblers sweet and gay, 
 
 With anthems filled the air, 
 As Albion's standards and her strains, 
 Imperious roused on Monmouth's plains 
 
 Red carnage from her lair. 
 With martial notes they marched along, 
 
 So proudly o'er the ground ; 
 One wavering doubt their ranks among. 
 Ne'er spread a terror round. 
 But o'er them, before them, 
 The tide of victory shone ; 
 Esteeming and deeming 
 That glorious field their own. 
 
 Well might their alien hearts beat high. 
 To see Columbia's eagles fly 
 
 The field like frighted deer ; 
 Well might the lordly Britons boast, 
 To think the terrors of their coast 
 Won bloodless victories here. 
 But ah, they little wist the soul 
 
 That strides yon warlike steed. 
 Nor hear the clarion notes that roll, 
 And wrest the dastard deed. 
 Amazed they gazed 
 To view that towering form. 
 Commanding and branding. 
 As Christ rebuked the storm.' 
 
8 
 
 As wheels the circling ocean wave, 
 So turned the land's defenders brave, 
 
 To meet the coming foe ; 
 Kesolved ten thousand deaths to face, 
 Or wipe away the foul disgrace 
 
 Of flight without a blow. 
 The tiger raged in every breast, 
 
 Their eagles kissed the breeze, 
 The lion reared his kingly crest ; 
 They met like raging seas ;— 
 And clashing and crashing, 
 They bled at every pore. 
 Still gaining, disdaining 
 The belching battery's roar. 
 
 They met through roll of fire, and drums, 
 And glistening steel, and waving plumes, 
 
 And peal on peal afar 
 As waves are hurled against the rock 
 They charge, and now withstand the shock 
 
 Which makes the earth to jar. 
 Now, shouts for Albion rend the skies, 
 
 Above the battle's roar ; 
 Now echo for Columbia, cries. 
 The scene of conflict o'er ; 
 Thus raging, engaging, 
 They sway both to and fro ; 
 Till grasping, and gasping, 
 They grapple foe to foe. 
 
 And there the Celt and Saxon met 
 With twice ten hundred wrongs to whet 
 Their wrath and venom dire ; 
 
Their sabres flashed through clouds of smoke, 
 And brightly red at every stroke 
 Seemed sheets of livid fire ; 
 They cut, they thrust, they lunge, they foil, 
 
 They dash restraint away, 
 Like Avild beasts, springing for the spoil. 
 They both at random slay ; — 
 Fierce ringing, and swinging 
 Their weapons through the air, 
 Till mangled and hangled, 
 They roll a lifeless pair. 
 
 Bright on our noble warriors strode 
 Through sabres, bayonets, guns, and blood, 
 
 And death in every form ; 
 Right on through column, rank, and file. 
 They plough their glorious way, the while 
 
 The showering bullets storm ; 
 In vain the English charge their wings. 
 
 Their every effort fails ; 
 Defeat from every quarter springs. 
 And freedom still prevails ; — 
 Till lowering, and cowering, 
 The proud usurpers yield, 
 Till routed, and scouted. 
 They quit the fatal field. 
 
 'T was ended, and the sun went down. 
 Nor did one heavenly angel frown 
 
 Upon that field of gore. 
 Where many a hero fought, and died, 
 And clasped the portrait of his bride, 
 And blest his native shore. 
 
 2* 
 
10 
 
 Such victories crave no earthly tears, 
 
 They claim no earthly thanks, 
 "While every friend that fled, appears 
 Aloft in glory's ranks, — 
 All nearing and cheering 
 Columbia's central sun, 
 Surrounding and sounding 
 Their God, and Washington. 
 
MARION AND MAY. 
 
 Awaken ! thou power in my bosom that slumbers, 
 
 Awaken ! the landscapes are waving with green, 
 The echoes resound to the warblers, loud numbers. 
 
 The world is rejoicing — awake to the scene : 
 Awaken ! the heavens in union are blending — 
 
 They call us aloft in their gorgeous array — 
 Awake ! shall our steps be ingloriously wending, 
 
 "While the Anthems of Nature ascend to the May ? 
 
 How beauteous the first golden flush of the morning. 
 
 How it brightens the skies, and illumines the main. 
 What myriads of warblers leap forth at its warning, 
 
 And wake the wild echoes in mountain and glen, 
 How lovely the breast of the Rariton's waters, 
 
 As the bright dancing beams on its proud wavelets play, 
 How queenly the steps of its own native daughters. 
 
 At eve on its banks as they witchingly stray. 
 
 Those waters are sacred far more than their splendor, 
 
 The Champion of freedom their bosom once bore, 
 Now Freedom is drest in its pride and its grandeur. 
 
 The waters remain, but the Chief is no more ; 
 No more does the morn with its red rosy fingers. 
 
 Bring joy to his hosts, panting wild for the fray. 
 Yet fired with his glory the minstrel oft lingers 
 
 And mingles his fame with the songs of the May. 
 
12 
 
 Oh, the transport that come with the May's balmy breezes, 
 
 Is transport no language of earth can define, 
 There is not a heart in the world but it seizes, 
 
 Which answers with melody ever divine, 
 To some 'tis the grandeur the day-god discloses, 
 
 To some 'tis the twilight hour melting away, 
 To some 'tis the fragrance that breathes from the roses 
 
 To all its magical glory of May. 
 
 Sweet May with thy breezes that sweep o'er the billows, 
 
 The wanderer's flights are refreshing and free. 
 As the home of his youth in its beauty and willows, 
 
 Surrounds him in fancy with gladness and thee. 
 The scenes of his childhood commingling in union 
 
 Transfixing the heart's fond affections for aye, 
 Thou queen of devotion gay verdure communion, 
 
 What volumes unfolded lie centered in May. 
 
 And Marion one bright year of bliss has flown over 
 
 Since I crowned thee the queen of the season before, 
 Nor is there a vestige that I can discover 
 
 Td make thee less lovely, dear maid, than of yore. 
 Still Marion thou'rt bright as the crimson that fringes, 
 
 The war clouds in glory at close of the day. 
 And Marion thy smiles are to me as the binges, 
 
 Which ope the glad gates to Eternity's May. 
 
 I have culled for thee Marion the gems of the mountain, 
 
 I have wove thee a wreath in the woodlands below, 
 I will lead thee at eve where the clear silver fountains. 
 
 Shall list to our bright tales of love as they flow ; — 
 Yes, Marion, we'll love while our life tree is blooming 
 
 When the cold hand of Time nips its leaves with decay, 
 Still Marion the bright Star our pathway illuming. 
 
 Shall then be the love Star of life's early May. 
 
ADIEU TO KATY. 
 
 And do I then behold the day 
 Shall waft me from my Katy gay, 
 
 Unto a foreign shore, 
 And shall I gaze on yon blue sky, 
 And o'er the waters cast my eye, 
 And hear the breakers roar, 
 Whilst thee my lovely Katy dear 
 
 Must tarry all alone, 
 And wonder through this world so drear 
 Which none can call his own ? 
 It grieves me, bereaves me. 
 To gaze on this last wo. 
 But Katy stern fate he 
 Commands and I must go. 
 
 I see thee not nor could I brook 
 To take of thee one farewell look. 
 
 Thou dearer than my soul, 
 Eistraction reigns within this breast, 
 Nor hope nor reason here can rest. 
 
 And ages seem to roll. 
 On every fleeting moment's wing, 
 
 The old frequented bowers. 
 The echoes still around me ring 
 
 The bright the heavenly hours. 
 Return here and burn here 
 With unexpiring flame, 
 I rave here, a slave here, 
 To love, and thy dear name. 
 
EMELINE. 
 
 How lovely o'er New England's shore 
 
 The parting sun declines, 
 How gently do the breezes blow 
 
 And wave the towering pines, 
 The zephyrs soft the skies aloft. 
 
 They charm this heart of mine. 
 Because they throw a heavenly glow 
 
 Around young Emeline. 
 
 Emelia fair is like the flower 
 
 That dfecks the bower in June, 
 Her voice is sweeter than the lyre 
 
 Ttat sounds the rapturous tune, 
 Now sportive as the Eastern winds 
 
 That kiss the sleeping brine, 
 Now pensive joys illume the eyes 
 
 Of peerless Emeline. 
 
 The worldly race their views may chase 
 
 Like vapors o'er the wave. 
 Their hearts are but the hollow caves 
 
 Where slander's echoes rave ; 
 Give me the vales and fragrant gales, 
 
 My soul on wings divine, 
 Shall sing that heaven no prize hatk given 
 
 To equal Emeline. 
 
MARY AND MAY. 
 
 Once more the gay landscapes with verdure are waving, 
 
 Once more gentle spring spreads her wings on the gale 
 And changed is the voice of the wild winter's raving 
 
 For the strains of rejoicings which float o'er tQe vale 
 The young May moon rides through the skies in her splen- 
 dor 
 
 O'er bowers that are sleeping in silence and dew, 
 The day god bursts forth in the blaze of his grandeur, 
 
 His course round the regions of bliss to pursue. 
 
 Who is there has not on a mild holy even 
 
 Reclined where some stream Avended proudly along, 
 Whose bosom reflecting the blue vault of heaven 
 
 Awakened his soul to the transports of song, 
 When the world was forgot with its clay sinking slumbers, 
 
 As his soul soared aloft on its fanciful wing. 
 And he poured like the fragrance of evening, the numbers 
 
 Devoted to all the deliriums of spring ? 
 
 Oh, spring can inspire us with purest reflections 
 
 Of raptures ethereal, eternal, to last. 
 And spring can revive us with old recollections 
 
 And brighten the present with dreams of the past. 
 The aged new life round their hearts can discover 
 
 Which pant for that spring that shall never decay, 
 While garlands invitingly smile for the lover 
 
 To crown the fair queen of bis heart, and the May, 
 
16 
 
 All hail to thee, spring, in th j mantle of glory, 
 
 How cold is the breast which thy charms cannot cheer, 
 What legions of warblers combine in the story 
 
 To praise thee, the fairest, and queen of the year 
 How lovely the earth in her virgin revival, 
 
 How gorgeous the hills, and green vallies below, 
 But the smiles of my Mary thy beauties outrival 
 
 Entwined with the wreaths all thy bounties bestow. 
 
 My Mary is pure as the dew drop that glistens 
 
 And decks like a diamond the rose bearing thorn, 
 And Mary is sweet as the echo that listens 
 
 To answer the first note that welcomes the morn, 
 The joy on her face like the sunbeam is dancing, 
 
 Her eyes are all light with the fulness of soul. 
 Her step is as free as the zephyr, advancing 
 
 Her breast is of love's own emotion the goal. 
 
 Sweet May and my Mary twin sisters I 'twine ye 
 
 All loveliness, buoyancy, smiles, and all joy, 
 The homage of hearts, and all praises enshrine ye 
 
 For yours is that fame which no time can destroy. 
 The rude winds may scatter the bright gems around us, 
 
 The gay blooming landscapes may fade and decay. 
 But Memory and Harmony still shall surround us 
 
 With all the sweet glories of Mary and May. 
 
A CANINE OBITUARY. 
 
 Whilst Cynthia bathed in silver light, 
 The verdant vale and mountain's height, 
 While meteors bright were seen to fly 
 Across the distant northern sky. 
 Our bell was tolled, and in the blast, 
 Our flag was streaming at half mast, 
 As Cuff, the generous and the brave, 
 Was borne to an untimely grave. 
 
 In mournful mood, we onward marched. 
 To where some trees his grave o'er arched, 
 And while the winds did o'er him weep. 
 We laid our hero down to sleep ; 
 We saw the clay piled o'er his bones, 
 We heard the rattling of the stones, 
 And with a farewell sigh we swore 
 Deep vengeance on his naurderer. 
 
 Poor Cuff, where shall a dog be found, 
 To equal him the country round ? 
 His lightning glance the first to spy 
 The distant flame illume the sky. 
 His faithful bark informed us well, 
 The instant echo to the knell. 
 Which called the Maiden firemen brave 
 To follow him that's in the grave. 
 3 
 
18 
 
 His mellow bark and swaggering way, 
 Will haunt the town for many a day, 
 No more we'll see his plume-like tail, 
 With joyous bound wave in the gale ; 
 The bells may ring, the demon rage. 
 But Cuff they never shall engage — 
 For zephyrs sigh and willows wave 
 Around his lone lamented grave. 
 
 HIS EPITAPH. 
 
 Ye curs and pups, that try to trace 
 The paths by mighty heroes trod, 
 
 A prince to all your snarling race, 
 Lies stiff beneath this verdant sod. 
 
 Unlike our barking dogs and men, 
 To fear he was a dauntless stranger, 
 
 He never raised his voice, but when 
 He rushed to deeds of love and danger. 
 
 Adieu dear Cuff, thy name shall ring 
 
 'Tis sworn by Upton, Oakes, and Spalden, 
 
 So long as e'er a bell shall swing, 
 
 High o'er the matchless tubs of Maiden. 
 
THE OLD PINE TREE. 
 
 Of all the flowers the earth can yield, 
 
 The fairest of them all 
 That decks the garden bower, or field, 
 
 Or scents the stately hall, 
 From streams that run 'neath India's sun 
 
 To yonder towering pine, 
 The loveliest gem on beauty^s stem, 
 
 Is artless Rosaline. 
 
 keen, keen blew the wintry breeze, 
 
 By fits, its moanings low 
 Resounding through the leafless trees, 
 
 Encased with icy snow 
 But raging storms in all their forms, 
 
 No terrors could define. 
 Nor keep apart one long loved heart. 
 
 That beat for Rosaline. 
 
 What wandering ghost can seek a host 
 
 In such a fearful night ? 
 The bolts were drew, a spectre flew. 
 
 Before the embers bright. 
 The mother gazed like one amazed, 
 
 Until that voice divine. 
 Rang sweetly loud as from her shroud, 
 
 Leapt warbling Rosaline. 
 
20 
 
 Blow, gently blow, each balmy breeze, 
 
 Around that peaceful cot, — 
 Ye birds that warble through the trees, 
 
 Enchant the sacred spot, 
 Let every joy beneath the sky, 
 
 With swift winged rapture flee, 
 To charm the breast I love the best, 
 
 Beneath the old pine tree. 
 
 For I must leave New England's shore. 
 
 As balmy June appears ; 
 The bowers with verdure to explore 
 
 And bathe with joyful tears. 
 'Tis not the sight of Nature bright 
 
 That parting, saddens me, 
 But 'tis the breast shall ne'er be prest 
 
 Beneath the old pine tree. 
 
 Adieu, Adieu, New England bowers. 
 
