^,.i- LIBP iR OF CONGRESS. UMTED STATES OF AMERICA. THE VIKING, GUY, LEGEND OV THE MOXAHALA, AND OTHER POEMS. BY / CHARLES EDGAR SPENCER. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPriNCOTT & CO I 8 78. ^ Copyright, 1878, by Charles Edgak Spencer. DEDICATION. TO MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER. If aught of beauty, truth, lives in my song, — Caught from the mystic human heart, the blaze Of summer suns, the forest's dreamy ways. My life's sad days as swift they ebb along. Or aught beside in Nature's wondrous throng, — Worthy or of remembrance or of praise ; My love would here transfer the lowly bays And twine them on the brows where they belong : For where my heart is, surely, there should be These fragments of my heart, with all their dower Receive them, then, though humble as the flower And moss of hidden dells ; and they, to me. Shall thus become a treasure far above All price, — the tokens of my love — my love. CONTENTS. PAGE Dedication 3 The Viking. Advertisement 9 Prologue • 13 Guy. Part the First • 43 Part the Second • 72 Part the Third . 102 Legend of the Moxahala. Preface • 133 I. The War-Party • 137 II. The Indian-Fighter and his Cabin . • 143 III. His Youth • 151 IV. His Home near Seneca Lake . 160 V. The Last Conflict . 170 Olela: a Wanderer's Vision of Peace . 179 Miscellaneous Poems Ouranopetes • 195 Lincohi : An Ode ■ 203 Soliloquy of One returned to the Scenes of his Child- hood . 206 An Hour of Slumber . 211 CONTENTS. Hymn to the Ocean Summer Days Hymn to the Incomprehensible The Aztec Maiden A Dream .... Written on the Hudson The Angel of Song Night .... Songs and Ballads. Thistle Seeds .... Little Nell, the Pride of the School On the Recovery of a Proud yet Beautiful Young Lady " I Think Aye of Thee" . A Picture .... Hope ..... The Evening Paper Song ... Maid of the Mohawk . " Ah, now the Song is Flown" Sir Tristram's Song to Queen Isoude . A Lover's Love- Ballad ..... Sonnets. On a Deserted Cottage in the Alleghany Mountains On the Death of Ada On Reading Shelley . Adieu to Life, from the German of Korner . To On a Favorite Cat named Don Juan Notes THE VIKING. Here is the Quene of Faerie, With harpe, and pipe, and simphonie. Dwelling in this place." Chaucer's Rime of Sire Thopas. ADVERTISEMENT. This tale is founded on the old Norse super- stition that the cataract of Voring Foss is haunted by water-spirits, that fascinate those who view the waterfall, and tempt them to leap over the giddy brink. Brace, describing this the most beautiful of all the cataracts of Norway, says : — " The water comes silent, swift, with hardly a foam, to the ledge and then makes its quick leap of eight hundred and fifty feet into the abyss below; first it is foam, then spray, then beautiful descending wreaths of silvery mist, whose inter- twining and changing shapes, quick appearing and vanishing in a thousand fantastic figures, one can watch by the hour, and fancy all manner of witch- ing Norse Noke and water-spirits. The grandeur is more given by the great depth and the worn 2 9 lO ADVERTISEMENT. walls of mighty rocks below than by the Fall itself. Yet even the depth you do not appreciate till you throw a stone into the chasm, and count by your watch the time of descent. One can understand, in such places, the Norsk supersti- tions of the Noke — the water-spirits, who fascinate and tempt in the beholder. The continuous rush of waters, the roar below, the dancing, fascinating mist-wreaths put you into a dream, so that you can hardly force yourself to rise." Bayard Taylor says of the same waterfall : — " At last, we approached the wreath of whirling spray, and heard the hollow roar of the Voring Foss. The great chasm yawned before us ; an- other step, and we stood on the brink. I seized the branch of a tough pine sapling as a support and leaned over. My head did not swim ; the height was too great for that, the impression too grand and wonderful ! The shelf of rock on which I stood projected far oAit over a gulf one thousand two hundred feet deep, whose opposite side rose in one great escarpment from the bottom to a AD VER TI SEME NT. I j height of eight hundred feet above my head. On the black wall, wet with eternal spray, was painted a splendid rainbow, forming two-thirds of a circle before it melted into the gloom below." To those who have visited the waterfall I would say — if I have heaped up mountains in the wrong place or have taken any other poetical liberty with the surroundings — that Poesy is a sorceress, and deals with realities as if they were, indeed, " such stuff as dreams are made of;" and, besides, I have seen the Voring Foss only in imagination. In regard to the supernaturalism of the follow- ing poem it is scarcely necessary to speak, not- withstanding some critics have held that fairy-tales and the like, of whatever kind, are below the dignity of poetry — suitable only to very young children and very credulous old women. This, I think, is unworthy of serious refutation. Is Bi^ir- ger's Der Wilde Jager less striking because we have never heard the Wild Huntsman wind his horn and dash away in the demoniac chase ? is Homer less sublime and Homeric because we 1 2 AD VER TI SEME NT. know his gods and goddesses, with their plots and councils, are nothing but mere creations of the brain ? is A Midsummer-Night's Dream less beautiful, as a work of art, because we common- place mortals are debarred from seeing Puck apply love-charms to the eyes of sleeping lovers, and because we never meet with his fairy-peers darting, like electric sparks, " Ovei- hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire" ? THE VIKING. PROLOGUE. O YE ! who dealt unto a darkling world The dire reward of superstitious sloth, Whose sinewy arm and fearless spirit hurl'd Vile impotence to naught, and sear'd the growth Of rottenness that canker'd many a land (When man had fallen so low that serfs were loth To leave their serfdom), — Norsemen ! still your hand Hath left its mark on nations ! Still the earth Retains your footprints in its shifting sand ; And still your blood imbues — nor is there dearth Of your deep-burning ardor to be free — A holier fire, a higher moral worth In races that are noblest. On the sea. Where Nature speaks of Freedom, was your home ! 2* 13 J. THE VIKING. The storm, that rolls the waves with madding glee, The breaker-bar, where heaves the boiling toam, The blue expanse of Ocean, boundless round, Leaving you free at will to rest or roam, — These are poetic Freedom, and they found Embodiment in what ye did, and bore Upon our destiny. — Ye first descried This wrong-named world — our own hesperian shore ! Say ! was it not your valor, often tried In mortal combat in the days of yore, That tingled in our veins, and did provide A Henry's eloquence, scarce known before, — A Franklin, sage the reins of state to guide, — A Jones to scourge the sea with sword and brand, — A Washington to found a glorious land ? It hath been many eventful years Since, in the Scandinavian clime, THE VIKING. Brave Ulclrick and his hardy peers Would hst the scald's inspiring rhyme, And quaff their copious horns of mead, And boast of scar and warlike deed, And tell of Odin's blissful shore, Where they should fight From morn till night, And wounds should heal and ne'er be sore ! 13ut, though their lusty laugh is still And moons have waned and ages fled And drinking-horns no more they fill, Their memory is not wholly dead ; For scalds have oft the story told — To chieftains full as brave as he — Of Uldrick, once a Viking bold. When Norsemen sail'd the sea. II. Lithe as the reindeer, brawny, tall, Was Uldrick with the yellow hair; In mien and step and voice withal He bore the chief's commanding air; 1 5 THE VIKING. For well he knew his fathers long Had been renown'd in many* a war, And that, in tale and victor-song, 'Twas sung their noble veins along Had pulsed the blood of mighty Thor. His sword hung down, a ponderous weight. Dangling from his golden belt; — Ah me ! theirs was an adverse fate Who e'er its keen destruction felt. Within his deep-blue eye there burn'd A fire that proved him not of those Who, from emprise, can e'er be turn'd By hardships or the fear of foes ; For, once begun. He scorn'd to shun A danger — so the end be won. For this his comrades loved him well And follow'd where he bravely led ; Full well they knew, whate'er befell, They had a Chieftain at their head. THE VIKING. III. 17 Within a sombre, wild fiord The Viking built a dragon fleet And mann'd it with his pirate horde, And all, at length, was made complete. At sunset, 'mid a deafening eheer. Through mountains echoing far and near. He wound his magic ivory horn, And gave the long-desired command That they should sail at early morn Toward the merry southern land, Where maidens fair With hazel hair. And gold, and wine, should be their share,- And where the sun shines warm and bright As in Valhalla's vale of light. IV. But Uldrick, stretch'd upon his bed — His muscular arm beneath his head- J 3 THE VIKING. A heavenly vision saw in sleep, When silence reign'd at midnight deep : A Lady, radiant as the sun, Embraced and kiss'd him where he lay, And with her witching beauty won The heart no queen could steal away ! She then besought him not to sail. And bade, instead, that he should cross O'er mountain wall and mountain dale Till he should come to Voring'Foss, And, when the moonlight silver'd all, To view th' enchanted waterfall. And when, alas ! she did depart She bore away his valiant heart. V. Said Rolf the Seer, — '' Why stand'st thou here ? Hast thou not cruised full many a sea To flowery lands where grows the vine ? THE VIKING. IQ Where women are fair as fair can be ? Where golden spoils await for thee, And brimming casks of Gaulish wine? What is there in an empty dream Though thou shouldst dream it o'er and o'er ? A meteor with a faithless beam, A vacant mind, and nothing more. Thy goodly crafts lie in the bay And idly rock in every breeze, While thou dost speak of vain delay, Nor sail'st across the deep-blue seas. Thou erst didst love the stern-cut shore Where rocks uplift their heads on high, — The giants dire that lived of yore. That, turn'd to stone, through murky sky Scowl downward with the look they wore. — Thou erst didst love the maelstrom-whirl And surf-capp'd breakers' deepening roar And white sea-foam's fantastic curl ; — Such were thy joys in years before ! O ! why thus idly dost thou stand And speak of mountains bare and bleak ? 20 THE VIKING. The sea is blue ! the air is bland ! And Fortune's smile to seek !" VI. A week had pass'd, and yet the fleet Still rock'd along the shelving sand Within the harbor's safe retreat, That, girdled round on either hand By lofty mountains, crown'd with snow, Lay darken'd by their shade below. And scarce a single sound was heard Upon the beach, so lately rife With jocund shouts and idle word And all the din of busy life. For, save the guards — a trusty few Still left behind, — the stalwart crew Had gone with Uldrick far away. Although with ill-dissembled grief; But not a man could disobey The mandate of so loved a Chief The mountain-towers that loom'd o'erhead Hung poised more awful, huge, and dread; THE VIKING. 21 The craggy cliff, the dark ravine, The far-off wold of blasted pine, The ghost-like mists which rose between The towering peaks from off the brine. The deep, deep silence — how sublime ! — Disturb'd but by the sounding wave, Telling of endless, endless time — Not life's short hour before the grave, — Were more majestic, wild, austere. Since on the shore Were heard no more The laugh and song rise loud and clear. And over all there seem'd a gloom Prophetic of disastrous doom. VII. Brave Uldrick stands at Voring Foss Where sprayey drops, like crystal tears, Hang shimmering on the shaggy moss Which clothed the rocks a thousand years. The fuU-orb'd moon is beaming down Upon the wild, the glorious scene, — 3 22 THE VIKING. O'er mountain, rock, and deep ravine, And o'er the torrent weaves a crown Of iris tints and mingling sheen In clouds of spray, that, floating, wreathe The rocks where thundering waters seethe. The Sea-king, lost in thought profound, Stands off a distance from his men. The deafening, beating, awful sound Reechoes back from mount and glen. And o'er the Chieftain falls a spell, A strange delight, a nameless power. That makes him feel that he could dwell (Nor ever ask a nobler dower) With Nature, in such grandeur drcss'd. Forgetful — dreaming — bless'd. VIII. The wreaths of mist, like sprites, arise Oft half invisible to the sight, And, drifting, change their moon-lit dyes- Now yellowish dun, now silvery bright THE VIKING. 23 And with how many a shape and size They float through floods of lambent light, Or, in some shadow hanging dim. Are changed to Jotuns huge and grim ! And as they sink or upward go. While breezes wafl: them here and there, Some catch a tremulous Tyrian glow Like fairy gossamer on the air ; But grander far the lace-like sheets Of quivering spray, — the torrent's hiss, And roar, as down it pours, and beats, And whirls — into the dread abyss ! Enrobed in terror, gloom, and night, Hemm'd in by rocks that touch the sky. Wild hell of beauty! fell delight! Whose sullen thunders never die ! — IX. Says Rolf the Seer, whose hoary hair Disheveird streams upon the gale, — " No sight so grandly, wildly fair Was pictured e'er in song or tale ! 24 THE VIKING. 'Tis said that on the mist and spray The Water-Spirits ride along ; While with fantastic romp and play Queer elfin hordes, a wanton throng, Swarm shouting after With silent laughter, And blow the clouds like thistle-seeds, And catch their comrades as they fly Dragging them frqm their airy steeds, Though all unseen by human eye ! But many a scald has whilom told How mountain shepherds oft have seen The Water-Sprites their revels hold To crown with mist their lovely Queen, Who was more fair, in regal state. Than are the nymphs with heavenly graces That, smiling from Valhalla's gate, Await their lusty lords' embraces." O list, that wild, unearthly strain Now indistinct, now soft and clear ! THE VIKING. 25 O list, it comes again, again, Falling how sweetly on the ear ! 'Tis touch'd with sadness — The soul of joy ! 'Tis heavenly gladness Without alloy ! Ha ! now the torrent's voice is still — The mountain-walls alone repeat From grot and glen and darksome hill The roar that died beneath their feet. The echoing thunders die away; — The crags have caught the elfin lay ! To many a mountain's clifted side The music trembles far and wide ; 'Tis on the air, — 'Tis everywhere ! — The stars look down with pleased affright ; The night is redolent of delight; Enchantment waves her mystic hand — Changing the scene to fairyland ! 3* 26 THE VIKING. XI. Says Rolf the Seer, — ** On you we call, Ye sisters weird, O guard us now! Ye Powers of Light in Odin's hall, O shield — we bow ! we bow !" XII. Lo, spray and foam, a pearly shower, Are made a throne by magic power, Upon whose curious-sculptured sides How many a dewdrop glancing glides ! The diamond sparks, with ceaseless motion. How quick they fade — to being start, As oft, at night, o'er summer's ocean Bright phosphorescent wavelets dart. The canopy, how rich and gleaming, Festoon'd above without support ! No Indian sultan, lazily dreaming. On such a throne e'er held his court. Ha ! on the air strange spirits stand Holding the throne with many a hand : — THE VIKING. Such jocund pigmies — Such queer enigmas; Some with bright tresses, some without ; Some, romping, wing them round about ; Some, flame-Hke, shimmer And, fading, glimmer, — Wild meteors flitting in and out ! XIII. The pa:;an-strains how startling sweet From many a fairy's scallop-shell ! With what voluptuous power replete Is every tremulous sink and swell ! Now falling sadly ; Now rising madly ; Now ringing gladly ; Now sinking low, low, low, serene — O list, a silvery voice is singing, A deep enchantment wildly flinging Over the scene ! 27 28 THE VIKING. I XIV. SONG OF THE FIRST SPIRIT. Sprites ! arise from 'neath the wave Where the sun ne'er sheds his beams, Where the pearl and beryl pave Blossomy leas with mellow gleams, And the star-like diamonds clear Flash their radiance — Hear, O hear ! SONG OF THE SECOND SPIRIT. Sprites, arise ! the Queen commands ; Ouphes and elves, prepare the way ; Bind your locks with misty bands, Don your gossamer rich array. Through the blissful power of love Comes the Queen to earth above. THE VIKING. 29 SONG OF THE THIRD SPIRIT. Fair Gunylda, mightiest Queen ! Leave thy gleaming, crystal halls, Where the velvet mosses green Overdrape the dewy walls ; Come, O come ! we wait for thee Bowing low on bended knee. SONG OF THE FOURTH SPIRIT. « Rise to earth, O Lady fair! Come, eclipse the moon's bright day ; Leave that land whose nectarous air Is like spice of Araby, — Where the waters' lullaby Murmuring on shall never die. 30 THE VIKING, SONG OF CHORUS OF SPIRITS. Hail, Gunylda! Queen of Beauty! Who is half so fair as thou ? Lo, thou com'st — here we in duty Lowly, lowly, lowly bow. Hail, O Queen ! how bless'd is he Whom thou tak'st thy love to be ! XV. Says Rolf the Seer (a space apart Is Uldrick from his awe-struck men, Who turn, bewilder'd, with a start To hear a Imuiaii voice again), — ** If e'er ye practice Runic spell, Now is the time for shielding power ; For ye, who practice Runes, 'tis well — This is a dreadful hour. Beware ! beware ! the Sprites impel Beholders o'er with vile deceit To leap the falls — a thousand feet, — Oh, 'tis a direful hour!" THE VIKING. 31 XVI. Behold, she mounts her gorgeous throne, Calm, peerless, beauteous, grand, alone ! How queenly doth she wear her crown Blazing with many a radiant gem ! The mist-like drapery streaming down Half hides her moon-lit diadem. Her eyes — no gem was e'er so bright — As blue as heaven — bewildering eyes ! More soft than moonbeams' quivering light O'er lakes that mirror back the skies. Jewel'd with brightness Her robe of whiteness, From graceful neck and breast of snow, How stately falls in many a fold O'er limbs just outlined faint below, And form of round, voluptuous mould ! What alabaster could compare With brow so pure, so pearly fair, Sunny with wavy golden hair ? 32 THE VIKING. XVII. Brave Uldrick stands and gazes o'er The awful brink beneath his feet, Down, down, where dashing torrents beat In but the passing hour before. The dizzy depth is heeded not ; The peril dire he' hath forgot ; One minute, yea, an instant more That foot-press'd rock may downward slide — Ye Powers ! the tottering rocks divide, — Ah — now they, turning, catch again. There's naught his mazy senses ken Of all the danger ; naught beside Those smiling eyes upturn'd to him, Whose love-light makes the moonbeams dim. He speaks in musing undertone: " The lovely face, the lips of red, How oft I kiss'd them in my dreams — And waked to find the vision fled ! The shower of hair with sunny gleams, THE VIKING. ^^ The slender waist with gem my zone, The blue, blue eyes I saw in sleep, That seem'd not eyes they were so dec/^, — Now, now, they shall be all my own !" xviir. O list ! she speaks, — a language sweeter Than is the Norseman's harsher tongue; 'Tis smoother than the scalds have sung Their ballads in mellifluous metre. Now meet reply does Uldrick make (His voice replete with passion's fire Thrills like a heavenly-finger'd lyre,) In language like to that she spake. Ah, Uldrick, who has taught to thee So soft a tongue? ah, w^hy forsake The Norse, the fittest for the sea ? He turns with hands upheld in air, And lifts him to his fullest height, — A towering form against the night; 4 34 THE VIKING. Over his forehead, broad and bare, The night-wind toys his dampen'd hair, He seems in act to draw and fight; He leaps ! — The foot-press'd rocky ledge Has fallen prone o'er the yawning edge — Down! down! he's lost, he's lost to sight- XIX. Says Rolf the Seer, — " My heart hath beat A thousand times since Uldrick fell ! When will the falling fragments tell. With awful crash, the fate they meet ? Hark, now the trembling rocks repeat The sullen sound they back repel ! They, thundering, quake beneath my feet. A knell — a knell — a doleful knell ; Oh ! let it swell." XX. The moon is hid behind a cloud ; A sudden mist has gloom'd the gale; THE VIKING. The rocks appear amidst the shroud Like monsters indistinct and pale. The waters, hissing, whirling, roaring, Raise up their deepening voice aloud — Into the deep black caldron pouring. Unseen they sweep along, and sink Plunging through shades of nether night, Save, just along the darkling brink, Glimmers a foamy line of light. The fairy shells have ceased to ring ; The vision fled, — so passing strange; The voices hush'd — no longer sing : Ah, joy and beauty ever change. Still, elfin-like, a witching strain Is lingering on the night-wind sighing; The sweeter sighs alone remain — Now e'en the wind itself is dying. Now, far and near, the torrent's sound Among the rocks and caves rejoices. Echoing wildly round and round — A choir of muffled ghostly voices. 