FRED LOCKLEY 
 RARE WESTERN BOOKS 
 
 1 243 East Stark St. 
 PORTLAND, ORE. 
 
 '/ 
 
9 
 
turn Ifpics 
 
 AND 
 
 MISCELLAIEOTJS POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 LURANIA A. H. MUNDAY. 
 
 They toll "hnt dreams — a lonely spirit's dreams- 
 Yet ever through their fleeting imagery 
 Wanders a vein of melancholy love, 
 An aimless thought of home : — as in the song 
 Of the caged sky-lark ye may deem there dwella 
 A passionate memory of blue skies and flowers, 
 And living streams— far off !— Mrs. Hsmanb. 
 
 CINCINNATI: 
 
 APPLEGATE & CO., PUBLISHERS, 43 MAIN STREET. 
 
 1861. 
 
.3 f^ 
 
 ^tv\a3 ^^ 
 
 Entered according to the act of Congress, in the year 1857, 
 
 By L. A. H. MUNDAY, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office o£ the District Court of the United States for 
 the District of Missouri. 
 
 3 \, ^ X^ \ 
 
 ==U 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 /t is not the mode— literary— to place a work before 
 the public without a few prefatory remarks, either 
 explanatory or apologetical, but feeling conscious that 
 these would avail nothing, I have none to offer. 
 
 To those disposed to destroy the fair " net-work " 
 of the mind's temple I have no response. With the 
 generous mind no extenuating voice is needed to plead 
 for those who toil and strive after all that is beautiful, 
 good and true. 
 
 Not "vyishing to presume above its merits, I send 
 forth the present volume, as a bird with untried wings, 
 to the vast world of mind, and if, in the pure realm of 
 thought, there are any to whom its wild warblings 
 afford one draught of intellectual pleasure, or from the 
 stern realities of life beguile a tedious hour— if, in its 
 untutored songs, there is any thing worthy the accept- 
 ance and approbation of the refined and good, or waken 
 in pure minds high unities of thought, and soul, my 
 purpose is achieved, my object won. 
 
 L. A. H. MUNDAY. 
 
MEMOIRS OF MRS. L. A. H. MUNDAY. 
 
 LuRANiA A. H. MuNDAY was born April 19th, 1828, 
 in the city of Cincinnati, Her father, who was engaged 
 in the mercantile business, at the time of her birth, 
 shortly after that period, moved to a small country 
 place, located near Mason, Warren County, Ohio, 
 where the subject of these brief memoirs spent most 
 of her childhood's days. 
 
 Being of a sensitive and shrinking disposition, she 
 attended the District School but seldom, but grew up 
 in quiet and seclusion, apart from the companionship 
 of children, except that of her brothers, who were 
 younger than herself, under the instruction of her moth- 
 er. LuRANiA was a thoughtful, dreamy child, who 
 chose the most solitary nooks along the streams for her 
 play-ground, and the bright blue violets for her play- 
 mates, while again she would apostrophise the stars in 
 childish wonder, questioning what they were, and 
 what their final destiny. 
 
 Purity in language, sentiment and manners, were 
 her peculiar characteristics, from her earliest childhood, 
 hence the repugnance and utter disgust, which she felt 
 when brought in contact with coarseness and vulgarity, 
 which was rendered doubly painful from the fact that 
 circumstances over which she had no control, made it 
 impossible to choose such society as would have been 
 congenial to her ardent mind, such as would have fed 
 and nourished her hungry intellect, longing for a full 
 development of the powers of her mind — longing to 
 arrive at all truth. She had access to few books, hence 
 her acquirements in literary knowledge were very lim- 
 
ited, up to the age of sixteen ; but her enthusiastic 
 love of all that was truly great and noble in weak 
 humanity — of all that was sublime and beautiful in 
 nature, clearly evinced that there was a volume of 
 unwritten poetry in her soul. 
 
 At the age of sixteen she attended an academy 
 
 located at O , Ohio, taught by a lady who was 
 
 a tolerably good scholar, but destitute of taste, as well 
 as some other qualifications essential to a good teacher. 
 Up to this period no line of jingling rhyme ever saw 
 the light, but the usual routine of hard, dry studies, 
 such as are said to expand and strengthen the mind, 
 were taken up by her and pursued with the most 
 unwavering perseverance ; she behig resolved not to 
 be behind her class, notwithstanding all her previous 
 disadvantages. 
 
 Examination day came at length, a day of much 
 anxiety and disappointment to some, of triumph and 
 success to others. Lurania had now found a medium 
 through which she would pour out in one full gushing 
 torrent all the enthusiasm of her mind. She read, or 
 rather recited before a large audience, her " compo- 
 sition," which, notwithstanding the most positive 
 interdiction of the teachers to the contrary, was re- 
 ceived with the most gratifying applause. Envy and 
 jealousy were now fairly set to work. It was a 
 success which some illiberal and narrow minded spirits 
 never forgave, especially as she possessed, at that time, 
 a face and figure of more than common attraction. 
 
 Occasionally short pieces of poetry began to occupy 
 the poet's corner in the country newspapers, over the 
 signature of " Lurania," while to improve her slender 
 finances, she left the Academy and became a school 
 teacher. By many Lurania was thought to be a 
 genius, and truly has she paid the bitter penalty ; for 
 
Tl 
 
 all that the most malicious detraction could fabricate, 
 has been measured out to her, in such quality and 
 quantity, that for a time she was quite overwhelmed 
 with grief and despair. Her health gave way, and 
 accompanied by some relatives she sought in the genial 
 atmosphere of the South, that peace of mind and that 
 restoration of health which she had so cruelly and 
 unjustly lost. Upon her return all her form^er perse- 
 cutions were again renewed ; but still without any 
 particular aim, she continued to warble forth her un- 
 pretending lays, like some lone bird, whose natural 
 language is that of song. 
 
 With the most limited means she had no other 
 resources but that of the ever-living fountains of her 
 own heart, from whence to draw those beautiful images 
 of all that is lovely, pure and good. 
 
 She eventually married Dr. VV. B. Munday, a gentle- 
 man of fine feelings, and one who fully appreciated all 
 her worth. Notwithstanding many vile aspersions he 
 proved to be an indulgent husband, and a kind father, 
 while those who knew him best, loved him most. He 
 being a member of the Masonic fraternity, Mrs. 
 Munday became acquainted with the principles of the 
 " Mystic Brotherhood" — an order which claims to be 
 founded upon Truth and Virtue, and whose leading 
 star is Philanthrophy. The mission of Masonry struck 
 with peculiar force her enthusiastic mind — hence the 
 production of " Acacian Lyrics," a part of the pre- 
 sent volume. 
 
 At the expiration of eight years. Dr. Munday died, 
 leaving her with a broken constitution, and but illy 
 calculated to struggle with the storms of life In her 
 sad bereavement she returned to her father's house, and 
 the family shortly after moved to the State of Illinois, 
 where they are quietly pursuing the business of farming. 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 
 
 Jerusalem. 
 
 By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down ; yea, we "wept 
 when we remembered Zion — Bible. 
 
 City of palms, of palaces and fountains, 
 Thou sit's a queen among thy sacred hills, 
 Begirt as by a fiara of mountains, 
 Thy ancient glory now my vision fills ; 
 As oft the mind's swift rivers backv/ard roll, 
 To glass thine image on their thousand rills ; 
 Thou shrine of hope — the pilgrim's sacred goal, 
 Blest Mecca of the mind, and city of the soul. 
 
 Thy brazen gates, and consecrated fanes. 
 Thy many string'd and silvery sounding lyres, 
 Attuned alone to heaven's divinest strains. 
 Where erst the minstrel-king awoke the wires, 
 \Jntil the soul seem'd fus'd in hallow'd fires. 
 Through time's dim vistas and its shadows gray, 
 Are brought to view as over dead empires, 
 JVIouldering kingdoms, dust and pale decay. 
 Swift fancy's chariot speeds his thought-illumined way. 
 
 (7) 
 
8 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Pride of the earth, and chosen of God wert thou, 
 Enrobed in matchless strength and mystery, 
 A wondrous beauty crown'd thy peerless brow, 
 While joy and light divine abode with thee ; 
 And when thy children in captivity 
 Were borne, they bowed in desolation, 
 And many a tearful glance was turned on thee. 
 While cries of woe, wailing and lamentation 
 In prayer went up by the dark streams of BabyloQ. 
 
 And now o'er Esdralon's palmy plain, 
 From Beitnumba's height I can behold. 
 Where Europe's hosts through blood and fiery rain, 
 With holy zeal in contests came of old ; 
 Against the fierce Saladin's armies bold. 
 With trump and clarion strains and banners proud ; 
 While swift the Paynim's arm'd chariot roll'd. 
 Through many a battle blast and red war-cloud, 
 Whose surges deep swept on in thunders long and loud. 
 
 And there with flying steed and glittering shield, 
 A Christian warrior clad in hauberk bright. 
 Sped onward o'er the dark ensanguin'd field. 
 Whose stalwart form absorb'd the startled sight ; 
 Oh ! know ye not that lion-hearted knight — 
 Great Plantagenet's brave and royal scion, — 
 Who came with mace of arms and sword to fight, 
 For Jesus and the cross and holy Zion, 
 Who was in peace a dove, in war an angry lion ? 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. » 
 
 Where dwelt sweet peace among the cedarn shades, 
 E'er sound of trump was heard or battle glave, 
 My fancy turns, when Salem's beauteous maids, 
 In rippling Kedron's chaste and limpid wave, 
 Came down of old their snowy feet to lave ; 
 As night beams fall through groves of shadowy 
 
 trees, 
 So softly bright the glance their dark eyes gave, 
 Their midnight tresses floating on the breeze. 
 Which oft in waving whispers came from Syrian seas. 
 
 Now I behold Gethsemene's fair bowers — 
 A light perfume floats through the mellow gloom, 
 Amidst whose dewy shades like soft snow show'rs, 
 Fall down the' olive's wealth of virgin bloom ; 
 Where once to ransom us from certain doom, 
 Where shed those hallowed tears — those drops of 
 
 woe, 
 A pledge of promised joy beyond the tomb. 
 Where Zion, free, shall dread no conquering foe, 
 And through supernal groves life's endless rivers flow. 
 
 And distant through the warm air shimmering. 
 Thy massive walls and towers of strength arise. 
 Bright spires and lofty turretts glimmering ; 
 While from the " Orient " robed in Tyrean dyesg 
 A queenly temple fills my wondering eyes, 
 Moriah's mystic fane, whose burnished dome, 
 Looms up as if to mock the bowing skies, 
 
10 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY's poems. 
 
 From many lands where Christian warriors come, 
 There tears and vows to blend above the holy tomb. 
 
 And now, high poised on fancy's soaring wings, 
 I fain would linger o'er the temple's shrine : 
 A heavenly radiance round about thee clings, 
 As mirror'd on my heart thy splendors shine— 
 Thy beauty wraps my soul, O ! fane divine, 
 Where once of old in silken bonds, three sons of 
 
 lightj 
 With purpose high and mystic word and sign, 
 Together met, amid thy wonders bright, 
 That shone like flashing stars upon the brows of night 
 
 But now a change comes o'er my spirit's vision, 
 And Judah's j^ristine glories proudly bright — • 
 So strangely fair they almost seem'd elysian — 
 Like rainbow dreams are sweeping out of sight ; 
 Thy palm crown'd hills and vales are scorched with 
 
 blight. 
 Thy marble fountains bound with burning chains ; 
 A sable veil dark as the wings of night. 
 Hangs like a funeral pall above thy plains. 
 Thy ivy mantled walls and desecrated fanes. 
 
 No arch triumphal now is borne aloft ; 
 No classic porticoes exclude the ray 
 Of Sol's hot radiance ; no lute-notes soft, 
 Of Hebrew maid, as in the elder day 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. H 
 
 Blent with the whid's low voices float away. 
 Thy stately pageantries have vanish'd all — 
 A mournful glory wraps thee in decay, 
 While from the turkman's parapetted wall, 
 Is heard afar the "loud muezzin's solemn call." 
 
 Alas ! for thee, my spirit inly weeps, 
 O, Jerusalem ! a tearless sorrow reigns 
 In the far holy of my bosom's deeps ; 
 My grieving lyre in solemn pean-strains 
 Awakes for thee, and mournfully complains. 
 Yet ever floating through my yearning dreams. 
 Bright glimpses come from heaven's celestial plains, 
 Where the redem'd shall quaff eternal stream?.; 
 And ransom'd Zion crown'd with light triumphant 
 beams. 
 
 Masonic Song. 
 
 Sound the full chorus in anthems of praise, 
 To Him the Grand Master, the " ancient of days," 
 Whose realm is all space, and whose temple the sky, 
 Whose portals are guarded by angels on high ; 
 Where through the wide arching in beauty around. 
 ilise upheaving pillars of wisdom profound ; 
 
12 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY S POEMS. 
 