 No more in ye I'll 'twine 
 Gay garlands through the rapturous hours, 
 
 To crown young Rosaline ; 
 The birds that sing on winnowing wing 
 
 Sing woful notes to me, 
 They sing adieu to love and you. 
 
 Beneath the old pine tree. 
 
ADDEESS TO THE SUN. 
 
 Thou great, broad, bright, and glorious sun, 
 
 The life and light of every nation, 
 What lessons, from thee can be won 
 
 In every age and every station ; 
 Thou sendest through the object man 
 
 All that is worthy admiration ; 
 His wit and genius thou dost fan 
 
 With wisdom, fire, and inspiration. 
 
 Thou art a fearful masculine, 
 
 The skies all bear the declaration. 
 Through which thy sons in glory shine 
 
 A great revolving population. 
 Thy Queen of queens so feminine, 
 
 Is idolized by all creation. 
 And well may cause a heart like thine 
 
 To glow with amorous exultation. 
 
 Eternal in thy soaring height 
 
 Thou shin'st without a deviation, 
 Day after day, and send'st at night 
 
 Thy queen to yield us consolation, 
 When sweet love tales we may recite, 
 
 And wipe away the perspiration, 
 With which old Adam did us blight, 
 
 Thou emblem of our soul's salvation. 
 ♦3 
 
22 
 
 In Nature's verdant leaves is read, 
 
 Thou art the source of vegetation, 
 And to my friends oft have I said, 
 
 Thou art the source of recreation ; 
 What were our world without thine aid, 
 
 A fruitless mass of fermentation, — 
 And man with his all soaring head, 
 
 A worm deprived of observation. 
 
 Thou drawest vapors from the sea 
 
 Which learned men call evaporation. 
 They come in showers, refreshing, free. 
 
 Again for earth's resuscitation ; — 
 For every hue that decks the lea. 
 
 We owe to thee its derivation. 
 All colors to eternity, 
 
 Must owe thee each rich variation. 
 
 Thou spreadest o'er our earthly plain. 
 
 The system of amalgamation ; — 
 Thou ripen'st up our bursting grain. 
 
 From which we draw a bright libation ;- 
 Who has not heard in Scotia's strain 
 
 Of its unearthly adaptation 
 To rouse the drooping heart and brain 
 
 With courage, fire, and expectation ? 
 
 The mariner upon the seas. 
 
 By thee can make his calculation, — 
 His white sails flutter in the breeze 
 
 Which wafts him to his destination ; 
 Home, home, sweet home, his fancies seize 
 
 Bright faces and congratulation. 
 
23 
 
 His native vales and waving trees, 
 
 Pass through his mind in bright rotation. 
 
 Thou art a source to every land, 
 
 Of comfort, jay, and preservation, 
 At eve thou tak'st a glorious stand, 
 
 When warblers pay thee adoration ; 
 And man with his presuming hand 
 
 Thanks heaven for his high vocation, 
 To seize the sword and flaming brand, 
 
 And fill the world with desolation. 
 
 Thou art of kindness the king, 
 
 'Tis felt in every vibration, — 
 To thee the birds delight to sing 
 
 Their songs of heavenly adulation ; 
 But man his murd'rous weapons ring 
 
 To cease their joyful hearts' pulsation. 
 His fellow mortals, everything. 
 
 Hold him in utter detestation. 
 
 Men, have on bloody plains lay mangled. 
 
 While earth wept for her devastation. 
 Men, have their brother men to hang, led. 
 
 While false gods plead justification ; 
 Men have their finest feeling strangled. 
 
 To give their passions ventilation, 
 Joy, truth, and peace, thy reign has spangled 
 
 On earth since Time's first embarkation. 
 
 Men sit with men to sumptuous feasts. 
 While others rave with fair starvation ; 
 
 And count them lower modelled beasts. 
 For lack of gold and elevation, 
 
24 
 
 They lay their claim to murd'rous feats 
 For lands, and birth, and emulation, 
 
 Till death with withering scroll them meets 
 Emblazoned with the word damnation. 
 
 Blaze on thou great earth-cheering orb, 
 
 Fill every soul with deep sensation, 
 Cause many a thoughtless heart to throb, 
 
 And ponder o'er its own formation ; 
 And as we view thy bounties robe. 
 
 The verdant, waving, wide plantation, 
 Let inward suns our minds absorb. 
 
 And change our lives' perambulation. 
 
CAROLINE. 
 
 Canadian trees whine in the breeze, 
 
 The Convent bells I hear — 
 The hills around with snow are crowned, 
 
 The winter moon shines clear ; — 
 The storm without may rave and shout, 
 
 And stars may brightly shine 
 "While in my arms I clasp the charms 
 
 Of peerless Caroline. 
 
 Her breath is June's most spicy gale, 
 
 Her eye is summer's sun, 
 Her snowy breast the billow's crest. 
 
 That bears my soul-bark on 
 To boundless seas of endless bliss ; 
 
 So rapturous and divine 
 Is every breath that scents the earth 
 Surrounding Caroline. 
 
 The miser o'er his golden store 
 
 Exultingly may whine. 
 The epicure may life endure 
 
 Through feasts and ruby wine ; 
 To me is given the sweets of heaven. 
 
 For nightly I entwine 
 Within my arms the countless charms 
 
 Of blooming Caroline. 
 
THE HAPPY MAW. 
 
 Where Cynthia sheds her silvery light 
 And gilda the glistening world at night, 
 Where trees are reeling bare and tall 
 And grimly guarding Montreal, 
 O'er which red meteors shed their flame, 
 There dwells in Hymen's bonds a dame, — 
 And give her flattery, she'll weep. 
 And kiss the meanest, nastiest sweep, 
 Should he but make it twice his duty, 
 To compliment her on her beauty, 
 On him such favors she will lavish ; 
 If woman but a man could ravish. 
 She'd weaken, soften, overpower him. 
 Disgrace, degrade, destroy, deflower him. 
 
 Although her face is wrinkled o'er. 
 
 She wyles, and smiles, and paints the more. 
 
 As if a child in all the nation 
 
 Could not detect her affectation ; 
 
 And when she stands at the piano, 
 
 To hear her try to sing soprano, 
 
 'Twould make a dog knock down his father, 
 
 Squeel after squeel I'd ten times rather 
 
 Go iiear the echoes sound in tune. 
 
 Where bullfross serenade the moon. 
 
27 
 
 Her husband, poor thing, how she'll 'trounce it, 
 
 Should he but say she must not flounce it. 
 
 At the next ball with Whiskerado, . 
 
 Earth never witnessed a tornado, 
 
 "With all its soul appalling fears, 
 
 Like that she'll thunder round his ears. 
 
 The worthless, lifeless, soulless, sotten, 
 
 111 bred, cast off, low-begotten, 
 
 Wretch whose face betrays all fears, 
 
 Receive this hot tea round your ears. 
 
 And cringe sir, crouch, and learn your duty, 
 
 When you gaze on your Spouse's beauty, 
 
 These sobs will burst my heart I weep with, 
 
 To think I've such a priest to sleep with. 
 
 But things do not go always so, 
 
 For when she's cool, well does she know, 
 
 The way to quiet George's fears, 
 
 To curl his hair, tickle his ears, 
 
 And 'twine her arms around his pate, , 
 
 And kiss her constant loving mate. 
 
 Whose mellow lips are sweet as honey. 
 
 Who 's going to give his lovey money 
 
 To buy a dress of new blue silk, 
 
 And satin slippers white as milk, 
 
 To put upon her snowy feet, 
 
 To be the belle of all the street. 
 
 To show to each Canadian daughter, 
 
 What Chalmers brought from o'er the water. 
 
 And thus they stagger on through life, 
 A certain ass, a doubtful wife, 
 
28 
 
 Six times a week you may her meet, 
 
 With hairy rascals in the street, 
 
 And sure as e'er you look you'll find him, 
 
 Her George, dog-trotting on behind them. 
 
 To bear her shawl upon his arm, 
 
 And call a coach in case of storm. 
 
29 
 
 OUR SILENCE AN — A. 
 
 O mirk was the night, and the wild storm was swelling, 
 
 I gaed for the cot that looked over the lea, 
 And blest be the lassie that in it was dwelling. 
 
 For sweet was the light of her bonnie blue e*e, 
 We gazed while the storm rair'd without at each ^ither, 
 
 Her parents slept sound wi' their heads to the wa. 
 And few were the thoughts that we gave to the weather, 
 
 Wi' our blushing, our blinking, our silence, an — A. 
 
 But sad was the night that we met in the gloaming 
 
 When Jessie conjured me to love her for aye' 
 She gave me a ring to preside o'er my roaming — 
 
 I reeled and I knew not the night from the day. 
 Our bosoms responded with love and with anguish, 
 
 Our hearts were united they could not be twa, 
 Yet I must depart while young Jessie should languish 
 
 In solitude sorrow deserted an — a. 
 
 For many a year in the footsteps of glory 
 
 I marched till my purse was with gold laden o'er 
 And then I returned with the bravest in story 
 
 To stand on the soil of old Scotia once more. 
 I gazed till my e'en grew bedimmed as the ocean, 
 
 I gazed till my tears in the billows did fa 
 To see if the cot of my youthful emotion 
 
 Remained wi my ain bonnie lassie an — A. 
 4 
 
30 
 
 There 's nought could describe the first hour of our meeting 
 
 For Jessie had lain all her friends in the clay, 
 She wept on my breast with the rapture of greeting, 
 
 That breast which is now her ain pillow for aye 
 And oft I rejoice when the simmer is blooming, 
 
 But most do I greet when the tempest does blow, 
 For then I gae back when the sky is o'erglooming 
 
 To our blushing, our blinking, our silence, an — A. 
 
31 
 
 VERMONT JEAN. 
 
 The morn was fair, the balmy air 
 
 Came floating o'"er the flowery lea, 
 The heavens were bright, the warblers light, 
 
 Made heaven, and earth, more dear to see 
 The sparkling ground with diamonds crowned, 
 
 The dewy glisteners on the green, 
 Transfixed my heart with many a dart. 
 
 The morn I left young Vermont Jean. 
 
 Her heavenly eyes outshone the skies, 
 
 Her beautious brow the lily stole, 
 The roses red, were brightly spread 
 
 On trembling lips that charmed my soul, 
 The morn I prest her to my breast, 
 
 The morn her parting tear I seen, 
 I'd brave the world with flags unfurled, 
 
 To win that tear from Vermont Jean. 
 
 Ye flowerets smile, and long beguile, 
 
 The fairest, dearest spot one earth, 
 Long soar ye hills, and charm ye rills 
 
 The glorious vale that gave her birth. 
 As travelers keep across the deep. 
 
 Their native mountains in their e'en 
 My soul shall spring on Memory's wing 
 
 And drink that tear from Vermont Jean. 
 
THE IBISH SPARTAN. 
 
 As, bounding from a meadow wide, 
 We see a horse with graceful stride, 
 Over a wall, or river go, 
 Just like an arrow from a bow — 
 Or, as the bird with wings outspread, 
 Skims o'er the earth on which we tread, 
 If ridden well, we gaze admiring ; 
 There 's something in it so inspiring 
 Which rouses all men, smart or lazy, 
 But sets Hibernians downright crazy. 
 
 The man a well-mouthed horse can ride, 
 May, in himself take honest pride ; 
 For mouths that have had perfect drillings 
 Are tender as a virgin's feelings ; — 
 And he who would keep such society, 
 Must use both judgment and propriety ; 
 Determined courage too, must have it he, 
 And firm maintain his centre of gravity, 
 
 Th€ spines of beggars and of kings 
 Are all composed of various springs 
 Which make our saddles soft as cushions, 
 And save the rider all contusions ; 
 Who rides on Clarendonian principles, 
 Or Murat's prince of war's invincibles, 
 
33 
 
 With stirrups not too short, nor dangling, 
 But just the knee and heel an angle-in, 
 These angles, when the horse would floor him, 
 If straightened, raise the rider o'er him. 
 The horse may rear, and kick, and buck leap, 
 The rider can, if he has pluck, keep 
 Securely there as on his pillow. 
 Or in a safe bark o'er the billow. 
 
 Some pupils deem themselves invincible, 
 And will not deign to ride on principle ; 
 Instructors from them gain no thanks. 
 For still they sit like mountebanks ; — 
 We hourly see such men in dangers. 
 Though they to fear are perfect strangers, 
 When certain death we think they 're nearing, 
 Secure and glorious, they are cheering, 
 With lion hearts that never vary. 
 Like boisterous Hugh, from Tipperary, 
 With whom might teachers cease instruction, — 
 He 'd rant and ride e'en to destruction, 
 And aye, such nags he 'd get astride on, 
 As other mortals dare not ride on. 
 
 He was a whole-souled glorious fellow 
 As in old Ireland e'er was mellow. 
 The life of many a social throng. 
 With endless wit, and well timed song. 
 The care of many a charmer's heart, 
 So generous, free, and void of art ; 
 Around him swarms of children flew, 
 His steps like roses bright to strew, 
 Each dog near him seemed a reflector, 
 And hailed by instinct a protector, 
 4* 
 
84 
 
 To prove that no man could detest him, 
 Constables never would arrest him. 
 But nature spoiled him in the making ; 
 We saw his heart its casement breaking, 
 For three long years before it flew 
 To where we hope that peerless Hugh 
 Has room and joy from Him who made him, 
 Though some fanatics may upbraid him, 
 And banish him to darkest portals. 
 High heaven is kinder far than mortals. 
 
 0, Phoenix Park, thy bound'ries green. 
 With verdant groves and vales between, 
 How oft Fve o'er thy surface sprang, 
 Light as the m.orning lark that sang ; — 
 Thine every amorous heavenly place, 
 My faithful memory still can trace, 
 The streams that on thy bosom rank. 
 How oft I Ve cleared from bank to bank, 
 And cheered, ascending the blue sky, 
 Whilst echoes thrilled my soul with joy ; — 
 The sparkling gems on every thorn. 
 The thousand warblers greeting morn. 
 The rising sun's congenial heat, 
 The echoes of my courser's feet. 
 Those early scenes I cherish dear. 
 Remembrance still demands a tear 
 To Ireland, joy, to youth and glory, 
 And the poor hero of my story. 
 
 The grounds were moist from recent rain, 
 As, sweeping o'er the verdant plain 
 There rushed a dozen gallant stridors. 
 Bearing as many hero riders, 
 
35 
 
 With ease and grace those horsemen rode, 
 
 In fauhless style their horses strode 
 
 To hedge and ditch, o'er which they flew 
 
 Like birds, led forth by Centaur Hugh, 
 
 As fearless, careless, reckless, free 
 
 As wind, or wave, or cloud could be, 
 
 Upon a horse none of the mildest, 
 
 'T was hard to say which was the wildest — 
 
 For as they flew both high and fair, 
 
 They paused, and quivered in the air 
 
 As if, on mutual understanding, 
 
 To seek the mossiest place for landing. 
 