35 36 THE VIKING. XXI. The cloud is passing — passing — gone, The moonb'ght floods the wonted scene. The spray and foam whirl on, and on. With all their former varied sheen. And turn and roll in shapeless form, As, oft, at summer eve, are seen The thunder-clouds amidst the storm, When genii vile bestride the blast Heaving them onward dark and fast. The beauty, glory, grandeur, fear, That fill the scene, crowd on the heart, Leaving a seal, which many a year Shall last, — yea, haply ne'er depart. XXII. Says Rolf the Seer, — *' Oh welaway ! What woe is ours, my gallant men, — We all may live our earthly day Nor have so great a Chief again ! THE VIKING. The bravest king that sail'd the sea, With heart like Ocean's, throbbing free. Woe, woe is ours, my vaHant men, We'll ne'er have such a Chief again !" XXIII. Says Rolf the Seer,—" Let Uldrick rest. The rocks the pillows 'neath his head. The dashing spray will o'er his breast, — What recks he, cold and dead ? Through all the long, long winter drear An icy shroud shall fold him round, Nor could so grand a place be found In which to lay our Chieftain dear. His corse shall hear the pattering sound Upon his tomb of crystal clear. When drive the snow, and hail, and sleet, The drapery o'er his winding-sheet. And when the winter, cold, severe. Dissolves his stolid icy chains And genial summer smiling reigns, 4^ 37 38 THE VIKING. He, resting on, shall ever hear The faUing waters' awful roar ; 'Twould fill some hearts with dread and fear, But Uldrick loved the grand of yore : To him, 'twill be the best of cheer ; — A foamy pall shall fold him o'er ; — Each drop of spray shall be a tear. Yon chasm shall be the proudest grave Where slumber th' ashes of the brave !" XXIV. A space, the men all gaze below Each with a sad and downcast face, And turn them slowly round to go, To hie them from the fatal place, Ruing the day They left the bay. Thus, leave they there their Chief for aye. And cross the mountains, crag and moss; And slow the roaring dies away Of wild, majestic Vori ng Foss. THE VIKING. XXV. 39 We know not what we seem to know, Our vision scarce exceeds a span ; We see not what the years shall show ; We winnow — but retain the bran. How wondrous is the web of life ! Delight full often ends in sadness ; Events with keenest sorrow rife As often herald joy and gladness. 'Tis said by those who oft have seen That, when the moon is full and bright And Voring Foss is robed in light, Upon a throne of gorgeous sheen Brave Uldrick reigns a king beside The Water-Spirits' beauteous Queen — His loved, his fair, his elfin bride. If this be true, it is not strange That — as they tell — he ne'er hath sigh'd In all these centuries, fraught with change, To in Valhalla's bliss abide. ^Q THE VIKING. They say he reigns th' immortal king Of fair Gunylda's murmuring land, Where all the year is blooming spring With odorous zephyrs breathing bland, And unseen harps forever ring. And princedoms wait at his command ; Where falling founts, with lulling sound, Through many an agate palace run ; Where diamond-lamps shed glory round Like southern California's sun ; Where shimmering dewdrops ever flow O'er flowers that never cease to blow. Said Rolf the Seer, With many a tear, — " O ! may our mighty Chieftain rest !" — He knew not that, when Uldrick sprung, 'Twas but to reach the haven-breast Round which his arms have ever clung, Loving, beloved, and bless'd. GUY. Heu, quoties fidem Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspeia Nigris ajquora ventis Emira])itur insolens ! HoR., Lib. I. Od. V. 41 GUY. PART THE FIRST. There are whose lives, from birth oft unto death, Are shadow'd by misfortune, and, without Sufficient cause on their own parts, are cursed With woes and peace-destroying ills beyond Those who have more deserved them. Such be- come, Through lengthen'd suffering, skeptical at heart — Losing their faith in virtue and in Heaven. And, though for them, at last, the clouds should break. There ever must remain in such sad souls A part of their accustom'd gloom; which, nor The natural goodness of a gifted mind. Nor all the untold beauty of this world, Can e'er dispel. — Now be it mine to trace A portion of th' events of such a life ; — 43 44 GUY. Of one endovv'd above vulgarity, Who, if his birth had been beneath a star Not unauspicious, had been, haply, great; But, ruin'd and unhappy as he was. Is worthy still remembrance — and a tear. There is a land that breathes of mystery — A vast extent — the home of solitude Primeval. There the long-maned buffalo Feeds o'er the great savannas, herds of deer Snuff the free air of taintless purity, Roaming at will ; and, midst the forests dim And mountain fastnesses, the grizzly bear And panther have their lair. It is a region Whose huge cloud-piercing mountains wind away In chains of many a hundred miles in length, — Whose awful torrents and calm-flowing streams Make Europe's rivers seem as rivulets, — Whose plains are boundless like the sea. — A land Of forests, lonely lakes, and deserts drear. And dread canyons in whose all-voiceless depths The mighty rivers seem, unto the eye GC/K 45 Dizzy and awe-struck, like diminutive ribbons Of silvery light; — a land whose myriad spots Of beauty, quietude, fertility, Do seem as they were made to be true Terrestrial paradise. O what a realm Is this great West ! What will it be when time Shall have subdued its vastness by the might Of cultivation ! Will it not become The world's rich harvest-field? will not its crops Feed those that hunger in far-distant climes? — Yes, if our Country's Liberty survive. It shall be fair Progression's chosen home. But if our Freedom perish — O may he (If one e'er plot to mar — destroy our State) Be damn'd to live a lingering life, and feel The conscious baseness, vileness of himself His upas curse, till withering self-contempt Consume him ! — Ay, if Liberty survive. It shall become the store-house of the world : But now it is untenanted, save where The march of civilization has begemm'd Its marge with cities populous ; and save 5 46 GC'V. The few remaining Indian hordes that rove Its woods and prairies. All this Western World Is yet in infancy. Its history seems A day, when thinking of the distant reign Of Cheops or the city of old Ninus. What was it in the cycles of the past ? Who were its people ere the Argive bands Beleaguer'd Ilium ? 'Tis a continent Whose story is conjecture ; and the West. So broad, and lone, and beautiful, and wild. Is redolent of deeper mystery. 'Twas near the confines of this wilderness, Upon a morning in the month of May, When scarce the young leaves trembled 'neath the flood Of golden sunlight, in the gentle breeze That stole from banks of flowers with scarce a whisper, A Youth, a pilgrim from the busy world, Stood all alone within a forest dell. He felt the west-wind ripple through his hair G[/V. 47 As warm and balmy as the breath of Venus; He drank the still enchantment of the scene, And felt the power of beauty crowd upon Him and intoxicate with strange delight; And, feeling e'en as one return'd at length From foreign lands to home and those he loves (O blissful moment!), cried — " Here will I dwell. And ne'er again turn to the haunts of Man — More lonely than the wilderness! Ah, yes, If there is aught of peace, for mc, on earth, 'Tis here with Nature, whom I take to be The ever-charming mistress of my heart." His years were few, and yet his life had grown Almost a burden ; for the magic light, Which once had fondly seem'd to fill the world. Had vanish'd year by year until to him Remain'd but barrenness ; and with the change Himself had changed, till e'en the thrill of joy Was full of sadness. Thus, he oft had been Most sick at heart amid the jarring throb And noise and bustle of the world, where men 48 GUY. Grow cold and selfish, and had stood alone Within the crowded mart on gala-days And at the banquet, rout, and giddy ball, Longing for something better than to live. Oft in such moments, making them more sad (Like half-remember'd dreams of happiness), A spell fell o'er him ; and he heard the low Soft whispers of the forest and the lull Of dimpling waters and the song of birds. And saw the far blue sky, lone hill and dell — Fair Nature's varied face with all its smiles And nameless beauties, — and he caught the breath Of violets and wild-roses and sweet thyme By limpid brooklets where the humble-bees Are ever busy ; — and he deem'd 'twas well That he should leave the throng and wander far. As others thought, in solitude, but where For him there was society, and dwell Alone with Nature and his sadden'd heart. For he remember'd how in earlier youth He oft had walk'd with Nature. Even then GC/v. 49 The spirits of the universe had stoop'd To be his high companions, and the winds Were his wild playmates, and e'en trifles were To him as friends, and charmed beauty grew A wondrous mirror that did half reveal The mysteries of eternity and truth. Nor was it thus alone in time of flowers, And birds, and sunshine. When the southing sun, At Capricorn, turn'd toward the gusty North, The snow, that fell so spotless o'er the fields And lonely wood and hamlet, — clouds, which lower'd In gloomy grandeur, — yea, the howl and dash And tumult of the tempest, that recall'd With sadden'd pleasure summer's stilly days. When night had fallen and all without was dark And drear and dreadful ! — and the deep, deep blue Of heaven, when winds were still and midnight clouds Were scatter'd, seemly groundwork for the stars so GUY. (The hieroglyphics of that grandest vault), — And moon, that smiled enchantment o'er the earth ; — These were most eloquent, and waked in him The deep unspoken poesy of the heart, E'en as the wanton winds, in sunny June, Dancing on tip-toe o'er the nodding fields Of sweet red clover. In those happy days, He loved the mountains, climbing at his will Their steep and shaggy sides e'en to the clouds That mantled o'er their summits. By the sea. The ever-rolling melancholy sea, He loiter'd oft to watch the dark wild waves And list the music of their dissonance, — The mightiest minstrels of the earth. And thou, Sublime Niagara ! how swell'd his heart When first he saw thee through thy misty veil, Crown'd with thy rainbow-diadem ! He watch'd, Rapt with the grandeur of the scene, for hours. Thy beauteous deep-green waters rush amain, Dappled with patches of fantastic frotli, GUV. 51 On to the awful gulf — and, thundering, die, Stunn'd at the bottom in wild-curdled foam ! And, musing on thy driving spray, he saw How mutable, how short is life, beside Th' eternity of Nature ; and he felt The impulse of idolatry, — he scarce Refrain'd to leap into thy turmoil — lose Himself in tJice, O Irresistible ! Lodging within some cottage near thy brink, Full oft he thought, half-dreaming, through the night, He heard the hoarse tornado, then awoke And listen'd to thy jarring sullen roar, Rising and falling with the midnight gale. Sounding forever. — Oft, when others stood Aghast, he was most happy. 'Midst the storm He seem'd the Genius of the elements. The boding breathless hush, — the darkling clouds, Heaving against the sky, o'ercapp'd with light Like Ocean's wrecking waves, — the sudden stir Of trembling leaves upturn'd, — the playful leap 52 GUY. Of blinding lightning, — the bough-rending storm, And deepening roll of thunders, making earth And air to palpitate, — the tear- like drops, Large and pellucid, pattering here and there, Prelusive to the pouring of the rain, — Then the dim wall of drops innumerable, . Continual falling, shutting from the eye The humid landscape; — such were his delights. In field and wold, fann'd by the cool free air, There was for him a never-ceasing pleasure. The willow, drooping pensively as fill'd With his enduring sadness — stately oak, Patrician of the forest — sighing pine With scented shade and soft wild melody — And linden, with its air of cheerfulness, Waving its blossoms to the breath of June, Are all endow'd with an intelligence That waked an echo-sympathy in his heart. Thus, through the many animate forms of life ; He held them all as kindred. Savage beasts He saw, in fierceness, are not unlike men. GUY. 53 Loving to trace through all those lower lives The glimmering light of reason, he had mark'd The war-horse, prancing, snuff the air whene'er Sounded the rolling drum and bugle-blast, — The faithful dog go many a weary mile Home to his master, poor howe'er he be. And there with eloquent gestures of delight Express his joy and undissembling love. These taught him how presumptuous are the minds Tumid with what they deem profoundest lore, That fancy all the mighty universe Was made for them, for their poor sovereignty, — Self-constituted puppets of low pride — Earth's demigods of rapine and conceit ! Such he would leave and feel himself to hold A nobler station in the scale of things, That he, in humbleness, could hail all life. All Nature as his kindred and his friends. And thus it was that he became, as 'twere, Companion of the universe, and made High friendship with the soul of solitude, Speaking a language that is not of speech. 54 ouv. And, studying that most aged, truthful page Outspread before him, pondering deep and long, He learn'd what all the schools could teach him not. But he did turn from Nature to abide With Man, though in his heart there were most sad Misgivings — though he sigh'd to be again Wafted along the deep-blue lake and free Among the mountains. He did turn away From that which was his joy unto his woe. Bright dreams, the ignes-fatui of the brain, Oft haunted him and pictured to his mind Most sweet and heavenly things, — that he might be A benefactor, blessing to mankind ; For he was fiU'd with love for all the world And noble aspirations to do good. Thus, with a heart susceptible of deep Delight and love, despair and misery. He turn'd to tasks by him not understood, And, ah ! how ill-requited. What a change The earth would show, if each but knew himself — GUY. 55 For what he is most suited ! Still, methinks, There would be many a hapless son of earth So born beneath the shadow of mischance, And nurtured up, without his fault, to be A child of sorrow, that, e'en then, this life Would oft be dark, unhappy. Thus, with him, Whate'er he nobly did for others' weal Reverted on himself in bitterness. He had full many friends whom he did trust. Deeming them truthful as himself: and one, Who shared his joys and griefs, his highest hopes And dearest aspirations, whom he loved E'en as a brother. But, alas ! how few, That cloak them under friendship's holy name, Have other love than their own selfishness — Are else than parasites of prosperity, Envying most the one they call their friend ! Those who profess'd to him the greatest zeal, Ever in honey'd phrase, did secretly Revile him ; and the one, whom he loved best, Treated him most ungratefully when fortune 56 GUY. Ceased smiling for a moment. Pitying them, He cast them off in sore disgust at man's So abject perfidy. Henceforth he came To doubt mankind ; and even in himself He lost his wonted confidence. He trusted None, ever after, that did call \\\\x\ friend. There was a maiden younger than himself, Whom, e'en in schooldays, he was wont to view With boyish admiration ; in whose face He scarcely dared to look for bashfulness — Yet, whose bright smile he fancied was as sweet As his own mother's. Her he help'd to cross The icy places on the way to school. On winter mornings, carrying oft her books Right gallantly ; then, haply, all the day Felt happy, though he knew not why, and conn'd His irksome tasks with something of delight. But this was all the joy he had at school, — He was a strange, wild being, loving most To wander through the fields and ancient woods, GUY. 57 And study what he pleased by fits and starts, Hating the dull routine day after day. Then there were years in which he saw not oft This maiden ; but, whene'er they met, there seem'd Some new-born beauty, charm in her fair face, — Some added grace of person ; and her voice Grew softer still and sweeter. Even then He look'd into her eyes with strange pleased awe Because of their shy loveliness ; and all Her girlish ways, ridiculous in themselves, Commanded, for her sake, his due respect. — Yea, tHat which had been silly in another. In her, became a beauty to his eye. Yes, he had loved her, though he knew it not, E'en in the blush of girlhood ; and his heart. When she had grown to womanhood, adored With all the passionate ardor of his youth. His mind, which, in itself, had long become A golden treasury of most lovely truths And images of beauty, gave to her 6 58 GUY. The halo of its lustre with each thought, As brooklets seem to tinge with their own hue The pebbles white seen through them. Dreaming dreams, Sweet in their unreality, he made Her empress of a bright ideal world, Created all for her. He fill'd her being With spiritous love and loveliness beyond, Yet, meet to one so fair and fairy-like, And braided for her brow a wreath of all Or bright or beautiful, until he came To love an earthless soul divine, that dwelt Only within his dreams — the heavenly birth Of his own fancy, — that in all the world Had not existence. — But he knew it not, Nor dream'd that she was less than he had dream'd. And, gazing in her soft and luminous eyes. That ne'er reproved, he drank the wine of love. Deep draughts of blinding love, until, for him. There was nor joy nor bliss — save in her smile. He would have given his dearest hope in life, Drunk with the 'wildering ecstasy of love. GUY 59 To fold his arms, beneath her streaming hair, About her waist — kissing her loving Hps ! — Meekly coquettish, she would smile, half frown, And smile, — and lead him on with those coy arts That seem so artless ; acts, which, of themselves, Are nothing, but to him who madly loved Were priceless, — El Dorados of the heart. But they were all deceits to hold the sway The longer o'er her vassal (to enthrall With the dull torture of uncertainty). Evading ever; for with secret pride She knew he loved her, and she felt too well It was an honor to have gain'd his love. Yes, she was but a woman ; and her heart — Like others of her sex — could learn to love The tinsel glitter of some puny Croesus, Won by his servile haughtiness, yet turn From him, who, as a plain and honest man, Dares whisper the devotion of deep love. Alas ! alas ! there is no sadder sight In this wide world, that is too often sad. 6o GUY. Than, having built an idol to adore, To see it fall from its exalted niche E'en while we do it homage, and to know 'Tis earthy as the dust wherein it lies. When he perceived the baseness of the mind Which he had thought to have been ever fill'd With lo\^ and beauty, stunn'd, he fled away, Dizzy with vague bewildering woe, which changed Gradually to th' acute despair of his Wild nature. Often he essay'd to laugh Fiercely and like a madman at his pain ; But, while a ghastly smile o'erblanch'd his cheek, His heart was wrung with deeper agony. He did upbraid her not, nor saw her more : But the last look of disappointed love, The silent eloquence of his sad dark eye, Did leave a withering poison in her soul ; Which, suddenly, when she else had been most happy. Stifled the thrill of joy, and made her feel The damning pang of lingering self-contempt. GUY. 5l He did upbraid her not, nor saw her more; And, fleeing like sonic criminal, hunted down With echoing hue-and-cry, he fled the scenes Of home and youth, most dear, and cursed himself That he could love one so unworthy love. But he, methinks, could not but still adore That Beauteous One who dwelt within his dreams, Round whom he had entwined so many thoughts Of beauty and sweet purity divine And heavenly high affection, though he knew 'Twas but a radiant phantasm of his own Creation — an ideal of a soul, Without an earthly likeness. O how hard He strove to tear that sorrow from his heart — That morbid woe that crush'd him with its weight ! As, in the desert of the far Southwest, The stunted tree, beside the dried-up fount, Droops through the rainless season of the year, 'Neath the fierce fiery sun, until the leaves Are parch 'd and crisped ; even so, he felt His heart consume its own vitality — 6* 62 GUY. Withering in utter loneliness. The few That