 Begirt with his strength — in glory and might, 
 He reigns the great fountain of Spirit and Light. 
 
 Lo ! an angel of love our bleak world has bless'd j 
 Be joyful each heart, for our heavenly guest 
 With purpose most holy and mission sublime. 
 Hath lived through the wrecks and the tempests of 
 
 time — 
 Hath shed through the gloom of our passion-rent way, 
 Her soft tears of mercy like showers of May ; 
 And deep is the light of her radient eyes. 
 As the beams of Hesperus in orient skies. 
 
 Like the sound of a flute to the slumberer's ear. 
 Or the music of harps from some hallow'd sphere, 
 Doth the tones of her voice in soft euphonies fall, 
 On the sorrowing; heart throuo;h the desolate hall. 
 From the pale brow of pain the death-dews away, 
 She hath brush'd with her pinions, bright as the day : 
 While the sad orphan babes, to soothe and to bless, 
 She hath lulPd to sweet dreams in her gentle caress. 
 
 She hath a fair chaplet of emblems, entwin'd 
 
 With roses and lillies and cassias combined. 
 
 For the brows of our brethren, that fadeless shall bloom, 
 
 In the Lodge of the Spirit beyond the dark tomb ; 
 
 vVhere the roses of love forever wax bright, 
 
 And the lilies of purity stainlessly white ; 
 
 I 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 13 
 
 Where from evergreen bowers the "faithful" are 
 
 crown'd, 
 And cassias immortal bloom ever around. 
 
 The Three Friends and the Jewel. 
 
 " The veil of the temple is rent, the builder is smitten, and 
 we are raised from the tomb of transorression." 
 
 At length, through time's expanded sphere, 
 
 Fair science speeds her way ; 
 And warm'd by truth's refulgence clear, 
 
 Reflects the kindred ray. 
 A second fabric's towering height, 
 
 Proclaims the sign restor'd ; 
 From whose foundation brought to light, 
 
 Is drawn the mystic word. — Masoiiic Ode, 
 
 In Salem's palmy city dwelt, 
 
 Far back in the olden time, 
 Three friends, who, round one alter knelt, 
 
 Of mystic faith sublime. 
 A spirit net-work o'er them hung, 
 
 Of fellowship and love ; 
 And sweet their hearts according tones, 
 
 As choral hymns above. 
 
 When soft beneath a crimson flood, 
 
14 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 The lesser lights had set ; 
 In silken bonds of brotherhood, 
 
 Those friends in silence met. 
 Within a secret chamber high, 
 
 Of Zion's hallow'd fane ; 
 Where flashed along the guilded walls, 
 
 Bright rays like golden rain. 
 
 There, lock'd within a casket fair, 
 
 A priceless jewel lay. 
 Brighter than Neptune's burning gems. 
 
 Or morning's rosy ray. 
 And each possess'd the power to gaze. 
 
 Upon that jewel's light j 
 Serene and fair its lucid rays. 
 
 As starry eyes of night. 
 
 And thus the mystic brothers spoke. 
 
 As taught by lips divine ; 
 Not one alone of us shall take, 
 
 The treasure from its shrine ; 
 But met together, then , oh ! then, 
 
 The casket's hidden store. 
 Shall bless our yearning sight again, 
 
 Its wonted radiance pour. 
 
 'Twas thus they parted — friend with friend, 
 With many a holy sign, 
 
G^ 
 
 ACACIAN LYRICS. 15 
 
 As low in solemn prayer they bent, 
 
 Around the sacred shrine. 
 Time's heavy throb kept slowly on, 
 
 And brought the trysting hours ; 
 But one had pass'd the shad'wy vale, 
 
 To rest in Eden bowers. 
 
 And in that consecrated place, 
 
 They wistful gazed around : 
 Yet saw they not that one kind face, 
 
 Through all the still profound. 
 Alas ! the silver chord was loos'd. 
 
 And seaPd the sacred lore ; 
 While locked from sight the glowing gem. 
 
 Must lie forever more ! 
 
 Saids't thou forever more } Ah ! no, 
 
 For through our being's night, 
 The peerless gem doth softly shed, 
 
 Its floods of spirit light, 
 And thus by hope and faith in Him, 
 
 Who wept and died to save. 
 Our ransom 'd souls will bask in light, 
 
 And triumph o'er the grave. 
 
16 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Stanzas forthe Year. 
 
 " Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be 
 no divisions among you ; but that ye all be perfectly joined 
 together in the same mind, and in the same judgment." — Cor. 
 1 Chap. 10 verse. 
 
 " According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a 
 wise master builder, I have laid the foundation, and another 
 buildeth thereon. But let every man take heed how he build- 
 eth thereupon. — Cor. 3d Chap. 10 verse. 
 
 Time ! eldest born of elder day, 
 
 The silent parent of decay ; 
 In the urn of the past, he has consigned. 
 With the centuries old which he leaves behind, 
 The year that's past away. 
 
 Hail, all hail ! the New Year 's come, 
 
 Strike the harp and sound the drum ; 
 
 Lo ! we're hastening to the time. 
 
 Of those greetings most sublime. 
 In the great millenium. 
 
 Awake ! and work while yet 'tis day, » 
 The night soon comes, make no delay ; 
 Earth's weeping ones — His precious poor. 
 Have claims upon your love — your store, 
 
 Go smooth their thorny way. 
 " Brothers of the mystic tie," 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 17 
 
 Hast thou heard the orphan's cry ? — 
 To the sick hast o-iven rehef ? 
 
 o 
 
 Hast thou stay'd the widow's grief? 
 
 And check'd the mourner's sigh ? 
 
 Say — what the work thy hands have sought, 
 Tell, what the joys thy deeds have brought ? 
 
 O'er the old year's varied track, 
 
 Cast thy mental vision back — 
 
 Hast in the quarry wrought ? 
 
 Brother, of the social band. 
 
 O'er the sea in every land. 
 
 Tell us if in love thou hast. 
 
 Sought to shed those glories vast, 
 Of Him the Master Grand ? 
 
 Know'st thou of our faith sublime 
 
 We brethren have in every clime. 
 
 Who feel the same good shepherd's care — • 
 
 Alike his love and beauty share 
 
 Through all life's trial-time ? 
 Then strive in harmony to dwell, 
 And every stormy passion quell. 
 Till through our Father's heavenly grace, 
 We reach that bless'd, most holy place 
 Where ceaseless anthems swell. 
 Though darkly now, in yon bright sky 
 We'll see each other eye to eye j 
 
18 MRS. MUNDAr's POEMS. 
 
 Our work of love and duty done, 
 And passed the " veils " — acceptance won, 
 In that Grand Lodge on High. 
 
 Lines 
 
 On the death of Austin W. Morris, Esq., who died at his resi- 
 dence in Indianopolis, June 20, 1851, and who was, at the time 
 of his decease, and for some years previously, Grand Secretary 
 of the Grand Masonic Lodge of the State of Indiana. 
 
 Speak low the place is holy to the breath, 
 Of awful harmonies, of whispered prayer ; 
 Tread lightly, for the sanctity of death. 
 Broods with a voiceless influence on the air, 
 Stern, yet serene, a reconciling spell, 
 Each troubled billow of the soul to quell. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans, 
 
 There's mourning in our mystic hall, 
 
 For there's a vacant place — 
 A missing voice — a proud foot fall. 
 
 And kind familiar face, 
 Far from our transient sphere away, 
 Hath pass'd to climes of endless day. 
 
 Silence and gloom are brooding round 
 In fitful shadows pale ; 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 
 
 19 
 
 And o'er our hearts a grief profound, 
 
 Sits like a sable veil : 
 The eyes of light are dim with woe, 
 The voice of joy suppressed and low. 
 
 From out the firmament of thought, 
 
 A spirit star hath fled ; 
 A column strong with beauty fraught; 
 
 Hath fall'n among the dead ; 
 A sacred taper hath expir'd, 
 A weary soul to rest retir'd. 
 
 Thou art gone to dwell with angel bands, 
 
 The happy and forgiv'n, 
 In thy father's house not made with hands, 
 
 Eternal in the heaven. 
 Where grief and pain shall enter not. 
 And earthly emblems are forgot. 
 
 ! yes f we know thou'st found the shore, 
 
 Of still and quiet streams ; 
 Of pastures green, where ever more, 
 
 Thou'lt bask in glory's beams : 
 I'hat " bourne " for which the -sad soul yearns, 
 From whence no traveler returns. 
 
 Thou't laid aside the trestle board. 
 
 The compasses and square ; 
 Thou hast resign'd the purple robe, 
 
20 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY^S POEMS. 
 
 For brighter raiments there — 
 The toil is o'er, the work is done, 
 The capstone laid, the triumph won. 
 
 Thou'st passed within the inner veil, 
 
 In that bless'd lodge above ; 
 And thee will angel wardens hail, 
 
 In fellowship and love ; 
 Where many a harp's seraphic tone. 
 Shall sound around the great " white throne. 
 
 The mem'ry of thy deeds of love, 
 
 Are lingering with us yet. 
 Like incense floating from above — 
 
 Those tones shall we forget ? 
 Ah ! no, by all that's felt below. 
 The orphan's grief, the widow's woe. 
 
 And kindly round our brotherhood, 
 
 A silken chain thou'st flung ; 
 'Twas sweet as heaven's dewy flood. 
 
 That on the mountains hung ; 
 And mercy, love and friendship there 
 Were woven in the linklets fair. 
 
 'Twas thine the wounded heart to heal, 
 
 The tempest passions quell ; 
 'Twas thine for human ills to feel* 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 21 
 
 Where earth-born sorrows dwell ; 
 And each descenting heart and mind, 
 In gentle fellowship to bind. 
 
 Thine ark is safely wafted o'er 
 
 The surging waves of time ; 
 There thou shalt quaff unceasing lore, 
 
 From streams and founts sublime ; 
 Rivers of joy there flow along, 
 Like one unceasing tide of song. 
 
 Brother, within thy lethean tomb. 
 
 An evergreen we fling ; 
 As fadeless shall thy spirit bloom 
 
 In one perennial spring ; 
 Then rest thee on, until thy dust again, 
 The last trump wake — '^ so mote it be" — amen. 
 
 To A F R I E*ND 
 
 Of aught there is that's sweet, 
 In the rude tones that from my lute-strings ring ; 
 Sweet friend, wilt thou not kindly greet. 
 This offering. 
 
 Could I but pour a strain 
 
22 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 The trembling strings in cypress gloom which long 
 Hath hung, I'd sweep, if thou but deign, 
 To hear my song. 
 
 When but an artless child. 
 Of glorious fame I had a glowing dream ; 
 Around my brain the fancy wild, 
 Is still my theme. 
 
 And do ambition's fires, 
 Thou't ask — burn in fond woman's gentle soul .'* 
 And doth it wake those deep desires, 
 Beyond control ? 
 
 Say, what to thee is fame. 
 Again thou'lt ask — although thro' storm and shade^ 
 In life's dark day thou win'st a name, 
 That may not fade .'* 
 
 It is to be enshrined, 
 Within the hearts of those — the gifted few — 
 With noble and exalted minds, — 
 The good and true .'' 
 
 I'd teach my brother man, 
 To love the pure — the poor and weak defend 
 To be the orphan's guardian,—* 
 The widow's friend 
 
 Breathe words of solace where 
 The heart is broke, and burns the throbbing brain^ 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 23 
 
 And soothe the soul o'er which despair, 
 A sovereign reigns. 
 
 A lovely wreath I'd fling 
 Round stern celestial virtue's chastened brow, 
 Unto her shrine sweet offering bring — > 
 Before it bow. 
 
 Thus I would write my name, 
 In flame upon the arches of the sky, 
 
 And o'er my harp would fling a wreath of fame 
 That should not die. 
 
 An Allegory 
 
 Roaring adversity's relentless winds, 
 Swept madly o'er the world's dark wilderness ; 
 When through its trackless wastes and drear confines, 
 A-ll sad and pale with want and weariness, 
 <Vandered a lone and mournful orphan child. 
 
 A patient grief sat on her features mild, 
 While worn and thin around her fragile form, 
 As if to shield her from life's fearful storm. 
 Its last scant gift pale poverty had flung, 
 Which now in tattered shreds and ruined fragments 
 hung. 
 
24 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Beside the rough and thorn-encompass 'd way- 
 Sin's horrid imps were howhng seen to stray ; 
 Gaunt Famine turned to heaven its leader *yes, 
 And rent the troubled air with shrieking cries ; 
 Despair with livid lips, and frenzied laugh, 
 An opiate cup of lethean wine did quaff, 
 While deeply dyed in darkness, flame and blood, 
 Stalked grimly near Crime's hydra-headed brood. 
 