 One break-neck jump as we were nearing, 
 Hugh grew delirious, for his cheering 
 Aroused every horseman's fears. 
 Made every horse prick up his ears— 
 For where the quickset highest grew, 
 And stream was widest, there he flew, 
 And there he landed with a roar 
 Of triumph never heard before ; 
 But here his dangers were not spent — 
 The horse, disdaining all restraint. 
 Commenced to plunge upon a plan 
 That 's fatal proved to many a man ; 
 But now 't was Hugh he had to deal with. 
 And when all other means he 'd fail, with 
 Hurculean strength he 'd grasp the mane, 
 And, spite of fate, would there remain, 
 'Till one soil, horse and man should stain, 
 He plungad and tore, enough to tire out 
 The most courageous rider's fire out ; 
 But Hugh determined to outstrip him, 
 With the right hand commenced to whip him 
 
36 
 
 The horse finding his plunging spurious, 
 
 Now wheeled, and spurned the ground most furious ; 
 
 He tore the turf with fair vexation, 
 
 He ground his teeth like desperation ; 
 
 His neck was arched, his tail was stung, 
 
 High in the air the clods he flung. 
 
 His red wide nostrils snorting ire, 
 
 His eyes like circling orbs of fire ; 
 
 O'er bush, and bank, and rail, and river, 
 
 He like the lightning gleam, did quiver ; 
 
 Men stood aghast to see him clearing, 
 
 And yet, to hear the rider cheering 
 
 So reckless, dauntless, void of season, 
 
 They said the man had lost his reason ; 
 
 But no, the seaman in the gale, 
 
 With light trimmed bark, and furled sail, 
 
 Had ne'er more sangfroid self sustaining, 
 
 Than Hugh, all fear and care disdaining. 
 
 When furious waves lash mountains high, 
 When lightnings, darting from the sky. 
 The sturdy forest oak have rent. 
 When thunders shake the firmament. 
 When Boreas takes his western flight, 
 And rocks the slumbering world at night, 
 Poetic souls that then awake. 
 Some of the rapturous thrills partake, 
 Of him- who travels with the wind, 
 Leaving the world and care behind : 
 Inspiring bravery hovers o'er him, 
 Space opens wide her way before him — 
 Winged spirits take him in possession, 
 There 'e some reward to all progression ; 
 
37 
 
 But none from every pain so free, 
 As crowns us, sweeping o'er the lea. 
 
 Thus Hugh flew like the angry blast ; 
 
 He scarcely saw whate'er he passed, 
 
 For if his eye an object caught, 
 
 It passed him like a flashing thought,— 
 
 And yet, undaunted was his soul, 
 
 Alone, away from all control ; — 
 
 In vain, he screwed from left to right, 
 
 Still like the meteor's, was their flight, 
 
 But serious now he danger sees, 
 
 To where some closely planted trees 
 
 Through which few men when cool, could ride, 
 
 He hastens on with quickening stride ; 
 
 Great giants frowning in a clump, 
 
 Around them, twenty feet to jump, 
 
 Each effort fails his horse in turning, 
 
 And yet to change a muscle, spurning, 
 
 Necessity his courage lashing, 
 
 Like Murat, 'mongst the Cossacs dashing, 
 
 To where some hugh arm may prostrate him, 
 
 To where death may annihilate him ; 
 
 Through moistened mother earth they plow, 
 
 Struck by an intervening bough. 
 
 Headlong and furious they are hurled, 
 
 Like most, when soaring through this world. 
 
 0, would some high celestial power 
 Inspire my theme, and pen this hour, 
 To paint how horse and man did bound, 
 Just like the lightning from the ground, 
 And through the trees their way they sped. 
 And branches grazed our hero's head, — 
 
88 
 
 And how around that water deep 
 Ran breathless men, their eyes to keep 
 Upon the man who seemed a stranger 
 To fear from life, or death, or danger, 
 That all the world with wondering eyes, 
 Might cheer this Spartan in disguise. 
 
 Where e'er the horse his way could wend, 
 Or, at the trees his vengeance send, 
 He wheeled and sent his iron feet, 
 Which sunk like balls in battle's heat, — 
 He braved the boughs till almost blinded, 
 Till, by the rein and spur reminded, 
 He now was where the coast was clear. 
 His neigh re-echoing every cheer 
 Which welcomed him to where the river 
 Made every gazer there to shiver ; 
 But o'er it flew the fiery steed, 
 And hundreds yet record the deed. 
 And blended with that flying story, 
 Is Hugh, in all his cheering glory. 
 
 And then he took his flight away. 
 
 Just as the squall sweeps o'er the spray ; 
 
 To stop him, many vainly battled, 
 
 Still, on the furious courser rattled. 
 
 To many a hill-top he ascended, 
 
 Through many a vale his way he wended, 
 
 O'er rails and streams like desperation 
 
 He flew, as if by inspiration ; 
 
 Dragoons gazed on his feats, and wondered. 
 
 As onward, onward, still he thundered, — 
 
 To view him, crowds on hill assembled, 
 
 The weakest screamed, the bravest trembled, 
 
And, doubtless, raany a prayer enshrined them, 
 
 As fields and trees were left behind them ; 
 
 For now they make the city gates. 
 
 And through the densely crowded streets, 
 
 On, on, they wing their desperate flight. 
 
 And strike the passers dumb with fright ; 
 
 Sparks from the pavement 'round them fly, 
 
 Mud whirls high o'er them through the sky ; 
 
 The Dublin rabble follow after, 
 
 With loud huzzas and shouts of laughter; 
 
 But by such ill-timed mirth untroubled, 
 
 The quays they have with safety doubled, 
 
 Till rounding Carlisle buildings wide, 
 
 A dray-shaft strikes the horse's side. 
 
 From which, before he can recover, 
 
 The gathering crowd around him hover, 
 
 At bay, on every hand surrounded, 
 
 When round and round he 's vainly bounded, 
 
 He lifts his head in proud reliance, 
 
 And grandly snorts the foe defiance. 
 
 And how they led him captive home. 
 
 And played, the conquering hero 's come,-^ 
 
 Where Hugh met with his friends that night. 
 
 With merry hearts and faces bright, 
 
 And how, for weeks, the city rung 
 
 With his exploits on every tongue, 
 
 Is needless now to tell the prude, 
 
 The strictly virtuous, just, and good ; 
 
 But ye, who from that hair-brained school, 
 
 Despise all method, tact, and rule. 
 
 If ye have friends that will lament ye, 
 
 Receive the instructions heaven 's sent ye,— 
 
 For Fortune, over every blunderer, 
 
 Smiles not like on Hugh, the thunderer. 
 
40 
 
 NANCY WHITE. 
 
 The April moon was shining bright, 
 
 O'er many a towering hill of snow — 
 When, to my door, came Nancy White, 
 
 She knocked, slipped in, and wished to know 
 If really, I was going to go. 
 
 And take my fiddle, pipes, and all, 
 And on the light, fantastic toe, 
 
 To never trip in Montreal ? 
 
 Oh, yes, said I, dear Nancy White, 
 
 I 'm going to leave this sinful town — 
 Do not weep so, my heart's delight. 
 
 But drink this glass of malmsey down ; 
 Do n't spill it, darling, on your gown, — 
 
 You are so graceful, straight, and tall, 
 I 'm sure there 's naught my grief can drown, 
 
 When faj: from you and Montreal. 
 
 She drank my health, did Nancy White, 
 
 She let a tear fall on the glass — 
 She said I was her life-star bright. 
 
 Though short my shape, she'd never pass 
 Although she could through lengthy grass 
 
 Forever run, and never fall ; 
 She counted every man an ass, 
 
 Compared to me in Montreal. 
 
41 
 
 She took me in her arms so tight, 
 
 With kisses fervent, warm, and strong, 
 She kissed me o'er, did Nancy WJiite, 
 
 And then the street she went along, 
 She soon was hidden in the throng ; 
 
 The moon went down — and night^s dark pall 
 Engulfed that nymph of dance and song 
 
 Which bound my heart to Montreal. 
 
 5 
 
42 
 
 KATE OF AFTONDALE. 
 
 How lovely do the skies of June 
 
 O'er arch the landscapes gay, 
 How sweetly do the warblers tune 
 
 Their notes, from day to day ; 
 The echoes soft, the skies aloft, 
 
 The fragrant scented gale. 
 All, charm sincere, but none so dear 
 
 As Kate of Aftondale. 
 
 There 's not a lovlier girl than Kate 
 
 For twenty miles around, 
 And when she walks, her fairy feet 
 
 Like zephyrs, kiss the ground ; 
 Her smiles are like the radiant beams 
 
 That brighten up the vale, 
 Her love is like the circling streams 
 
 Surrounding Aftondale. 
 
 Young Tweedle's eyes are blue and cleai 
 
 And Kate's are clear and blue. 
 And Tweedle loves his Katy dear. 
 
 And Kate loves^ Tweedle, too ; 
 'Tis told for truth, the manly youth, 
 
 And Katy likes the tale. 
 Through whispering groves, he nightly roves 
 
 With Kate of Aftondale. 
 
48 
 
 A SONG FOR THE MAY. 
 
 The skies are all bine and the zephjrs beguiling, 
 
 Are laden with melody, fragrance, and song ; 
 The landscapes extending are gorgeously smiling, 
 
 The streams flow melodiously, sparkling, along, 
 The warblers are chanting o'er wildwood and river, 
 
 Th« echoes are answering their anthems away. 
 And Nature, all blooming and joyous as ever, 
 
 Walks forth in the pride and the glory of May. 
 
 O, how shall we praise all her soul-cheering splendor^ 
 
 In accents that have not bewildered before, 
 Whose garlands, whose bounties, whose beauty and gran- 
 deur. 
 
 Have roused the Immortals in ages of yore ; 
 There is not a chord of the heart but has sounded 
 
 In tuneful vibrations the raptures that play. 
 When the soul is ascending, triumphant, astounded, 
 
 Led captive to fame by the graces of May. 
 
 Yes, May, we shall sing thee, though minstrels departed 
 
 Have rivalled thy songsters in breathing the strain. 
 The love-light that shone, and the tear-drop that started, 
 
 They are mouldering,they never shall know them again, 
 Their shades we pursue like the waves of the ocean. 
 
 Bright chaplets we weave from thy flowers springing gay, 
 Their graves we bedew with a tear of emotion. 
 
 And strew with the first smiling gems of the May. 
 
 Kings of the world, whether roving the highlands. 
 Communing with spirits that dwell not below, 
 
44 
 
 Or, tracing the flight of the soul through the skylands, 
 Preserve me the transports your musings bestow, — 
 
 Now sweeping the regions of air on your pinions, 
 Now crushing the might of the tyrant for aye, 
 
 Now pacing the courts of Apollo's dominions, 
 Now twining your brows with the wreaths of the May, 
 
 Lights from the skies where the mountains have trembled, 
 
 And echoed the earth-saving shouts of the brave 
 Through the caves of the heart, while a smile hath dis- 
 sembled, 
 
 O, there iiave ye swept like the winds o'er the wave ; 
 To cherish the right, and to cheer the forsaken. 
 
 Have been the bright aims of the lords of the lay,— 
 And dead is the soul that has never partaken 
 
 Their love for the maiden, and songs of the May. 
 
 But, Mary, thine eyes like the bright stars are beaming. 
 
 Thy brow is as fair as the rock-gleaming snow, 
 Thy tresses of gold like the sunlight are streaming, 
 
 When evening steals over the streamlets below ; 
 The air is more sweet where thy breathings are blending. 
 
 With breezes around thee so fitfully stray. 
 And the birds o'er thy form are more joyful ascending 
 
 To praise thee, thou pride of my heart, and the May. 
 
 When the red rosy sun gilds the mountains at morning, 
 
 I rise, and I hear thee, inspiring the air, — 
 When the queen of the night is the lowlands adorning, 
 
 I rove with my Mary in ecstasy there ; 
 Yes, Mary, I love thee, thou queen of creation. 
 
 More dear to my eyes than the light of the day — 
 This heart is thine own, and the only vibration 
 
 That wanders from thee, love, sounds praise for the May. 
 
45 
 
 THE GEM OF THE THKEE. 
 
 In Maiden, there dwelleth three charming young dames, 
 
 Maria, Paulina, and Katy, their names — 
 
 Their forms are so lovely, their smiles are so free, 
 
 That I cannot tell which is the gem of the three ; 
 
 I cannot tell which is the gem of the three. 
 
 Maria is light as the lark in the morn, 
 Paulina is bright as the dew on the thorn, 
 Young Katy is fair as the rose on the tree, 
 And I cannot tell which is the gem of the three ; 
 I cannot tell which is the gem of the three. 
 
 A garland I Ve wove in the woodlands below, 
 Of flowerets, the rarest that Spring can bestow, — 
 For one of the fairies I vowed it would be, 
 But cannot tell which is the gem of the three ; 
 But cannot tell which is the gem of the three. 
 
 I have roved by such streams as the poets oft sing, 
 Where the Muse wafts the name of the fair from ber wing, 
 But, alas ! no such nymph will e'er hover o'er me, 
 Nor whisper me which is the gem of the three, — 
 Nor whisper me which is the gem of the three. 
 
 For Maria, the rose from my garland I'll tear, 
 Paulina, the lily shall wear in her hair, 
 The Mayflower and Katy shall sisters agree, 
 For I cannot tell which is the gem of the three, — 
 I cannot tell which is the gem of the three. 
 5* 
 
46 
 
 KITTY 
 
 'T was evening on the hills aloft, 
 
 The stream was winding clear beloTf, 
 The fragrant gale was hovering soft 
 
 Around the trees where roses blow, 
 When, blithesome as the bounding roe, 
 
 Young Kitty came across the lea 
 With every fibre in a glow, 
 
 To spend the twilight hour with me. 
 
 The hour was named, the place was marked. 
 
 And Kitty sought in vain for me 
 Where many an evening we had larked 
 
 And cracked our rattling tales of glee ; 
 For, perched upon a shadowy tree, 
 
 I watched her disappointments rise, 
 And laughed with noisless ecstasy, 
 
 To view her wildly wandering eyes. 
 
 I whistled up her favorite tune, 
 
 'T was "Scots wha hae wi Wallace bled " ; 
 When frae the streamlet to the moon. 
 