would have loved him truly to the last Had died before him. Weeping o'er their graves He long'd to be a sharer in their rest, And, in his frenzy, raised his lawless hand To smite himself; but some distracting thought (The chance that moulds how many an earthly act) O'erbridged the moment that had been his death, And he survived to suffer: — such is life. Ambition, oft the last dark solace left To genius fallen in sad degeneracy, Had lost for him the stimulus of excitement; For, e'en in brighter days when he had hoped To be successful, 'twas not for himself, But those who loved him; and he knew there beat No heart that loved him in the wide, wide world. — O earth ! thou art a dark and dreary waste When there are none to love us — none to love ! For life becomes, in its sterility, A winter without hope of coming spring. GUV. 63 He thought to lose remembrance of himself, Of that which Jiad been, and what niigJit have been, In sin's dark-whirling maelstrom. Driving on Before the passionate storm within his soul, He ran from vice to vice without a care — Without a fear; as some ill-fated bark, Driven before the unrelenting gale, Flies to its ruin. Soon he learn'd to laugh In mock derision at all sacred things ; And sainted virtue he did call a name — A thing without existence save in thought. Full many a gray-hair'd wanderer from the right Beheld, with wondering awe, himself outdone By that apostate Youth, e'en in the path Of darkness he had foUow'd all his days. For noble minds, though warp'd and sadly fallen, Proclaim their high supremacy above The shoals of mediocrity, and wear The laurels — though in Pandemonium. O what a change ! O what a dreadful change In that young Spirit! Once, that soul had been The dwelling-place of beauty, the abode 64 GUY. Of something like to heaven; — now grown, alas! The fell and darksome prison of itself. — How quickly sin doth dull the sense of right ! — He judged from her, the Lady of his love. That women aye are sirens, — that all smile Or to mislead or catch a golden moth. Th' ingenuous face, the shyly half-raised eyes Of innocent girls, he deem'd to be the arts By which he suffer'd ; and he look'd again Upon them with the blighting evil-eye. To him they were deceivers all, at heart, Whom it were well in justice to deceive; For, sure, deception is a game at which It is not meet that one should play alone. His voice was most mellifluous, like sweet rhyme; Its accents seem'd the language of true love ; And he could whisper in a lady's ear. Though 'twere dissimulation, that sweet tale As long as she could listen — too well pleased : And his impassion'd eye — O, 'twas not well. When it did speak a language sweeter still, GUY. 65 To feel its glances ; for it was enough To have seduced a more angelic being. Thus he descended to a sensual world Of libertines and wassailers, who mock'd, Over their wine, the peace they ne'er possess'd. But ever — in the midst of pleasure — dwelt With him the haunting knowledge, that, if this Were truly life, 'twere better to be dead — Ay ! never born ; and that the universe Were all a mighty failure, worthy naught But to be wreck'd and dash'd to utter chaos. There ne'er is such impenetrable night But, somewhere, from the earth a star is seen : There scarcely is a sorrow so intense But hope may glimmer through it: and, methinks, There is no heart so vile that it retains No lingering virtue. Though he had become A libertine, whose pallid cheek reveal'd His wild excess, that Youth was still at heart A seeming contradiction, — evil mix'd 66 GUY. With much redeeming goodness. He had found The vices, which had seem'd Lethean draughts, Possess'd no opiate powers, but that they left Deep in his soul the rankling of remorse. And he perceived, what he had long in vain Endeavor'd to disprove unto himself. That virtue still were virtue, though mankind Were wholly sunk in baseness and in crime. In double wretchedness he lost desire To live ; he long'd for any change of state, E'en though it should be to acuter pain, From that benumbing agony of being. In those dark hours he look'd around upon The things which, in his childhood, had been loved. Remembering all the careless happiness Of those far halcyon days ; but they invoked Deep-thrilling sadness — bitter, bitter tears ! The magic of existence — the tried charm, Which maketh pleasing e'en unpleasing things — Had perish'd : the elixir of the soul, Transmuting every feeling at its touch 6; GUY. To sonictliino- blcss'd or beautiful, was f^one, And would return to him — ah ! nevermore. But, with these melancholy thouj^hts, there came The recollection of the beauteous forms Of Nature, interwoven with his youth, And the delight they erst had given him. And, holding in his hand a goblet brimming With wine, he saw a forest-spring and heard The hurrying tinkle of its pearly stream, Plunging o'er mossy rocks, beneath the heads Of yellow crowfoot, pale anemones, — And in the dream, he dash'd away the glass: Then, bowing low his face upon his hands, He gave him up to fancy. — He beheld. In panoramic beauty, many scenes That once had been familiar (as the young Enthusiast erst had seen them), with a part Of the enrapturing pleasure he had felt. The far snow-crown'd Sierras loom'd again 'Midst their salubrious atmosphere : the sea 68 (^^y- Of prairie-grass and flowers, unbounded round Save by the sky's pure azure, waved beneath The scented gale : again, he sail'd at peace Over the sea-like lakes, and floated down Majestic rivers : and he pitch'd his tent Beneath the dusk pine-forests of the West, And heard the soul-felt music of their leaves; And, round his camp-fire, sat, in reticence. The black-hair'd Indians, in whose belts were seen The tomahawk, and knife, and dangling scalp. The picturesque wild aspect of these scenes Changed to full many a simpler home-like spot, That he was wont to love, — to hills and dells, Dotted with peasants' cottages, where streams Wound on in gentleness — beneath the boughs Of overhanging woods, — as blue as heaven. Awaking from that bless'd forgetful ness, How terrible was the quick-returning sense Of anguish ! — He would seek those happier scenes — Fly from the feverish world ! which aye to him Had been so dark a dream. In solitude. GUY. 69 Dwelling afar,- he deem'd that he might find A soothing bahii, — perchance, a fount of hope. And, thus, a wilhng exile, he became An eremite, an outcast from the world ; And, on that morning of the youthful year, He cast him down upon a mossy slope, Beneath the gnarled aged trees. It was A spot of wondrous beauty, lone and wild, Amid the primitive wilderness. Long time Before, while journeying through the West, he chanced To spy the hidden loveliness of the place ; Long, long it haunted him in memory — Its spirit of peace: and now, at length, most sick Of life and, oh, how weary ! he had come To dwell amidst its solitude. A change Already stole upon him. Seemingly He felt new animation in his blood, Caught from the life around ; his sunken cheek Was tinted faintly with the hue of health ; 70 GUV And his dark eyes, that still were wont to speak So eloquently ere his voice could fall In sweetness on the ear, burn'd with a fire More hopeful than their former languid light. Feeling the undertone of sympathy That wells from Nature to the heeding heart. He dream'd he would not there be all alone Among so many lives, — the only friends , That ne'er would be unworthy of his love. Yes, he could call them friends; for, musing there, He dream'd that all, all life shall be immortal If there is immortality for man. — Does not the lowest, shortest life, too, flow From the same fountain of all life, and light. And motion ? What is this fell monster, Death ? Who knows ? — There was, somehow, a mystic voice In the green leaves above, and in the flowers And fairy fields of moss on which he lay, And birds that sung so sweetly overhead. That told his heart, convincingly, they were Ail children of one mighty family. GUY. yi And he was but their brother. Then he dream'd That, after he should pass that portal dim (If death does open to a future world), He there should, haply, some time see a bower Like to the life of that in which he lay. And, stretch'd upon the violets, there behold The leaves wave o'er him in the gentle air. — 72 GUY. PART THE SECOND. It was a scene of quiet loveliness, — A varied landscape, broken here and there In spots of rugged beauty, but more oft Navell'd with shadowy dells and hidden nooks. In whose sequester'd grottoes gentle echo. Mocking the song of bird and babbling stream, Murmur'd a drowsy melody more sweet Than e'er were numbers of Sicilian pipes. A woody range of circumambient hills, Whose bases lapp'd with ever new effect. Sloped to the waters of a crystal lake Sleeping a tremulous crescent at their feet. But not a herd grazed on the hills, nor bell E'er broke their stillness. Following up the stream Falling a bright cascade into the lake. The nearest grange was situate leagues away Hard by a thriving border settlement, GUY. 73 Built on a railway that had pierced thus far To bear away the lumber of the woods. Without the pale of man's drear influence, Here dwelt the Hermit Guy. His hermitage, A cottage 'neath a clump of scattering oaks Upon the upland, overlook'd below An open prospect ; — fields, whose grassy growtii Was nature's primitive verdure, — many a cluster Of towering trees, that, standing far apart, Seem'd squads of giant knights, the foremost guard Of the great forest which, on either side, Stretch'd far unbroken, — and, beyond the lake. The mountainous hills, whose bluish extreme tops Amalgamated with the distant sky. Here he had dwelt a tweh^emonth since that day When, fleeing from himself and all the world, He sought a dwelling in the wilderness. He found the quiet he had wish'd, for few Broke in upon his solitude. He roved Where'er he listed o'er romantic hills And through the winding valleys of the woods, 7* 74 GUY, And oft, for weeks, beheld but Nature's face And heard no voice save hers. But, thrice, along The margin of the lake, he heard afar Some hunter's hounds that, yelping, followed up The tawny fox; — soon did their baying die In hollow echoes 'neath th' o'erbrowing hills, Passing away as quickly as it came. And, once, in autumn, when the covey'd quails Were calling mournfully, what time the grouse, Drumming beneath the sumach-thickets — red With crimson crops of berries, — ^jarr'd the air As 'twere with sullen thunder, or whirl'd up Whirring, how startlingly, upon the wing; He met a sportsman from the distant town With bag of game, and pointer at his heels; But he nor spoke nor heeded him, and turn'd Coldly away, as did Napoleon, Upon his prison- isle, from those he met. The huntsman, o'er his shoulder looking back, Went on as one mfght go who half believes A spectre near him. Twice, perchance, beside There came a peasant searching through the woods GUV. 75 For straying cattle, — going as he came, A bird of passage. Thus had pass'd the year. The only human voice which Guy had heard Was his old servant Allan's. Silent, strange Was this gray-headed man, who, following there, Became another hermit. Having loved His Master well in far more happy days, He linger'd with him in adversity Loving him still ; for he had been, as 'twere, The foot-ball butt of fortune in his youth. Seeing and suffering much and learning little Save that it was his fate: — thus, he beheld A sort of higher self in this sad Youth, And look'd upon him with a reverent awe. He knew his duty well, nor did he wait Nor ask instruction; very seldom seen, He spake not often, for he heeded well His Master's whim of silent loneliness. Possessing in proportion to his mind The power to dwell within himself and be His own companion, he was not, in truth, 76 GUY. Unlike his Master, who, if he but chose, Scorning mankind, could feed upon his thoughts — However sad, — and be not all without A nameless pleasure in unhappiness. As in the exquisite texture of his mind This Youth was different from all common men, E'en so he differ'd from all who have borne The name of hermit. Sensitive tenderness, Not often equall'd in a loving child, Was ever present in his heart, although He outwardly appeared to casual eyes A spirit fierce, and gloomy, and morose. The flowers of brook-fed leas and twilight woods, In their frail beauty, spirituality. Did make him love them. — Thus it was he brought Unto his cottage mental luxuries, For which how few had cared or even thought If cursed, like him, with hopelessness in life. He fiU'd full many a shelf, in his lone home. With volumes of encyclopedian lore. Whose fount exhaustless was forever sweet, GUY. J J Refreshing, — leaving in his wearied mind A calmness in its sadness, as the sun, Shining athwart the tempest, 'midst the gloom Enweaves the rainbow. He was not alone. — The spirits of the mighty dead arose Mysteriously from pages old, and held Their choicest converse with him; and he grew Familiar with the men whose deeds have thrown Glory o'er man. O, it is great to leave A book — a noble, truthful book — behind ; Which, though the form be dust in kindred dust, Shall ne'er grow old, — an immortality _ Of friendship with the wise and great to be. — Yes, he did love th' immortal fires of sone. Whose heartfelt numbers mirror up to view The soul's recesses — teaching us ourselves. His cottage walls were garnish'd with a {^^ Most beauteous pictures; and; within a niche Of logs unhewn in his quaint library, stood One form, an undraped Hebe, how instinct With soul — superlative loveliness divine ! 78 G^y- And he could wake soft music sweet, which fill'd His heart with rapture — and his eyes with tears. A year had pass'd. More than accorded with So short a period, he was changed ; for time Had set a lasting seal upon his form. Some live scarce half th' allotted time of life, And die not younger than the hoariest men : Their lives are swifter, for they feel more deeply The wear of pleasure — anguish — ^joy — despair; Their minds consume their bodies. Finest oils Are most inflammable, and soonest burn — Returning to their elements. For, what Is the true index of our lives ? — the mind That suffers and enjoys. Ay, he was older — But still that canker was within his heart. Like fell malarial winds, in flowery climes. Which might have been a paradise on earth, Poisoning with their brooding pestilence — Making the spot a desert. I have thought, Musing upon the millions sweeping on GUY. 79 From birth to death, — the herds that do not think, — Who cannot reahze the mystery, The beauty, sorrow, evil of this world, — That 'tis a blessing to be one among The thoughtless, never cursed with gazing up At the bright Unattainable. For, sure. They are more happy. They do set their hearts On drossy trifles, and do think of things Easy to comprehend, and laugh when there Is naught to laugh at ; when they weep, they feel Not scathing anguish, for their minds are duller; And, like the skin-clad savage, they care not O'ermuch for future or dim past, and eat And drink, and sleep, and toil, and die. — Their lives, Like sluggish streams, flow calmly on with scarce A murmur. Genius is exceeding thought. And oft makes miserable the few that feel Its power within them; their wild passions have A Titan's might; their love is ocean-like, Boundless and deep; and tenderness of heart 8o GUY. Is ever theirs. They see the glory of The universe, yet feel how terrible Are life's disasters, and its sorrows dread, — Love riven by death, the sphinx-like riddle, death. Their lives are like swift-flowing mountain rivers That dash o'er horrid dizzy brinks, and whirl Down beautiful in sprayey splendor. Though The sun doth crown them with his rainbow-hues, Below are chasms where midnight darkness reigns. And waters seethe in torment and in strife. Whether he sail'd along the sky-blue lake, The snowy bellying canvas of his boat Catching the summer gale, — or, if he walk'd. At morn or eve or brightly-beaming noon. Over the fields, or through the whispering woods Where peace doth seem to dwell, — or, if, at night, He stood beneath the stars or sad-faced moon Or tempest rushing swift along the sky ; — He aye was haunted by the demon — thought. If he could have but lived like those who pass Existence in the senses, not the soul. GOV. 8 1 Enjoying thoughtlessly, or those who, in Their narrow-mindedness, are wont to deem The petty actions of their little lives Sufficient to fill up their being; he Had been more happy : but these were denied, And he, in true superiority, Was miserable. As one deform'd oft feels A strange desire to gaze upon a glass To view his own deformity, he felt A fascination, which he could not break, Constraining him to ever brood upon His sadden'd lot. Where there were none to hear Save the tall trees, the mossy-mantled rocks, The streams, the flowers, the birds, the restless airs, His long-familiar friends, he spake his thoughts And fancies freely. He was wont to roam In waywardness, unheeding where he went, Free as the winds, to hold deep converse with The scenes around about him. These few scraps, His meditations and wild colloquies 82 GUY. (But when and where 'twere wearying to relate), May serve to show the tenor of his thoughts. " It is not strange the peerless Lancelot Was fabled to have dwelt, in youth, with her The beauteous lady of th' enchanted lake ; For fable intertwines the lovely forms Of Nature with the stories of her knights. And with their beauty tempts us to believe ; — And what is lovelier than a forest lake ? Ah me ! if beauty still possess'd the power To make me happy, floating, as I float Upon this almost waveless lake, beneath The dreamy shadows of the trees that stretch Their leafy branches far o'erhead, methinks I could not be but happy ! But a mind, > Corroded with the darkness of itself. Colors all visual objects with the hue Of its own fancies, making them, as 'twere, A mirror to reflect its wretchedness. — Fathoms below the surface o'er the sand And rocks and shells and pebbles black and white 83 GUY. The fish glance in the sunlight momently Like meteors through the water : far beyond Yon bosky promontory, sails unscared The wild swan, snowy as the clouds that sail Along the sky : ha ! now the osiers green Are shaken on the shore ; the antler'd deer Bends down its graceful glossy neck to drink — Now bounds away; the air is redolent Of melody, and quietude, and peace: But I agree not with the scene, — the sole Dark blot upon its brightness and repose ! ** Yes, even now, the charm of beauty weighs Upon my senses stiflingly, like odors From dewy tropic flowers. The sun-bright hills, Stretching in many a winding ridge along Yon quiet valley till the wreathed oaks That crown their distant summits are resolved To clouds of dusky azure ; — yonder stream, Plunging with wild tumultuous melody Into the lake, — the glittering Minnehaha Of this sequester'd vale, — forever singing 84 GUY. The same sweet laughing song that Nature taught; The warm June sunshine, streaming over all, And photographing, on the lake, the form Of leaf and bough above; tJicsc and the thousand All-nameless charms that, intermingling, blend, Forming the whole, are all how beautiful — How beautiful ! " Alas ! my soul accords Not with the scene! — The sweet-breath'd wild-rose hangs Over the rocky ledges of the shore, Drooping so low the wavelets almost kiss The pendent leaves ; and, o'er the roses, drone The honey-laden bees continuously. Like spirits winging through Elysian vales. Hark, through the last year's leaves, 'neath yonder elms, The graceful chipmunks, screaming, run at play In frolicsome delight ; they feel the joy Of thoughtless, free existence — blessed beings ! I would not rob them of their gladsomeness E'en though 'twould make me happy. — O thou sky! GUY. 85 How canst thou bend so placidly above, As if beneath thy sapphire-arched dome There were no crime, no misery, and no death, — Nothing less pure than thou ? To me, the sun Is virtually extinguish'd, for his beams Serve only to make visible the gloom — The shadow o'er my soul. The loveliness Of Nature breathes but sadness: Hope, sweet Hope — Where is she? that she smiles not for mine eyes." " How obvious — how mysterious is life ! To thoughtlessness it is not wonderful ; But unto him who pries into its depths It ever grows more complicate and dark, Until — as he were gazing on the sun — The light at first beheld becomes a blot, And he is struck with blindness. Is there one Who, searching in th' recesses of his heart. Finds he is not a stranger to himself? — Man knows not whence he came, nor where nor what 8* 86 G^y- Shall be his destination. Through a world He knows as little of as of himself, He journeys toward a beetling precipice Wrapp'd in eternal night ; and when he falls — What is his fate ? Alas, the sagest sage Can tell you what you know — that he is dead. Ay, death is still inexplicable death ; The same dull, stifling, chilly torpor dread, That, when the earth was in her infancy, Fell o'er the good, the beautiful, the brave, The old, the young, the infamous, the wretched, — Freezing alike the blood within their veins. And leaving to the broken-hearted ones. Weeping around the bier, a lifeless thing Men call a corse, which, though too well beloved, Gives with each icy kiss of its set lips A thrill of nameless horror. — Who, to-day, Knows more than this of death's dim mystery ? They, who have laid some loved-one in the grave. Know only, in their woe, that mother Earth Reclaims her children all again to be Hid in the bosom that did nourish them. GUY. 87 "The flowers arise in their allotted times, And bud, and bloom, and perish. Here, methinks, I catch the delicate fragrance of the lilies Now blossoming 'neath the sunshine on the lake ; Ah ! fragile is their snowy loveliness — Few days will pass ere they will float no more Upon the water. 