 In this bleak world, ah ! whither should she fly .'' 
 No friends, no home, oh ! could she choose but die j 
 But hark ! as from the skies, with silvery tone, 
 A voice was heard to say " let her alone." 
 From the uncertain sin-beclouded way. 
 Her weak unguarded feet to lead astray. 
 An ignus fatuous light gleam 'd from afar. 
 As shines upon the night some isolated star. 
 And from soft Pleasure's elfin guarded isle. 
 The murm'ring winds a wild 'ring incense flung ; 
 While on the sea-washed rocks with Circean wile, 
 Temptation's soul-alluring syrens sung ; 
 Where many a subtle coil of woe they weave, 
 The earth-sick, way-worn pilgrim to deceive. 
 How dark the vale of woe that lay beyond — 
 How fathomless the gulf that blacken'd yawn'd ; 
 She heeded not the Stygean surges roar, 
 And, as if some spirit-strain once more 
 To hear, the child her ravished ear bent low, 
 And from her violet eyes wip'd off the dews of woe. 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 
 
 25 
 
 *Twas not Temptation's mad'ning strains she heard, 
 
 But sweeter far, a charm 'd and mystic word ; 
 
 And with that sound which she knew pfissing well, 
 
 Was linked a sign of talismanic spell ; 
 
 Dispersing every earth-born grief and fear, 
 
 And bound with magic power the child's enraptured ear. 
 
 Gliding upon the gloom, 
 A sweet voice rippled musical and clear, 
 Inspired as the rapt wisdom of a sear, 
 Yet as a mother's, soft, when from its troubled sleep, 
 Her darling frightened wakes to sob and weep, 
 She lulls again with gentle songs to rest. 
 The sobbing one upon her faithful breast. 
 
 Lo ! on time's changing ocean dark and vast, 
 
 A heaven-directed barque was launched at last ; 
 
 An angel guide with loving eyes of light, 
 
 ControU'd it through the foggy veils of night ; 
 
 Faith watched the helm with heavenward look serene 
 
 While Charity, sweet maid, with tender mein, 
 
 Stood near, and smiling Hope with rosy wings, 
 
 From joy's enchanted lyre of golden strings. 
 
 Sweet strains awoke, to cheer the drooping child. 
 Across the wildering waste of waters wild. 
 Laced by a golden strand was seen to smile, 
 
 Far off, a gem-like palm-embower'd isle ; 
 
 Where cloudless arched the soft cerulean skies, 
 
 And light aromas floated sweet as summer sighs ; 
 
 W^here Harmony, that blest and gentle river. 
 
26 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Its chiming songs went murmuring ; 
 
 Soft as the breath that thro' the palm leaves quiver 
 
 Or the light waving of an angel's wing. 
 
 Amid the incense-breathing; bloom a strain 
 
 Of joy in floating melodies arose, 
 
 Where truth-illumined shone a skiey fane, 
 
 Whose time-defying walls stood forth in calm repose, 
 
 Wisdom and strength adorned in columned pride. 
 
 While beauty's graceful arch bent o'er the portals wide. 
 
 And there the orphan's rosy childhood hours, 
 
 Went by, list'ning among the joy-born flowers 
 
 To life's great lyre, whose chaunting tones profound, 
 
 ^rose in many an under-swell and spirit sound. 
 
 Wave after wave of time went swelling on — 
 
 In sinless dreams her childhood hours were gone, 
 
 And still the guide stood near and gently spake, 
 
 As breezy murmurs over still woods break. 
 
 " Fair child, doth not thy spirit sometimes yearn 
 For home beyond-, where ageless planets burn c 
 Those orbs, when floating thro' the blue sublime, 
 That sung of old creation's glorious hymn ; 
 A world of light dost thou not sometimes deem, 
 Floats viewless o'er immensity's broad stream. 
 Where mortal ear ne'er heard its raptures full. 
 Nor eye had seen its treasures beautiful ?" 
 
 The orphan sighed — "Ah ! why should soul of mine, 
 For joys more pure or visions more divine, 
 
ACACIAN LYRICS. 
 
 27 
 
 E'er seek beyond the sky-bound spheres to roam ? 
 Am I not bless'd and free in this terrestial home ?" 
 The angel smiled — " Ah ! poor weak child of clay, 
 Know'st thou ye are but insects of a day ? 
 To-morrow these pale children of decay, 
 Smote by the stygian breath shall pass away. 
 When on thy sight life's transient glories fade, 
 And strong upon thy heart death's fingers cold are laid, 
 
 When all the sounds of life wax dim, 
 
 And voices soft of seraphim, 
 
 Upon thy faint ear call away, 
 
 Wilt thou then pause to go. Oh ! say." 
 
 "Ah ! no ; if that I knew a world more fair. 
 Where enter not, nor pain — nor death — nor care.'^ 
 
 "Then with thy spirit's proud bright eyes behold 
 That which the seers inspired song of old." 
 The orphan smiled and to the shore advanced. 
 As through a prison bright its spirit vision glanced. 
 And then the angel smiled with look benign, 
 "What seest thou fair child — sweet orphan mine .^" 
 
 "An angel-peopled world — a brighter clime than this; 
 A land of more substantial joy — more rac^ient bliss — 
 A Lodge of spirit light beyond the tomb. 
 Where beauteous bowers of deathless cassia bloom." 
 " 'Tis well — know'st thou a brother from yon lodge of 
 
 light, 
 Came down in days of old to dwell ? 
 Our King and great high Priest, whose wisdom bright, 
 Outshone the quenchless spheres. — Did he not tell, 
 
28 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY^S POEMS. 
 
 Our breix^/en at the temple's shrine, 
 
 Who heard with sacred awe his words divine ? 
 
 ^ Behold ! ye have a mission to fulfill, 
 
 Go ye, and do our Great Grand Master's will.' 
 
 So thou should'st likwise go, and like the ray 
 
 Of evening's sundown glories round thy way. 
 
 Let winged love, and star-eyed hope, and truth, 
 
 O'er all thy works prevail — go consecrate thy youth, 
 
 By deeds of holy faith and love divine. 
 
 In its aromal innocence to heaven's hallow 'd shrine ; 
 
 For time is but a brief ephemeral day, 
 
 Born like the flowers, to bloom and fade away. 
 
 But as for me, a more enduring toil is mine, 
 
 For have not I beheld vast kingdoms fall. 
 
 With all that's best, and bright, that's noblest oi 
 
 divine ? 
 Upon my feet their ashes lie, while over all 
 The swift winged centuries sweep by 
 As mists of morning 'fore the sunlight fly ; 
 And scattered round the wrecks of pale decay, 
 On many a surge of time are born away. 
 
 Go, then, sweet orphan mine — bright heritor of 
 
 heaven. 
 And when thy mission's done,thy clay-born sins forgiv'n, 
 Our souls again shall meet, rejoice, unite 
 In yon bright Lodge, amid the sons of light. 
 And may the word and sign as taught when time began, 
 Upon the lips of faith and hope, forever with thee 
 
 dwell, 
 
ACAciAN Lyrics. 
 
 2& 
 
 And shield thy heart from blight till heav'n-home be 
 
 won, 
 
 And death and danger pass'd. Sweet child, farewell." 
 The orphan waved a sign of hope and joy profound, 
 While sweet the angel smiled, and strewed his palm 
 leaves round. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Reminiscences. 
 Respectfully inscribed to a graduate of Miami University. 
 
 " How warmly and vividly they rise, 
 Those memories of the past ; 
 The flashing eye, the kindling cheek, 
 As when I saw them last." 
 
 " Thy heart amid vulgar joys will aspire to something holier ; 
 thine ambition, amid coarse excitements to something beyond 
 thy reach. But deem not that this of itself will suffice for glory. 
 It is bat an imperfect and new born energy, which will not 
 Bufier thee to repose. As thou directest it, must thou deem it 
 to be the emanations of thy evil genius or thy good. — Sir E. L. 
 BuLwer, 
 
 Thou, of the lofty brow ! where proudly sits 
 
 Bright intellect enthron'd — where glowing thought, 
 
 Oft breaks its deep repose, thine azure eyes illume. 
 
 Oh ! could'st thou lend a kind indulgent ear. 
 
 For thee I'd sins in numbers wildly breath'd. 
 
 For thee I'd string my rustic harp anew. 
 
 If but the slumbering tones of memory's lyre 
 
 I could awake ; and from the misty past. 
 
 Old scenes, old faces, pleasant thoughts recall. 
 
 Back to thy mind like long forgotten strains 
 
 Of melody, which sometimes break upon the ea,r. 
 
 And thou hast wander'd — Where } Hast seen the West.^ 
 C30) 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 31 
 
 In all its gorgeousness and solemn pride, 
 
 The prairie vast in lonely beauty diess'd, 
 
 From whose utmost verge, 'twould seem the king of day, 
 
 Through the blue deeps his car of fire upwheels, 
 
 'Till past the viewless plains and rolling spheres, 
 
 Down-flashing far, his waning glow goes out 
 
 In seas of golden light, where warm and low, 
 
 The occidental skies in love bend down, 
 
 Like rainbow draperies o'er his evening couch. 
 
 And there amid the voiceless solitudes, 
 Thou hast beheld those vast and lonely tombs. 
 So strangely beautiful, where fall'n warriors sleep, 
 Upon whose brain-bewildering mysteries 
 The mildew page of time can shed no light ; 
 And from sweet beds of nameless flowers didst hear 
 The low and melancholy winds arise. 
 And wildly sweep above the unknown dead. 
 In requiems sad their dirge-like melodies. 
 Hast thou a heart ? I know, I feel, thou hast ; 
 And, in her silent language, nature breathed 
 Her inspirations beautiful into its large recess ; 
 Amid the solemn stillness round didst hear 
 It throb ? — as if Divinity was stirr'd 
 Within thy soul's profound ; didst kneel, didst bend 
 In adoration on the soft green turf? 
 As if within the area of some cathedral vast, 
 While poetry in measured numbers leap'd 
 From off thy lips, as touched by sacred fire ? 
 
 IJ-^ 
 
32 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 Art thou a poet ? Aye ! it must be so. 
 Thine eyes have not been Wind, nor deaf thine eari^, 
 Or from the external world have ever failed 
 To the internal world of mind to make 
 A due report. The heaven-descended maid 
 Her radient impress on thy lofty brow 
 Hath left, while soft the shadows of the mind, 
 Like vapory clouds, lift soft and airily away ; 
 And all created things, with stupid gaze 
 Regarded by the dull and prosing mind, 
 To thee half spiritualized appear. 
 And in prismatic glories seem to shine. 
 
 Oh ! who would leave the pure and bright creations 
 Of the world of thought for dull and cold reality .' 
 Who would not ever revel 'midst his own 
 Imaginings — although his helicon 
 Should sometimes prove like mine, a bitter fount 
 Of tears ! Hast ever felt thy mind oppress'd 
 With thrilling, keen conceptions of the grand, 
 Sublime and beautiful ? Doth thy heart yearn 
 For truth and purity more infinite ? 
 Thy soul imbuing with a lofty sense 
 Of its high nature and majestic destiny, 
 While far above the earth — its carking cares 
 And sordid fripperies — it seems to soar ? 
 If thus thy mind is delicately organized, 
 Susceptibilities possessing keen, 
 Amidst this harsh and jarring world thou mayst 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Not mingle, or dwell among distorted things, 
 Cold and unlovely to the soul and sense ; 
 Some rude and reckless hand will break 
 The music of thy soul— disturb its harmony 
 Come ! let us wander— rem emb'rst my face r 
 I essayed to say— along fair Tempe's vales 
 And drink Parnassian dews. 
 
 38 
 
 The roseat hues 
 Of youth are blooming still in richness on thy cheet ! 
 Perchance life's summer may not close. 
 E'er thou mayst write within the portals "wide. 
 Of Pindu's hoary fane— upon its lofty walls 
 A Poet Laureat's immortal name. 
 
 Where am I .? I left thee journeying on, 
 Amid the sky-bound prairie's lonely solitudes, 
 Striving to gain some island home, before the fall 
 Of eventide, and w^hen its dim and woody ailes 
 At length didst reach, and safely hous'd thyself 
 Within some rustic's shelter rude — v^hat thoughts 
 Of painful sweetness then thy lonely mind employ'd ; 
 And home — "sweet home" — friends and companiona 
 
 dear, 
 Arose as with a spell mysterious, 
 And pass'd in sweet review within thy memory. 
 Friend ! an aching pang — a mystic chord, 
 Is 'twin 'd around that little treasur'd word ; 
 And each remove from a dear cherish 'd one, 
 
34 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 As 'twere by tension adds a keener pang. 
 
 Thou hast return'd — thy roving feet once more, 
 
 Have sought the spacious halls and sylvan shades, 
 
 Of proud Miami, famed for classic lore. 
 