 In every way, she popped her head — 
 From tree to tree like light she fled, 
 
 Until she reached the oaken tree, 
 When not a single word she said. 
 
 But, shook her darling fist at me. 
 
47 
 
 Assisted by a friendly bough, 
 
 I landed lightly on the ground, 
 And pledged her a most sacred vow. 
 
 To never more go gadding 'round, 
 But stick to every word, as sound 
 
 As bark entwines its native tree. 
 And then, to heal each rankling wound, 
 
 Young Kitty gave a kiss to me. 
 
4S^ 
 
 I SIGH FOR THEE, MARY. 
 
 I sigh for thee, Mary, I sigh for thee only, 
 
 I sigh for thee, Mary, I 'm sad and I 'm lonely, 
 
 In vain to me, Mary, the heavens are smiling, 
 
 In vain to me, Mary, the flowers are beguiling, 
 
 Lonely and sad have I been since we parted, 
 
 Since I kissed off the tears to thine eye-lids that started, 
 
 My griefs ever new, are like rills to the river, 
 
 Since, Mary, I parted, and parted forever. 
 
 O, Mary, there is not a hue of the heaven, 
 A pulse of the morning or throb of the even. 
 But hails me in language that never can vary, 
 A soul searching language that tells me of Mary ; 
 There is not a rose that around me is blooming, 
 There is not a sun-beam the landscape illuming, 
 There is not a zephyr my brow that embraces, 
 But tells me of Mary, and speaks of her graces. 
 
 O, Mary, thy memory shall ever enshrine me, 
 And, Mary, my blessings shall ever entwine thee, 
 Mild be thy life, as the calm sleeping billow, 
 And kind be the spirits that guard o'er thy pillow, 
 My heart for another shall ne'er know emotion. 
 My life like a bark all alone on the ocean. 
 The thoughts of my Mary shall still be the breezes, 
 To waft me to regions where love never ceases. 
 
49 
 
 A HIGHLANDER'S ADDRESS TO HIS SONS, 
 
 AT BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 See ! yonder host from EnglaHcl's coast ! 
 
 They come, with chains and flaming brand, 
 They come, the hordes with thirsting swords, 
 
 To spread destruction o'er the land. 
 Upon old Scotia's soil we stand, 
 
 And by the air of heaven we draw, 
 The evening sun shall shine upon 
 
 No foe in Caledonia. 
 
 Come Jamie nigh, my Marion's eye. 
 
 In all its youthful prime I see, 
 I'd drain my core through every pore, I 
 
 That she might gaze again on thee, 
 But ere the Southron I would see. 
 
 Among our helpless lambs to fa, 
 A thousand James to quell his flames, 
 
 I'd spare for Caledonia. 
 
 And Rabie too, my royal blue. 
 
 Make bare thy brawny arm to day, 
 As toe to toe we fiercely go, 
 
 Into the thickest of the fray. 
 So long as there's a foe to slay, 
 
 For God and Bruce my children twa, 
 Like tigers charge or fight at bay, 
 
 And shout for Caledonia. 
 
50 
 
 Shake hands my bairns, let's take our gill, 
 
 For some must live, and some be slain, 
 And if by courage, chance or skill, 
 
 One of the three to night remain, 
 He'll spread it far in Victory's train, 
 
 How here we shook the parting paw, 
 And swore the old oath o'er again, 
 
 To die for Caledonia. 
 
51 
 
 THE AEK, 
 
 How sweet it is to ponder o'er 
 Creation's boundless, endless store, 
 
 Of rapture and of joy ; 
 In Summer, when the skies are blue. 
 And gems on every hand we view. 
 
 And all bright things decoy, — 
 When unalloyed enjoyment springs 
 
 From every blooming flower. 
 And hearts vibrate througli all their strings, 
 
 'Neath the enchanted power, 
 When dancing, and glancing, 
 
 The streams in Phoebus' blaze, 
 When soaring, and pouring, 
 
 The birds their artless lays. 
 
 When purple robes the world at morn, 
 And dew drops glisten on the thorn. 
 
 And health rides on the gale. 
 When evening steals upon the shore. 
 And spreads her peaceful mantle o'er 
 
 The mountain and the vale, 
 When Cynthia, o'er a slumbering world, 
 
 Leads forth her countless store 
 Of twinkling stars, like gems unfurled. 
 
 With all their envious lore. 
 There's peace then, there's bliss then, 
 
 There's food for souls on high, 
 
52 
 
 While gazing, and raising, 
 Our souls to yonder sky. 
 
 But all the pleasure nature yields, 
 When ranging o'er her ample fields, 
 
 Can never reach the heart, 
 Can never make the bosom swell, 
 And fire in evry fibre dwell. 
 
 Like love's inspiring dart. 
 When woman, lovely woman throws, 
 
 Her charms before the view, 
 It magnifies the soul it glows. 
 
 To evermore pursue 
 Our dreamings, our gleamings, 
 
 Of all that's bright and fair, 
 It charms us, disarms us. 
 
 Of every earthbound care. 
 
 Then hail to woman's sovereign sway, 
 And hail to yonder milky way. 
 
 And hail to every thing, 
 All hail thou beauteous, queen of night. 
 And thee, thou day-god, dazzling bright. 
 
 And warblers on the wing, 
 Our world is but a spacious ark, 
 
 And woman fair the dove. 
 That shall with us for aye embark, 
 
 And cheer us with her love. 
 Her form still, the storm chill, 
 
 To shield it, we will brave. 
 We'll praise her, and raise her. 
 
 O'er every threatening wave. 
 
63 
 
 JUNE AND JEANNIE. 
 
 Now is the time when Phoebus bright, 
 
 Lights up the dazzling sea, 
 And Summer's charms entrance the sight, 
 
 Far o'er the flowery lea ; — 
 Now is the time when birds rejoice 
 
 Throughout the amorous bowers. 
 And echoes call, and dew drops fall, 
 
 To bathe the fragrant flowers. 
 
 There's incense in the flowery trees, 
 
 That scent the balmy "gale, 
 There's rapture in the mountain breeze, 
 
 There's transport in the vale. 
 There's music in each trembling leaf. 
 
 Beneath the forest screen. 
 And countless gems wave on their stems. 
 
 And grace the rapturous scene. 
 
 There's mischief hid for Katy-did, 
 
 Resoundeth o'er the plain, 
 And from his hill Sir Whippoorwill, 
 
 Confirms the wondrous strain, 
 Did Katy take her wings and fly 
 
 To some Elysian sphere. 
 Which makes him mourn, her long sojourn, 
 
 Through each revolving year? 
 
54 
 
 Did Katy gay, her Willie meet, 
 
 Some night in flowery June, 
 And oft told tales of love repeat, 
 
 Beneath the silvery moon, 
 And prove unfaithful to her tows, 
 
 Such scenes do all regret, 
 As drives poor Will to yonder hill. 
 
 And stings his memory yet. 
 
 O, what the deuce did Katy do. 
 
 There's mischief in the name. 
 There's not a Kate I ever knew 
 
 Inspired the sacred flame, 
 But left some hopeless wight to tell 
 
 The silent moon his care. 
 And reap relief from scattering grief. 
 
 Upon the midnight air. 
 
 Had I thy wings Sir Whippoorwill, 
 
 And Katy chosed to go. 
 There's not a bird the world e'er heard, 
 
 To court the sweet echo. 
 Could make me perch on yonder hill. 
 
 And wail her faithless flight. 
 But I would rove from sky to grove, 
 
 And feast on all that's bright. 
 
 I'd kiss the sunbeam in the morn. 
 
 Before it reached our world, 
 I'd sip the dew drop from the thorn, 
 
 E're flowers their leaves unfurled, 
 I'd revel through melodious bowers, 
 
 And feast on all that's fair, 
 And in the arms of nature's charms. 
 
 Ne'er know one cumbering care. 
 
55 
 
 But fare thee well, Sir Whippoorwill, 
 
 So floating o'er the vale, 
 Despite of admonition still, 
 
 I hear thy changeless tale. 
 Arouse, arouse, thy drooping heart, 
 
 And cease thine endless wo. 
 To balmy June, or yon sweet moon, 
 
 Should ne'er such accents flow. 
 
 Come heavenly June, thy praise Til tune, 
 
 Around yon peaceful cot, 
 How lovely blows, each blooming rose, 
 
 Where June has blest the spot ; 
 There Jeannie bright, ne'er wings her flight, 
 
 New regions to explore. 
 But dwells in love, beneath the grove, 
 
 And queen's New England's shore. 
 
 Bright as the beam, that gilds the stream, 
 
 The smile she ever wears. 
 Her snowy breast is like the crest. 
 
 The lily pure uprears. 
 Yes, Jeannie fair, inspires the air, 
 
 "Where all thy charms are seen. 
 Both day and night, ray visions bright. 
 
 Are June and lovely Jean. 
 
56 
 
 A FISHING MEDLEY, 
 
 Upon a heavenly night in June, 
 
 As e'er the moon shone over, 
 While crystal streams melodious run 
 
 Through fertile fields of clover, 
 I dip my quill into my ink, 
 
 And by the cliffs of Dover, 
 Before I sleep this night a wink, 
 
 ril write to Bob the rover. 
 
 You doubtless, after such neglect, 
 
 Expect a long narration, 
 Of all that's bright and circumspect, 
 
 In this and every nation, 
 But let us strike such things from rhyme, 
 
 As politics and slaughter. 
 And list to what a glorious time, 
 
 We've had upon the water. 
 
 Last Tuesday morn, the sun rose red 
 
 O'er twelve of us, or more, 
 Mounted on steeds gently bred. 
 
 Wending for Chelsea shore, 
 We spurred our nags, flew past the crags, 
 
 The hills our clang resounding. 
 And in our boat, were soon afloat. 
 
 And o'er the waters bounding. 
 
57 
 
 Our bark flew o'er the deep blue sea, 
 
 Upon her snowy pinion, 
 And there we sighed with sympathy, 
 
 For every drowsey minion. 
 Whose brains o'er cents and dollars bright, 
 
 "Were steaming o'er his pillow, 
 While Nature chained us with delight, 
 
 Upon her glassy billow. 
 
 It was a soul inspiring sight — 
 
 The mighty ocean sleeping, 
 The touering crag's majestic height, 
 
 The distant willows weeping. 
 The wild birds with their startled screams, 
 
 To echo told their story, 
 The sun drove forth his gorgeous beams, 
 
 Through clouds of purple glory, 
 
 A youth was there whose restless eye 
 
 Bespoke the roving lover. 
 He gazed o'er ocean, earth and sky, 
 
 As if he could discover 
 The portrait of his mistress fair. 
 
 In all that did surround us. 
 When with the following theme and air, 
 
 He fairly did astound us. 
 
 Tune, 
 
 The Scotsman delights in hh own native mountains, 
 The sound of the pibroch is dear to his heal-t. 
 
 The sons of old Erin still rave o*er her fountains. 
 And crown her with glory though glories depar(^ 
 6* 
 
58 
 
 But shamrocks and thistles lose all their attraction, 
 And dim grows the lustre of England's proud rose, 
 
 Compared with the gem of Columbian extraction, 
 Which blooms where the Hudson majestically flows. 
 
 How oft has bright Phoebus on mild autumn evens, 
 
 Departing, emblazoned in purple and gold. 
 How oft has the queen of yon star-spangled heavens, 
 
 Which o'er the wide waters their beauties unfold ; 
 How oft have they gleamed o'er our moments of pleasure. 
 
 And brightened the soul thrilling raptures arose. 
 As pressed to this heart was that earth cheering treasure. 
 
 Which blooms where the Hudson majestically flows. 
 
 Gently the green banks the waters were laving. 
 
 Silent the crystal stream winding below, 
 Proudly the forest pines 'round us were waving. 
 
 And sweet o'er the vale came the night-bird's echo. 
 Such were the moments that witnessed our parting. 
 
 With feelings that parting alone can disclose — 
 As I kissed ofi'the dew from that rose heart was starting. 
 
 Which blooms where the the Hudson majestically flows. 
 
 True as the patriot writhing in torment, 
 
 Relies on his sabre, his rights to restore, 
 Bright as the mariner looks for the moment 
 
 Shall land him once more on his own native shore ; 
 So, do 1 look for that bright hour approaching. 
 
 When again to this wild beating heart I'll enclose 
 That gem of my soul, with no partings encroaching. 
 Which blooms where the Hudson majestically flows. 
 Recitative. 
 He drew a portrait from his breast, 
 And scanned it with emotion, 
 
59 
 
 The skipper brought our bark to rest 
 
 With anchor in the ocean ; 
 To bait the hooks and free each Ifhe, 
 
 He set himself" in motion, 
 While on our crackers, clieese, and wine, 
 
 We set with keen devotion. 
 
 All round and round the nectar passed, 
 
 Till every eye was shining ; 
 It stopped with one Allen at last. 
 
 Was in the stern reclining — 
 He brightened up a cheerful face 
 
 Which looked like nought repining, 
 And warbled forth the following grace, 
 
 Our inmost thoughts divining. 
 
 Tune — The Harp that once. 
 
 Th« blood that fired our fathers bold, 
 
 A hundred years ago, 
 Shall in our bosoms ne'er grow cold, 
 
 Shall never cease to glow, 
 So long as earth contains a son, 
 
 Or Sol lights up the sea, 
 The tyrant yoke our fathers broke. 
 
 Shall broken ever be. 
 
 The soil that drank our fathers* gore, 
 
 That soil we cherish dear, 
 The hills their glorious standards bore, 
 
 With life we shall revere. 
 We breath their spirits in the air. 
 
 Their souls to ours reply, 
 Which lessons give how we should live. 
 
 And teach us how to die. 
 
60 
 
 lAs o'er the scorching desert wide, 
 
 The panting traveler flies 
 Towards the stream whose dazzling gleam 
 
 Transports his weary eyes. 
 So millions fly towards our shores, 
 
 And millions more shall flee, 
 Till freedom's tide doih onward ride, 
 
 And earth shall echo Iree. 
 
 Recitative. 
 
 He ended 'midst three hearty cheers, 
 
 Were offered for his song and freedom, — 
 The skipper thundered in our ears, 
 
 He wished us every man to heed him ; 
 A shilling each we all should stake, 
 
 Cost at the word our sinkers under, 
 The first to catch a shad or hake. 
 
 Might sieze the stakes and laugh like thunder. 
 
 Sir Upton Sam the money drew, 
 
 And from the hamper too, the wine out. 
 To edify the jovial crew, 
 
 The skipper, he proposed to whine out 
 A song, although he could not sing ; 
 
 But when he met such jolly heroes, 
 He felt like some old glorious king. 
 