'Midst the sea of air Their soft delicious odors will be lost; And, save to those who chanced to learn to love Their saint-like beauty, Nature still will seem Without a void, — as if no life had fled — Gone out forever. Why arise the trees, Leafy, and tall, and venerable with moss — Great canopies of shade, — except to die? They mark their ultimate doom in their sear leaves. When, driven before the killing autumn blast. They strew the woodland and the sad-voiced brook. The animals of land and sea and air, So full of life, so wonderful in form And mechanism of being, all are doom'd To the same destiny, — to live, then be 88 GUY. No more : and man, great Nature's sovereign, man Is favor'd not beyond the very herds That he is wont to call his slaves ; — 'tis well. The world is one eternal, mighty death-bed, Where beings revel in their winding-sheets And reck not for their ghastliness. Strange — ^' strange — We all are in a feverish delirium, Dancing with Death. In but the passing moment How many a million lives have ceased to be ! " I dwell full often in a land of dreams. The twilight of the senses shrouds me from The visible world ; and, drifting from myself, I seem to wander in th' ethereal realms Of those departed. Round about me float The souls of those I love, and on the air Are voiceless whispers that are not of earth — Breathing the burden of enduring love. Soon, soon, the harsh reality intrudes. Awaking, then, I know that I have been 'Mongst unsubstantial shadows, airy dreams. GUV. 89 And forms that be not, born within a brain Throbbing and heakhless. '* At the dead of night, Have I not studied oft th' dark-woven spells Of sorceress and magician, on the air Casting their hellish potency of charms, Demanding from the dismal silent tomb One single soul ? The only answering voice Was the weird night-wind moaning o'er the roof Amid the darkness. Madden'd with despair, I cursed th' inexorable fiends of hell, Daring them from their fell abodes (as if There were such beings), that I might converse E'en with a demon. But they came not forth. — 'Neath Hesperus pale, at twilight, I have stood In peaceful dells' embower'd solitudes, While in my heart there was a deep, deep woe — A longing all insatiable, and felt That, if the ones who loved me once so well Lived in a higher, better world than this. They would return to comfort me. Alas! The twilight deepen'd into night; I still, 90 G^y- Still felt the same sad aching in my heart. Ah me ! I would that I could be again Th' unquestioning, loving, all-believing child That listen'd, while my mother told me erst, How we at length should go unto a land Where all the year is beauteous as the May : Yes, I remember once when I did ask If, in that bright, delightful world afar. The sweet pink apple-blossoms ever die, And if the robins ever cease their singing And building in the trees ; — a tear bedimm'd Her eyes, as, kissing me, she whispered — ;/ PREFACE. There is an old story, now almost forgotten, that the Moxahala — the Indian name of a small stream that flows through the counties of Perry and Muskingum, Ohio, into the Muskingum River — derived its popular name, Jonathan Creek, from an old hunter and Indian-fighter who dwelt somewhere beside it more than a hundred years ago. This poem is founded on that story. Perhaps it may be asked why I have selected so obscure, local, and trivial an incident for the subject of a poem. If this be a defect worthy of consideration, I have nothing to offer in pallia- tion ; except, if there is any merit in the verses, an observation of Wordsworth on his own poetry, 12^ 133 134 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. ** that the feeling therein developed gives impor- tance to the action and situation, and not the action and situation to the feeling." Though I have lately revised and materially improved this poem, as Sir Thomas More says of Richard the Third, it is still somewhat " ill- fetured of limmes." It reveals its origin ; it was written at the age of nineteen. Yet, for me, it has a charm that has preserved it from the flames — the power to awaken that attribute of the mind, called by metaphysicians suggestion or association of ideas, which has such a wizard-like influence upon man, often making him happy or miserable. I never think of a line of it without remembering many a long botanical excursion, as lonely, de- lightful, and fruitless, judging from what I learned, as Rousseau's in his island-home, and, also, many a youthful hunting and fishing expedition, even more fruitless ; for I first conceived writing it, and composed a great part of it, while angling in the stream from which it takes its name. But to others this spell will be wanting ; they will view PREFACE. 35 it with the cool, discriminating eye of criticism. Be it so. I shall be content if it has sufficient . merit to please a few and induce others, perhaps more successful than I, to turn to a mine that is scarcely opened, — the Indian legends of our Land and the incidents of our early history, one of which Campbell scorned not to sing ; — tales, that would have been the delight of Scott, if he had been born an American, notwithstanding the curse of our yellow-backed literature. The brawny men of the border, both red and white, will soon be extinct. The red man is rapidly passing away before what, to him, is the blight of civilization, succumbing to the law of '* the survival of the fittest ;" and his antagonist, the Indian-fighter, is to be found now only in the wilderness of the far West. They met on the field where General Custer with his army perished bravely and rashly ; in how many thrilling scenes of our earlier history, recorded and unrecorded, they have shared ! With their peculiarities, vir- tues, and vices, they are worthy the contemplation 136 LEGEND OE THE M OX AH ALA. of the philosopher; for they are phases of the eternal evolution of Nature, whose vicissitudes lead on we know not where, nor to what, in the immeasurable future. LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. THE WAR-PARTY. 'TwAS summer — sultry afternoon; 'Twas silent, save the wild-bee's tune ; The arrowy sunbeams, streaming down, Gilded each tree's majestic crown, Yet scarce within that forest-dell A single bar of sunlight fell. 'Twas twilight there : high overhead The aged trees their foliage spread ; And, e'en beneath them, saplings, grown Dense through that hill-girt valley lone, Upheld greenbriers in which there hung The nests where thrushes rear'd their young 'Twas twilight there when noonday light Blazed from the heavens' unclouded height. 137 138 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. Around a heap of embers gray — Replenish'd not since break of day, — In which, at morn, their meal to make Each broil'd his savory venison-steak ; A band of Shawnee warriors sate In council — haughty, brave, sedate. Far had they come from where the wave Of clear Scioto, gently flowing, Reflected in its crystal pave The trees upon its margin growing ; There was their village ; there old men Were angling in the tremulous waters : There were their maize-fields, where, e'en then, Labor'd their dark-hair'd wives and daughters. Wild turkeys' plumes, that glisten'd bright, The raven's plumage, black as night. And feathers, that once graced the form Of golden eagle midst the storm, Were woven in their ebon hair With savage art and wondrous care. And, painted, arm'd, and scant-array'd. Their sinewous limbs and osseous frames LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 1 3^ Seem'd mightier than the men's that made The glory of th' Olympic games. Long could they march, nor stop to rest ; Long could they starve, nor faint oppress'd ; The ills of savage life, the rain, Exposure, cold, and toil (the bane Of civilized man, who sickens, dies, Unshelter'd from th' inclement skies), Were their first memories; soon these grew Almost a pleasure, for they knew 'Twas by such hardships they must grow In strength to bend their fathers' bow. To cast the lance, to chase the deer, To slay the bear, nor dream of fear, The coward vile to scorn, abhor, To learn the sanguine art of war. There's something in such men akin To broad-limb'd oaks that face the din Of many a tempest ; 'neath whose shade Their cradles, made of bark, were laid. And where in childhood's hours they play'd. 140 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. Ay, they are brothers to the hills — Are Nature's sons ; her spirit fills Their hearts : the ever-flowing river Is like their footsteps, restless ever. Cold, silent, calm, oft eloquent; With hearts that naught can make relent, Yet ne'er forgetful of a deed Of kindness till is paid the meed ; Sly, cunning, cruel, yet most brave ; Too proud to plead his life to save ; E'en though his heart should break, his eye Would shed no tear, he would not sigh ; — Such is the Indian : art and lore Ne'er calm'd his blood in ardor hurl'd ; Yet, once, though fallen now, he bore The sceptre of the Western World. The Chieftain tall, whose plumy crest Droop'd o'er his massy neck, address'd His comrades thus : " Ye braves ! when he, My Father, yon bright Sun, shall be LEGEND OE THE MOXAFIALA. j^ At rest, and in the sky's soft blue The eyes of myriad spirits view The deeds of warriors here on eartli ; Then may ye show your valor, worth. Oft has the death-song, sad and low, Proclaim'd the victory with the foe ; Oft have we seen our bravest fall — What! must we perish, one and all? The pale-face chief has slain a score, Of late, e'en at their wigwam door; Yes, he shall die ! The Evil Spirit Doth fill his heart ; why should we fear it ? List ! souls of mighty warriors cry For vengeance, vengeance ! He shall die. Long did he hide we knew not where ; At last, we know the panther's lair : Braves ! on the Earth, my Mother's breast. Let us, till dusk of evening, rest; Then for the capture — torturing fire. To glut our vengeance and our ire !" 13 142 LEGEND OF THE M OX A HA LA. Then, by the Moxahala Stream That flow'd all-waveless Hke a dream (Whose name till now was never sung Save, haply, in the Indian tongue). With many approving *' ughs," around They stretch'd them on the leafy ground And summer violets. Many slept; Some, smoking dreamily, watch'd the smoke As up it circled, roll'd, and crept Amongst the low-bent boughs of oak ; Some fix'd their arms : but not a word From any lip again was heard. LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 143 II. THE INDIAN-FIGHTER AND HIS CABIN. Hid in a dark, secluded nook Beside where fell a moss-fringed brook O'er pebbles white, with gurgle low, In Moxahala Stream to flow ; A cabin, rudest dwelling, stood, Constructed, 'neath the drooping wood, Of logs of various size and length Regardless save to use and strength. And, growing o'er the bark-made roof, Were lichens like a bison's hoof And like the coarse and shaggy hair That clothes the savage grizzly bear; And with the brookside's clayey mould, To part exclude the heat and cold, The crannies in the log-built hut With careless hand were roughly shut. 144 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. Upon the unhewn wall within Hung many a silky beaver-skin ; And, on the earthen floor, the hide Of bear and elk, full neatly dried, Was piled — the hunter's motley bed, With pillow soft, to rest the head, Of panther's coat of reddish brown ; And, just above, depending down From antlers fast against the wall. Were pouch, that held the rifle-ball, And powder-horn, long-used and dear, Adorn'd with carvings quaint and queer. And mark'd with many a mystic dot Each for an Indian warrior shot, Since on the Moxahala's side Its owner, lonely, chose abide. And in the centre ashes lay — Collected there through many a day — Upon a rock, whose wondrous worth (By playful Nature meetly shaped,) The hunter seeing, made a hearth. And left a hole where smoke escaped LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. O'erhead the logs and bark between, Where sweeping boughs, a leafy screen, Dispell'd the rising smoke unseen. In short, a mansion suited well To him who sought that place to dwell; Within, a low, poor, dingy room ; Without, seen through the forest-gloom By one that off a distance stood Amid the thick-set underwood, It seem'd but trees, promiscuous thrown By some dread tempest, mossy grown. The hunter in the threshold sat Upon a wolf-hide for a mat, With trusty rifle close at hand Ready to use should chance demand, — To send his foe, if seen around, To seek that happier hunting-ground ; And, sharing in the doorway seat Contented at his master's feet. •45 146 LEGE AW OF THE MO XA HA LA. Lay Don, a hound of savage breed, Yet faithful in the hour of need ; His master's friend for many a year, Sole sharer in his forest cheer ; The tried companion of his toil. Partaker in the chase and spoil. Two peers well suited to their life Of wild adventure, border strife, They seem'd by Nature form'd to be Each other's only company ; For Don had grown a grade above — Exalted by alchemic love — The brutish fierceness of his kind ; The master had as much declined By dwelling where no voice he heard That spake a soft or chiding w^ord, Nor saw a feeling tear to flow From eyes afire with joy or woe, And where regard for blame and praise Was cast away with other days : LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. And, thus, residing there alone Within a world that seem'd their own, They found an equal social sphere That made each other doubly dear. The woodsman was grotesquely dress'd In Indian style; his hunting-vest, Made by himself of half-tann'd skin, Was gayly fringed beneath the chin With bear-claws won in many a fray — The blood-stain'd trophies borne away ; Around the skirt — embroidery fine — Was many a quill of porcupine Wrought into beads, that glisten'd bright In various dyes 'tween black and white. The girdle round his brawny waist. With glittering wampum duly graced, Held, o'er his hip, the scalping-knife He used in close and deadly strife ; And, polish'd bright, — well did he know To use it on his hated foe, — 47 148 LEGEND OF THE M OX AH ALA. His tomahawk within the band Hung dangling ready at command. His form, not heavy, tall and strong. Was stoop'd by hardships suffer'd long, Yet did his muscular limbs appear As agile as the prairie deer; And in his eye (that saw aright Full many a mile past common sight. And mark'd the least disturbance made In mossy nook and leafy shade, And watch'd as slow he stole around For signs of Indians on the ground,) There burn'd a fierce and sullen fire That gleams of piercing radiance shed, Which in the bravest would inspire, Scarce knowing why, a thrill of dread. His brow, where veins of blackish blue Stood, cord-like, plainly out to view. Was scarr'd and deeply furrow'd o'er ; And, scattered thin in patches hoar, His whiskers grew without a trace Where razor e'er had touch'd his face LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 149 And, aye, withal, he bore an air Of settled hate or dull despair ; Yet, somehow, there was left behind A something, telling to the mind He once was loving, good, and kind ! Such in his curious scouting-gear Was Jonathan, the pioneer ; Whose name, in those old days, to speak Would blanch an Indian's swarthy cheek. His surname long has been forgot. Perchance e'en he remember'd not That word, whate'er it was, a name Obscure or haply known to fame. Which in that desert ne'er again. As whilom, fell from lips of men. Perhaps, that name in Albion long Was woven in many a silver song By ladye-love for errant-knight, Or 'broider'd on the favor's fold He wore in conflicts for the right And tournaments ablaze with gold : ISO LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. And, haply, proud of lineage old From Saxon thane or Norman bold, His ancestors could trace their line Through knights who fought at Palestine; Whose graven escocheons still attest Upon the tombs wherein they rest, That bravely warr'd they heart and hand 'Gainst Saladin and his painim band To rescue thence the Holy Land. Or, yet, belike, of lineage low Crush'd by the weight of toil and woe, His fathers with their scanty store Fled to a barbarous, western shore, Pursued by priestcraft's hellish hate With burning brand in holy state. But why conjecture? 'Tis the same If high or low his family-name. So let it in oblivion sleep ; For, sure, the Shepherd knows his sheep Though wandering in the forest deep. LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 51 III. HIS YOUTH. His history, gather'd here and there From many a swain with hoary hair, I heard in quaint and rural phrase Told by the fireside's cheerful blaze, And at repasts full often shared, — By country lasses well prepared, — Where earthen bowls, by usage brown'd, With cider brimm'd, were pass'd around. And home-bred worth made all elate With joys denied the rich and great. And, if — endeavoring here to tell With studious care what once befell — Imagination frame a line, 'Twill be to blend, to give control O'er rumors vague, and thus combine The lowly texture of the whole. 152 LEGEND OF THE MOXAIIALA. But be the story false or true As told by those who never knew The name of him they spake about Save Jonathan, the border scout, The moral still is worthy heed ; For every thought, and word, and deed, Have their effects. Who can foretell How long they last, or ill or well ? Erst in New England dwelt a child Upon whose birth Dame Nature smiled ; For, gifted with a love of truth And gentle heart that others' ruth Dissolved in sympathetic tears, And wisdom not beyond his years. He seem'd as somehow foredesign'd Of that most lucky, happy few, Who, asking little, seldom find The pathway barren they pursue. He was not born a Chatterton To think, aspire, and be undone. 153 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. And, so, his boyhood was delight: The stillness deep of summer-night, The stirring grandeur of the storm, The tremulous lake, the swan-like form Of beauteous clouds, the stars, the flowers, Possess'd for him no moving powers Mysterious, such as some have felt ; And, yet, no vulgar lad was he : He loved too well ; his heart would melt O'ermuch at others' misery. 