 The boon companions of thy youth again thou'lt meet. 
 
 And press the eager hand of friendship warm, 
 
 And in old faces read nev;^ welcomes home. 
 
 Thou'lt tread those social classic halls once more, 
 
 Where new fledged politicians oft essay'd 
 
 To soar, on fancy's wings bombastically sublime ; 
 
 And again thou'lt wander through the twilight groves 
 
 Of that old temple, as in boyhood's days, 
 
 And hear their wind-waked melodies arise. 
 
 And float through all their dark and dim arcades. 
 
 Till cradled in the tall and whispering grass. 
 
 They're hushed to resst. 
 
 'Tis a sweet spot, and like 
 A paradise, but that no dark-eyed houri's hymn 
 Is ever heard along the sounding aisles. 
 Dost recollect those golden hours of bliss 
 Long passed — When oft with book in hand thou did'st 
 Beneath those sylvan shades recline, where oft 
 The antique woods in vernal beauty rang, 
 With first attempts of youthful eloquence, 
 As even of old the thunderer the forum shook ? 
 
 How oft the echoes woke in answering strains, 
 To Homer's classic songs — the story sad, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 35 
 
 Of proud and hapless Illium's fall, 
 
 Those records old of war-like deeds and god-like men. 
 
 And here thou'st listen'd to the empassion'd strains 
 Of Byron's deep toned melancholy lyre, 
 Wondering in strange bewilderment if he could be. 
 Or man, or fiend, or of celestial birth. 
 As oft with mad'ning sweep he rent its quivering strings. 
 
 And o'er immortal Shakespear's wizzard songs. 
 In rapturous admiration thou hast bent : 
 While sweet Ophelia's woes, and Desdemona's wrongs, 
 And Juliet's touching love, and hump-back'd Richard's 
 
 crimes. 
 Of the enchanter's power gave ample proof, 
 And of his searchings deep wnthin the still 
 And viewless workings of the human heart. 
 
 But now my simple reedy song is done. 
 For well I know that thou art wearied grown, 
 With my untutor'd lays and harpings rude. 
 In its accustomed nook my rustic lyre 
 I'll hang — but yet perchance in shady covert hid, 
 Thou'lt hear me warble forth again my wood notes wild. 
 Till then, farewell ! 
 
36 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 The " Lone Tree," and the Solitary Grave. 
 To Oscar. 
 
 There many a bird of weary wing, 
 
 Like Noah's wandering dove may rest ; 
 
 Its grateful shades a joyauce bring 
 Unto the wayworn trav'ler's breast. 
 
 Bear high thy proud majestic boughs thou tree, 
 And wide thy kind protecting branches spread ; 
 
 For there is one at re.-t, who sleeps by thee. 
 Bold and serene — our cherished, changeless dead ! 
 
 How oft my dreaming thoughts go back 
 
 Thro' the misty vale of sighs and tears j 
 To bask along the flow'ry track, 
 
 In the hght of toy childhood's years. 
 Its sense of joy, how deep and full, 
 
 How wild and high its burning dreams *, 
 Life's visions shone all beautiful. 
 
 As through a prism nature gleams. 
 
 Oh ! then the fondest hopes were mine, 
 
 With patient zeal my mind could soar 
 To distant joys I deemed divine. 
 
 Which now my heart can feel no more. 
 And as I muse, I'm thinking now 
 
 Of one asleep we loved so well. 
 With placid mien and thoughtful brow, 
 
 Who by our hearthstone used to dwell. 
 
 And through the might of kindred ties, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 37 
 
 Her angel presen'" 5io\v draws near ; 
 While with my spirit's yearning eyes, 
 
 I can behold the loved one dear. 
 How spirit-like her azure eyes, 
 
 How soft her voice and bland her smile ; 
 E'en as the light of summer skies, 
 
 That glows above some ocean isle. 
 
 How mild and sweet her gentle ways. 
 
 How pure the fountains of her mind. 
 Which often gushed in saphic lays. 
 
 Like plaintive harp-strains of the wind. 
 Bathed in Pierien founts, her soul 
 
 Wore the bright hues of musing thought ; 
 Dreaming of some enchanted goal, 
 
 As if from heaven those hues were caught. 
 
 Ah ! sweet as Polyhymenia's song, 
 
 The mournful music of her lyre, 
 In classic numbers flowed along, 
 
 As oft she swept each trembling wire. 
 No more, alas ! that spirit lute. 
 
 With trembling lays our hearts shall thrill ; 
 The tender voice we loved is mute, 
 
 And the throbbing pulse is still. 
 
 There waves a solitary tree, 
 
 Upon the prairie's distant verge ; 
 And pining winds are mournfully 
 
 Awaking many a solemn dirge ; 
 
38 MRS. Monday's poems. 
 
 And where the dreaming star-eyed flowers, 
 Their voiceless hymns of joy around, 
 
 Are singing to the summer hours, 
 Her place of solemn rest is found. 
 
 And oh ! 'tis consecrated ground, 
 For there she sleeps alone — alone — 
 
 While viewless spirits hov'ring round, 
 Methinks have claimed it for their own. 
 
 Song of the Genii. 
 
 " There is a principle of the soul superior to all external 
 nature ; and through that principle we are capable of surpass- 
 ing the orders and systems of the world, and participating the 
 immortal life, and the energy of the sublime celestials. 
 
 * * * When the soul is elevated to 
 
 natures above itself, it deserts the orders to which it is awhile 
 compelled, and by a religious magnetism is attracted to another 
 and loftier with which it blends and mingles. — Zanoni, or the 
 Secret Order. 
 
 When the earth is slumber-bound, 
 In the shades of night profound. 
 As the gush of silver streams, 
 All the starry host of beams 
 Shed their dewy glories round ; 
 When the chill is on the ground 
 And nor step, nor voice, nor sounds 
 
misckllaneous pieces. 39 
 
 Breaks the solemn stillness round ; 
 
 And the moon of ashy hue, 
 
 Sails along the deeps of blue, 
 
 In her barque of dreamy light, 
 
 With her sails of cloudlets white, 
 
 And her figure-head in sight, 
 
 Through all the jewel'd hours of nightf 
 
 O'er the land and o'er the sea, 
 
 Mortal, we are there with thee. 
 
 In the silence dark and deep, 
 
 When the weary are asleep. 
 
 While nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, 
 
 Marks the cold etherial plain ; 
 
 Then to us a charm is given. 
 
 Not of earth, but fraught of heaven. 
 
 Then we kindly vigils keep. 
 
 And the willing senses steep, 
 
 In our changing tears and smiles, 
 
 And the slumb'rer's thoug-hts be2:uile. 
 
 In the rosy land of dreams. 
 
 Of spirit-lyres and singing streams, 
 
 Fancy-wrought 
 
 Wing'd with thought, far away. 
 
 In the shadow of the woods. 
 Where the roar of falling floods, 
 Breaks in echoes o'er the hill, 
 By the lakelet dark and still, 
 In the golden sunset's glow. 
 
40 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 In the vallies warm and low 
 Mid the rainbow-tmted fiow'rs. 
 Through the sylvan walls and bowers, 
 In the homes of mirth or woe, 
 Where e'er the wand'ring zephyrs go 
 In the light and in the shade, 
 With the soul of any grade, 
 Wrought of heaven, or earth, or air. 
 We are here, and we are there. 
 We are with thee every where. 
 And around thee ever dwell. 
 Like the spirit of a spell. 
 Or the essence of a dream, 
 Or the life of perish 'd streams 
 Like the shade of banished sound. 
 Or the pulse of night profound 
 Or the music of the dews. 
 Never known, never seen, 
 These are spirit-like I ween. 
 
 When the meteor mild and high, 
 
 Flashes down the midnight sky, 
 
 And its lone sepulchral gleam. 
 
 Glows within the lambent stream. 
 
 Swift its birth and pale its beam. 
 
 As the mem'ry of a dream ; 
 
 And the glow-worm through the gloom, 
 
 Lights his small ephemeral fires 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 41 
 
 Where the ivy wreathes the tomb, 
 
 And the tones of orphean wires, 
 
 Tremble in the tall rank grass, 
 
 While through the steep and rocky pass, 
 
 Shrieks the owlet's doleful sono-. 
 
 Waking echoes dull and long; 
 
 Where nor bloom, nor verdure smil'd. 
 
 Midst the herdless rocklets wild; 
 
 Up the glen and o'er the marsh. 
 
 Where the sounds are dull and harsh — 
 
 We'll be with thee then and there, 
 
 Tho' thou seek-'st to wander where. 
 
 Aught of spirit good or ill. 
 Ne'er shall follow against thy will. 
 
 Mortal, if thou seek'st relief, 
 From a soul-o'er-masterino; srrief. 
 Or from doubt, or dread, or fright. 
 Or with step and bosom light, 
 Wand'rest with the joyous throng. 
 Where rich harpings peal alon^- ; 
 What e'er thy wishes, hopes or quests, 
 What, tho' we seem unbidden guests, 
 What e'er betide thee, good or ill. 
 The voiceless Genii guides thee still. 
 
42 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 Osceola's Lament. 
 
 Here in these lonely prison walls, 
 
 Seminola's chief is laid ; 
 The white man from his forest halls, 
 
 Has lur'd him and betray'd. 
 
 Here in the white man's prison chain'd, 
 
 Like an eagle caged I pine ; 
 The free blood coursing through my veins, 
 
 My spirit unresigned. 
 
 No more I'll bound along the vale, 
 With a kindred warrior band ; 
 
 No more my steed will snufF the gale. 
 When foes invade our land. 
 
 The war-knife we'll no more unsheath, 
 To wreak our vengeance fell ; 
 
 Or hear the loud, clear, war-whoop shrill, 
 Or the forest-brave's wild yell. 
 
 Our council fires no longer gleam, 
 
 Their ashes now are cold ; 
 And far from Pensacola's stream. 
 
 Wander our warriors bold. 
 
 'No more we'll launch the bark canoe 
 
 From off the pebbly shore ; 
 The finny tribe no more pursue, 
 
 With swiftly dashing oar. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 43 
 
 No more the pipe its fragrant fumes, 
 
 Sends curling round our heads : 
 Dead silence wraps in sullen gloom 
 
 The spot where braves have bled. 
 
 No more around the watch-fire's blaze, 
 
 Will forest maidens dance ; 
 Or Osceola e'er embrace, 
 
 Or meet the " White Fawn's" glance. 
 
 The pliant bow lies all unbent. 
 
 The arrrow now is broke : 
 The red man's pride and power is wrent, 
 
 His neck must wear the yoke. 
 
 Great Spirit ! are the red man's wrongs, 
 
 As nothing in thy sight f 
 Is treachery and crooked tongues. 
 
 Approved by thee as right ? 
 
 But hark ! the pale face may be near, 
 Exulting o'er the red man's pain. 
 
 No sigh from Osceola shall he hear, 
 He may not hear a Chief complain. 
 
 When storms arise and round us sweep. 
 
 The bending willow quakes ; 
 But proudly stands the stately oak 
 
 It scorns to bend — and, breaks. 
 
 A smile of sullen scorn his lip now wreath 'd, 
 It quivered — trembled — 'twas the last ; 
 
44 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 Proud Osceola now no longer breathed — 
 His spirit dark and grim had pass'd ! 
 
 Musings, 
 
 On the Death of a Class-mate. 
 
 Look yet on this pale face, 
 Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impress'd, 
 Come near and bear the beautiful to rest. 
 
 Spring shall return, 
 Bringing the earth her lovely things again, 
 All — save the loveliest far — a voice — a smile — 
 
 A young sweet spirit gone. — Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Alas ! that flow'ers should loose their blushing hues, 
 
 That fairest ones are ever earliest to depart, 
 
 That autumn with its chilling breath should come 
 
 To kill and scatter round the verdant leaf ; 
 
 That time should smite the open brow of youth, 
 
 And leave his wrinkled impress there ; that its glad 
 
 voice 
 Should e'er be hush'd — and o'er the red ripe lips. 
 And radient eyes, that death should set his seal. 
 She whom I sing was fair ; e'en as the brow 
 Of night's pale regent, whose enchanted beams. 
 Stole down the Latmian hills of old and charm 'd 
 Endymeon's heart to joy, and Paphean dreams. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 45 
 
 Aye ! fair — and there were those perchance, who 
 
 deemed 
 Her beautiful ; but there was that within, 
 Her spirit's temple, that woke a charm more potent 
 Than sweet beauty's self can fling upon the past. 
 A soul, pure, of child-like innocence and fraught 
 With the celestial fires of angel poesy. 
 She had early learn 'd the joy of nature's 
 Worship ; for unto her all things assumed 
 Prismatic hues — a deeper charm did wear, 
 Than unto minds of common mold. The fields 
 And plains in sunny beauties dress'd; the wood'* 
 Dark solitudes — the shad'wy lake within 
 Whose breast serene, in silence floats each form 
 Of nature's charms — the pulseless spheres of night, 
 Like ageless sentinels, that keep their watches cold 
 Along the silent sky's far infinite, — 
 The stately moon in her cold beauty dress'd. 
 The brilliant sunset — gold tinged and crimson dy'd, — 
 The fitful music of ceolean winds. 
 As they would rise and sweep the ocean's crest, 
 And through the dim woods wake their murmurs deep ; 
 The silvery chime of many mingling streams. 
 And the blithe songs of summer birds ; these, 
 With all their varied charms, sank deep within her 
 
 heart. 
 And stir'd the placid waters of her soul, 
 Which gushing, flow'd away in streams 
 Of sweetest melody. 
 