 Thinking o'er his old scrapes and sheroes. 
 
 Tune — Jack Robinson. 
 
 Messmates, I will sing you of a sailor's fist, 
 As good a one as ever cut a quid of twist, 
 Or shipped a bale o shag, or folded up a rag, 
 
 Or raised the Union Flag o'er the mizzen mast ; 
 There is not jolly citizen that bustles through the land, 
 
61 
 
 There is not a tender lady, be she e'er so fair and grand, 
 Nor a man in any station who has freedom at command, 
 But owes his independence to a seamaii*s fist. 
 
 In the year of eighteen hundred and let me see, 
 'Twas in the last war with Britain that I went to sea, 
 I felt upon the shore that I never could be free, 
 
 So I entered in the navy with this old brown fist , — 
 And soon I was convinced that the land's-men all were asses, 
 When -banging off our guns, and tossing off our glasses. 
 For all I ever met at such handiwork surpasses, 
 
 Or, fighting for the lasses, does this old brown fist. 
 
 I never shall forget taking our first prize, 
 In that saucy little rover that we called the Enterprize ; 
 ^* Clear the decks for action," roared the captain ; " blow 
 your eyes, 
 
 And clap a glass of liquor in each seman's fist ;" 
 The liquor down our throats in a jiffey it was run. 
 Each tar for glory panting, flew like lightening to his gun — 
 But our awkward raking broadside, put a stopper to the fun, 
 
 For she struck, all stripes and tatters, to each seaman's fist. 
 
 As we homeward bound in our prize did dash, 
 'Midst the thundor's roar, and the lightning's flash. 
 Every timber in her carcass did from stem to stern crash, 
 
 And the atmosphere around us turned to one black mist ; 
 But why should I delay you with the elements a raging. 
 When a story can be told you, more exciting and engaging^ 
 Of a meeting on the shore, in a house we called the Cage in, 
 
 Where the lovely lasses tript it to each seaman's fist. 
 
 When the glorious night revolving, had flown with joyous 
 bound. 
 
62 
 
 Bill Kidder prayed a prayer, and amen the solemn sound 
 With enthusiastic cheering, was re-echoed all around, 
 
 And I felt to realize it I'd blow off my fist — 
 'Twas the Lord in heaven bless us every man 
 With a quid, a handsome woman, and a foaming can, 
 And teach us, through our lives, if they 're only half a span, 
 
 To huzza for yankee doodle, and a seaman's fist. 
 
 So drink a jovial health unto our jolly tars. 
 With their weather-beaten figure heads and honored scars ; 
 May they always be successful when they 're fighting free- 
 dom's v/ars. 
 
 And every tyrant tremble 'neath a seaman's fist ; 
 And whether in a storm, they are swearing mighty civil. 
 Or, whether with their lasses they are dancing, at a revel, 
 Or, whether at their glasses they are swigging like the devil, 
 
 Let your prayers ascend to heaven for a seaman's fist. 
 
 Recitative. 
 He winded 'midst a general roar 
 Of bravo, treat him, and enchore, — 
 But as he prophesied a squall. 
 We voted homeward, one and all ; 
 Before the gale we swept along, 
 And sang the Canadian boat song — 
 When one arose with flashing, eye, 
 
 Like Neptune towering o'er the main, 
 Who with his hand towards the sky, 
 
 Harangued us in the following strain : 
 
 Speech. 
 Gather round me, hearts of glory, 
 
 Sons of freedom on the waves, 
 Let us hear truth's golden story,- 
 
 In this world of canting knaves ; 
 
65 
 
 Open hearts to truth devoted, 
 
 Are from all that 's grovelling, free } 
 Those for slandering shrewdness noted, 
 
 From the scandalous world we see — 
 Fifty years have driven o'er me, 
 
 Fifty more may drive again, — 
 But they '11 fail to lay before me 
 
 Stranger mysteries than men. 
 See yon wretch, whose high presumption 
 
 Paints him pure as yonder skies, 
 "While old Mammon's deep consumption^ 
 
 Rooted in his bosom lies. 
 Shall that bigot's deep damnation 
 
 O'er us like these billows swell ? 
 Shall we, for this recreation, 
 
 Sink where demons ever yell ? 
 Feed the hungry, clothe the naked. 
 
 Is the sound souled Christian's care j 
 Were this world my own, I 'd stake it. 
 
 That ye such my Trojans are — 
 Open hearts to truth devoted. 
 
 Are from all that 's grovelling, free ; 
 Those for slandering shrewdness, noted, 
 
 Form the scandalous w^orld we see. 
 
 Finale. 
 
 And how we fared upon the shore, 
 
 Banqueting and regaling, — 
 Discussing every topic o'er. 
 
 Connected with our sailing. 
 Until the midnight bell tolled out 
 
 The day's expiring story. 
 When round we toasted all about, 
 
 To crown our parting glory. 
 
64 
 
 And how we jumped upon our steeds, 
 
 And rattled bravely o'er 
 The strand, and road, that winding leads 
 
 From here to Chelsea shore ; 
 To now desist, with eyes of brine, 
 
 Old Prudence is imploring — 
 So here adieu, I '11 go and join 
 
 My neighbors, soundly snoring. 
 
65 
 
 A MORNING WALK. 
 
 I waDdered out at early dawn, 
 And frisking o'er the pearly lawn 
 
 The lambkins were at play, 
 The streams were wandering down the hills, 
 And perched above the rippling rills 
 
 The songsters joined the lay ; 
 In concert sweet they seemed to blend 
 
 Melodious loud and clear, 
 While all the echoes did attend 
 
 Like lads on lasses dear ; 
 The blending, the ending, , 
 
 The tenor of their tnne 
 We meet thee, we greet thee, 
 
 Our heaven approaching June. ^ 
 
 The trees were waving in the gale, 
 And sweeping o'er the flowery vale, 
 
 What fragrance filled the breeze. 
 Below, the roses steeped in dew. 
 Above, the opening skies were blue. 
 
 Expanding o'er the seas ; 
 The squirrel scaled the loftiest bough, 
 
 To gaze upon the scene, 
 The wild deer sought the mountain brow, 
 
 To hail the coming queen ; 
 While rising, rejoicing. 
 
 The flocks from many an isle ; 
 All beaming, and gleaming. 
 
 Beneath her radiant smile. 
 7 
 
Such were the joys of nature wild, 
 While man, her heaven-neglecting child. 
 
 Was locked in slumber's arms, 
 His every thought on gold was losty 
 Or on life's sea tempestuous tost, 
 
 Morn bare for him no charma, 
 In vain, the sun lit up the world, 
 
 His thoughts were still below, 
 In vain had June her charms unfurled, 
 
 He felt no rapturous glow ; 
 Still straining, and chaining. 
 
 To dross his every gaze^ 
 Till grasping, and gasping, 
 I He ends his lifeless days. 
 
 O nature when shall sons of earth. 
 Be conscious of thy sovereign worth, 
 
 And soul sustaining powers. 
 When with the world we are at war, 
 And every feeling is ajar. 
 
 Within these breasts of ours. 
 We wander with the threatening storm. 
 
 It vibrates with our grief. 
 Here lovely June herself can charm. 
 
 And speak our souls relief; 
 She blesses, she kisses. 
 
 The dew drop to the skies, 
 We view this, pursue this. 
 
 And countless hopes arise. 
 
 How cheerful all her votaries are. 
 Compared with those who breathe the air^ 
 Of cells exploring lore — 
 
67 
 
 To prove our world was never made, 
 
 But just through space by chance has. strayed, 
 
 Let fools their creeds adore — 
 But June, beneath thy glorious sky, 
 
 The soul that can't expand, 
 Nor hush in morning's rosy eye, 
 
 'Neath the enchanter's wand, 
 Is worthless, is faithless,' 
 
 Unknown to glory's goal. 
 That warmer, that charmer. 
 
 That magnet of the soul. 
 
 Then hail ye shivering sons of clay. 
 Let's all be joyful while we may, 
 
 A few revolving years. 
 Our bones shall mingle with the sod,} 
 On which our fathers downward trod. 
 
 Through hopes, and doubts, and fears ; 
 The roaring floods, and spouting whales, 
 
 Could not our world destroy. 
 Nor shall to-morrow's threatening gales, 
 
 Our hopes to-day destroy ; 
 Nay, droop not, nor stoop not, 
 
 But all your nerves jattune, 
 To mingle, and tingle. 
 
 With every pulse of June. 
 
«p 
 
 THE STAR OP NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 The May month went by, with her moon beaming newly, 
 And left blue-eyed June, of her trophies the queen, 
 
 Young June, too, has flown, and the bright skies of July 
 
 Are spread o'er the landscapes and mountain's so green, 
 
 Young June, blue-eyed June, with her beauty so blooming, 
 July with her grandeur, so gorgeous to see 
 
 Have bright gems produced but the brightest illuming, 
 Is the star of New England, that beams upon me. 
 
 I have gazed on that star when the winter so lioary, 
 
 Encompassed the earth with her mantle of snow, 
 But safe in its course, like a true star of glory. 
 
 It learned from more bleakness, more brightly to glow, 
 And now that the world, with its beauty is reeling, 
 
 And splendor presides o'er the land and the sea. 
 My heart bounds to all but the depths of its feeling, 
 
 Are where that young star beams so proudly on me. 
 
 How proud are the hills where past heroes united, 
 
 And bathed the rich soil that we tread with their gore. 
 How grand are the strains which our souls oft delighted, 
 
 And thrilled with their glories thrice deep to the core, 
 But grander by far than the mountains ascending, 
 
 Are my flights like the eagle's all boundless and free, 
 And my soul with the skies is triumphantly blending, 
 
 Where the star of New England beams proudly on me. 
 
«9 
 
 EPISTLE TO THOMAS CIAEENDON, ESQ, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 How oft I call to mind, 
 
 The glorious days of yore. 
 When following thy instructions kind, 
 
 My youthful heart flowed o'er, 
 When like the meteor's was our flight, 
 
 Or breezes o'er the spray, 
 We scoured the plains while Nature's strains, 
 
 Inspired us on our way. 
 
 What countless times I ponder o'er, 
 
 The soul inspiring joy 
 Called forth when thy loud bravo's roar, 
 
 Ee-echoed through the sky. 
 The quenchless fires those echoes raised 
 
 For glory in my soul. 
 Resistless blaze through flight of days, 
 
 And spurn the world's control. 
 
 The secret charm 'tween man and horse, 
 
 How few can understand, 
 Which unperceived, directs their course, 
 
 The glorious slight of hand. 
 It thrills the heart with rapture's dart, 
 
 It brightens all below 
 Bright as the joys in lovers' eyef, 
 
 When souls in union glow. 
 
 r 
 
79 
 
 With angle at the knee and heel, 
 
 And strait erected spine, 
 The mouth refined, like silk to feel, 
 
 When all harmonious join, 
 When fences smile like maidens gay, 
 
 What transports fill the air ; 
 What powers of speech can ever teach 
 
 The soul's delirium there. 
 
 There's glory in the courser's pride ; 
 
 There 's grandeur in his mien ; 
 There 's music in his tuneful stride, 
 
 When bounding o'er the plain ; 
 His beauty rivals woman fair, 
 
 In all her youthful bloom, — 
 He sweeps the plain where tyrants reign, 
 
 Hia neigh is freedom's plume. 
 
 How oft my thoughts like lightnings dart 
 
 Across the foaming brine. 
 With all that springs from soul and heart, 
 
 Surrounding thee and thine ; 
 How oft I long for early joys. 
 
 From morning's dawn till night — 
 And in my dreams o'er banks and stream^?, 
 
 Take Boreas like my flight. 
 
 I breath the air of freedom deep, 
 
 I drink life's every joy, 
 I bask where heavenly transports sweep 
 
 From beauty's dazzling eye ; 
 Enchanted with the soaring strain, 
 
 I pace elysian bowers, — 
 Yet ten times more I 'd forfeit o'er. 
 
 For Erin's youthful hours. 
 
71 
 
 The dewy thorn, the purple morn, 
 
 The skylark's thrilling strain, 
 The towering hills, the winding rills, 
 
 Where pleasures ever reign, 
 The fragrant gales, the flowery vales. 
 
 That hallow Erin's isle, 
 Swift wing the hour when freedom's dower 
 
 Shall crown her sainted soil. 
 
 Long may old Ireland's hills and vales 
 
 Enchant thy prosperous years, 
 And long may all her loves and wails 
 
 Be music to thine ears ; 
 And long may powers propitious twine 
 
 Thy home with peaceful flowers, 
 And joys divine all hearts enshrine. 
 
 Throughout the rapturous hours. 
 
 Long may thy light and genius bright 
 
 Beam o'er a grateful world. 
 And skeptics o^vn their darkness flown 
 
 Before thy truths unfurled ; 
 And endless years shower forth their tears 
 
 Where'er the laurels wave ; 
 Around thy tomb whose envious doom, 
 
 Is marked a hero's grave. 
 
72 
 
 DOES ENGLAND BOAST? 
 
 Does England boast from Albion's coast 
 To take the favoring gales 
 
 And steer her hordes with servile swords 
 To fight in freedom's vales ? 
 
 By heaven, the sun that shines upon 
 Her ranks on freedom's shore, 
 
 With one hurrah her proud array- 
 Shall sink to rise no more. 
 
 For here are some whose rights, whose home, 
 
 Whose kindred, all have flown, — 
 They 'd rend the skies with glorious cries, 
 
 To face the foe alone ; 
 Then speed the hour whene'er her power 
 
 Shall dare to court the fray — 
 The world shall tell what myriads fell 
 
 At Erin's old hurrah. 
 
 That wild hurrah that swept the spray 
 
 When England was in chains. 
 That foiled her Joy at Fontenoy, 
 
 That oft Columbia's plains 
 Have heard it ring while victory's wing 
 
 Her bravest generals crowned, 
 Whilst slaughtered ranks and scattering flanks 
 
 Of foemen, strewed the ground. 
 
 O, for a steed and trusty blade 
 To mingle in the fight, 
 
73 
 
 The charge, the shock, the bursting rock, 
 Of bayonets glistening bright — ; 
 
 The crimsoned steel, the wavering reel. 
 The glory of the day, 
 
 When England's host shall bite the dust, 
 At Erin's old hurrah. 
 
 THE SHILLELAH. 
 
 Shall Scotland's kelt of every hue. 
 
 Of red, and white, and green, and blue, 
 
 Be sung by every Scotchman true. 
 