'Tis said his home was just in sight Of village-spires of modest white, Whose evening bells were faintly heard ; 'Tis said his home was one of peace, Where loving heart and loving word Made all but thoughts of joy to cease. O Love, Love, Love ! thou art the sole Eden of life : thou mak'st to roll The suns and worlds through heaven : the heart Is happy only where thou art. 14 154 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 'Tis said that, 'neath green mulberry-leaves That arch'd a lane, on summer eves, He drove the kine (some Bess and Spot Perchance) home from the meadow-lot. Watching the while lest he might tread — With shoeless foot — some pensile head Of sweet white clover, where the bee Droned, gathering honey ceaselessly. And, when the luscious mulberries hung Purple and ripe the leaves among, He climb'd the trees and long remain'd Till hands and lips were ruby-stain'd. And, when the kine were milk'd and fed, He drove them from the milking-shed Down through the winding lane again ; Where, if the dusk was gathering then. He hied him back from the silent spot Afraid of — sure, he knew not what. They say (I know not why) all day About some mill, he used to play. LEGEND OT THE MOXAHALA. J55 Skimming flat stones from wave to wave Over the dam's wide-spreading pave, With the white miller's son and daughter; That oft he watch'd the foaming water Dash round the creaking mossy wheel, That whirl'd the buhr, where golden meal And snowy wheaten flour were ground. Ah well, well, well ! we all have seen Life's Maydays once, and, since, have found Never again their like, I ween. The boy desired to be a man. Lo, swifter than at play he ran In childhood's flowery, cloudless clime, Sped on the ceaseless sands of Time; And soon there dawn'd a wondrous change Expanding far his mental range. Till passion, with a deeper flow. Made joy delight, and sorrow woe. He felt emotions strangely strong Conflicting^ ever, rig-ht and wrong;, 156 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. His heart the field with battle rife ; He saw the import — risk of life. But, still, the youth, contented not, — All fain would choose a happier lot, — Then sigh'd, again to be a boy, For thoughtless hours and simpler joy. But, gathering up his mite of care With sweetly-smiling Hope to share Its then but scarcely noticed weight. While she, sweet fabler, told elate How shortly in some happier day The load should all be cast away. And in its place the amaranth-flowers Of peace, cuU'd in the future's bowers, Should make his path with beauty smile- His heart the true Elysian Isle; He made the best of every ill; He conquer'd by the power of will, And struggled on as all must do Toward something dear to fancy's view, LEGEND OF THE MO XA HA LA. 157 And toil and pain and error met, And oft behind him heard regret Upbraiding for some hapless deed When 'twas too late to e'er recede. And when to manhood's strength he came His life was labor still the same ; And, though full oft with sudden blight He saw the dream Hope pictured bright Resolved to naught, or worse, a tear; He deem'd though 'twere through doubt, and fear, And error, sorrow, pain, that He At length will lead his children home, — From higher worlds, that they shall see Why darkling they were doom'd to roam. He felt that every deed or thought With pure intrinsic goodness fraught Is in itself its own reward, Though none should heed it, none accord The plaudits due ingenuous worth ; That none can nearer reach on earth 14* I^S LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. To man's desire, felicity, Tlian those whose aim it is to be, With unremitting, noble zeal, The furtherers true of common weal. He saw the victor yet should wear The guerdon olive in his hair; And, so, he gave the hungry bread And for the homeless found a shed ; And, lo, while soothing others' pain, He found his loss a wondrous gain. He loved a maid of rustic air. But rich in beauty far more rare Than Nature in a lavish hour Is wont to make a mortal's dower, — That simple treasure few possess, A heart of genuine gentleness. She loved him ; — why was he her choice ? I only know love's choice is right. O oft, how oft, her low sweet voice Gave him, when weak, redoubled might ! LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA, For woman's weakness makes her strong; And, with a myrtle- wand, the throng She sways with gentle — iron will: Ay, men, unweeting, all fulfil Her sweet behests, though spoken low, Resistless if her tears but flow, — Alike inciting weal or woe. In fancy, — as I, dreaming, raise The spirits of old Colonial days, — Methinks some village-bell I hear With merry chime outpealing clear. And see, slow moving up the aisle, Young Jonathan with beaming smile Conduct his blushing happy bride Half-fearful to the altar's side, And list the churchman's solemn rite. Through life till death, their fates unite. 59 l5o LEGEND OF THE MO X AH A LA. IV. HIS HOME NEAR SENECA LAKE. Not lavish was the husband's store, For virtue often seeks no more Than satisfies the present need ; And, wishing then to so proceed That 'twould provide a cottage-farm. And trusting to his stalwart arm To fell the woods with patient toil And cultivate the virgin soil ; He hied him to the lands beside The lone and lovely Seneca Lake, Upon whose waveless, crystal tide, Then, none but Indians' oars did wake Soft echoes, as they sought to find The wild duck's nest 'midst brake and reed, Or, near the shore, to shoot the hind When down she came to drink and feed. LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. i5 There, with the neighboring settlers' aid, He built his cabin in the shade Of oaks, that might have not been young Since Coeur de Lion fought and sung. The huge tall trees, with rumbling crash. The pristine oak, and elm, and ash, ' Fell prostrate 'neath his echoing stroke. As when the Jove-hurl'd lightning broke The giants' dread, audacious strength And stretch'd them, quivering, at their length. Soon fields of black-soil'd land were clear — Whilom the covert of the deer — Before the sturdy pioneer. The Indian maize, with wavy leaves, The wheat-fields, gemm'd with golden sheaves. The fallow-land beside the rill. The cabin on the sloping hill, Look'd like a picture framed between Surrounding walls of leafy green. 1 52 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. The mistress of that sylvan grange Her humble household did arrange With homely taste and ceaseless care, Diffusing round a simple air Of heartfelt comfort by the spell That from her very presence fell ; For she, like Midas famed of old, Transform'd whate'er she touch'd to gold. And, humming some old ballad o'er That told of far Britannia's shore, She sped her wheel, scarce-seen, around With sweet, continual, droning sound, Forming with care the flaxen strand That, woven by the self-same hand And bleach'd beneath the solar light. Should soon be linen snowy white : As busy she, as poets say Penelope, with long delay, Chaste, laboring, wore her time away. How wondrous are the changes wrought Since those old days of simple thought ! LEGE AW OE TUB MOXAHALA. 163 Now, 'tis not meet or lady fair Or country lass should sit and spin ; Their work has changed. — Hark ! hark ! the air Is rent by rattling loom and gin, Where one man does a hundred's work; Yet all are busy : those who shirk Are but the drones, that serve to show What labors idlers undergo. Ay, 'tis the age of puissant steam, Of telegraph, and thundering beam. And mill, and anvil, whence the hum And stir of prospering millions come ! O Labor ! thou art nobly great : Behold each rich and populous State Thou nurturedst up ; — still westward rise Great empires, cities, destinies ! Yes, Lincoln, splitting rails, became The President, whose cherish'd name Shall live — until the death of fame. When Jonathan, with labor done At sultry noon or set of sun, 164 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. Turn'd homeward aye 'twas his to greet A happy smile, a presence sweet Awaiting at his humble door — Ah ! truly glad his toil was o'er. And, with a kiss, as loving yet As those in courtship none forget, The seal of welcome was impress'd — A balm that made his spirit rest ; O, 'tis not strange he thought him bless'd. At night when, through the forest, shrill Was heard the distant whip-poor-will, Or hungry wolves' protracted howl In answer to the hooting owl ; He told the tale of Plymouth rock Or read his Bible — all his stock — To her, whose knitting needles sped The while she heard each word he said. Thus, oft, an idle summer day, And evening sweet with scent of hay. And winter night when keenly blew The north-wind down the stick-built flue, LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 165 He whiled away with legend lore Or conn'd his Bible o'er and o'er. With love and peace and happiness Such as a mortal's lot might bless (For love and virtue have the power To fill with sunshine every hour), They lived till years bequeath'd to them Two blossoms like their parent stem: A boy, in whom was plainly seen His mother's grace, his father's mien ; And, sweeter far, with auburn curl Shading a forehead white as pearl, The joy of all— a lovely girl. Ah ! sweet is life whene'er it flows — Though dash'd full oft with fleeting woes— With love's enchantment leading where The prospect charms, forever fair! Is life, whose golden cynosure Is love, that makes mankind endure So much, so much, when deep and pure. 15 ^^ LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. But, O ! if Death relentless parts With icy hands such loving hearts, 'Tis better far to be the dead Than living when all hope is fled — Than feel 'twere bliss to ne'er have known The heaven of love, forever flown, When left with woe, alone ! alone I — 'Twas autumn, when the mellow air A sense of sadness seem'd to bear, And leaves of gorgeous red and brown And burnish'd gold fell rustling down, And o'er the distant hills a band Of gossamer haze seem'd fairyland ; That beauteous season few e'er know Save in Columbia's autumn glow, When deep Enchantment weaves around Her spells in every sight and sound Till Nature's self is full of rhyme, — The Indian's soft-air'd Summer-time. The eve had pass'd, and midnight shade Profound hung over wood and glade, LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. 167 And Stars aloft were twinkling bright, And softly sigh'd the wind of night ; Nor at the cabin, looming dim 'Neath many a drooping, shadowy limb, Was felt the least portent of ill Where, save the night-bird, all was still. But, suddenly, howl and horrid yell As from the confines dim of hell. And helpless shriek, and dying wail, Fell mingling on the shuddering gale! And, in the cabin, all afire, Uprose the red man's whoop of ire — While tomahawk and scalping- knife Dealt common death to child and wife ! And, dancing wild, with menace dread And eagle-plumes upon each head And war-paint daub'd in hideous streak With mystic power o'er brow and check, The warriors, 'midst the spectral glare, Fierce, terrible demons of despair, Brandish'd their scalps of gory hair ! 58 LEGEND OF THE MO X AHA LA. Long had the din of havoc ceased ; And, rising in the orient east, The sun look'd down as bright, serene, O'er smouldering logs and ruin'd scene, And woodland life, unheeding, gay, Pursued its self-same destined way, As if no heart was crush'd with grief To which but death could give relief. Yes, Jonathan — unconscious how — Escaped, though gash'd across the brow ; For 'twas his fate to struggle on Though hope had flown — forever gone : And there he stood and could not weep, Wan, woful, haggard ! by the heap, — The ruins of his home, — the grave Of children, wife, to ashes burn'd ; There all he loved and could not save Lay in the dying embers urn'd ! And, bowing low with no desire Save death beside that funeral pyre, LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. His quivering voice, so long suppress'd By choking anguish in his breast, Burst forth in wail and hopeless moan. " Oh God ! why am I left alone ? When all are dead I cherish dear 'Tis death — 'tis death to linger here ! O ! would that fate had will'd that I, With those I love, should live — and die !" He heeded not the comfort given By many a heart with pity riven ; And soon his wavy hair was gray. Then from his eye a vengeful ray Gleam'd out, of unrelenting hate ; And then he half-forgot his fate. Oft, like a madman, cruel smiled ; And people deem'd his fancy wild. — Ere chill November came and went, From out that border settlement With ammunition, hound, and gun (Telling his future course to none), He turn'd him toward the Setting Sun. 15* 169 I^O LEGEND OF THE MO X AH ALA. V. THE LAST CONFLICT. The sun had set; the crescent moon With halo wan had follow'd soon ; And Moxahala, shadow'd o'er By buckeye, beech, and sycamore, Flow'd gurgling 'neath the gloom of night ; And, 'tween the leaves that rippled light, Look'd, trembling, here and there a gleam Of starlight on the dimpling stream. With piercing glance and noiseless tread Quick from his hut the hunter fled (While Don, as stealthful, keeping nigh Glared fiercely round with savage eye), For, having cross'd the woody vale, He came upon an Indian trail LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. And all his deadly peril felt : Well did he know the place he dwelt Was sought by Indians far and near — To wreak revenge — for many a year. The Shawnee Chief had track'd the bear, At last, e'en to his hidden lair. And, stealing from the bosky glen With half a hundred ruthless men, Before 'twas his the foe to take He mentally burn'd him at the stake For many a murder'd warrior's sake. The red men, feeling sure the prey Was in his fastness brought to bay, Closed round the hut on every side ; And some the fiery brand applied, While others, yelling, turn'd to bind The dreadful foe they thought to find, And rush'd within with tiger-bound — But, lo ! no captive there they found. 17 72 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. Hark ! ringing on the midnight breeze Afar 'neath labyrinthian trees, A rifle shrieks with sulphurous breath Sending its message dire of death — The Shawnee Chief with dying whoop Falls, quivering, midst the motley group. • Ha! now amazement dumb appalls — A sharp report — another falls — O pale-face Chief, away ! away ! Loud, fierce, resounds the deep-voiced bay Of ghoulish forms, a horrid pack, That, howling, bound upon your track With bow and spear and gun and knife And tomahawk to take your life ! Away — away — go, seek the cave Where oft before, your life to save. With mystery deep, you did elude The hordes that at your back pursued. Ah hark ! they come with sounding tread And whoops that echo wild and dread ! — LEGEND OE THE MOXAHALA. 173 Dewy, and fragrant-breath'd, and pale, Came morn, with wakening voice of bird And bee, and cool leaf-stirring gale, And squirrel's chirp, mid branches, heard. 'Twas on a hill-side's bluffy edge, Where rocks stuck out with mossy ledge, Where wavy-scallop'd ferns between The fissured rocks grew rich and green, And delicate flowers, to us unknown Save — hid from man — in forests lone, Bloom'd 'neath the trees that, arching high, Shut out the azure summer sky. Where ivy wild and grapevines clung To drooping shrubs that overhung The lichen'd rocks and shady ground. Beneath the ledge a passage wound, That, to a cavern dark and small, Led through a jagged, narrow hall. There Jonathan the night before Escaped the Indians in his flight ; 74 LEGEND OF THE MOXAHALA. He seem'd to vanish — be no more ! And they, with awe and sore affright And superstitious fancy fraught, Deem'd 'twas a demon they had fought, And hied them homeward full of thought. fc)' But Jonathan lay cold and dead, The cavern-floor his rocky bed; And on his bosom, clotted o'er With oozy drops of blackish gore, A ball had left its circle red ; And in his back an arrow-head. With shaft protruding, broke in two. Had proved its fatal guidance true. Yes, Jonathan, the pale-face Chief, Had found at last that sweet relief — Nepenthe for each earthly grief And e'en o'er him one mourner kept His vigil — yea, and, haply, wept; For think not man alone can know The bliss of love, the pang of woe:- LEGEND OF THE MO X AHA LA. With paws upon his master's breast And plaintive howl of deep unrest, His lonely dog, though all unheard, Implored a look, a loving word. And lick'd his master's cheek and hand, And seem'd to vaguely understand His soul was in a happier land ! 175 OLELA: A WANDERER'S VISION OF PEACE. i6 177 OLELA: A WANDERER'S VISION OF PEACE. Continuous, falling, falling, falling, I heard the rain Against the pane So drearily to wax and wane ; And loneliness, both vague, appalling, Seem'd everywhere To clog the air Like some foreboding of despair ; Yet, while — that stormy night — my heart was teeming With fancies fell, I knew full well. E'en while I could not break the spell 179 l8o OLE LA. (For Psyche told me truly), 'twas but seeming Upon her breast She bade me rest, And there I laid me dreaming. II. I dwelt within a valley's space — The homestead of a rural race ; A cot my happy dwelling-place, With mossy thatch and arbor-tree; And round the vale on either side A wall of mountains, azure-dyed, Was rear'd aloft to ever hide And guard its pure simplicity. III. And through the valley, clover red And forest-phlox with nodding head A soft, delicious fragrance shed, As in some blossomy nook of Aidenn ; OLE LA. l8i And o'er the flowers a busy brood Of wild-bees cull'd ambrosial food, Or droned a drowsy interlude When homeward bound with honey laden. IV. There, arch'd by willows all the way, Where cattle dozed the summer-day And wind-flowers blossom'd all the May, A mountain brook with pebbly strand (The child of many a bright cascade), Beneath the tremulous light and shade. Went dancing to the pipe it play'd Adown the sheep-cropp'd meadow-land. V. And, hid deep in the copsy dell, On upland slope, and grassy fell. Was heard the sweetly tinkling bell With echo faint, from flocks of sheep ; 32 OLELA. And near — while o'er the thymy ground With busy hp and munching sound The sheep would nip the herbage round — The shepherd loiter'd, half asleep. VI. There vain Ambition never came, The high and low were all the same — Life's frugal wants the proudest aim, — And care return'd not with the dawn ; For Luxury was all unknown, And Pride had long been overthrown By Love, that reign'd supreme, alone; Thus life's still current dimpled on. VII. In spring-time when the fields were green, The valley held a festive scene Where lad and lass with smile serene Wove garlands in each other's hair; OLELA. And, roving far in search of flowers — The blushing maids like rosy Hours, — Were thrill'd by love's bewitching powen And then were doubly, doubly fair. VIII. And in the drowsy summer weather They pitch'd the odorous hay together, And gather'd lilies in the heather While resting through the sultry noon ; And when at last the sun-tann'd hay For all the year was mow'd away, The youths and maids, with laughter gay, Would dance beneath the misty moon. IX. When Autumn, far more lavish, bold, Than alchemists renown'd of old, Transform 'd the very woods to gold ; They roam'd the hills with forest grown 83 1 84 OLELA. And gather'd — as they patter'd down From many a treetop's gorgeous crown- The ripen'd nuts, as russet brown As were the lasses' tresses blown. X. And when, at night, the angry blast With ghostly footfalls, moaning, pass'd Round sylvan grange, and wildly cast Fantastically the sifting snow ; By cheerful firesides through the vale True lovers told that sweetest tale. And quite forgot the wintry wail In bliss that only lovers know. XI. What lofty calling is so great As that of him, of low estate. Who, asking ne'er a change of fate, Dwells far away from heartless pride, OLE LA. 185 And, miiiMinsf not in fashion's coil, Sees pleasure pure in healthful toil, — To prune the tree and till the soil And fold the herd at even-tide ? XII. For sure content is almost heaven ; And he, to whom such wealth is given. Is bless'd beyond who long has striven While love of grandeur fired his breast. Ah, yes ! give me the rustic cot, The meadow, wold, and garden plot, — The glory of a lowly lot, Where Peace may come and build her nest ! XIII. In that sweet dale with one, a friend, I many a happy hour would spend Till eve, when glimmering shadows blend Shutting the landscape from the eye ; 86 OLE LA. As angling in some willowy nook — Like Walton erst at Shawford-brook, — With converse low and busy hook We knew not hours were fleeing by. XIV. My home — most dear beyond degree In highest heaven, it seems to me, If souls are bless'd as souls can be, Each has a dear, delightful home, 'Neath towering trees that sigh above, 'Midst birds and flowers and hearts to The dovecot to the carrier-dove When, weary, it has ceased to roam XV. There Olela, the light of all. Who held my chosen heart in thrall, Dispell'd, e'en by the fairy fall Of her soft footsteps, every care ; ove, OLELA. And, as the clouds beneath the sun Grow luminous that were dark and dun. She smiled — and homeliest objects won A kindred radiance, rich and rare ! XVI. In laugh and motion, form and face, She bore that untaught native grace That Goethes dream and Raphaels trace- Ah, rarely found upon the earth ; And loveliest, most majestic part Of perfect beauty, void of art, — The heaven within a guileless heart That overflows with love and worth ! XVII. Full oft beneath the dark green leaves Of vines that wreathed our cottage-eaves, At evening, when the earth receives A pensive stillness, mystic spell, — 87 1 88 OLELA. We spake a language silent, sweet ; And while our hearts with passion beat Our eyes were with a tale replete That voice could never speak so well. XVIII. Her speech was music soft and low, The tongue that love should ever know ; And, if she sung, a tear would flow — Celestial portals stood ajar. Ah ! 