46 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 And she had musings, 
 Strange, yet sacred ; musings, such as may dwell 
 Within the breast of innocence alone : 
 For oft would she in dreamy reveries 'rapt, 
 Recline upon the soft green sward and watch 
 The towering clouds as they would rise and float, 
 Like panoramic scenes in mountain strength 
 And majesty away. 
 
 And upward still. 
 Her thoughtful gaze was fixed, as if to pierce 
 The far beyond — and with intelligence 
 Divine, to hold converse — while the mute joy 
 Of her pure soul bedew'd her eyes' soft azure. 
 As though sh'd caught a tissuey dream of heaven ! 
 And oft her parian hand amid the lute strings 
 Wander'd for strains inspired — and when they came. 
 The charm 'd soul trembled — thrilPd, and was absorbed 
 In music ; now sweet and low, then wild and high, 
 As the strange gush of Memnon's fabled sounds. 
 Whose surges deep stole round the column'd arches 
 Of the antique fane, and in the fret-work. 
 Of the lofty dome, and down the time worn walls 
 The mystic voice expired. 
 
 E'en now my heart 
 Thrills with a sense most sad of melancholy joy, 
 As recollection stalks along the past, 
 When gently link'd in friendship's rose-wreathed chain, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 47 
 
 I've wandered oft along the twilight aisles 
 
 Of some far echoing wood, with her who oft 
 
 In dalliance fond would smooth my sadden'd brow, 
 
 And round her playful finger 'twin'd my careless hair. 
 
 But she, amid the mournful cadences 
 
 Of sounds autumnal ; of falling leaves, 
 
 And faded flowers, hath lately gone to rest. 
 
 O \ would I might recall those hours serene, 
 
 And backward roll the lethean waves of time, 
 
 And from oblivion's ebon vortex glean 
 
 The treasures of the past. 
 
 Alas ! no more 
 
 Shall her bland voice, or sunny smile, or words 
 So full of trustful hope e'er fall again 
 
 Upon my riven heart, or shine above 
 
 My lonely way ; for with those halcyon hours 
 
 My brightest dreams of hope and joy were blent, 
 
 Now, each succeeding one that onward rolls, 
 
 Bears ample record of my falling tears. 
 
 Lo ! where yon willow with the cypress vine, 
 
 In grief-like silence twines its fibrous limbs, 
 
 A hillock rises green, and the low winds. 
 
 In fitful gusts, wail through the tall grass mournfully, 
 
 A death-dirge o'er the tomb j the lost of earth ; — 
 
 'Tis there she lies, in awful, sweet repose. 
 
 Spring, with her bland and gentle breath shall kiss 
 
 The earth again, upon whose glowing breast. 
 
 In radient bloom shall smile the sta eyed flowers, 
 
48 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 A.nd the extinguisli'd flame may be relit, 
 
 jBut spring ao more shall e'er the rosy hues 
 
 Of hfe to the still features of the voiceless dead 
 
 Restore, or e'er the spirit-fires relume. 
 
 And yet I would not summon back the soul 
 
 Departed — fetterless, pure, and free — or wake 
 
 It to life's miseries. I would not compass 
 
 That celestial spark within a woe-worn tenement 
 
 Of sickly clay, though cold and damp her narrow bed 
 
 And her repose be long and dreamless. 
 
 Although no orient beam of morning sun, 
 
 Or evening moon, or melancholy stars. 
 
 Shall gleam along the dim sepulchral halls, 
 
 To gild their darkness, or music-murmurs 
 
 Of charming streams, or songs of birds or windj 
 
 The long monotonous night may ever break. 
 
 Ah ! no-^I would not now unlock eternity, 
 
 Or e'er disturb the death-bound slumberer's rest. 
 
 Yet, careless wand'rer, step not rudely o'er 
 
 The sacred dust, lest ye shall crush 
 
 The violets there that blossom on her breast. 
 
 They hang their timid heads and weep all night, 
 
 Until the morning sun with genial ray, 
 
 Shall kiss the trembling tears away. 
 
 The modest weepers crush not, for a semblance fair, 
 
 We've found in them of heiLwho sleeps below. 
 
 Like pleasant thoughts, or evanescent hues 
 
 Which curtain sunset with their gorgeous dyes ; 
 
 Like a soft dream, or dyin^ melody 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 49 
 
 That leaves no trace behind — so her mild spirit 
 Took its flight, and the soul-lit radiance 
 Of her deep-blue eyes went out forever ! 
 
 RossEAu's Heloise. 
 Adjuration. 
 
 Can'st thou forget, that solemn day 
 When warm in youth I gave the world away ? 
 Can'st thou forget what tears that moment fell, 
 When lost to thee, I bade the world farewell? — Pope^ 
 
 Deep are thy fountains love, thy spells how strong, 
 Thy draughts are poisonous, and thy joy thrills pain; 
 Yet is there bliss in your refin'd excess, tho' long 
 The sad o'er burthen'd soul may strive in vain, 
 To rend from off the mind the burning chain, 
 In wild idolatry that mad'ning binds, 
 Unsought the throbbing heart, and o'er wrought brain ; 
 Ah ! sacred, pure and bless'd, is love that finds, 
 One heart alone — one soul — one sacred shrine. 
 
 And I have lov'd e'en thus, until my brain. 
 Went wild, and in my spirit's wretchedness, 
 Have curs'd me for that worship. All in vain 
 Have striven the spell to break. Oh ! who could guess 
 That those sweet dreams would bring such deep dis- 
 tress ? 
 
50 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Ah ! ne'er again such love my breast shall know, 
 ^or it became a madness, and did press 
 The life-blood from my heart, like lava streams to flow 
 O'er my scorch'd eye-balls, burning with their woe. 
 
 tears have roll'd on, and o'er my cheek and brow, 
 j^ale sorrow's impress ever sits to tell. 
 That all the past is but a waste, as now, 
 A fearful, pleasing dream, on which I dwell, 
 With such strange happiness, striving to quell 
 These passion-hopes. Hear me ye gods ! I bow 
 In tearless anguish which my bosom swells, 
 And 'fore the shrine of heaven this last wild vow 
 I'll breathe : love to nought earthly shall my lips avow 
 
 Hear me,-ye burning spheres ! behold it, heaven ! 
 Thou melancholy moon and glorious sun ; 
 Bear ye all witness, how my heart was given 
 With its proud hopes and quenchless love to one 
 Who sighs with blighted heart o'er joy-dreams done, 
 And far from me by cruel fate — alone — 
 Was o'er the waste of disappointment driven ; — 
 Love wept as oft it mark'd the wreck begun. 
 O'er the free hearts it scarcely iust had won. 
 
 Alas ! for me the wreck'd-crush'd, and heart riv'n. 
 There smiles no future dream of hope or rest. 
 Ah ! why to me was life so joyless given ? 
 Which seems a fearful and mysterious jest ; 
 Yet shall the earth-worn pilgrim still be bless 'd, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 51 
 
 '? 
 
 If in the unrefunding tomb there is repose 
 For soon within its halls I'll be a g-uest. 
 Heedless alike of all life's follies and its woes 
 Where love forgets its tears, and hate its foes 
 
 Autumn Winds are Sighing. 
 
 A Dirge. 
 
 *' ^hy do ye rustle on your dark wings, ye whistlins: storms 
 ofthesky?"— Ossmn. - 
 
 Sad autumn winds are si<rhin2f. 
 Sweet summer gems are dying, 
 The forest leaves are lying, 
 
 All withered, scorch'd and sear. 
 
 And through the air are flying. 
 Strange birds that fast seem hieing, 
 To a land with ours vieino-, 
 
 E'er the j^elling blasts were here. 
 
 The wind-god's wildly sweeping. 
 His lyre that erst was sleeping. 
 Midst modest violets weeping. 
 Their sweet cerulean dew. 
 
 No silver founts are leaping, 
 The wood-nymphs fair are weeping. 
 And summer days are creeping. 
 On to their sad adieu. 
 
52 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 '' The melancholy days are here," 
 With mournful sounds and storm clouds drear^ 
 Telling with many an emblem sear, 
 We all shall pass away. 
 
 The blast is round me pealing, 
 
 A gloom o'er earth revealing ; 
 
 O'er nature's cheek is stealing, 
 
 The hectic of decay. 
 
 No choristers are singing, 
 No buds or flow'rets springing, 
 For battling sounds are ringing 
 
 With the storm-trump's blast. 
 
 The circean song from pleasure's bower. 
 And leaf, and bird, and bud, and flower. 
 And springing fount, and summer hour, 
 Are buried with the past. 
 
 Hollow winds are roaring, 
 Chill autumn rains are pouring. 
 All nature seems deploring, 
 Her glowing beauties fled. 
 
 Moan ! moan ! ye sobbing winds. 
 Since in your wail, the sorrowing mindj, 
 Of its wild griefs a semblance finds, 
 Like us, ye wail the dead. 
 
 I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 53 
 
 To A Young Poetess. 
 
 " Come let us wander, * * * * 
 1 essay'd to say, along fair Tempe's vales, 
 And drink Parnassian dews." 
 
 Listen, oh, list ! sweet minstrel maid, 
 
 Upon whose thoughtful brow, 
 Parnassian wreaths are blooming laid, 
 
 Bright songstress, hear me now. 
 
 Thou hast arous'd my slumbering lyre, 
 
 Its " wood-notes" woke again ; 
 While every thrilling spirit-wire, 
 
 Yields back an answering strain. 
 
 I ween that thou art young and fair. 
 
 Of mild and gentle ways ; 
 With sad sweet eyes, and sunny hair, 
 
 So tender are thy lays. 
 
 The plume tips of its viewless wings, 
 
 Some fairy sprite doth sweep 
 Across thy lyre's electric strings. 
 
 So full its tones and deep. 
 
 Thy song is like the winds that float, 
 
 Among the autumn leaves ; 
 Or like the ring-dove's plaintive note, 
 
 So mournfully it grieves. 
 
 Where thou the early flow'ra did'rit cull. 
 
54 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 That grace thy mountain streams, 
 Did'st learn those musings beautiful — 
 Pure thoughts and holy dreams ? 
 
 Ah ! where the lofty " elm woods" rise, 
 
 The pine encircled hills, 
 That seem to emulate the skies, 
 
 Where gush thine own wild rills. 
 
 There hast thou learn'd that mystic lore, 
 While o'er thy musing mind, 
 
 A pensive joy sits evermore, 
 A happiness refined. 
 
 Say, gentle priestess of the lyre. 
 Amid thy heart's wild springs ; 
 
 Hath felt unquenched no deep desire — 
 A hope that upward springs ? 
 
 For joys more infinite and high. 
 
 For glories more sublime. 
 In yon pure world beyond the sky, 
 
 That soul-illumin'd clime ? 
 
 And doth not through thy slumbers glide. 
 Some soft entrancing spell ; 
 
 As though still watching by thy side, 
 Kind sister spirits dwell. 
 
 From angel Kathleen's dreamy eyes. 
 Didst inspiration quaff.'' 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 55' 
 
 While on the evening wind's low sigh, 
 Was borne her syrean laugh. 
 
 For oh ! may not the lost return ? 
 
 From their far realm of light — 
 The lov'd for whom our tried hearts yearn, 
 
 Tell thou of visions bright ! 
 
 I may not now behold thy face, 
 
 In this our narrow sphere ; 
 But in that blest and happy place. 
 
 With those we cherislied here ; 
 
 With choral hymns may we not meet. 
 
 Amid an angel throng ; 
 Where we that seraph band shall greet, 
 
 The sisterhood of sons. 
 
 'O' 
 
 But hark ! the pulse of time throbs on, 
 And hush'd the answering strain, 
 
 The willow's sighing boughs upon, 
 I'll hang my lyre again. 
 
56 MRS. mundAy's poems. 
 
 TheShipwreck. 
 
 The queenly ship ! brave hearts had striren, 
 And true ones died with her. 
 