 Who tells you how he '11 whale ye ; 
 And Ireland give us not a tune. 
 To drink her health from June to June, 
 But sit and whine because her spoon 
 
 Has gone from her Shillelah ; 
 Cheer up old Ireland ! you 're a sight 
 When dressed in Spring, with daisies white. 
 To make your lads and lasses bright 
 
 Defy the world to rail ye ; 
 The world has not a bird in Spring, 
 To beat your peerless maids that sing. 
 Nor men to fight like those who swing 
 
 Your glorious old Shillelah. 
 
74 
 
 What if your spoon lias fled from sight — 
 The same is Rome's and Greece's plight ; 
 Your spoon has gone — but firm and tight 
 
 You grasp your old Shillelah. 
 When freedom reigned on Tara's hill, 
 Her strains were heard on every rill, 
 And men arrayed in arms to kill. 
 
 Surrounded your Shillelah ; 
 Those rills as in the days of yore, 
 Shall redly run with Saxon gore. 
 And high, the scene of conflict o'er, 
 
 We '11 shake your old Shillelah ; 
 And where, upon the gory plain. 
 Are piles on piles, and heaps of slain. 
 Your long lost spoon will come again. 
 
 And kiss your old Shillelah. 
 
 Then will your champions dwell at home. 
 And wandering wild no longer roam. 
 But make your steaming tankards foam, 
 
 And bliss will never fail ye ; 
 Your maids in rosy chaplets crowned. 
 Will dance like fairies on the ground. 
 And make our hearts tumultuous bound. 
 
 And wild with transport hail ye ; 
 While every man from pole to pole 
 Who has the thing that 's called a soul, 
 Will' fill a brimming, swimming bowl 
 
 And drink your old Shillelah ; 
 O, how that toast the bosom thrills 
 The brave Circassian and his hills, 
 Hungary's plumes o'er Austria's quills, 
 
 And Ireland's old ShiUelah. 
 
7£r 
 
 Then men who ne'er to kings have knelt,. 
 Shall brethren be in pants and kelt ; 
 The Scot, the Saxon and the Celt 
 
 Will form a grand regalia ; 
 They '11 blend their hearts and hands in one, 
 Forget the deeds and ages gone, 
 And bless the hour that Ireland won 
 
 Her spoon with her Shillelah ; 
 And I, who like a stormy spray, 
 Am banged about from bay to bay. 
 The last sweet words I hope to say, 
 
 Are, bless you old Shillelah ; 
 Long may your daughters fair excel, 
 And freedom with your warriors dwell, 
 Who. kind as heaven, and fierce as hell, 
 
 Will guard your old Shillelah* 
 
76 
 
 JOHN McCAKTHY. 
 
 Dear Ann, your bright and smiling face, 
 
 Where all that 's sweet reposes, 
 Your eyes that flash with joy and grace, 
 
 Your cheeks like summer roses, 
 What angel bright, what guiding star, 
 
 Rules o'er his earthly part, he 
 Must have the gods to fight love's war, 
 
 That wyling John McCarthy. 
 
 When on your beauteous face I gaze, 
 
 So pure from Nature's turning, 
 And ponder o'er the sacred blaze 
 
 Within your bosom burning, 
 If there was aught beneath the sky 
 
 Could make old envy start me, 
 *T would be the soul-inspiring joy 
 
 That waits on John McCarthy. 
 
 But don't suppose, my lovely rose. 
 
 These lines of love do savor — 
 They're merely meant your praise to enclose, 
 
 And beg from you a favor ; 
 When dressed in white beside your John, 
 
 Old Hymen waits to start ye, 
 Just have me there to gaze upon 
 
 Yourself and John McCarthy. 
 
 And centred in the joyful throng, 
 When smiles are brightly beaming. 
 
77 
 
 And circulate the wine and song, 
 And hearts are truthful teeming, 
 
 I'll toast for never ending glee, 
 And offspring stout and hearty, 
 
 While all will cheer with three times three, 
 For John and Ann McCarthy. 
 
 Adieu, my bright New England flower. 
 
 May fruitfulness attend ye. 
 An age of joy to every hour, 
 
 And sacred powers befriend ye, 
 While rivers run, or shines the sun, 
 
 Or weddings call for parties. 
 On freedom's coast may history boast 
 
 Of endless brave McCarthies. 
 
 8 
 
78 
 
 KEMEMBER THE POOR. 
 
 The Autumn has flown with her locks waving yellow, 
 
 The foliage of Summer has flown from the trees, 
 The echoes resounding all sweetly and mellow, 
 
 No longer delight us at eve on the breeze ; 
 The Autumn has flown, and the Winter is swelling, 
 
 The tempest howls fierce o'er the moon-gilded moor. 
 And wildly the piercing blast raves round our dwelling, 
 
 And now is the time to remember the poor. 
 
 Remember the poor ; let the watchword awaken 
 
 The heart that is crusted with selfishness o'er, 
 Shall we, who have blessings from childhood partaken. 
 
 Be deaf to the pleadings that come from the poor ? 
 As vapors that rise on the beams of the morning, 
 
 So softly descend when the day-beams are o'er. 
 So blessings the choicest forever adorning, 
 
 Shall shower round the footsteps that wend to the poor. 
 
 Remember the poor ; when the Savior alighted. 
 
 The standard of war floated proud o'er the world, — 
 The clangor of conflict the nations delighted. 
 
 He graced not one scene where such flags were unfurled, 
 Their war-shouts have ceased and their carnage is ended. 
 
 Oblivion presides o'er their trophies secure — 
 But the Name that with glory immortal is blended. 
 
 The Champion of Calvary died for the poor. 
 
 In the days of our youth, when our bosoms are bounding, 
 Our love with the rose bud and dew drop we twine, 
 
79 
 
 And visions of brightness celestial surrounding, 
 Inspire us with raptures ethereal, divine ; 
 
 It may be that they, when their young lives were bloomings 
 Had love that they cherished as spotless and pure, — 
 
 In the days of our youth, or when life is consuming, 
 Let our bosoms expand to the wants of the poor. 
 
 For there is a Kingdom afar in the skylands, 
 
 "Wliere spirits preside that are brighter than air. 
 And mansions of bliss are prepared in those highlands, 
 
 To welcome the outcast eternally there ; 
 And all who would soar to those glorious dominions. 
 
 The wings that will bear them triumphant and sure, 
 Are those which the angels call Charity's pinions, 
 
 Whose plumes are the gifts we bestow to the poor. 
 
80 
 
 NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 *Tis June — and blooming o'er Columbia's shore, 
 Land of the Pilgrim Fathers, and the brave ! 
 Heroes who waded through their crimson gore, 
 Verdure and beauty o'er their relics wave — ^ 
 Peace to their ashes — in the hallowed grave, 
 Those graves now watered by an age's tears ; 
 Long as an Arm Omnipotent to save, 
 Columbia ever o'er her eagle rears, 
 Shall blessings crown the few who saved her earlier years. 
 
 O'er hill and vale what speechless beauty blooms ! 
 The tall pines waving in the mountain breeze, 
 The far expanding forest's varying plumes, 
 The day-god dancing o'er the dazzling seas. 
 The wild birds warbling forth their melodies. 
 In gorgeous plumage how their anthems warm 
 The sons of freedom ! how the free soul flees 
 To toil, when labor's blest reward shall charm! 
 The home with peaceful flowers no despot's breath can harm. 
 
 Here soar the hills and shines the constant sun, 
 Where ranged the red man in his forest's free ; 
 Monarch of waving woods and streams that run 
 Majestically mingling in their native sea, 
 Here rung his war-whoop o'er the threatening lea, 
 And led the war-dance with triumphal song, 
 Here waked the hills with joyous revelry, 
 And wreaked his vengeance on the hostile throng. 
 With that wild zeal which bears the Indian's soul alonor. j 
 
81 
 
 From whence that race of tameless spirits sprung. 
 With passions quenchless as Yesuvius^'s fire, 
 Firm in their friendship, but with vengeance stung. 
 Merciless as the waves' unsparing ire. 
 Revenge their virtue, and their law desire, 
 Nature their Bible, and the unerring bow 
 The cross which taught their visions to aspire 
 To the Great Spirit where their souls should go, 
 To range the eternal spheres and chase the bujQTalo. 
 
 Sprung they not from heaven ? for we have read 
 Bright angels once did to our sisters bow. 
 Baffling the wisdom of the mightiest head. 
 Did e'er through dark mysterious problems plough ; 
 If angels fell, may heaven protect us now 
 From beauty's witching snares where'er unfurled. 
 For fascination stamped on many a brow. 
 Still chains us, though destruction should be hurled, 
 Fierce as e'er swept o'er the antedeluvian world. 
 
 From whence they sprung forever brave and glorious, 
 Match them for pureness of the patriot's heart, 
 Match them unconquered in death gripe victorious. 
 What heroism doth the Indian's soul impart ! 
 For still inspired by some mysterious dart, 
 'Tis more than human steels the savage breast 
 To yet defy the invader and his art. 
 And find in naked regions life and rest, 
 With flesh unstained by aught the soul must still detest. 
 
 Steal sorrowingly each wailing breeze along ! 
 Ye murmuring rills in mournful cadence flow ! 
 Ye soaring songsters, cease the jocund song. 
 And thou great heaven's illuminer to glow ! 
 8* 
 
d2 
 
 Let eve and more their weeping plumage show, 
 To mourn the sorrows of the forest race, 
 Whose free born souls unwed to slavery bow, 
 Despised that union and contagion base, 
 "Which Mammon's votaries wijpld to trample and deface. 
 
 To serve vile ends, to chain the soaring soul, 
 To plant corruption in the bosom's core, 
 To teach the boundless tide of sins that roll 
 From earth's most polished and enlightened shore, 
 With outward zeal men's doctrins to adore, 
 To bow submission to the sword and brand, 
 To preach salvation from red fields of gore, 
 To make men's bones their temple's fulcrum stand, 
 To flee to heaven or hell by man's supreme command. 
 
 'T was this the Indian grasped, and grasping spurned. 
 Unskilled in aught save nature's magic lore ; 
 His mind from youth to manhood's strength inurned, 
 To catch the freedom of the torrent's roar, 
 To view the eagle on his pinions soar. 
 To tune his musings with the reckless wind. 
 To watch the Avild waves from the beetling shore. 
 His Maker's mightiness grafted on his mind. 
 With boundless thoughts which man might vainly hope to bind. 
 
 Oft has he roved along these flowing rivers. 
 And gave his wanderings to the evening .breeze, 
 Watching the leafy bough's melodious quivers, 
 And the red sun set o'er the western seas. 
 And heaven's fair queen walk forth with lovely ease, 
 His mind untrammeled by one earth-bound care, 
 What pen can trace the thoughts his soul might sieze, 
 The freeborn gazing on Nature's freedom rare, 
 With love perchance that paints the sunbeam bright more fair. 
 
83 
 
 To throb with Nature is in love to dwell, 
 For Nature twines her votaries in love ; 
 Essence of the Creator to excel, 
 In loving nature is to soar above ; 
 The legioned ranks that downward ever move, 
 Their aims the vapors o'er the ocean roll ; 
 Thus her son dwelling midst her charms could prove, 
 Her scenes unchanging should surround his soul. 
 Without one blast of time to sound a saddening knoll. 
 
 Israel's fate o'er Time's tempestuous billows 
 Rolls forth and calls the sympathetic tear ; 
 How Babel's streams flowed past the Aveeping willows 
 On which were hung the harps to freedom dear ! 
 Thus ruined nations weeping minstrels rear ; 
 Alas ! the red man mourns nor o'er his fate, 
 His soul of steel with silence prides to bear, — 
 All weaker spirits tremble to relate — 
 Unwept, unsung, he sinks to mingle with the great 
 
 Warriors whose wampums speak of matchless deeds. 
 Warriors whose spirits hover o'er his path, 
 Warriors whose son invokes them as he bleeds, 
 To foil the pale face in his murderous wrath. 
 Who dares where naught save the wild eagle hath 
 The soil invaded, sacred to the free. 
 War's blighting whirlwinds may cowards scathe. 
 Annihilation, must the finale be. 
 Ere Chili's mountain bands admit one foeman's fee. 
 
 Piety degraded in the dust was laid, 
 Till raised on Calvary to its glory bright ; 
 Liberty was grated from the despot's aid, 
 Till born anew on Bunker's holy height ; 
 
u 
 
 So loometh Justice from her mkkiest night, 
 When all seems lost, there is a power that saves ; 
 And yet the Auracanians in their might, 
 Led by some Gideon may chastise the knaves, 
 Whose father's treachery drank the gore of former braves. 
 
 When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war ;* 
 So the poor Indians by themselves were rent, 
 Yielding to the influence of an adverse star, 
 Lavishing their blood on rival nations, bent 
 On spoil — and if from shades of hades sent — 
 'Twas spoil and conscience flees from mammon's smiles, 
 So mercy banished from her firmament, 
 Saw brethren heaped in gory battle's piles, 
 Betrayed, dispersed, despised by the usurper's wiles. 
 
 The scene has changed ; no more the war-whoop rings ; 
 Contention 's flown, and Peace has built her nest. 
 And glorious Science spreads her ample wings. 
 And Freedom rears aloft her glittering crest ; 
 A nation's heart beats joyfully at rest, 
 European nations brighten in its glow. 
 With naught to raise one murmur in its breast. 
 Save slavery shrieking and the changeless foe, 
 AVhich steals as o'er the lyre a nameless strain of wo. 
 
 Cursed be the chains that bind a brother man ; 
 Oblivion sieze the heartless wretch for aye. 
 Who can with placid self-composure scan ^ 
 
 The negro broiling 'neath meridian ray. 
 Each kid-glove warrior of the modern day, 
 AVhose thunder-pealing eloquence appals. 
 With lightning wit illumining his way. 
 Awing the servile vulgar horde that crawls. 
 Who yon for freedom shrieks, and here for slavery calls. 
 
 * Byron. 
 
85 
 
 The morning bursts upon a thousand hills, 
 And robes creation in a golden glow, 
 Showering its grandeur o'er the sparkling rills, 
 Melodiously winding in their course below, 
 O'er which the giant oaks their branches throw, 
 The green banks spangled with night's dewy tears. 
 All nature joins a universal flow 
 Of hallelujahs through the brightening spheres, 
 But where is Erin's bark to charm its votary's ears. 
 