'mid the myriad flowers of spring Fann'd by the zephyr's scented wing, Again, methinks, I hear her sing These stanzas to the Evening Star : XIX. I. Pale Star! that shimmer'st o'er yon mountain peak While yet the sky Is tinged, like some shy maiden's blushing cheek, With crimson dye, OLE LA. 189 2. So long before another star is seen To tremble through, With faint, faint spark, the heaven's serene Unclouded blue, — 3- How beautiful thou art! What hallow'd calm Of memories dear Thou bring'st and pour'st upon us — sweet, if balm, Or, cause of tear ! 4. 'Tis deem'd thine is the hour when lovers learn To dream and sigh, And hearts, while stolen, all-meaning kisses burn, Throb warm and high. 5. Coy vestal Eve, enrobed in gray and brown, Thyself dost love ; Else, why, when she is here, dost tJwu smile down From heaven above ? 17 go OLELA. 6. Thy golden beam is not all joy alone; E'en though thou shine, For aye, upon thy love from yon high throne. She'll ne'er be thine ! 7. Ah, yes ! e'en now, thy pensive influence fills The twilight air, That, kissing all the roses' cheeks, distils In tear-drops there, — 8. By thy soft light, that brightens more and more As shadows fall, Here, let me bow beneath the sky — adore The Soul of All ! XX. Yes, home is more than all beside, 'Tis where the saintliest hopes abide : My cot, where time would swiftly glide Yet be an endless merry May, OLELA. Was all a world of love to me, A fairy isle far 'midst the sea Where care and woe could never be, — Enchantment smiled them all away. XXI. For, waiting ever. Love would stand For Olela's most sweet command; And wheresoe'er she placed her hand She left the charm of beauty's power, Ennobling toil and rural life Beyond the madding din and strife And envy, like a demon, rife Within the prince's pennon'd tower. XXII. O ! who, on earth, can be more bless'd Than he that, in a loving breast (A universe — and all possess'd), Is cherish'd 'mid some scene of peace ? 191 1 92 OLE LA. Such simple life, all bliss the same, Such true content, without a blame, Are more than all the vaunted fame And glory of both Rome and Greece ! XXIII. T waked And, driving, driving, driving Before the gale, The heavy hail Struck pane and roof, amidst the wail Of trees and winds in conflict striving; — And, ah ! my heart Without a start Felt storm and night its counterpart, Nor, from my worn and weary Soul, could borrow A golden gleam, A hopeful beam To stream within so dark a dream — No radiant vision of a bright to-morrow ! For life, to me, Where'er I be. The past hath fiU'd with sorrow. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 17* 193 OURANOPETES. I. I REMEMBER — and tlius I am cursed. O how sweet were a Lethean measure To deaden the memory of Pleasure When the bright-tinted bubble is burst ! When dreams, that, while dreaming, Seem teeming With bliss, Are no more ; Ah ! why are we doom'd to deplore That something we ever shall miss ? II. To live is to dream hath been said : Oh ! the phantoms that flit without number 195 196 OURANOPETES. Throufrh the dusk of that feverish slumber- Perchance 'tis to zvake to be dead? Some dreams there are stranger, And change ere The rest; It is well Not all are predestined to dwell In that land — or blasted or bless'd. III. Dare I tell of a Being most fair, On whose face of all beauty for hours I gazed, 'neath the tremulous showers Of her tropical sunshine of hair ? — Till her presence it fill'd me. Near kill'd me With love; Nor I knew That a Being so bright was untrue,- They had cast her from heaven above. O URANOPE TES. I gy IV. O her eyes were so lustrous and wild ! Their cerulean strangeness — their glances Enchain'd me in magical trances ; Ah, I knew not their light was defiled. And her hands were so slender And tender And white ; What a thrill, When I press'd them, they gave, — 'twas a chill Of intoxicating, 'wildering delight ! V. We were wandering one morn in a wood : From the fruit-laden branches all mossy, Hung parasites, crimson and glossy, Shedding fragrance around where we stood ; In that forest enchanted, O'erflaunted The sod, )8 OURANOPETES. Weeping dew, Every blossom delicious that grew In the river- fed Garden of God. VI. We were loitering alone in a wood : I had drunk of her Circean sweetness — The nectar of gods in completeness ; She had kiss'd me e'en there as we stood. — Where was she? Lo, dimmer Did glimmer The dawn From the skies, For my day was the light of her eyes : — She had vanish'd — -oh ! where had she gone ? VII. How sweetly, from far through the trees, Echo'd peals of her musical laughter ! " I will fly," then I cried, " follow after" — But white lilies entangled my knees. OURANOPETES. jqq Her mantle of whiteness, Her brightness Of hair I could see, Fluttering wildly past many a tree, As she sail'd like a god on the air. VIII. In that forest were streamlets of light Dancing on under thickets of roses ; There were dim-lighted labyrinths and closes, Though the sun arose glorious and bright: And around me was ringing The singing Of birds. Whose wild glee Cast a mystical sadness o'er me, — They were carolling sibylline words. IX. All day, through that wilderness strange, I follow'd the Soul of my vision — 200 O URANOPE TES. Was led by a Laugh of derision In a world of enchantment and change. When twilight descended, Attended Despair On my heart ; And I knew it would never depart, For a demon did prophesy there. X. Then the stars became lurid and fierce, — Like tiger-eyes, hunger'd their fires ; And the myrtle grew thistles and briers ; And each blossom all thorny to pierce : Yet I follow'd, unheeding And bleeding, That Voice In the night. Though it rung with a fiendish delight,- Alas ! it bereft me of choice. O URANOPE TES. 20 1 XI. At length, e'en the stars overhead, Despising my terrible anguish, Began to appallingly languish — And soon they were rayless and dead ! Then hopelessness rushing Came crushing Me low ; And I pray'd The Destroyer would hear me and aid, And swoon'd in the midnight of woe. XII. It seem'd as if aeons had flown Exceeding in vastness the ages Of the world with its rock-written pages,- Perchance, 'twas a moment alone, — When a Power bent o'er me And bore me To earth : 18 202 OURANOPETES. I awoke, But my spirit was humbled and broke; And life was not life but a dearth. XIII. Now my soul it doth hunger and thirst For a Being of exquisite beauty, Whom to worship did seem but a duty, But whose smile is a sorcery accursed. — When dreams, that, in seeming, Are teeming With bliss, Become woe ; O God ! 'twere a heaven below To forget what we ever shall miss. LINCOLN AN ODE. 'Evracpiov 6e tolovtov odf evpug ovd' 6 TzavdafutTup ufiavpuaet xpovog SiMONIDES. I. There is no earthly word or deed More worthy heaven, Prometheus-Hke, sublime, Than his who, deeming death the meed, Undaunted, calm, speaks tr6th condemning crime. And, 'mid unnumber'd foes, Injustice dares oppose. II. O ! 'tis most sweet, when life seems vain, And doubts appall, and tears are fain to flow, 203 204 LINCOLN. To feel that Man may here attain Such heights exalted in this world of woe ! Acts angels stoop to view — Yea, might aspire to do. III. Lincoln ! thy name shall ever shine A beacon bright amid our nether gloom. Till Freedom, Virtue perish, thine Shall be a theme of praise — an envied doom And Greatness bend the knee, Though emulous, to thee. IV. How few, how few have graced the earth Whose names with thine 'tis justice to unite. Where is thy peer for simple worth ? Who like to thee 'mid danger's darkest night? Serene whate'er thy fate ; Without ambition, great. LINCOLN. 205 V. Thou second Founder of thy land ! Small need hast thou of choral hymns of praise ; Thy vindicating heart and hand Wove thee bright wreaths of never-dying bays, That blossom full as fair Though twined not in thy hair. VI. Thou smot'st the shackles from the slave, Didst slay a demon, bid a curse depart; Thou fill'st, alas ! a martyr's grave, Though sepulcher'd within thy Nation's heart ! Thy monument thy name, Festoon'd with deathless fame. VII. 'Tis well to weep when those are dead Who make the world not better ere they go ; But, when great saintly souls have fled High heavenward, let no heart a sorrow know, — But swell with joy and pride That such have lived and died ! 18* SOLILOQUY OF ONE RETURNED TO THE SCENES OF HIS CHILDHOOD. I've traversed scenes renown'd in song, I've mix'd with pomp and chivalry, Yet dearest is this. spot to me, This simple spot, remember'd long. Canst thou be dead, my playmate ? thou Whose name is link'd with youth's delight ? Ah, Maud ! methinks I see thee now With eyes and tresses dark as night. Below those hills where jut the rocks Above yon shady mountain stream. And, dim as objects in a dream, Are mirror'd back in massy blocks, — 206 SOLILOQUY. 207 We gather'd lilies on the ledges, That, as Narcissus loved of eld, Bow'd coyly o'er the mossy edges To view themselves as he beheld. 'Tis strange, though thou art pass'd away. That Nature smiles the same as then ; — E'en heaven's white cloudlets sail again Just as we watch'd them when at play. Ah, Childhood — flowery May of life That swiftly passes toward December, And only leaves 'mid after strife Thy sinless raptures to remember — How truly sweet thy transient day ! Who can but scarce repress a tear While thinking when nor care nor fear Cast shadows o'er life's sunny way ? 2o8 SOLILOQUY. Oh for a spell to vanquish fate — Her woven woof of woes to sever, — I'd live a life with joy elate A thoughtless child, how happy ever. For, but in merry childhood, dance The sunbeams, leaves, and gurgling streams (More rapturous than heaven-pictured dreams), With all their beauty and romance. Yes, we may live and toil and learn And fancy we are growing wise, But, still, methinks we ever yearn To see again with childish eyes ! Ah, Maud, with patience unexcell'd We angled here for mountain trout, And hail'd their capture with a shout Whose echo up the valley swell'd ; SOLILOQUY. 209 While I, with self-important look, Would act the true gallant the while, And fix for thee the bearded hook Repaid by an approving smile. And oft together by the hour We read some witching fairy-tale, How fairy-knights, encased in mail. Would scale their ladies' dizzy tower ; Then, gathering loosen'd stones and moss. We'd build a castle grand and gray, And moat it with a frowning fosse To guard its portals night and day; And thou wouldst be the princess fair, Confined by some magician's doom To wait within the castle's gloom The knight who would its dangers dare. 2IO SOLILOQUY. Then, storming battlement and wall Right nobly, with a knightly mien, I razed the fortress, court and hall, To rescue thence the captive Queen. Was it not joy — earth's purest bliss? Though childish pleasures long are pass'd I'll still remember to the last The sweetness of a boyish kiss ! Well — well — perchance, from some sweet star, Which haply is a heaven for thee. Thou seest me now, sad, lone, afar, And shed'st, e'en there, a tear for me. AN HOUR OF SLUMBER. Deep silence reigns ; — it is the hour of slumber ; And o'er how many a heart the drowsy wizard Is weaving now his wondrous woof of phantasy. Some are most happy ; — hopes they long have cherish'd Are bursting into flower, yea, soon to ripen And be but nothing. One doth kiss his sweetheart ; Another has his riches — vain Golconda ! Another reck'd of fame, — the Iris-bubble Is thricely sweeter than if it were real. Some wander in a mystic land of Faerie Where everything becomes just what it is not ; And others — so this wizard has decreed it — Oh, what they suffer ! death and hell and torture. This one has slain his father, and for nothing ; That one is to be hang'd by those that love him ; Another plunges down a frightful chasm. But ah ! most sad of all, some hear their conscience Upbraiding for the crimes they have committed. 211 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. Unconquerable Titan ! chalnless Sea! Thou wild expanse of waters, bluer far Than heaven that stoops to meet thy seeming verge, — Embodiment of grandeur, — beauteous world Of warring waves, too great for thought to grasp Thy dread infinitude, — O Sea ! at length. Once more, I cast me at thy feet, and feel My heart to throb in concord with thy dark Deep-sounding billows. Thou dost dash thy surf, Wave after wave, upon the craggy beach, Whose foam seethes hissing over shell and sand, As if to greet me : — thy hoarse-murmuring voice Hath bid me welcome ! O, how oft, amid The inland hills and valleys of the West, Have I, like some fond lover, dream'd of thee, — In fancy, stretch'd me e'en as now I lie HYMN TO THE OCEAN. 213 Upon thy chafed and weed-strown sands to gaze Upon thy darkhng waters, and have drifted At thy wild will, I knew not, cared not where, Happy while seeming pillow'd on thy breast. — Immutable Ocean ! of all things of earth, Thou art most constant. Man doth feel the thrills Of love, delight, and hope ; but they depart Or perish : he is worn and crush'd beneath Sorrow and care and toil and misery ; But they are loth to leave him, and he dies. Nations arise to fall ; the wilderness Blossoms a garden, and doth change again To wood or desert ; e'en the very Earth Varies her aspect ; mountain-tops fall prone Before the earthquake, valleys rise aloft Again to sink, and rivers fade away Thou, thou, alone, dost change not. Though thou smil'st And frown'st and smil'st again, 'tis wantonness In mockery of th' inexorable doom Of all save thee. 19 214 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. Relentless, fell Destroyer, Yet Guardian of lu)w many a myriad lives — A universe thou art within thyself! Thine offspring are innumerable ; the stars, That on thy hyaline vastness nightly gaze. Are not their equal. — E'en thy very sands Are fill'd with countless beings, and thy depth Is the unbounded habitation, realm, Of monster-forms, from the leviathan, More huge than aught that treads upon the earth. To the insensate polyp. This fair shell, That dwelt amid thine uproar, rudely thrown From thy deep-throbbing bosom to my feet, Is the diminutive mansion of a life. And thou hast, 'neath thy waters, oozy leas. Paved with bright silver sands and milky pearls And rainbow-tinted shells and gems that gleam With tremulous radiance in thy shadowy depths, — Caves dark as Erebus, the dread abode Of solitude and thine eternal waves, — Huge towering Alps, whose wildly-clifted sides, Hoary with shaggy moss, hang terrible HYMN TO THE OCEAN. 215 Amid thy waters, — quiet dells o'ergrown With waving sea-blooms, fairy spots of strange Fantastic loveliness, — and coral-groves, Branching with shapeless foliage, old as thou : And o'er thy waters many a wilderness Of tangled seaweed drifts in calm and storm. Thine azure waves roll on continuously ; They dance at pleasure round how many a shore — True nymphs of freedom, curbless as the wind. Their children are the clouds that people heaven ; They wanton with them, mocking all their smiles And frowns alternate in thy glassy depth : The rainbow is their daughter, beauteous spirit Smiling 'mid storms, begotten of the sun. Thy billows, through the watches of the night. Mirror the sky's cerulean pave, and read Its starry pages sinking to the west, — The Magi of the ocean. When the moon, Beautiful sorceress, doth smile beyond Thine either verge, thy waters heave and swell In tremulous splendor, save when some far wave 2i6 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. With Opaline undulation, for an instant, Seems to o'erwhelm her, — follow'd, startlingly, By an intenser spell of her enchantment. Most puissant Element ! whose lacy foam Cradled the Goddess of all-conquering Love, It is not strange thine is the wondrous realm Imagination fiU'd with sinewous gods, And fair Dorissan beings, whose nude forms, Ineffable in loveliness, did rival Their heavenly sisters. Musing on thy bright Alhambran grottoes, gleaming shell-strown ways, And Vallombrosan dales festoon'd with moss, Thou seem'st the dwelling-place of deities, — A world where blessed souls might choose abide, Leaving Elysium. Ah ! methinks I see Sweet slumbering Nereids, couch'd in glimmering caves. Their scallop-shells unstrung and by them laid; While, o'er their bosoms, azure-tinted locks, Begemm'd with sapphire, pearl, and amethyst. Ripple upon the water. — Fancy, now. HYMN TO THE OCEAN. 217 Pictures thy monarch hoar, careering on Over thy prairies vast, his chariot-wheels HurHng a sheen of sprayey gems ! while, hark, Old Triton winds his charmed horn to soothe Thy troublous deep. Thyself, resistless Power ! In thy sublime vicissitudes, in thine Omnipotence, and ever-during youth. And might, and beauty, seem'st a god. Thou reck'st Not for the mightiest of this wide, wide world. With thy tempestuous voice thou laugh'st to scorn The puny mandates even of a Xerxes ; His pennon'd navies, boasting of their might. Planning the blood-bought conquest of an empire. Thou playfully dost shatter — dash to naught, Nor deign'st thou give account to earthly power. Thy days are as thy bleach'd unnumbered sands, And yet thou art not older, — still the same In glory and in grandeur; time, to thee, Is but the chronicler of thine eternity. 19- 2i8 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. ^ons on aeons, in the unmeasured past, When there was not a man to write, thou kept'st The annals of the childhood of the world. Nature's most lowly children thou didst mark To grow and multiply, through centuries, And change, till many vanish'd from the earth ; Yet in thy rocky tablets thou inscrib'dst Their various history. Strange, unwieldy shapes, That now have not their counterpart on earth, Paddled upon thy waters, and became, In ages, parents of new progeny ; Yet thou preserv'dst their memory, and didst trace Their curious lineage, O thou hoariest Sage! Save Time. Nor wert thou idle then ; thou rear'dst, Through those dim awful vacuums, rocks on rocks. Foundations of new worlds where yet should teem Strange beings, flowers, and verdure. Thou didst take The earth, e'en as a giant, in thine arms — Moulding her form and destiny. O when The mind doth seek to grasp such mighty thoughts — 219 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. Such magnitude, 'tis palsied, falling spent, E'en as the little land-bird falls and dies 'Midst thy unbounded vastness. Aged Sea! A being of an hour, I muse upon Thy past and future, lost in thee and Nature- When thou dost writhe convulsed, almighty Being! In agony of passion, and the heavens Darken above thee ; — when thy boundless plains Are plow'd by tempests, rolling up thy waves To mountain-billows, and the sea-flowers quake With terror and are shatter'd in thy depths ; — When the quick lightning, demon of the storm. Leaps zigzag, making palpable the gloom And desolation, follow'd by the roll Of thunders deepening, 'midst contending voices Of winds and waves ! — when the tried mariner Grows pale with fear and trembles at the helm ; — O, then, how terribly beautiful, sublime Thou art, O Uncontrollable !— Yet lull'd, As now thou slumber'st conscious of thy strength, Thou art how lovely, grand, bright summer Sea! 220 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. While gently heave thy billows, bounding on With ever-changing, calm magnificence, Beneath the dancing sunlight. I would dwell, murmuring Ocean! ever dwell with thee, And be thy low companion. I would rove Thy stern precipitous cliffs, and yesty beach, And by thy rocky coves, and lonely bays, To gather shells which thou wouldst bring to me. 1 would forget the world, forget myself, And care and pride, and, here alone with thee, Be almost happy. — I do love to study Thy changing moods ; when placid, dream with thee, — When madding, feel my heart swell like thy waves Tempestuously. Ah, yes, 'tis sweet to mark The osprey circle heavenward and swoop down To snatch his finny prey, — to feel thy breath Fanning my cheek, — to watch, at morn and even. The level sunshine cast its magic woof Of mingled Tyrian, golden, roseate dyes O'er thy upheaving surface. 'Tis delight HYMN TO THE OCEAN. 