 I stood on the sea-wash'd beach alone, 
 Listening the ocean's solemn moan ; 
 The winds were pillow'd on the waves, 
 Up-sparkling from their pearl-spar 'd caves ; 
 And swift the dolphin leap'd in light. 
 Like a radient meteor beaming bright, 
 Scathing the face of the glassy plain, 
 As it rose in air, then swam again. 
 All hush'd and calm was the deep serene, 
 When the shadowy form of a ship was seen, 
 Slow sailing onward to the land, 
 Of those who sought a kindred band. 
 Tell us ye winds — oh ! did not they, 
 Of friends and homes far, far away. 
 Bright dreams of hope and joy create ? 
 Or dream 'd they of the coming fate. 
 That o'er their visions fair should cast, 
 Its shadows dark to kill and blast 
 Each hope-born dream } Oh ! fearful night. 
 When loved ones there with eyes of light. 
 Still sought the shore with yearning sight. 
 Who thought of some sweet happy day. 
 Ere childhood's hours had pass'd away, 
 Spent in some consecrated bower : 
 Or parting words, or joyous hour. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 57 
 
 Or low sweet voice, or murmur'd vow, 
 
 Or smile of one that's sleeping now. 
 
 Alas ! alas — no more — no more — 
 
 Those lov'd ones e'er shall press the shore, 
 
 For lo ! a cloud in the sun-set sky, 
 
 Caught the quick glance of the seaman's eye, 
 
 And long on its darkness in dread he gazed. 
 
 E'en while the sun in beauty blazed, 
 
 Till 'clipsed within that threatening cloud. 
 
 As 'tw^ere w^ithin a sable shroud. 
 
 Like a fiery serpent wildly flew, 
 
 Adown the heavens the lightnings blue. 
 
 Hark ! a burst of thunder deep and far, 
 
 As the war-drum's note, or the clattering car, 
 
 And many an ominous sound was heard 
 
 With the stormy petrel, that fearful bird. 
 
 Lashed by wild circumambient waves. 
 
 Oft plunged the barque to ocean caves. 
 
 The liquid thunders of the deep 
 
 Were summons dread of dreamless sleep ; 
 
 From the sea-green gulf the ship emerged, 
 
 As o'er her masts broke the angry surge, 
 
 While o'er the waters inky face. 
 
 The white foam sailed like ghosts in chase. 
 
 Fast did the gaping billows rise. 
 
 Like mountains lifted to the skies. 
 
 O'er which the ship as in mad spasm, 
 
 Roll'd on and down the mighty chasm ; 
 
 Then prayerful cries died on the startled air, 
 
58 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 With curses hoarse, and wailings of despair, 
 'Twas vain, — lost was the ship — their doom was 
 
 cast; 
 One mad'ning shriek rose on the yeUing blast ; 
 Then all went down with bubbling roar — 
 The stately bark and crew to rise no more ! 
 Now floats the wreck in ocean spray, 
 And the moaning surges murmur — where are they ? 
 
 The Graduate's Farewell. 
 
 When will ye think of me my friends ? 
 Wljen will ye think of me? — Hemans. 
 
 Farewell ! my classmates — here's my hand, 
 
 Tears are around my heart. 
 Thick crowding thoughts are thronging up, 
 
 In this sad hour we part. 
 
 Patient we've trod the classic hall^ 
 
 Together day by day ; 
 Where science on the dark'nd mind, 
 
 Pours her celestial ray. 
 
 Together at the shrine of truth. 
 We've beiit with toil and pain ; 
 
 Together spent the wealth of youth 
 In learning's sacred fane. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 59 
 
 And oft has midnight's weary hour, 
 
 Bedim'd the radient eye , 
 As we the musty page explored ; 
 
 Nay, do not heave a sigh. 
 
 For when the daily task was o'er, 
 
 In circles we have met ; 
 To spend in mirth the rosy hours — 
 
 Those hours shall we foro:et ? 
 
 Nay brother — do not turn away, 
 
 There's sadness on thy brow ; 
 Now gird thee up the manly heart, 
 
 'Tis life's commencement now. 
 
 Hark ! a silvery voice — say, dost thou hear } 
 
 It is the trump of fame ; 
 Its notes come ringing sweet and clear. 
 
 And- sings a deathless name. 
 
 Then nerve thy arm and bare thy brow, 
 
 To meet the world's dark strife. 
 And proudly breast the gales that blow. 
 
 Amid the storms of life. 
 
 Thy noble energy of soul. 
 
 Shall not be spent in vain ; 
 The world shall feel the strong control 
 
 Which minds like thine maintain. 
 
 In truth ye are a gallant band. 
 My heart exults with pride ; 
 
60 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 As proudly beautiful ye stand 
 Together by my side 
 
 The Moon. 
 
 To Fazio. 
 
 Beholding thee, 
 Thou beauteous moon, forgotten passages, 
 In the writ pages of life's volume come 
 To me afresh, and thoughts of dim years past, 
 Move in the soul. — S. C. Kinney. 
 
 When comes the solemn twilight hour, 
 With noiseless step and sombre shade, 
 
 'Tis then I feel a wizzard povs^er — 
 A sadness soft my breast pervade. 
 
 And then the moon, so coldly bright. 
 Lends sweet enchantment to the scene j 
 
 Sheds forth a flood of holy light, 
 O'er stirless wood and vale serene. 
 
 Sweet friend, did ne'er her silvery face, 
 
 Fair images to thee recall } 
 On memory's page, didst ne'er retrace 
 
 The past — with its sad changes all } 
 
 The pale round moon — 'tis still the same, 
 As when Chaldean Shepherd swains, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES' 61 
 
 With flocks and herds oft 2;razing came, 
 Beneath her ray on Shinar's plains. 
 
 The same as when the Moslem came, 
 Beneath her crescent pale and wan, 
 
 Razing each tower and Christian fane, 
 Of powerful Byzantium. 
 
 E'en now she's looking sadly down. 
 
 Upon those lonely solitudes ; 
 Where marble columns — sculphtur'd stone. 
 
 Lie scattered round in fragments rude. 
 
 Where once Palmyra's haughty queen, 
 
 Zenobia — led in golden chains ; 
 Through Roman streets was sadly seen, 
 
 Conquer'd by proud Aurelian. 
 
 How much of joy, of woe and crime, 
 Are conjur'd up beneath her face — 
 
 Wrote on the mildew page of time, 
 
 As backward, thought, those scenes retrace. 
 
 But Fazio, when again the moon 
 
 Upon thee sheds her mellow light. 
 Look on her, and then think of one, 
 
 Who too may gaze with fond delight. 
 
62 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY's poems. 
 
 To AN Absent One. 
 
 ^'From the bright stars, or from the viewless air, 
 Or from some world unreach'd by human tho't, 
 Spirit, sweet spirit, if thy home be there, 
 And if thy visions with the past be fraught. 
 
 Answer me — answer me !" — Hemans 
 
 From friends, and home, and native land, 
 
 Thy roving feet have stray 'd ; 
 From proud Miami's classic band 
 
 And academic shade, 
 
 Where art thou, where .'* 
 
 Oh ! tell us, on what sunny isle, 
 
 Thy far off home is made } 
 Thou take'st from our hearth the smile. 
 
 That was too bright to fade. 
 
 Where art thou, where .'* 
 
 Dwell'st thou by the sounding shore, 
 Where swift the blue waves curl ; 
 
 Amid the ocean's deaf'ning roar, 
 Where ships their sails unfurl .'' 
 Not there. 
 
 Or wand'rest where the ice-berge gleams. 
 
 Deep fus'd in sunset dyes ; 
 Where the ocean eagle soaring screams. 
 
 Earth's tidings to the skies ? 
 Not there. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 63 
 
 Where many a royal Saxon tower, 
 
 Upvaults with glit'ring dome ; 
 O'er broad Sarmatia — land of power, 
 
 Of toiling serfs the home ? 
 Not there. 
 
 Shall we find thee on the Alpine hills, 
 
 Or glaciers icy plains ? 
 Where oft the huntsman's clarion shrill, 
 
 Breaks forth in gladsome strains .? 
 Not there. 
 
 Do'st linger in those southern shades, 
 
 The land of fadeless flow'rs ? 
 In sweet Arcadia's sunny glades. 
 
 Or Andalusian bowers ? 
 Not there. 
 
 Tell us ye spirits of earth and sky, 
 
 Doth the lov'd one dwell in a world more fair.? 
 Where the heart hath no grief, and the bosom no 
 sight, 
 Spirit, sweet spirit ! if thy home be there. 
 Answer me ! answer me. 
 
 Low voices like the sound of streamsj 
 
 Far off — through the cold still air 
 Respond, and through my dreams, 
 
 Mournfully answer — where .'* 
 ! where ? 
 
64 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 To Leon ORE. 
 
 What now to her is all the world esteems ? 
 She is awake, and cares not for its dreams, 
 But moves while yet on earth as one above, 
 Its hopes and fears, its loathing and its loves. 
 
 Crahhe. 
 
 It is the hour of night's still solemn noon, 
 
 And the heaven-encircied earth is wrapt in slumber ; 
 
 While through the glittering isles of light the absent 
 
 moon, 
 Sheds no pelucid beam amid the number 
 Of golden spheres j nor clouds, nor vaporous stains en- 
 cumber. 
 Their silent walks along the dark blue plains ; 
 And through the shades of night, cold, calm and sombre, 
 Glides soft lip't silence o'er the world again. 
 Stealing earth's children from their toil and pain. 
 
 Lone watcher of the night, art thou Leonore ; no beam 
 Responsive, from sympathetic eyes now tells 
 Its love, or shines into thy heart, save the gleam 
 Of the clear cold eyes of night, and it would seem 
 Upon thy spirit hung pale melancholy's spell, 
 Coloring with misty doubts and fears each hope-born 
 
 dream ; 
 While solitude with all her musing children dwell, 
 A-round thy hearth, with brooding thoughts such as we 
 
 may not tell. 
 
 It is no sudden change that prays upon thy mind, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 65 
 
 Bat a deep sense of utter loneliness ; 
 
 A solitude of soul — a grief refmed, 
 
 O ! naught that's earthly now thy heart can bles9, 
 
 Nor song of hope — nor loves deep tenderness— 
 
 Thine is not a common woe — in tears 
 
 It finds no outlet ; they could not express, 
 
 Thine inward sorrow, which corrodes and sears. 
 
 For it hath lain upon thy heart and burnt for years. 
 
 Beat on great heart of time ! beat on, beat on, 
 Thou hast no balsam for the spirit's wound. 
 Nor can'st thou e'er recall the priceless things now gone, 
 The golden chain is rent which all so sweetly bound^ 
 With garlands fair the future may be crown'd, 
 And yet they ne'er can wear the rosy bloom. 
 Of those that gem the past — now strown around. 
 Earth's changes pale have shrouded them in gloom, 
 Stern destiny forever seal'd thy doom. 
 
 And thou amidst the reckless crowd dost wander. 
 Seeking some lethean draught for thy heart's woe, 
 And tho' thou seem'st familiar, still thou art a stranger, 
 For none the fearful depth's of thy heart's griefs may 
 
 know. 
 Lip and knee worshipers are there, in accents low, 
 Breathing sweet words, and flatteries vain, 
 Who, for the weak weave snares — but oh ! 
 'Tis discord to thine ears, and to thy heart 'tis paiii : 
 They do but mock the things, that ne'er may be again. 
 
65 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY'S poems. 
 
 Remember'st thou thy youthful halcyon days, 
 Wheo high-born hope did thy pure soul inspire 
 When thou with careless fingers oft essay'd 
 To wake the latent music of some spirit lyre ? 
 
 Seldom came sounds harmonious from those mysterious 
 
 wires, 
 Harsh dissonance and jarring discord fell 
 Only upon thy silvery ear — -there glows no fire, 
 Of angel poesy in minds impure, or dwell 
 Sweet heavenly thoughts which oft in music swell 
 
 ^et midst thy lonely wandermgs thou hast swept, 
 Dne sacred harp, to whose wild strings thou hast bent 
 In list'ning fear, hoping some tone to have kept 
 In memory's ear. Alas ! its strains are spent. 
 The spirit sounds are dead — the chords are rent, 
 The gush of melody— the full deep tone- 
 Is hush'd ; yet faint and low thy sorrowing song is blent, 
 With the evening winds, whose hollow moan, 
 Seems like some spirit's voice in answer to thine own 
 
 A change is in thy song, sweet Leonore ; 
 'Tis like the bulbul's lonely wail when heard. 
 Where pale young roses weep when day is o'er, 
 Beneath the orient moon, sweet mournful bird ; 
 Yet must forgetfulness — oh ! painful word, — 
 Spread like a funeral pall her sable veil. 
 Over the past, which ne'er may be disturbed 
 By memories sad, alas ! 'twould naught avail, 
 To waste thy music in a faneral wail. 
 
miscelx,aneous pieces. 67 
 
 How like a tissuey woof, how wonderful is mind ! 
 How with each fibrous thought one idea dear, 
 May like a golden thread these thoughts together bind-, 
 While pale distrust, and hope, and quivering fear, 
 With trembling, and dismay, and burning tears, 
 With clear brow'd confidence wage open war, 
 To rend that band away — while fate severe. 
 With flaming sword presents a fearful bar. 
 To the soft beams of hope's auspicious star. 
 