 Aurora smiles upon a village scene. 
 As fine as e'er the poets pen hath traced ; 
 The steeples glistening through the elms all green. 
 Towering like freedom o'er the offspring graced 
 "With smiles by garlands brightly interlaced. 
 The while cots sheltering 'neath their arms repose. 
 Peeping like daisies 'neath the rose bush placed, 
 Echoing notes of ecstasy from those. 
 Young hearts which bound for joys the day shall ope and close* 
 
 High bound all hearts ; sweet music fills the air ; 
 In ranks they form around their seniors spry. 
 With habiliments varying as the rainbow fair. 
 And eyes more bright than stars in winter's sky. 
 No joys like theirs beneath yon raiment high. 
 As on they whirl on to the cool shady grove, 
 Where all shall mingle in the revelry, 
 The young, the old, in one gay vortex move. 
 Entwined with all that springs from Universal love. 
 
 They pace the grove, they twine their youthful brows 
 With garlands gathered from the forest green ; 
 They swing delighted o'er the tangling boughs. 
 Or catch the gracehoop with angelic mein, 
 
86 
 
 Or steer their boat tbeir beetling crags between ; 
 So speed the hours on joy's delirious wings, 
 Some graver parties scan the exulting scene, 
 Or quaff the nectar from the amber springs, 
 While every echo round with answering rapture rings. 
 
 The bugle sounds, they form a circle wide, 
 To view their village queen, all hearts ensnare ; 
 They gaze with bounding breasts of joyous pride, 
 And sound her praise on the vibrating air ; 
 They shower their garlands culled with special care, 
 Around her steps retiring from the throng, 
 While Kate with smiles a god might crave to share, 
 Gildes from the dance with fairy trip along, 
 Like some sweet nymph of air that fires the minstrel's song. 
 
 The feast prepared, they stand with reverend air, 
 And lift their hearts to Nature's God of Love, 
 Piercing the skies, the suppliant man of prayer, 
 Reveals the joyous hosts in courts above. 
 Who gleam as shall the faithful ever move 
 In spotless righteousness for ever more, 
 Praising the Arm that shall protection prove, 
 To all who will from wallowing sin but soar, 
 With power they ante-taste upon New England's shore. 
 
 Hearts reel with ioy, souls minghng overflow. 
 The grove is radiant with the light of smiles ; 
 Heroic strains explore the vales below. 
 Echoing proudly through the neighboring isles ; 
 Pleasure exhausted into rest recoils, 
 Spirits of heroes ride upon the gale, 
 Oppression shrinks where freedom's voice reviles, 
 AVho dreams of slavery where the sacred tale 
 Of godlike Washington a thousand hearts inhale ? 
 
87 
 
 Such are the gentle sports Columbia yields : ^ 
 No gladiatorial combats stain her shore ; 
 No gods emblazoned on her martial shidlds, 
 Lead reckless legions to the conflict's roar ; 
 Far as the eagle o'er her realms can soar, 
 So far doth conquest spread her boundless wings, 
 To bloom for aye unbathed in human gore, 
 Untrod by despots, and unground by kings, [beings. 
 
 Each freshening breeze that blows her strengthening thousands 
 
 I have stood, Columbia, at thy Savior's tomb, 
 And laid my hand on Washington's cold heart ; 
 It beat not, — but methought the tyrant's doom. 
 Was seen from out his sacred grave to start ; 
 Though closed that eye which flashed with freedom's dart, 
 And unupraised his heaven-avenging arm. 
 Yet, when from cowering despots shall depart 
 Those deeds heroic and that towering form. 
 Which still o'erawe their souls as Christ rebuked the storm. 
 
 It is a spot where tears shall ever flow. 
 Yet not in sorrow for the good and brave, — 
 But there is that in man which loves to show 
 A kindred feeling unto such as have 
 Our race ennobled, on the land or wave, 
 In arts, or arms, or whatsoever throws 
 Transcendant brightness o'er our souls we crave, 
 To show the tide that in our bosoms flows. 
 Thus worth, through every age, the world a tear bestows. 
 
 The glorious sun sets grandly in the west ; 
 The queen of night assumes her silent reign. 
 Streaming her grandeur o'er the ocean's crest, 
 Mellowing tho mountains steep, and gilded plain ; 
 
88 
 
 The stars walk forth and form a fitting train, 
 To join the beauteous empress of the skies, — 
 Spangling with countless gems the sleeping main, 
 A thousand fathoms deep their speaking eyes, 
 As heart to heart entwined from earth to heaven replies. 
 
 'Tis eye, and round the village suburbs now, 
 High bounds the heart of many a joyous swain ; 
 Light is the form, and fair the snowy brow 
 Of many a maid who treads the flowery plain ; 
 The fire-fly glows along the lengthening glen, 
 Sweet is the music of the rippling rills, 
 The fragrant winds breathe balm for every pain, 
 The echoes whisper through the neighboring hills. 
 And countless are the charms with which the evening thrills. 
 
 Fresh, fair, and lovely is the rapturous scene. 
 The hills like pensive brides in sweet array. 
 Pure silver gleaming o'er their garments green. 
 Their brows entwined with summer garlands gay ; 
 Here might the weary pilgrim on his way, 
 Cry Land of Beaula, 'neath their airy height, 
 Quaffing their rills while o'er their spirits stray, 
 Sensations rivalling the lover's flight, 
 Who pours enchantment on the ear of witching night. 
 
 Some fan the flame beneath the evening star, 
 And pour their vows upon the fragrant breeze ; 
 Some throw their fingers o'er the light guitar, 
 And sing their loves in tuneful melodies 
 Aloft, where some Nevada scans the seas. 
 And crowns the peaceful rose-bound cot below — 
 There may in silvery accents, strains like these 
 Be heard from Cupid's joyful votary to flow, [glow. 
 
 To whom this earth's a heaven whose love-flame3 round him 
 
89 
 
 Again, beneath the beauteous blue 
 
 Of blooming summer's sky, 
 O'erpowering grandeur strikes the view, 
 
 The vale's rich gorgeous dye. 
 Now, reckless warblers on the wing 
 
 Enchant the world with song, 
 And echoes sweet the senses greet, 
 
 And bear the strains along. 
 
 The glassy surface of the deep, 
 
 The mountains crowned with pine, 
 The fragrant laden winds that sweep 
 
 Around the clustering vine. 
 The twice ten thousand charms that spring 
 
 From Nature's bounteous store, 
 Call hearts to sing and lyres to ring 
 
 From every sounding shore. 
 
 The lambkins down the hillside skip, 
 
 The gayest of the gay ; 
 The streamlets through the meadows trip 
 
 With music on their way ; 
 The maidens 'neath the evening star, 
 
 With brows entwined with flowers, 
 Like angels fair, inspire the air 
 
 With all their warbling powers. 
 
 Thus rapture, beauty, love, and song, 
 
 The summer ushers forth, 
 A thousand years her strains prolong 
 
 Her tender cares to earth, 
 When twice a thousand years have thrown 
 
 Their shadows o'er our tomb, 
 New hearts will raise their songs of praise 
 
 To all her beauteous bloom. 
 9 
 
90 
 
 But Lydia dear the sun has set 
 
 Behind the western hills ; 
 The starry gems their queen have met, 
 
 High o'er the rippling rills ; 
 The lovely flowers with leaves all furled, 
 
 Are steeped in evening dews, 
 Then come my love, we'll sweetly rove. 
 
 And all their charms infuse. 
 
 And brighter than the loveliest star 
 
 That decks yon arch of blue, 
 Shall be thy love-lit eyes by far, 
 
 To my delighted view ; 
 No pilgrim from a distant land 
 
 E'er poured before his shrine, 
 Such strains below as I shall throw 
 
 Round beauty's love and thine. 
 
 Then haste my lovely Lydia, haste. 
 
 My heart beats wild to-night, 
 In yonder vale I'll breath a tale, 
 
 Beneath Queen Cynthia's light ; 
 The winds alone will share its tone 
 
 With thee, my Lydia fair. 
 Then gently haste and ease my breast 
 
 From more than I can bear. 
 
 Long flourish love ; — shall man the lightnings chain, 
 Encompas earth, explore the raging sea, 
 Unfold the mysteries of the starry train. 
 And wing his flights through heaven's immensity, 
 Yet bow to flesh corruptible the knee. 
 And toil to shrine it in a glittering shene ; 
 Can dust entombed to dust superior be ? 
 Can grades in newly born babes be seen ? 
 Can royal blood exalt the brainless idiot's mein ? 
 
91 
 
 All hail, New England, to thy cloud-clad hills, 
 Eternal monuments of fame are they ; 
 Where now the lover's lyre at evening thrills, 
 And echoes light as mingling spirits play ? 
 War raged ; blood flowed ; Britannia's proud array 
 Of wreathed invincibles, their laurels bore. 
 Which were all fadeless deemed from spray to spray, 
 To change their hues in Freedom's infant gore, 
 Who plumed her wings aloft to wave for evermore. 
 
 Yes, Ireland's scourge ! 'tis thy imperious boast, 
 The sun ne'er sets on thy dominions wide ; 
 Yet, wert thou humbled on Columbia's coast ; 
 How yonder granite scoffs thy towering pride ! 
 When many an age has flown the earth may hide 
 That trophy, as it does the heroes now. 
 Who with thy minion's gore the landscape dyed, 
 And tore the leaves from off thy haughty brow , 
 And lit that torch from heaven whose flames around us glow* 
 
 Yet, men will mingle and comment upon 
 Thy melting legions and the wondrous day, 
 When earth revealed her second Marathon, 
 And bravery reared a new Thermopylae ; 
 The half-armed patriots in the glorious fray. 
 Standing like statutes, till their foemen's eyes 
 Twice flashed the signal for their own dismay, 
 Twice conquering, David o'er the giant cries, — 
 Yet Albion counts that day amongst her victories. 
 
 All praise to Putnam, in himself a host, 
 
 Cool as the iceberg rides the ocean wave, 
 
 Firm as the mountains of his native coast ; 
 
 All praise to Warren J glorious, joujog, and brave ; 
 
92 
 
 One liyed to conquer, and one found a grave ; 
 A brighter has not been embalmed in song ; 
 As the rights flourish that he died to save, 
 So shall the hero battling 'gainst the wrong. 
 Recorded be for aye thfi tides of Time along. 
 
 Illustrious shades I we lift our eyes aloft, 
 And scan the grai>deuT of that stately Tree 
 Which bends its branches to the pleadings soft. 
 Of misery's victims, where-so-e'er they be, 
 Towering erect, th« {H*oadest of the free, 
 Budding like Aaron's 'midst his brethren's rods. 
 Showering its fruits for all beneath it flee. 
 Smiling abundance with assenting nods, 
 And favors more than ever flowed from all the gods. 
 
 Is it not humiliating to behold 
 Columbia blackened through the vail of years ; 
 Say when a thousand o'er our tombs have rolled, 
 Our age must beg commisseration's tears, 
 While envy with her ridicule and jeers 
 Will scout at some philanthropists of now ; 
 The curse of Sparta in our midst appears. 
 This thirst for lucre (office), call it how 
 You please, it is the shrine where the Know-nothings bow. 
 
 Descend, ye freshening thoughts of eve, descend ! 
 What now shall circumscribe the spirit'<5 flight. 
 While all the hues of heaven sweetly blend, 
 Deep purple streaming o'er the mountain's height. 
 The war-clouds fringed with gorgeous crimson bright, 
 The whip-poor-wills their Katydids implore, — 
 The Katydids confirm their tittering flight — 
 And even the chirping crickets' piping lore 
 Proclaims how Nature speaks far o'er the Pilgrim's shore. 
 
93 
 
 Hail ! venerable shades whose mighty souls 
 Braved raging elements for climes unknown, 
 Trusting to that Being the skies controls, 
 To make your fate and destinies his own, 
 With hearts devoted to high heaven alone ; 
 Storms raved melodious and the constant stress 
 Of hardships quelled not, till the grateful tone 
 For your deliverance to the Throne of Grace 
 Swept with the mingling blast o'er the bleak wilderness. 
 
 Yours were the scenes that prove the hearts of men, 
 Yours is the fruit immortal that shall grow ; 
 More glorious are your tracks across the plain 
 Of Time, than aught the world can now bestow. 
 As streamlets shine in Phoebus^ rays below, 
 So do men's souls beneath your spirits glow ; 
 What fields now flourish from your seeds of wo, 
 As health succeeds the pruning of the bough, ' 
 Or waving grain o'erflows the furrows of the plough. 
 
 And Cynthia, thou that gilds the lover's joy. 
 O'er twice one hundred empires hast thou shone ; 
 Rome, Greece, Assyria, and the ancient Troy, 
 Hast thoa beheld from thine aerial throne ; 
 Where are the conquerers called these things their own 
 Gone mouldering peace-meal with the meanest slave 
 That ever tuned his voice to flattery's tone. 
 The great, the small, the timid and the brave ; 
 God's glory all engulphed in cold oblivion's grave. 
 
 Say queen of empires, since all thou dost survive, 
 How long, how true, shall fair Columbia stand ? 
 How long her man-redeeming glories thrive ? 
 How long shall liberty her wings expand, 
 9' 
 
94 
 
 When future ages point to this the land 
 "Where disenthralment kissed her native skies ? 
 Shall they not hail her as the parent hand 
 That crowns the nations with most hallowed joys, 
 And freed the wide, wide world with bloodless victories : 
 
 Yes, thou hast seen it grace the Prophet's song, 
 And ihou shalt see it spread both far and wide ; 
 The hour is winging, though it tarry long, 
 When human thraldom shall no more abide ; 
 What's writ, is writ — and o'er it doth preside 
 That Being attentive to the nation's wail, 
 Who in redemption's chariot will ride, 
 And spread his spirit freely as the gale 
 Which wafts etherial joys o'er yon melodious vale. 
 
 Adieu sweet June, with all thy rapturous powers, 
 While woodlands praised thee, drest in living green, 
 While warblers hailed thee from their amorous bowers, 
 And streamlets sang their flowery banks between, 
 Could I in silence view the the hallowed scene 
 Whilst all thine anthems filled the skies along ? 
 Above, below, thou ever beauteous queen, 
 Thy smiles a joy all langu ageless prolong, 
 Accept thou heavenly power, the homage of my song. 
 
95 
 
 AN EVENING WALK. 
 
 The sun set proudly in the West, 
 Far o'er the sea and mountain crest, 
 
 Like banner o'er the brave ; 
 The purpling skies were gorgeous spread, 
 And many a dancing streamlet led 
 
 Its music to the wave. 
 The lovely flowers with leaves all furled 
 
 Were steeped in evening dew, 
 The trackless swallow wheeled and whirled, 
 And skimmed the waters blue. 
 While rhyming and chiming 
 The merry evening bells. 
 While joining, combining. 
 The whistling whip-poor-wills. 
 