221 To gaze full oft upon thy breaker-bars' White caps of feathery foam, — to hear thy roar And mmgle with thy tumult ! for thy voice, Replete with harmony, invokes to life Th' enthusiasm of childhood, and thou speak'st A wordless language touching mystic things. I would cast off this being to become An atom of thy grand immensity, — To catch the ardor of thy freedom, — feel Thy soul to stir within me ! O to be The spume upon thy ever-rolling surf, — A weed to toss upon thee aimlessly, — A wave to feel thy impetus and throb With thy pulsations, rocking far from shore. The lonely petrel nursling of the deep. — Oh that I were the viewless, fitful gale. Rising in tempests — spirit, wild and free, Thy seemly playmate, ever dancing on Over thy shimmering wilderness of waves ! Take me upon thy breast, impetuous Sea — Bear me afar to some balm-breathing isle 222 HYMN TO THE OCEAN. Lapp'd in thy murmur, O symphonious One, Only with thee to dwell, for aye, and muse Upon thy music, beauty, glory, grandeur — Only with thee, dark Ocean ! sounding Sea. SUMMER DAYS. How sweet it is, when summer days Pass stilly like delicious dreams, To traverse unfrequented ways Where murmur cooling sylvan streams, And faintly catch the mellow sound Of voices far, in dreamy mood, And fancy in some shade profound The genii of the solitude Are holding, as the Indians tell, Their war-dance in some haunted dell : And, when sweet fragrance fills the air From many a milky elder-bloom, To lie far from the sunny glare Beneath some beech-wood's pleasant gloom, 223 224 SUMMER DAYS. Or, loitering on for hours and hours Where o'er the treetops squirrels run, To gather scattering forest flowers In valleys pied with shade and sun, While echoing softly round is heard The song of thrush and mocking-bird. HYMN TO THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE. When Sorrow drapes me in her pall, And dread Despair broods over all ; When Pleasure thrills with warm delight, And Beauty charms, Astarte-bright ; Yea, in all time — in Winter bare, When Summer's tresses scent the air; — Thou ! whate'er thy name may be. Father of all, I bow to Thee ! However sad my low estate, 1 ask not oft a happier fate. One life — what is it when 'tis o'er ? An atom Time has dash'd ashore ! 20 225 226 HYMN TO THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE. Its toil may be another's rest; Its woe be haply for the best. Weak, weary, though I cannot see — Ruler of all, I bow to Thee ! O Thou ! who, soul-like, dost pervade The universe, unbounded made. In whose mysterious laws we see The majesty of divinity, — O Thou ! unseen, not understood, Inscrutable — yet all wise and good, — In every fate, whate'er it be. Soul of all Life ! I bow to Thee ! THE AZTEC MAIDEN. A SCENE BY THE LAKE NEAR THE ANCIENT CITY OF TENOCHTITLAN. Watching many an island, slowly Floating 'neath th' o'ershadowing mountains O'er the lake, where, drooping lowly, Tropic ferns kiss'd murmuring fountains, 'Neath the trees, a shadowy bower. Sat a lovely Aztec Maiden, While the air, from many a flower, With delicious fragrance laden. Waved her long and raven tresses Like a lover's fond caresses. Sitting where the mossy ledges Ever dripp'd, she watch'd the sedges 227 228 1^^^ AZTEC MAIDEN. Rise and fall above the swallow, Bathing in its pearly hollow, While her fingers idly braided Garlands sweet of flowers unfaded. Ah ! she seem'd a Dryad dreaming. While the west-wind, fain to fold her, Kiss'd her through her tresses streaming Over bosom, brow, and shoulder; And how lovely ! for the fever In her young blood, warmly gushing, Dancing on, did always leave her Fair as northern maidens bhtshing^ — Yea, like fruits where skies are sunny, Ripen'd deep, whose juices bloody Through the rind (like Hybla's honey) Look so tempting, rich and ruddy ! Loop'd with buds, her mantle flowing Hid her knees ; all round and glowing Lay her limbs almost revealing Charms, that moss and flowers, concealing, THE AZTEC MAIDEN. 229 Seem'd as conscious 'twas a blessing To droop over — touch — caressing. Thus she sat a wreath entwining On her arm at ease rechning, When, perchance, remember'd pleasure (Sweet is memory's hoarded treasure) Made her olive features fairer — Blushing made their beauty rarer, — Like a summer sea by moonlight, Like a mountain's snow at noonlight, Or the rainbow's tinted shading, Brightly coming, softly fading; — For she thought of Maspaola, Of the chieftain Maspaola. Though the airs of female-college Ne'er had added to her knowledge. Love, that oldest, sweetest story. Had its chosen knight of glory, — And by whose emotion, moving All her heart, how truly proving 230 THE AZTEC MAIDEN. That, though southern suns had kiss'd her, All must own her as a sister. Scattering flowers, she rises stately Changed in mien and form and feature — Scarce the same, that seem'd so lately Nature's calmest, gentlest, creature. Ah, her eye empassion'd flashes 'Neath low-drooping ebon lashes ; And she, listening, stands, unknowing That the meddling zephyrs blowing Loose the glittering band, confining Her rich robe, with gold lace shining ; That her mantle's blown asunder From her sun-brown'd bosom under, Heaving with some strange emotion Like the pulse of summer's ocean. Tell me why, O high-born Lady ! Dost thou, 'neath yon labyrinth shady Of acacia, watching, linger, Parting wide with jewell'd finger THE AZTEC MAIDEN, Each intruding twig, corolla ? 'Tis for him — for Maspaola ! List ! he comes — his arms, his kisses Seal thy dream's imagined blisses ! To yon arbor, which the fragrant Blossoms thickly-mantling cover (Home of many a crimson vagrant Humming-bird), she leads her lover.- Enter not ! ye secret-telling, For 'tis Love's sequester'd dwelling. O'er the lake below the City, Timely with the oars' soft splashing, Now is heard some boatman's ditty Mingling with their distant dashing; And the sun, as if regretting SJie has vanish'd, now is setting. 231 A DREAM. KQL TO ovap Tit] [lEv fKpivev uyadov , or, evL novoig uv KoX Kivdvvotg, (jxog uiya f/c Aibg I6dv f.Su^e Xenoph. Anab., B, III. c. I. I. At midnight's silent hour I dream'd. I saw a land with sky o'ercast, A region aged, dreary, vast, Where beings lived, or life it seem'd; Where scarce the orb, that overpass'd The heavenly way, distinctly beam'd For faithless mists which ever teem'd, And light perverted life at last — So faintly to the mind it gleam'd. Distress upraised her piteous voice, And, as the echo on mine ear, 232 A DREAM. I heard a seeming fiend rejoice, Chilling my startled soul to hear ! I saw a mother sadly weep Above a tomb but newly made, And mark'd a maid's pleased fancy keep Sweet time with flowers her hands essay'd To twine into a bridal wreath, But, lo ! e'en while she wove the braid. The flowers were growing sear beneath. I cast mine eyes where life decay'd, Saw anxious watchers bending low O'er one whose breath was thick and slow, Beheld emotions ebb and flow, Warm thrills of hope both come and go. And pallid cheeks o'erflush, and fade — And turn to hide their voiceless woe ! I heard a joyous peal of laughter That seem'd as from a purer sphere, And voices softly sweet to hear ; But, ah, the gloom was darker after — There, even joy begot a fear. 233 234 ' ^ DREAM. There were among the medley throng — ■ Like scattering stars 'tween clouds at night- Some hearts that beat a silver song, That winnow'd graces left and right Around the path they pass'd along, Leaving behind a radiant light. Ah me, they were like flowers that bloom Ere spring in gala-garb is dress'd — They lived to cheer surrounding gloom : They lived and died but for the rest. And, yet, methought that little band, Within that cloud-enshrouded land, Was, over all, supremely bless'd. II. The dream was changed. — I felt a hand Of mystic softness seal mine eyes. And heard a gentle, low command. As from some viewless distant land : " Lo, mortal ! follow me — arise." I floated on, yet knew not where, Gently as fleecy clouds that flee A DREAM. 235 Upon the drowsy July air; I sail'd across a charmed sea. Soon through the midnight of the way, An orient vesture met the eye, Whose ample folds o'erhung the sky And dazzled like the orb of day. And suddenly 'twas rent in twain — The dizzy ken could not behold ; Methought I heard a grand, deep strain That rapturous grew as on it roU'd, And, dying, sweeter grew again. At length return'd the power of sight ; I breathless view'd full many a plain Whose air seem'd mingling rays of light, And velvet vale, and verdant lane. And wood that waved in cool delight, And, far, a tortuous azure chain Of mountains of majestic height. The odorous zephyrs wafted thence, From nameless, sweet, innumerous flowers, 236 A DREAM. Intoxication to the sense As never blooms in earthly bowers. Slowly I drifted nearer, nearer, 'Neath softer light than solar beams. And heard wild songsters warbling clearer 'Midst laughter of cool mountain streams. Delicious grapes o'er dale and hill Hung ripe in bloomy, purple pride. And golden fruits, on every side. Allured the ever-tempted will With fragrance soft that never died. Bright peaceful dwellings gleam'd around 'Neath many a vine-clad vocal wood ; And from the flower-enamell'd ground Uprose a joy-inspiring sound — The voices of the Wise and Good ; And Beings, in whose beauteous faces But Love had left ecstatic traces In smiles that beam'd eternal there. Were busy with each pleasing care A DREAM. 237 That makes existence happiness — Were conning deep, deh'ghtful lore, To whose high mysteries, doom'd to bless, Earth's mightiest sages cannot soar. It was a scene of perfect bliss, A land intense, ethereal, pure. Where passion ne'er alloy'd a kiss. Where pleasure ne'er was death's allure. I heard a voice of soft address. And saw a smile of vanish'd years ; Received a loved-one's sweet caress — Awoke, alas ! awoke in tears. WRITTEN ON THE HUDSON. Most lovely Stream ! 'tis sweet to flee From yonder Babylon by the sea, And, 'mid thy vales and mountains, be Awhile at rest, And, like the wavelets glancing free. Float o'er thy breast. Who can forget when first the eye Beholds the Catskills, 'gainst the sky, More beauteous than if they were nigh, Far westward stand, A wall of soft cerulean dye — A fairyland ? Yes, River of the Mountains ! save The woods wide-spreading o'er thy wave, 238 WRITTEN ON THE HUDSON. Thy waters, still clear-flowing, lave The same sweet scene, As when the Half-Moon plow'd thy pave Of tremulous sheen. But, now, no Indian's bark canoe Darts swiftly in and out of view — Quick as a midnight meteor — through Depending vines, As then to hail old Hudson's crew With friendly signs. Now e'en the Dutch, that dwelt of yore Upon thy fair, romantic shore. Live only in thy legend -lore And ballad rhyme ; O'er great and small thus triumphs hoar Relentless Time. Methinks, within a bark that sails Howe'er the current's force prevails — Like mine that drifts with summer's gales. 239 240 WRITTEN ON THE HUDSON. I can full well See Irving dreaming those old tales He loved to tell. But he is dead : — as drowsy seems Quaint Sleepy Hollow, lapp'd in dreams, And with its wonted beauty teems, Though gently wave The grass and flowers, 'neath summer beams, Upon his grave. And Drake and Halleck — they who sung, Fair Stream, thy lovely scenes among, Have pass'd away; — one died when young. One linger'd late To sing (his lyre with cypress hung) The other's fate. But, River ! thou dost roll as clear Whate'er be man's short sad career ; Though Arnold, crush'd by guilt and fear, A traitor's name, WRITTEN ON THE HUDSON. Shoved off for life from yonder pier, — Thou art the same. Thus, e'en though myriad ills hav^e won Dominion o'er earth's gifted son, Th' eternal springs of Nature run Full evermore; 'Tis sad — 'tis strange, — a mystery none May here explore. The Highlands cast a deeper eve; Ha ! mark old Crownest's brow receive A crown, the setting sunbeams weave* Of golden light, Ere o'er the darkening earth they leave . The gloom of night. June, 1S76. 21 241 THE ANGEL OF SONG. A Spirit daily comes to me With whisper'd songs of heavenly sweetness ; Her home is far beyond a sea Where bliss abides in true completeness. I know not why my Angel-Love Delights thus oft to hover round me, Nor why, from amaranth-vales above, To this dark world she came and found me. At night, when sad I sink to rest, With words enwoven in Lydian measure She twines her arms about my breast — Singing me songs of 'wildering pleasure ; 242 THE ANGEL OF SONG. 243 And when the morn with queenly grace Smiles radiant o'er heaven's azure ocean, Full oft I feel her light embrace And sweet breath breathing warm emotion, And hear her song, so lulling low, And soft-toned lute with cadence holy ; Oh, then hot tears would rise and flow That she's of heaven — I earthly, lowly ! At summer eve, when lone I stray Afar where Nature slumbers stilly. While Dian floods a mimic day O'er sedgy lake and drowsy lily ; And, when, through watches of the night, Dreaming o'er many a glowing ember, I list the snow-god's hoarse delight Weaving the shroud of pale December; — I hear her robe's soft rustle near; Enchantment lends me mystic vision ; 244 THE ANGEL OF SONG. Strange music falls upon my ear That spirits hymn in bowers Elysian. And though she culls immortal flowers In her far-distant happy Thule, And with their sweets, for hours and hours, Dispels my gloom and loves me truly ; I feel the dank of sordid dust, Nor may I wear a wreath of gladness ; Thus, aye, I mar seraphic trust. And for her smile repay her sadness. But still she comes with sandal'd feet And golden locks ambrosia-laden ; And still my heart forgets to beat — Loving that more than mortal maiden ! I oft essay to string the shell And breathe her lowliest songs to others ; But, ah ! she sings like Israfil Unpeer'd for sweetness 'mong his brothers THE ANGEL OF SONG. 245 'Tis ever vain, — I fail and weep ; Earth triumphs over high endeavor. 'Tis my mysterious doom to keep A h'ght from heaven — reveal it never. NIGHT. Calm Night ! thy pall-like vesture falls In solemn grandeur o'er the world. Beneath thy sombrous shrouds unfurl'd, Thy dim and awful majesty appalls ; For, o'er all Nature, broods sublime A sense as of o'ershadowing doom — A semblance of the end, the death of time, Decaying worlds, quick-fading suns, and nether gloom. Let those who cannot rapture feel Ne'er stray with me at midnight-hour : Awake them not — their souls no rays reveal Of those deep-kindling fires that steal Upon my heart, e'en as I kneel To some impending, nameless Power ! 246 NIGHT. 247 Night! on thy muffled car swift-driven, Thou art sublime past mid-day's blazing sun. If moon-lit, calm, — if lightning-riven. When blackening tempests wildly rave on high,— If stars emboss the vault of heaven (Thy glittering crown across the sky), — Thou art, O darksome Queen ! in grandeur ever one. SONGS AND BALLADS. 22 249 THISTLE-SEEDS. A HAPPY child at play, I blew the thistle's downy seeds, And watch'd them lightly float away Amid the blue autumnal sky, — How dear are childish deeds ! — Laugh'd to see them sailing high, My winged fairy steeds. But, now, all sear and dry, The early flowers of Hope are dead ; And, while they lowly trampled lie By stern Misfortune, ruthless Care, I take them up instead. And cast them on the wintry air, And sigh — that they are fled ! 251 LITTLE NELL, THE PRIDE OF THE SCHOOL. A BALLAD. One January eve, o'er the prairie deserted, Little Nell started homeward from school ; With a belt of black clouds the horizon was skirted, And the winds sadly moan'd like a ghoul. As graceful was she as the fawn's every motion ; The pride of the school was sweet Nell. The scholars remember her still with devotion, — " She was best in her classes," they tell. Her innocent laugh it was clear as the gushing Of hurrying silvery streams, And softer the glow of her cheek than the blushing Of the sky in the summer-eve's beams. 252 LITTLE NELL.. 253 That evening, like waves of a swift, turbid river, Soon the clouds fill'd the heavens amain ; Through the crisp wither'd grass, oft a terror-like shiver Pass'd fitfully over the plain. And suddenly snow-flakes — a torrent descending — Dash'd round with the blast in its wrath ; Continuously falling and whirling and blending, How quickly they cover'd the path ! Alas, how the tempest relentlessly pelted ! — Little Nell hurried on in despair. The snow on her cheeks in big teardrops had melted. And it hung in the gold of her hair. Bewilder'd she pray'd for the mercy of Heaven — She knew not the way she should go ; But the pitiless flakes were unceasingly driven : " Oh God ! I am lost in the snow !" 2^* 254 LITTLE NELL. In the darkness, wherever the piercing winds drove her, She struggled along through the storm ; The terrible anguish of freezing was over, For numbness had deaden'd her form. She, staggering, mutter'd, — " Ah me, I am weary." In a snow-drift she lay down to rest. She forgot that the prairie was stormy and dreary ; She felt not the snow on her breast. She was home in the cottage ; — without was the sighing Of winds ; — she was warm in her bed. Alas! 'twas a dream, — the delirium of dying: The winds sung a dirge for the dead ! Her parents they sought her afar on the prairie Through the snow-storm confusing and blurr'd ; " Nell !" " Nell!" — ah, how often they shouted; but ne'er a Reply to their calling they heard. LITTLE NELL. 255 Till the night and the tempest together de- parted, They waited in dreadful suspense, Hoping fondly, perchance little Nell had not started When the clouds roll'd so threatening and dense. But at morning they found her asleep, as if dreaming. Where fatigued she had sunk in the night; Her long yellow curls they were fluttering and gleaming O'er her brow, ah ! how lifeless and white ! And, weeping, they made her a bed on the morrow 'Neath the snow which would melt and depart ; But the weight of the father's and mother's deep sorrow — Would tJiat ever melt from the heart ? 256 LITTLE NELL. Nevermore did her playmates lead Nell to the wildwood, When in June it is shadowy and cool, To weave a sweet wreath, in the rapture of child- hood, And crown her the Pride of the School. ON THE RECOVERY OF A PROUD YET BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY Sometimes, O Death, thy stony heart Is soften'd ere thy dart be driven, And, for a space, thou dost depart To single one more Jit for heaven. And, thus, to-day — as those forbear Who mow the vale where lilies grow — 'Mong weeds, there grew a blossom fair; Thy hands forbore to lay it low ! — The daintiest lily in the dell; A queenly bud without a peer. Ah, Death ! thy scythe in pity fell, For one so //v//^/ should linger here. 257 "I THINK AYE OF THEE." PARAPHRASED FROM THE GERMAN OF FRIED- RICH MATTHISSON. I THINK aye of tliee When the woods, with the glee Of the nightingales' singing, Are melodiously ringing. When think'st thou of me? I ponder on thee, As the glimmerings I see Of the daylight half-faded, By the fountain o'ershaded. Where think'st thou of me ? 258 " / THINK A YE OF TIJEEr I am dreaming of thee With sweet anguish, — a sea Of vague longings appaHing;- Hot tear-drops are falling ! — Dost thou thus think of me ? think thou of me Till our meeting shall be In a world not to sever ! Far-distant however, 1 dream but of tJice ! 259 A PICTURE. I. THE LADY'S LAMENT. My silks are the fairest At revel and ball, My gems are the rarest — Outflashing them all ; And, yet, though in seeming With happiness bless'd, I'm longing and dreaming — Ah ! never at rest. Full many are kneeling Imploring my hand, Their true love revealing — For riches and land ! 260 A PICTURE. 261 'Twcrc better thoiic;li lowly, Yea, poverty sweet, If life were not ivlioUy A hollow deceit. My choice never should be Of diamond and pearl ; Ah, me ! that I could be A cottager's girl. — With purity's blessing, How happy to be One's love, whose caressing Were truly for me ! II. THE GIPSY'S LAMENT. Unknown though at meeting, Though loveless to me. My heart's ever beating, Fair Lady, for thee ; 23 262 ^ PICTURE. Yet, silent and lonely, I scarcely betray While loving thee only Hope's bitter decay. In birthright above me A Lady thou art ; Thou never couldst love me Though gentle of heart ! Perchance thou deplorest A sorrow like mine, — The one thou adorest May never be thine. Thus fate doth bereave us Of that which is dear, And pleasure deceive us And be but a tear. Ah ! Lady of beauty, Unloving to me, My heart is in duty A vassal to thee ! A PICTURE. 263 III. CONCLUSION. It seems there is given With each cup of life A spell that has driven Our reason to strife ; We heed not the measure Of weal we possess, But seek some new pleasure We fancy would bless. Thus life is forever A battle in vain, — To ahva>'s endeavor, Yet never attain : We waywardly borrow, Or lofty or low, Some balm for our sorrow We never shall know ! 