 Music. 
 Addressed to a Listener. 
 
 And thou didst stay thy steps ; did'st linger nigh, 
 And wherefore ? A careless list'ner was't thou. 
 Unto my wild untutor'd lays — my rustic songs ? 
 Ol is thy soul like mine ? — ever as a stream, 
 Which gushing flows away in gentle sounds ? 
 What said those wind-waked melodies to thee ? 
 Or did their lowly breathings fail to reach thine heart ? 
 Did not those gentle tones inspire thee with a se-nse 
 Most sweet of heaven and its celestial bliss ? 
 While of the palmy bowers of Paradise, 
 Thou had'st a bright and joyous dream ? 
 Methinks while bending o'er my simple harp. 
 Some gentle seraph on my throbbing breast 
 
68 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 Had laid his hand and whispered, peace be still, 
 While all the warring passions hush'd to rest 
 As soft as those within an infant's breast, 
 In quiet slept. 
 
 What tho' sad memories 
 May darkly revel in the woe-worn soul, 
 With many bitter griefs and sorrows fraught ? 
 What though remembrance of the world's dark strife, 
 May press upon the aching and the weary heart, 
 Yet music can the wounded spirit soothe. 
 In memories soft, as summer evening's latest sigh. 
 I knew that thou wert near, and tremulous grew m?' 
 
 hand ; 
 Why, I could not tell — but all in vain I strove, 
 Those spirit stirring harmonies to wake 
 Once more — when a sweet wand'ring sprite. 
 Swept by, and with a silvery wing soft touch'd 
 My mute and saddened harp — and sweet a strain, 
 Of melody gush'd forth, to the glad songs 
 Of Paradise akin, or rather like 
 Some exiled angel's lay — breathing a sad lament. 
 That earth-born joys are but fantastic fever-dreams. 
 
 Song of the Sprite. 
 
 Wake, mortal wake ! 
 
 Awake from thy dreaming ; 
 Lean not on earth. 
 
 All is but seeming ; 
 
 =1} 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. V\ 
 
 Earth has no joy, 
 
 Unshaded by sorrow, 
 Spring's fairest flowers 
 
 Will fade on the morrow. 
 
 And what is man's goodness ? 
 
 Mix'd with weakness and follj 
 And the sound of his hfe, 
 
 Is a tone melancholy : 
 Thou art but dust, 
 
 A mutable creature ; 
 Thy affections bestow not, 
 
 On weak human nature. 
 
 Then wake, mortal wake. 
 
 Awake from thy dreaming. 
 Lean not on earth. 
 
 All is but seeming. 
 
 A most delicious softness on my spirit fell. 
 While the sweet joy of grief, a trembling tear. 
 Had gathered, and on my drooping eyelids hung, 
 And yet I was not sad, but 'twas a joy most sweet, 
 So near allied are all the joys and griefs 
 Of earth, that both in their excess. 
 Are fraught with tears — entranc'd I listened. 
 And I fancied that the evening wind did sob. 
 As with a dying fall the fairy breathings ceased. 
 My heart which had grown still now throbbed again, 
 I turned me round — the fairy sprite had flown, 
 While silently thou had'st departed too. 
 
70 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Lines 
 
 On the death of a Lady who died on the eve of her departure 
 for her paternal home, 
 
 A sufferer on a sick-bed lay, 
 
 Around whose aching head, 
 Dread fever-fires in rage made way, 
 
 Whence reason's hght had fled. 
 
 'Twas but a few short days before, 
 
 A babe sat on her knee ; 
 And as she softly murmur'd o'er, 
 
 A mother's minstrelsy : 
 Sweet haunting thoughts blent with the strain^ 
 
 And hopeful visions bright, 
 That those she loved might yet agairi. 
 
 Smile on her gladdened sight. 
 
 Alas ! the long, long, wish'd for day, 
 
 Beamed o'er the bloomyjg earth, 
 While she upon her death-couch lay. 
 
 Far from the household hearth ; 
 The fever plague alas ! had set 
 
 Its hectic on her cheek — 
 With clammy dews her brow was wet, 
 
 Her voice was low and weak. 
 
 And did she then that hope forget ? 
 
 With which her dreams were fraught — 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 71 
 
 Say, did sweet mem'ry linge^r yet, 
 
 Within that fane of thousrht ? 
 AK ! yes — throughout her fever-dreams, 
 
 That ceaseless wish had sway, 
 As falls on dark benighted streams. 
 
 Some lonely planet's ray. 
 
 And thus the suflf'er sadly spoke, 
 " Say are we not most there ?" 
 And from some startling dream awoke, 
 " Where are my sisters, where ?" 
 " Oh ! yes ; we'll be there by and by,'* 
 
 With warm and anxious friends, 
 While o'er her couch with mournful eyes, 
 
 An anxious watcher bends. 
 
 " We're almost there — we're almost there" 
 
 Again she feebly said — 
 " I see the wild streams flashins: fair. 
 O'er many a rock-bound bed." 
 Oh ! th^e in innocence I've play'd. 
 
 And rear'd the beechen bow'r. 
 And down the flow'ry dell have stray'd 
 In childhood's elfin hour. 
 
 But all at once the voice was still, 
 
 The pulses ceas'd their play ; 
 The longing dream was now fulfill 'd. 
 
 In yon bright world away ; 
 And seraphs from the realms of light, 
 
72 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 Bent o'er the dying bed, 
 While on their wavering pinions bright, 
 Her grieving spirit fled. 
 
 Oh ! she indeed had found the goal, 
 
 A blissful home at last ; 
 Beyond — where time's dark surges roll, 
 
 The weary soul had pass'd. 
 No more along her father's hall, 
 
 Shall sound her parting words. 
 Or ringing laugh, or light foot-fall, 
 
 Or voice so like a bird's. 
 
 Call it not hard that she hath gone 
 Beyond our aching sight ; 
 
 Upon her soul a glorious dawn. 
 Bursts forth in floods of light. 
 
 For life is but a passing dream, 
 A ray — a dim uncertain gleam, 
 Of joys beyond the tomb. 
 
 Life's toiling transient day is done, 
 
 The spirit's mission o'er ; 
 Substantial life it hath begun. 
 
 Where it had bloom'd before. 
 We know that thou art happy there. 
 
 In thy celestial rest. 
 In angel robes thou'lt wax more fair, 
 
 With those the pure and bless'd. 
 
MISCELLANEOTTi PIECES. 
 
 Where fadeless bowers immortal wa7 
 
 Dost thou remember still ? 
 Or did'st in lethean waters lave, 
 
 And q^uafF thy spirit's fill ? 
 Say, wil't thou from thy natal skies, 
 
 Or some sweet starry sphere, 
 Bend earth-ward, still thy radient eye 
 
 Watch o'er the lov'd ones here ? 
 
 'Tis silent all — and evening shades, 
 
 Are sadly gathering round ; 
 A mournful joy my breast pervades ; 
 
 Some spell my heart hath bound. 
 And now I hear the autumn winds 
 
 Wail through the perish 'd leaves — 
 That sound in thee a semblance finds, 
 
 So mournfully it grieves. 
 
 And as the sobbing voice floats by 
 With deep and solemn swell. 
 
 To v^^eeping flow'rs it seems to sigh 
 A spirit's sad farewell ! 
 
 73 
 
74 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 The Daguerrean Gallery. 
 
 Let's call and see the pictures — 
 A fairy grot, this gallery of art ! 
 Where true to life, and nature pictur'd stand, 
 Groupings and forms, that facinate the heart ; 
 So perfect is this skill the master can command. 
 
 The old, the young are there, 
 And bright amid the galaxy of faces. 
 Is one with fair young brow and eyes serene, 
 The child of love and favor'd of the graces. 
 Of all the throng, the " star particular," and queen. 
 
 Look on this picture here — 
 Is it not like ? — else wherefore flow my tears ? 
 Oh ! yes — too true ; this faithful semblance dear, 
 Of one he lov'd thro' dark and shad'wy years, 
 A wand'rer in the groves of some supernal sphere. 
 
 And here as in thy life — 
 The same arch smile around thy lip is playing. 
 The tender radience of thy fervent eyes, 
 As when on happy scenes their gaz-e was straying, 
 And soft their light as beams of midnight skies. 
 
 And on thy open brow. 
 In careless grace a wealth of sunny hair. 
 Is clustering still, in many a wavelet fair, 
 Aye ; all are there — each feature of that face divine ! 
 Oh ! genius bright, the power, the gift is thine. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 75 
 
 Oh ! art mysterious — 
 That with thy heav'n-boin hand-maid light can'st 
 
 trace, 
 The image of the mind in form and face, 
 Which impress on the spotless page shall last, 
 Preserved from blight or mould till time is past. 
 
 The Pen. 
 
 Come gentle muse, in measur'd lays once more. 
 Unto the penman's art thy votive offerings pour ; 
 Come let us roam along the aisles of time. 
 By Zion's sacred streams and hills^ublime ; 
 Where once of old with soul and mind inspir'd, 
 An ancient scribe with heaven's wisdom fir'd, 
 On Parian tablets white as artic snow, 
 The sacred law transcribed — and hence we know- 
 The pen's great art is sacred and divine ! 
 Since he who formed our being's grand design, 
 First wrought with holy hand the skiey lore, 
 That all the nations worship and adore. 
 
 And by this hallow'd Book are we not told 
 
 Of Babalonia's king, who, in the days of old 
 
 His lordly guests unto a royal feast 
 
 Had summon'd ; and richest viands of the east, 
 
 With priceless treasures from the temple brought, 
 
76 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Shone on the board by cunning workmen wrought. 
 And when the stirring voice of revelry went high, 
 And sounds of harp and lute, with voices soft swept by, 
 Amid the rosy splendors of Belshazzar's pillar'd halls, 
 While sweet aromas rose along the gilded walls. 
 
 Over against the lamps a shad'wy hand did glide, 
 #hich, when the king beheld, his heart within him died. 
 Trembling and pale, convulsed and fix'd he sate. 
 As blasted by a spell, with eyes of fear and hate, 
 A stifled cry arose as if the monarch dream'd, 
 While from his burning gaze remorse and madness 
 
 gleam'd ; 
 Jtony and cold his brow as when in death's repose, 
 Around the writhing heart its icy waters close. 
 Qod's finger wrote his doom, high on the gorgeous wall, 
 jid morning red beheld the impious tyrant's fall. 
 
 And what the triumphs that the pen hath wrought: 
 That herald of the heart, and mercury of thought. 
 Lo ! when a little band of valient men. 
 Proclaimed " we will be free" — ^the wing'd pen 
 Swept o'er the spotless page — a glorious word 
 Impress'd — and when the old world wondering heard. 
 Proud Albion's Lion roar'd in thunder tones, 
 And orient despots trembled on their thousand thrones. 
 Beyond the western wave an empire rose. 
 O'er which the olive's fragrant blossoms close ; 
 Where )m's eagle builds her eyrie wild, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 77 
 
 And wraps her " aegis" round her free-born child. 
 The pen hath spoken ! and not all in vain, 
 The bloodless sword, that hath its thousands slain, 
 The potent instrument of genius-gifted minds ; 
 The wizzard power — the mystic link that binds 
 The glittering gems that grace the labyrinths of time. 
 How varied are its powers — how low, yet how sublime, 
 " To build the lofty verse, or honied lines of rhyme, 
 To blazon evil deeds or consecrate a crime." 
 
 Now twined with cypress boughs, or laurel wreaths 
 Of love, and hope, and fame, and death it breathes, 
 With thoughts that through the soul's deep sanctum';^ 
 
 thrill. 
 To soothe the aching heart, or bind the tameless will. 
 Doth not our hearts exult, grow still — expire .'' 
 As o'er the poet's page of breathing fire, 
 Instinct with soul and mind, when rapt we learn. 
 Those livins: truths that shall forever burn ? 
 And by its aid the volume of the past. 
 Unto a wondering world has been unseal'd, 
 While stripp'd of dust and blight now stand revealed 
 The glories of the old Augustan age. 
 Of hero, warrior-bard and poet-sage. 
 Mark ! with what skill the artist can combine. 
 With, written charm and talismanic sign, 
 The chaste, the smoothe, the graceful and refin'd, 
 In characters of thought that syllable the mind. 
 Who would not learn with strength and ease to wield, 
 
78 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY'S poems. 
 
 This weapon of the mind in learninoj's boundless field ? 
 