 It was a heavenly night in June, 
 And many a breast in glorious tune 
 
 Inhaled the fragrant gale ; 
 Aeriel spirits breathed their fire, 
 And tuned the lover's trem.bling lyre 
 
 To sound the rapturous tale ; 
 On earth the lovely maiden's eyes 
 More closely bound the soul, 
 Aloft the empress of the skies 
 Shed beauty o'er the whole ; 
 While greeting, repeating. 
 The chattering Katydid 
 She warmed us and charmed us 
 With many a thing she did. 
 
96 
 
 And crowning the harmonious scene, 
 Gambolling o'er the sparkling green, 
 
 A thousand younglings there 
 Made echo ring with reckless rout, 
 With martial air the mastiff stout 
 
 They rode him everywhere ; 
 Some drove him by the plume-like tail, 
 
 Some twined his neck with flowers, 
 Till thirsting for the freshening gale. 
 He stood with wasted powers ; 
 They leading and pleading, 
 Demanding he should go ; 
 He panting, non-granting, 
 Made every gesture — No. 
 
 The hills in solemn silence stood. 
 Deep in the bosom of the flood. 
 
 The gorgeous clouds were seen ; 
 The diamonds glistening on the flowers, 
 The echoes whispering through the bowers, 
 
 All fragrant, fresh, and green ; 
 The cricket chirping o'er the moor, 
 
 Commingling in the glee, 
 The bull-frog told us o'er and o'er, 
 A democrat was he ; 
 
 While skipping and tripping 
 The squirrel through the trees. 
 While showering, o'erpowering. 
 Sensations filled the breeze. 
 
 And as the day retired from sight, 
 The silver cloudlets of the night 
 Replaced the ethereal blue ; 
 Deserted were the mountain brows,- 
 
97 
 
 And birdless were the leafy boughs, 
 
 And echo slumbered too, 
 Save where some soul devoted swain 
 
 Poured warm upon the ear, 
 Life's early balm the love taught strain. 
 Melodious, sweet, and clear ; 
 Adoring, Imploring, 
 Rang his melodious tale. 
 Upraising and praising 
 His Kate of Aftondale. 
 
 And as the echoes died away. 
 And silence o'er the land and spray 
 
 Enshrined the world in sleep, 
 I saw New England's muse descend, 
 And to her favorite mansion wend. 
 
 With inspiration deep ; 
 Right o'er the house where Moody dwells, 
 
 She paused on hovering wings. 
 And doubtless we shall hear the spells 
 When next he sweeps the strings. 
 When firing, inspiring, 
 Unto the world he tells 
 His vision Elysian, 
 And calls it Chronicles. 
 
98 
 
 THE DEACON. 
 
 The Devil lie jumped with glee through the skies, 
 
 And landed in Fango Square, 
 And saw a poor sailor capture a prize, 
 
 A child that was starving and bare, 
 And the big tears stood in the Devil's eyes. 
 
 To see the tar feed it and swear. 
 
 The Devil he flew to a deacon's door. 
 
 And he heard the deacon say, 
 *' This wallet of dollars I 've wrung from the poor- 
 
 I 've made a good haul to-day ; " 
 And the Devil laughed loud to hear the old boar 
 
 Exclaim, " it is time to pray ! " 
 
 The man who writes this bit -of a rhyme. 
 
 He stood in that very place, 
 And asked the Devil to think of the time 
 
 He lost his own high place ; 
 And guess what he did ! He turned his quid 
 
 And spit all the juice in his face ! 
 
99 
 
 MARY M'GUIRE. 
 
 How oft do I think of the days I was young, 
 When each chord in my breast was with ecstacy strung. 
 When my bosom was burning with youthful desire, 
 And I basked in the smiles of my Mary M'Guire. 
 
 Since then I have traversed the east and the west, 
 And many sensations have reigned in my breast ; 
 But none that could make me with rapture respire, 
 Like those that I cherished with Mary M'Guire. 
 
 We wandered one eve by a clear winding stream, 
 And. we sat by the waters and watched the moon-beam ; 
 I sighed, and I said I did moonlight admire. 
 And so did my own darling Mary M'Guire. 
 
 Mary, said I, in this land of the green. 
 Which they say is the brightest that eye ever seen. 
 The day-light and moon-light, they only conspire 
 To show me the graces of Mary M'Guire. 
 
 When I rise in the morning, my thoughts are of thee. 
 When I pour o'er my school-books, 'tis Mary I see. 
 And my dreams of the night, they are never entire, 
 Till graced with the smiles of my Mary M'Guire. 
 
 1 know that my years are at present but nine,. 
 And twenty 's the age of my Mary divine ; 
 
 I ceased, for the echoes rang higher and higher, 
 Awaked by the laughter of Mary M'Guire. 
 
 She scanned me all o'er from my head to my toe, 
 She imprinted one kiss on my cheek's fiery glow ; 
 She fled — but my love overbalanced my ire. 
 And that was my courtship with Mary M'Guire. 
 
100 
 
 THE DOG WITH A CURLY TAIL, 
 
 I've often thought in many a spot, 
 
 How men are strong and frail ; 
 One is a sheep, to make him leap 
 
 You never can prevail ; 
 One is a sword, whose every word 
 
 Will pierce a coat of mail ; 
 In many a man you '11 surely scan 
 
 A dog with a curly tail. 
 
 One is a whale, to spout and sail 
 
 Through seas of stagnant lore ; 
 One is a bird, whose notes are heard 
 
 Resounding o'er the shore ; 
 One is a rock, to bide the shock 
 
 Of every wind and wave ; 
 One is a bell whose funeral knell 
 
 Keeps tolling to the grave, 
 
 One is a calf, by more than half, 
 
 Who bellows where he stands ; 
 One is a star which gleams afar — 
 
 A light to distant lands ; 
 One is a mill, to turn and wheel 
 
 His tongue from morn till night, 
 And overhaul his brethren all, 
 
 And set their business right. 
 
 One is a fool, though many a school 
 Hath crammed his senseless brains ; 
 
101 
 
 He early found the. dunce's ground, 
 And there ho still remains ; ' 
 
 He is so Frenched and so entrenched 
 Behind his glassy eyes. 
 
 He has become as one born dumb, 
 And 's dead before he dies. 
 
 One is a child, so soft and mild, 
 
 A whistle suits his ear — 
 He beats the tongs in tune to songs 
 
 That In lians love to hear ; 
 One breathes the air of summer fair. 
 
 And spreads a joy around ; 
 One from the north comes freezing forth. 
 
 And roots us to the ground. 
 
 There 's not a thing that you can sing 
 
 In this queer world of ours. 
 But you can name a man the same. 
 
 With observation's powers ; 
 But treat them kin-\ nor madly blind 
 
 Against the species rail. 
 But soothe them all and softly call 
 
 The dog with a curly tail. 
 
 10 
 
102 
 
 THE MECHANICS' FESTIVAL. 
 
 Tlie mechanics are skipping like lambs in the fold 
 And their ladies wear neckchains and bracelets of gold. 
 And their eyes beam around us like stars in the sky. 
 When the blast of December, sweeps howlingly by. 
 
 Miss Holland outrivals the rock gleaming snow, 
 Which crowns the high peaks o'er the moorlands below. 
 As fair as the lily that waves on its stem, [gGm. 
 
 Where a thousand bright hues throw their charms round the 
 
 She has caught the bright rays from the sun as he glows, 
 Which crown her with glory where ever she goes, 
 She has pilfered the blue from the clear summer sky. 
 And wears it to conquer all hearts in her eye. 
 
 Miss Farley, the rose of the season appears, 
 As blooming and bright as the crimson she wears. 
 Encircling a waist that might bring to her feet 
 A monarch's proud homage, his consort to greet. 
 
 Her smiles are as bright as the roses of June, 
 Her voice is as sweet as the warbler's in tune, 
 Her motion is graceful as wavelets at play, 
 And her breath is as sweet as the fragrance of May. 
 
 But to dwell upon all that entrances the sight. 
 Were as useless as counting the stars of the night, 
 Where beauty surrounds us and loveliness glides, 
 And music in all its sweet glory j)resides. 
 
 Though the world may enshrine us like clouds of the day. 
 Our thoughts like the sun shall burst glorious away, 
 And traverse this scene of enchantment anew, 
 For memory can ne'er bid such transports adieu. 
 
103 
 
 A SONG FOR STAR-GAZERS. 
 
 Let every lofty minded man 
 
 Who scans the orbs at night. 
 Remember that he never can 
 
 Sustain this life on light, 
 Though fair and beauteous are the skies 
 
 In every changing hue, 
 What are they to the light that flies 
 
 From woman's eye of blue ? 
 
 Then leave the stars, the twinkling stars. 
 
 Revolving in their spheres. 
 But let us ne'er for brides of air, 
 
 Neglect the lovely dears. 
 Whose bosoms white bound with delight, 
 
 When e'er we sound their praise. 
 Then let their eyes, and not the skies 
 
 Be starlight to our lays- 
 Let every liberal minded man 
 
 Who catches at the blue. 
 Condemn me not, I love to scan. 
 
 The dark the hazel too, 
 The brown, the gray, the beautiful. 
 
 That kindles up the flame, 
 What e'er its hue I love to view, 
 
 And whistle just the same. 
 
 On yonder hill there stands a cot, 
 
 A stream winds clear below. 
 And many a bird enchants the spot. 
 
 And fragrant breezes blow ; 
 What were the winds, what were the birds. 
 
 With all their rapturous glee. 
 Were it not for young Rosy fair, 
 
 Who queens the flowery lea. 
 
104 
 
 When Cynthia with her silvery rays, 
 
 Throws beauty o'er the bowers, 
 And Rose beneath the hill side strays, 
 
 Outrivalling the flowers, 
 The man who dare leave Rosy there. 
 
 To view the orbits roll, 
 May have a store of starry lore. 
 
 But heaven preserve his soul. 
 
 O Rosy dear, the orbits clear. 
 
 May shine and shine for me. 
 And hundreds view them every where, 
 
 Reflected in the sea. 
 But where thou art Queen of my heart, 
 
 With all thy locks of gold, 
 Thy starry eyes in love's pure skies. 
 
 Are all that I behold. 
 
 Thine airy trip, thy dewy lip, 
 
 Thine eye's celestial blue. 
 Thy fairy form, thy heart so warm. 
 
 So constant and so true. 
 Thy breath so sweet at eve to greet, 
 
 When warm upon my cheek, 
 The heavenly dart that fires my heart. 
 
 Is more than I can speak. 
 
 Then never spurn the sacred urn. 
 
 Where fires etherial glow, 
 Observe the skies and ne'er despise 
 
 The lessons they bestow. 
 But when you find of every* kind. 
 
 More stars than you can call, 
 Go seek your fair and hail her there. 
 
 The fairest of them all. 
 
105 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN PINES. 
 
 Aloft upon the mountain's height, 
 
 How tall the pine trees soar, ' 
 They catch the morning's purpling light, 
 
 When streaming o'er the shore, 
 And when the evening vespers glide, 
 
 They tune the balmy gale, 
 And guard the cot with kingly pride. 
 
 That shelters in the vale. 
 
 The waving pines the mountain pines, 
 
 All drest in brightest green, 
 They rave when angry winter whines. 
 
 And grace the summer scene, 
 And when the evening vespers glide. 
 
 They tune the balmy gale, 
 And guard the cot with kingly pride. 
 
 That shelters in the vale. 
 
 The towering pines the mountain pines. 
 
 They charm the witching maid, 
 Who like the young May moon that shines, 
 
 Is queen of yonder glade. 
 Her ears by day their warblers greet. 
 
 And when they take their flight. 
 She warbles faith on fairy feet. 
 
 Her love notes of the night. 
 
 The kingly pines, the tuneful pines. 
 
 The sailor's heart afar. 
 They charm as haply he reclines, 
 
 Beneath some genial star, 
 
106 
 
 Regardless of the melting charms 
 
 Of many a melting maid. 
 His heart is in his true love's arms, 
 
 Beneath their army shade. 
 
 O soar aloft ye mountain pines. 
 
 And blow ye breezes, blow, 
 Each tendril of the heart entwines, 
 
 Your plumage waving slow ; 
 Departing youth with hope and truth, 
 
 Your every smile endears. 
 Returning age, experience sage, 
 
 Still hails your plumes with tears. 
 
 The waving pines, the towering pines, 
 
 All drest in brightest green, 
 They rave when angry winter whines, 
 
 And grace the summer scene, 
 They hear the lover's nightly vows. 
 
 And ne'er repeat the tale, 
 But lend with their melodious boughs, 
 
 Fresh music to the gale. 
 
107 
 
 I DO NOT SING. 
 
 I do not sing a senselsss rhyme, 
 
 To prove a lassie is a dove. 
 But every word shall flow in time 
 
 To praise the maid I dearly love ; ' 
 Her glorious eyes of heavenly blue, 
 
 Are not the eyes that wavering rove, 
 But every look from them is true, 
 
 To beauty, constancy and love. 
 
 The winds were soft, the eve was clear, 
 
 The stars were glimmering through the sky, 
 I strained her to my bosom near. 
 
 And heard her echoing heart reply. 
 She vowed she loved me most sincere, 
 
 And bright the flame illumed her eye, 
 I called on heaven my vow to hear, 
 
 That for her love I'd gladly die. 
 
 By every star that shone so bright. 
 
 By every breeze that fanned her brow, 
 I'll ne'er forget that blissful night. 
 
 Nor prove inconstant to my vow, 
 Though I should live a thousand years, 
 
 The dying strain that I should pour. 
 Would be the one that now endears, 
 
 I love the lassie more and more. 
 
108 
 
 A WINTER SONG. 
 
 The wintry winds are swelling. 
 Around my true love's dwelling, 
 What angry tales they 're telling 
 
 Through leafless trees they whine, 
 The hills all bare and hoary, 
 Are crowned with winter's glory, 
 While I relate my story, 
 
 I love young Rosaline. 
 
 She's not alone so smiling, 
 She's not alone so wyling. 
 She's not alone beguiling. 
 
 As stars in heaven shine. 
 But oh, to heaven she lights me, 
 I swear the lass delights me, 
 Her fairy form unites me. 
 
 To all that is divine. 
 
 Our hearts are joined in union, 
 They beat in sweet communion. 
 And never ending tune in, 
 
 Haimoniously they join. 
 The garland that I weave her, 
 Is love that's fixed for ever, 
 Resistless as the river. 
 
 My lovely Rosaline. 
 
 The wintry winds are swelling, 
 Around my true love's dwelling. 
 How cold the tales they 're telling. 
 
 How warm this lay of mine. 
 Two hearts in one united. 
 Two souls to glory lighted, 
 My ceaseless song since plighted. 
 
 Is lovely Rosaline. 
 
 W13 
 

 
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