264 A PICTURE. Alas ! as we ponder, Whate'er be our share, We sorrowing wander A valley of care ; For we know happiest hours Are heralds of pain. And pleasure's sweet flowers Soon wither again. HOPE. An, Hope! thou bright deUisive fire Thou sun of our immortal part, 'Tis dreadful when thy beams expire Leaving the midnight of the heart. But thou to man art aye so dear, Me seldom deems thee all untrue;— Through disappointment's bitter tear He welcomes back thy light anew ! And, thus, I never quite receive Conviction thou art false to me, And fondly, vainly still believe— Turning:, sweet siren, back to thee. 23* 265 '£>! THE EVENING PAPER; AN INCIDENT OF THE LATE REBELLION. For the evening paper waiting Eustaleen stood at the gate, Leaning 'gainst the wicker grating, For the carrier linger'd late. Though 'twas May — the time of gladness- In her face so paly fair Was a shade of pensive sadness, That a year had brooded there ; For her lover died, while leading, By a Southern foeman's hand. On the Rappahannock, — bleeding To preserve his native Land. 266 THE EVENING PAPER. When commanded to retire (Mis remaining comrades said), They beheld liim fall — expire; Thus she knew that he was dead. And it was for him, who perish'd Nobly warring with the foe, That sweet Eustaleen still cherish'd Love and long-enduring woe. She, for sake of him departed. Read at eve the paper still — How the soldiers, gallant-hearted, Conquer'd with as brave a will, — Weeping for the wives and mothers And for Jicr that loves as zvcU, When she read the list of others Who in each fierce battle fell. While the robins, newly-mated. Sung of love's delicious strength, Sorrowing luistaleen awaited For the post — which came at length. 267 268 ^-^^ EVENING PAPER. 'Twas the carrier's voice when speaking Made her look up in his face; — Ere a breath, she, faintly shrieking, Swoon'd within her love's embrace ! Yes ! her lover — as arisen From the tomb to earth above — From the dreadful Libby prison Had escaped to life and love ! Often through the summer weather, Then, those wedded lovers read Of the brave, and wept together For the prisoners and the dead. SONG. Cease to ring, O distant bell — Lovely sound across the lea, Barely heard o'er hill and dell, — Hush, sweet spirit ! flee; There's a voice that breathes a spell Sweeter far to me. Beauty — who but feels thy power, I leaven's own essence ever}'where ? Stellar sphere and scented flower, Earth and cloud and air, All possess thy glorious dower; Yet there's one most fair. 269 2/0 SONG. Sleep, O mere ! O gleamy lake, With thy moon-lit, silver hue ; Summer wind, O cease to break Ripples bright and new ; — There are eloquent eyes that take All my love from you ! MAID OF THE MOHAWK. Fair Maid ! like this meandering river, Thou dost the witching spell possess To which the heart is vassal ever — The charm of rustic loveliness ; And like this river, clear and purling, Thy heart is pure, unknown to guile ; P'roni 'neath thine auburn tresses curling, Methinks thou couldst but only smile ! II. I've seen full many a pastoral valley, But none like this delightful scene With emerald dell, and forest alley Whose boughs the sunbeams dance between ; 271 2/2 MAID OF THE MOHAWK. Yet, thou, with lea and wood agreeing, Though fairer than Arcadian dale. Dost seem their Nymph, in beauty being Well suited to so sweet a vale. III. The world to me is often dreary Where hearts become so hard and cold, Till, sick of show, I grow how weary Of those who bow them down to gold, And almost hate the sullen bustle Of men who care for naught beside, And turn me from the silken rustle Of Beauty pale, in pamper'd pride ; IV. But, Maiden, thou canst not dissemble — Unskill'd in falsehood's worldly ways ; Ah, how thine eyes' long lashes tremble And droop at but a word of praise ! MAID OF THE MOHAWK. Ah me, if all tlic earth were only- Composed of spirits such as thou, 'Twould be a heaven — and never lonely, And sad, and dark, and drear, as now ! V. I love the voice that hails the flowers Of bosky shade and sunny glade, That learns their names in leisure hours And makes them friends before they fade, That carols oft, 'mid breath oi clover. Sweet ballads in the fields afar. When twilight glimmers, toil is over, And golden is the evening star. VI. I love the mind that sees the glory In Nature's face, which ne'er expires, That loves the forest, gnarl'd and hoary. Whose leaves are wild ijcolian l)Tes, — 24 -/i 274 MAID OF THE MOHAWK. The soul that scorns the paltry pleasure Of those who kneel at Fashion's shrine, Yet quaffs the drainless, mantling measure Of all creation's nectarous wine. VII. I love the hand whose taper fingers Are stain'd with strawberries growing wild, And graceful foot whose small print lingers Impress'd amidst the violets mild, And peachy cheek where health's reflected. By summer suns kiss'd darkly fair. And hair thrown back as if neglected In ringlets on the caressing air. VIII. And such art thou, O Mohawk Maiden ! Wild floweret of this sweet retreat. — 'Tis sad the loveliest blossoms fade in The sun's unclouded light and heat; MAID OF THE MOHAWK. Thy soft dark eyes, that smile in duty, Thy nut-brown checks, tliy tresses curl'd, Tliy vermeil lips, would lose their beauty Amidst the heartless busy world. IX. Below yon hills so c^ently swellinc^, The murmuring Mohawk at my feet, To lodge in some sequester'd dwelling In thy calm vale were truly sweet; Ah, yes, my heart could dwell forever Most happy here with bliss and thee, Remembering care and sorrow never; — Thy soul would mirror heaven to me. X. But, no. — I\Ty thoughts full oft are lowly, Nor could exalt me to the peer Of one, like thee, so chaste and holy; I'll on — and leave thee joyous here ! 275 2^6 MAID OF THE MOHAWK. And, yet, sweet Maid, I'll ne'er forget thee, Nor this lone spot of peace and rest ; Thine innocence, here where I met thee, Shall keep thee happy, make thee bless'd ! Herkimer Co., New York, June, 1876. AH, NOW THK SONG IS 1-LOWX. Ah, now the song is flown, And bliss and day have fled, For I am here alone ; — Her presence fill'd the night With more than heavenly light, ]5ut now the day is dead. II. I strove to prove my heart It never could be so; For something seems to start So vaguely back on me, — Prophetic, it ma\' be, Of tears and future woe. 24* 277 SIR TRISTRAM'S SONG TO QUEEN ISOUDE. When the dim daylight is fading, Homeward is hieing the bee While the spiced meadowland's lading Balm on the air of the lea, Beneath dark mountains o'ershading Grander at dusk seem to be ; Isoude ! 'tis blissful, my fair, Sweet beyond earthly degree, Out in the soft evening air Only, yes, only with thee ! II. Oft, when the world, stilly dreaming, Wrapp'd in the mantle of Night, 278 S/A' TRISTRAM'S SONG. Sees not the stars that are beaming Numberless, glorious, and bright, Feels not elate from the gleaming Moon and her tremulous light; Darling! thy smile to me seems Blent with the beautiful sight. Filling my heart with its beams. Waking a purer delight. III. Come while the breath of the clover Floats from the sweet sunny dell ; Come, while the forest-trees over Sound their aeolian shell ; Lead me, O loveliest rover ! Charm'd by thy magical spell, Where thou art wont to repair, — Lead where the wild-flowers dwell, Lilies that cannot compare With the white hands that impel. 79 28o -^"^^ TRISTRAM'S SONG. . IV. Bitter howe'er be the hour, All is delight when we meet ; Life, with its sunshine and shower, Lost in the tread of thy feet, In the soft step that the flower Rises from under complete, — Lost in thy presence, thy charms, In the heart's flutter and beat — Kisses — entwining of arms — Almost with heaven replete ! A LOVER'S LOVE-BALLAD. Dear Molly, you're sweet, and you know it,- Your lips seem to pout for a kiss ; You're pretty — and like well to show it ! You wcre/^/r if it were not for tliis. The fact is, my dear, you're too saucy — You think you're the empress of beaux ! You fancy your tresses, so glossy. Were made to enchain them like foes. But you know just as well as I tell you (Now, please don't begin to say nay !) You, at times, can ctidurc a beau ; — well, you Are a woman, — she fails in this way. — 281 282 A LOVER'S LOVE-BALLAD. For convenience, you little deceiver, You wore me around like a glove ; I was troubled sometimes with a fever And headache, — it might have been love : But your vows are now hopelessly broken, — There's Jenkens he calls you his dear : Alas ! my poor heart is not oaken ; Ah me, I'm dissolved in a tear ! But, Molly, I think I'm not dying; — There'll ne'er be a lack of sweet girls So artlessly, innocently trying To entangle a beau in their curls. Now, Molly, my sweetest, please luon't you ? You know you were made to be kiss'd ; Good-by, then, my darling, — O, don't you Imagine this once will be miss'd! SONNETS. =S3 ON A DESERTED COTTAGE IN THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. Go on. — Ilcrc let mc linger for a space. Ah me, yon cottage in this mountain dell Was once more homelike ; busy footsteps fell Upon its floors. Past time steals back apace ; And, by yon fireside, smile a father's face, A mother's, son's, and daughter's ; — who could tell How beauteous is this maid ? The very spell Of this wild scene, the mountain streamlet's grace, Are in her eyes and motions ! Blessed spot — * Peace, beauty, love, and innocence are there. 25 285 286 ON A DESERTED COTTAGE. Hark, happy laughter rings within the cot: A girlish voice now hums a merry air. Alas ! I dream ; or dead or far away Are all those hearts — the cottage in decay. ON THE DEATH OF ADA. Ada, shall I behold thcc nevermore ? Art thou, indeed, to Death forever wed ? Sometimes I scarce believe thy spirit fled : — Forgetful, oft, I linger at the door To hear thee sweetly singii]g, as of yore. Then dreadful is the truth — that thou art dead ! Philosophy the bitter tears I shed Cannot assuage with all its vaunted lore — Vain comforter! that mocks the couch of death. Were't mine to die, I would not fate bewail ; But, oh, what consolation can avail When thou art in the grave bereft of breath ? Alas ! the end of earthly love — to know >87 ON READING SHELLEY. The poet true need doubt not his reward. To him is given the gift of second sight ; He half-perceives the presence of the bright Invisible angels ; wondrously accord His thoughts with Nature; he becomes the ward Of^ heavenly Beauty, whose inspiring light Dwells in him, though he wanders in the night Of sorrow; he is Nature's truest lord. When those who dwell around him all have pass'd From life to death, and ravenous decay Has wasted all their petty works and cast Oblivion endless o'er their names, — his lay Shall live in many a heart unto the last, His memory growing greener day by day. 288 ADIEU TO LIFE. WHEN. SEVERELY WOUNDED, I WAS LYING IN A FOREST. HELPLESS AND IN EXPECTATION OF DEATH. From the German ok K«)Rner. My pale lips quiver; — how my wound doth burn ! By my spent heart, now fluttering faint and low, I feel my life is ended here below. God! 'tis thy will; — resign'd to Thee I turn. What golden prospects I did aye discern — The beauteous dreams change to a dirge of woe. Courage ! — There dwells within my heart, I know, That which shall deathless live beyond that bourne, 25* 289 2Q0 ADIEU TO LIFE. With all that was so sacred here to me, For which I burn'd with restless, youthful fire, Whether I call'd it love or liberty ! But, lo, above me bends an angel bright; — Soft airs — as now my senses slow expire — Upbear me to th' aurora-tinted height ! TO Though well I know the West is not a land Where one may prosper by poetic lore — For here mankind, to Mammon given o'er, But worship gold, and toil with greedy hand, Nor know that by each zephyr soft are fann'd Bright Muses' tresses, beauteous as of yore, — Yet, I shall cull sweet roses, as before, Content to scorn the mercenary band. — What, did I say that none, here, love the song Of Shakspeare and the rest? — O, no ! for thou Dost feel their power; thou dost perceive the birth And death of beauty in the world — dost long To quaff th' ideal nectarous. Ilaply, now, Thou feel'st what Mammon cannot feel on earth. 291 ON A FAVORITE CAT NAMED DON JUAN. " Don Juan was a bachelor of arts, And parts, and hearts," — I think, thus sings the poet ; And as for my cat Juan, you would know it E'en at a glance — to see his pranks and starts, As round my legs and o'er my lap he darts, Proud of the very ways he has to show it ! Whate'er a studious cat can master, lo, it Is known to him — a lad of brilliant parts : And, when he hies him forth at close of day To bask him in his lady's loving eye. And round about with all their friends they stray Carousing over fence and housetop high, Their nightly revelry reminds me truly Of amorous Juan and his Donna Julia. 292 NOTES. 295 NOTES. Page 17. Within a stwibre, wi/d fiord The Viking built a dragon fleet. The Norsemen called their barks Dragons and Serpents, perhaps because they were embellished with rude carvings representing dragons and other monsters. — V.Michelet's " France," b. ii. ch. iii. Page 19. The giants dire that lived of yo7'e, That, tiirn'd to stone, through murky sky Scowl downward with the look they wore. "We have just passed the Arctic circle, at a singular island, rising in the form of a giant horseman from the waters. The back of his mantle is the mountain-side, and the crags and cliffs make the horse's head and ears, and the rider's hand. His head was at first veiled angrily in mist; 295 296 NOTES. but as we passed, a whiff carried it away, and a grand, calm face, like the face of the Sphinx, stood out, looking solemnly up to the stormy sky. The effect was mysterious and wonderful One can imagine how many a fisher-boat's crew has watched anxiously and superstitiously the head of the giant rider, and, though Christian, has muttered a prayer against Jumala or the Trolls." — Brace's " Norse-Folk," p. 67. Page 33. ah, why forsake The Norse, the fittest for the sea ? It is said that the old Norse had one hundred and fifty words to signify the sea in its different aspects. Page 84. these and the thousand All-nameless charms that, i7itermmgling, ble?id, Forming the whole, are all how beautiful — How beautiful I " Beautiful ! How beautiful is all this visible world !" " Manfred," Act I. Scene II. NOTES. Page 112. The tJiousand voices that from every brake, etc. " Es dringen die Bliithen Aus jedem Zvveig, Und tausend Stimmen Aus dem Gestniuch." — Goethe. 297 Page 113. While o'er their heads the mapW s tasselly blooms Crijnson the twigs. The maple here referred to [Acer rubru?n) is commonly known as the red or swamp maple. The flowers of this species are mostly scarlet or crimson, while the flowers of the other maples are generally greenish or of a pale or greenish yellow. Page 138. Far had they come from where the wave Of clear Scioto, gently flow i7ig, etc. At the time the incidents related in this poem are supposed to have occurred, the Shawnees lived on the Scioto River. The distance between the scene of the tale — the Moxahala —and the Scioto, was considered by both the wandering 26 298 NOTES. Indian and the tireless backwoodsman as but a moderate ramble of a few days. Page 140. Ye braves ! when he, My Father, yon bright Sun, etc. This thought and that in the seventeenth line below, are taken from the words of the heroic Tecumseh, who was, in later times, the Chief of the Shawnees. It was at a coun- cil held at Vincennes, in 1810, by General Harrison when governor of the Northwest Territory ; the object of the council was to insure peace between the Shawnees and the territorial government. Tecumseh made his appearance at the appointed time ; and General Harrison, as governor, invited him to come forward and take a seat by his side, saying that it was the wish of their "Great Father," the President of the United States, that he should do so. On hearing this, Tecumseh stretched himself to his greatest height, and, looking haughtily around over the throng assembled at the council, said in tones that could be dis- tinctly heard to its farthest extremities : " My Father ? — The Sun is viy Father and the Earth is my mother — and on her bosom I will recline." He and his warriors immediately stretched themselves on the green grass. It is said the NOTES. 299 effect was wonderful ; for some moments there was pro- found silence. The above may be found related at length in Barber's " History of the Western States," pp. 160 and 161, where it is cited from Law's "Colonial History of Post Vinccnnes." Page 153. thoit mak'sf to roll T/ir suns and worlds through heaven, etc. This is an allusion to the last line of La Divhia Corn- media : " L'amor che muove '1 Sole e I'altre stelle." Page 167. 7)Ut, suddenly, ho7vl and horrid yell, etc. In the year 1763, Pontiac, a chief of the Ottawas, who had been an ally of the French, secretly formed a great confederation of the Algonquin tribes to exterminate the English west of the Alleghany mountains. The tribes that united in this memorable struggle were the Shawnees, Ot- tawas, Miamies, Chippcwas, Wyandots, Pottawatomies, Mississaguies, Ontagamics, Winncbagoes, and Scnecas. So artfully had Pontiac matured his plans, that, until the ^00 NOTES. first blow was struck in June, none of the commanders of the western forts had the least suspicion of the impending danger. During the summer he captured all the posts west of Oswego, New York, except Detroit, Fort Pitt, and Nia- gara. Thus, through the greater part of summer and the following autumn, the whole of the Northwest was exposed to the ravages of the Indians ; and they failed not to take advantage of the opportunity. The massacre, and the burning of the cabin on the shore of Lake Seneca, New York, are supposed to have happened in the fall of that year. See Lossing's " History of the United States," part iv. ch. xii., etc. Page 185. Ah y yes / give 7ne the rustic cot, The meadow, wold, and garde Ji plot, — The glory of a lowly lot, Where Peace may come and build her ?test / Although the passage is so well known, I cannot forbear quoting, in connection with the above lines, a paragraph from a letter of Mr. Murdoch to Joseph Cooper Walker, describing the house in which the poet Burns was born. Speaking of the father of the poet, he says : " In this parish [Alloway], on the roadside, a Scotch mile and a half from NOTES. 301 the town of Ayr, and half a mile from the bridge of Doon, William Burnes took a piece of land, consisting of about seven acres ; part of which he laid out in garden ground, and part of which he kept to graze a cow, etc., still con- tinuing in the employ of Provost Ferguson. Upon this little farm was erected a humble dwelling, of which William Burnes was the architect. It was, with the exception of a little straw, literally a tabernacle of clay. In this mean cottage, of which I myself was at times an inhabitant, I really believe there dwelt a larger portion of content than in any palace in Europe. The ' Cotter's Saturday Night' will give some idea of the temper and manners that pre- vailed there." Page 195. O 7io7u sweet were a Letheaii vieasure To deadeji the memory of Pleasure When the bright-tiiited bubble is burst ! This sentiment is ever new, yet it was old when Dante wrote the oft-quoted lines : " nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo fclice Nella miseria " 302 NOTES. Page 227. Watching many an island, slowly Floating 'neath tJi o'e?-shado'wing mountains O'er the lake, etc. At the time of the conquest by Cortes, the lakes in the valley of Anahuac were covered with floating-islands, bearing their rich freight of fruits and flowers and drift- ing "like enchanted isles over the waters." Describing the march of the Spaniards to the City of Mexico, Prescott says : " They were amazed, also, by the sight of the chi- nampas, or floating-gardens, — those wandering islands of verdure, to which we shall have occasion to return here- after, — teeming with flowers and vegetables, and moving like rafts over the waters." And again exclaims the same beautiful writer: "How gay and picturesque must have been the aspect of the lake [Tezcuco] in those days, with its shining cities, and flowering islets rocking, as it were, at anchor on the fair bosom of its waters !" Though the wall of mountains surrounding the valley of Anahuac is leagues distant from the City of Mexico, yet, through the clear atmosphere of that elevated plateau the mountains seemed to the Aztecs very near, looming over - -c. the orchards, maize-fields, and lakes below. NOTES. 303 Page 228. While her fiiigeys idly braided Garlands sweet of Jlowers tinfadcd. The love of flowers was universal among the Aztecs. They used them in their religious ceremonies, and cul- tivated them in beautiful and extensive gardens when, in Europe, their cultivation was almost unknown. Their flat house-tops were often so arranged as to appear a tangled profusion of flowers of all colors, rivalling in beauty the hanging-gardens of Babylon. See Prescott's " Conquest of Mexico." THE END. •C /*