 Who would not emulate the master's art, 
 
 That facinates the eye and speaks unto the heart ? 
 
 VV^hose nimble pen glides through the wordy chase, 
 
 ♦Vith many a circling curve or line of waving grace. 
 
 Thus far I have proceeded with my theme 
 
 As through the tissuey Vs^indings of a dream, 
 
 And yet not half the spoils are counted o'er. 
 
 Brought by the pen down time's benighted shore, 
 
 Not half the triumph's by its influence won, 
 
 Since light and truth, their high career begun. 
 
 Yet, if my humble lay, unto this sacred art. 
 
 An influence lends, that speaks to mind and heart, 
 
 My wishes are achieved — my object won, 
 
 The muse's task is ended and my song is done. 
 
 f 
 
 Childhoo d's Rambles. 
 
 ^"Sweetly wild, sweetly wild, 
 
 Were the scenes that charmed me when a child." 
 
 Happiest was I in childhood's day, 
 Wand'ring among the early flowers of May ; 
 By streams of sweetest trill. 
 In the slant shades of evening still, 
 Along the hedge-grown paths ; 
 Or o'er the fields where, wending on his way, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 7^ 
 
 Amid the fragrant swaths "~ 
 
 Of new made hay ; 
 The merry plow-boy sings his careless lay. 
 Or staying at rosy morn', 
 Amid the gentle flocks — 
 Their snowy fleeces shorn ; 
 Nipping the low sweet shrubs that grow. 
 O'er moss-grown rocks, 
 And ledges steep ; 
 Where groups of virgin snow-drops peep, 
 And green the pendant ivy creeps, 
 In the black silence of the glen, 
 Where all day long. 
 The damps among. 
 The moody owl sleeps. 
 /hese are the scenes that charmed me then. 
 And oft in childhrod, 
 Through the wild wood. 
 Where the fra2:rant woodbine blows 
 With the single petal'd rose ; 
 I sought the spring, 
 In steep banks hidden. 
 Whose waters constant gush unbidden ; 
 Or cool down dripping. 
 The green rocks o'er ; 
 While distant roar. 
 Of cascade wild. 
 Sweetly charmed me when a child. 
 Or wending among the golden shocks. 
 
80 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Of dew-perfuming grain, 
 Sweet as the breath of early rain, 
 Where groups of stalwart men, 
 With mirth and jocund songs again ; 
 In scant frocks 
 Of flaxen woof, 
 The hospitable roof 
 At early morn forsake. 
 And in the labors of the field partake. 
 And where tassel'd corn. 
 With rich lands of fresh plow'd ground, 
 Yield fragrance to the summer air ; 
 While welcome sound 
 Of supper horn. 
 Bade from the field the rustic swain repair- 
 Or rambling along the plain. 
 Alone throughout the live long day ; 
 
 Humming some wild strain, 
 Of self-taught roundelay ; 
 
 By fence rows far, 
 That skirt some distant field. 
 Or loitering late when bright the vesper star. 
 Shines from afar as would a silver shield ; 
 And bearing home the spoils, 
 Of childhood's rambles ; 
 With quick and stealthy step along the brake, 
 Where hidden coils. 
 The fear-awakening snake ; 
 Or trilling oft a merry lay, 
 
 i 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 81 
 
 And timing it with buoyant step and childish gambol, 
 Thoughtless I sought my home-directed way. 
 With wreaths of heart's ease white and blue ; 
 My bosom's own pecuhar flower, 
 That in the nooks and corners of the fence rows grew * 
 Or from some woody height or lowly bower, 
 The box-wood's feathry bloom ; 
 With string 'd buds in scarlet strans. 
 
 Woven in shining bands ; 
 Gleeful o'er my young brows thrown, 
 And with the loose locks careless worn, 
 That darkly strayed in childish grace, 
 Around a pensive face. 
 And on my way star-lit. 
 Oft seeking leaves of fungi race j 
 Orange and scarlet. 
 Wrought in gay festoon ; 
 Where mimic orchard's grew of white mushroom, 
 
 With velvet mosses ; 
 And feathery fern its pliant stamen tosses. 
 To the soft daliance of the wavino; breeze ; 
 And with the wealth of these. 
 Grouping among translucent water weeds, 
 Like stringed beads ; 
 Bright prism-colored shells. 
 Those water sounding bells. 
 Within whose radient cells. 
 With voice most soft. 
 Some fairy oft 
 
82 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 Full many a tale of ocean tells. 
 And reach'd the orchard's wealth of snowy bloom, 
 Where with perfume, 
 My youthful sense grew glad ; 
 
 A joy so sweet — yet sad — 
 Thus all the joys I ever knew. 
 
 Were tinged with that peculiar hue, 
 
 Of pleasant gloom ; 
 Like roses blooming o'er a tomb. 
 I sought where mid the apple boughs. 
 And snow-white blows, 
 Hid by a woof of dark green leaves ; 
 Blithe robin red-breast. 
 In dark brown vest. 
 His feathered temple weaves ; 
 In sooth I thought 
 The builder bird 
 A fairy net-work wrought, 
 Of rarest masonry. 
 
 And when I heard. 
 His sky born melody. 
 That like a flood of rippling sound. 
 Woke all the echoes round ; 
 While sporting in the sunset's glow. 
 My youthful wonder sought to know. 
 
 Whence without control. 
 Did those gleeful numbers roll. 
 
 That he would pour with all his soul } 
 Sang he of distant goal. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 83 
 
 Or memoiy-clierished climes ; 
 Where softest chimes, 
 Of music-murmuring streams, 
 Fall on the ear a 'transing sound ; 
 And where like starry beams. 
 Or snow flakes falling round : 
 The beauteous bridal rose. 
 In tender fragrance blows ? 
 But childhood's sinless hours are gone, 
 
 Its dreams forever lied ; 
 The bird from apple bough has flown. 
 And the happy scene is speed : 
 For I've left the haunts that my childhood knew, 
 
 And the silent distances of blue ; 
 Full many a veil of tissuey hue. 
 
 Have cast o'er w^eary leagues between. 
 And shut from sight the haunting scene. 
 
 A Portrait. 
 
 Aye ; it is fair, e'en as the brow of night's 
 Pale regent, whose enchanted beams stole down, 
 The Latmian hills of old, and charm'd 
 Endymeon's heart to joy and paphean dreams. 
 
 Upon that pale young brow bright intellect 
 Sits enthrone'd — where glowing thought oft breaks 
 Its deep repose, those azure eyes illume. 
 And on the parian forehead smooth and white, 
 
84 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 In gentle dalliance "with the wooing winds, 
 
 Now float in careless grace soft silken locks 
 
 Of jetty hair; while round the classic mouth, 
 
 A smile as pleasant as the looks of angels' 
 
 Lingers still. And through those lit eyes come 
 
 From the far holy of the soul's pure deeps. 
 
 Those clear translucent floods of spirit-light 
 
 E'en as the stars — are pure, and beautifully bright. 
 
 While over all a mournful beauty hangs, 
 
 A pensive joy — like to the mellow gloom. 
 
 That round the lofty woods sad autumn casts. 
 
 And yet these varied charms with conscious pride an 
 
 blent. 
 Which on that brow as nobly sits. 
 As would a god upon a skyey throne ! 
 Oh ! 'tis a face love fain would recollect. 
 And memory clasp as with a circean spell ; 
 The enraptur'd soul of Phidias would glow 
 With inspirations new and beautiful. 
 Could he but gaze upon those lineaments divine ; 
 And all of which dear friend, are purely, truly thine. 
 
 Genius. 
 
 Celestial gift ! thy light is cast around afan 
 Like the etherial blaze of an undying star 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 85 
 
 From age to age thine influence pure is given, 
 Oh ! thou of powers divine ; fair child of heaven ' 
 Wandering alone, along the halls of time. 
 In this our mundane sphere — life's transcient clime. 
 
 Thou com'st methinks, on holy mission sent, 
 With patient zeal and most sublime intent. 
 Around thy shrine in willing homage bows, 
 A wond'ring world, while round thy lofty brows 
 Are twined bright laurel wreaths of fame. 
 Whose clarion tones proclami a deathless name. 
 
 But who amid earth's multitudes can comprehend. 
 The mighty striving of thy spirit — or shall blend 
 Their souls w^ith thine ? — there is no second self 
 Thy thoughts to mirror back — shall sordid pelf, 
 Lean avarice — self-loving interest, and worldly gains, 
 Forever all absorb men's hearts, and souls, and 
 
 brains ? 
 Alas ! for thee, oh, genius ! — 'tis thy peculiar lot, 
 Ne'er to be wholy known, or e'er forgot — 
 A voice methinks I hear from distant asres. 
 Have ye not heard of it, oh ! ye bards and sages ? 
 Upon the soul it flings a dreamy spell. 
 Mournful and strange as the sound farewell ; 
 Yet are its tones prophetic — they seem to sigh 
 Alone, alone ; as if thy destiny — 
 In solemn grandeur wrapt and pleasing gloom, 
 Was told in those sad words of doom. 
 Ah ! strangely fearful words — they will express 
 Of all thy woes the cause — earth-sickness and distress. 
 
86 MRS. MUNt)AY-S POEMS. 
 
 Hark ! that voice — as from the past I hear its solemn 
 
 tone, 
 ^' Link divine ; 'twixt Deity and man, live thou alone !" 
 Proud in the isolation of thy soul. 
 Art thou, oh. Genius ! Where is thy spirit's goal ? 
 Ko sympathies there are to bind thee to the earth, 
 in this our twilight being, there is a chilly dearth 
 Of thought and feeling — there is no spirit-ear 
 Amidst the multitude like thine, attun'd to hear 
 The silvery music of each glittering sphere, 
 Or whisper'd melodies of the eternal thought. 
 With which the rushing winds and roaring storms are 
 
 fraught ; 
 No mental eyes to see the things that burn. 
 In the fair radiance of truth, which thy clear eyes 
 
 discern. 
 
 Fearfully gifted is this child of heaven. 
 
 Wrestling to fulfill his mighty mission given ; 
 
 Of all shades of feeling — his life is a story 
 
 From lowest shame, to loftiest glory. 
 
 He hath drained the fountains of all earthly lore, 
 
 And yet, unsatisfied in soul, still sighs for more ; 
 
 And oft in his sweet dreamy musing hours. 
 
 He stoops to hear the silent hymn of dreaming 
 flowers. 
 
 Then soars on spirit wings beyond each shining star, 
 
 From whence his sacred lore and v»risdom comes afar. 
 
 From the conflicting interests of mankind apart. 
 
 He hath composed in his scant garret a brief chart, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 87 
 
 Of love and death, and hope, and fame — 'tis hfe's 
 
 history, 
 A dark, yet glorious, suhlime and subtle mystery. 
 
 With stately step he comes throuc^h the long night 
 Of ages dead where wept its mildew blight ; 
 Dark superstition, that topas of the mind, 
 Wrapt in his thoughts stupendous — amid'st mankind 
 Is heard his seer-like voice — his immortal songs 
 Have broke the night of ignorance which long 
 Hung like an incubus upon the minds of men, 
 Chasing the sombre clouds away, as when 
 Aurora blushes at the gates of morning skies 
 In rosy splendors. 
 
 No more shall despots rise, 
 To chain his struggling spirit — what though their links 
 
 may bind 
 His free-born limbs — the fetterless mind. 
 
 O'er leaping earth, borne on the wings of thought shall 
 soar 
 
 Back to its native realm, where long before, 
 Bloom'd the pure soul in everlasting day, 
 Ere yet its spirit-wings had pass'd away. 
 Hence his dreams of a brighter existence. 
 Of boundless glories beyond the distance, 
 Of time and space where deathless bowers, 
 Weep dews immortal. 
 
 By divinest powers, 
 Were not these radient visions given him .'' Hence, 
 
88 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 His lore intuitive and mystic wisdom. Hence, 
 
 His dreams of the soul's freedom for which he deeply 
 
 longs, 
 Does he not breathe it in his plainmg songs, 
 The inspiration that his soul had caught. 
 The power and lightning flashes of deep thought, 
 Gushed from the fountians of eternal truth, 
 Whose heavenly streams shall yield immortal youth. 
 Oh, light divine ! what but for thee. 
 Must this dark world have been ? — its misery 
 Hast thou not turn'd to joy and raised from gloom 
 Our hearts — strewing with fiow'rs of hope the lethean 
 
 tomb. 
 New tones thou'st given unto the spirit's lyre, 
 And brought from heaven its celestial fire. 
 Warming to light, and life, and loveliness the earth, 
 With form of ideal beauty and of heavenly birth. 
 
 The tones majestic of great Milton's lyre. 
 Have we not heard, and felt our hearts grow still- 
 expire ? 
 When the immortal Handal and Mozart, 
 Pour'd their wild anthems o'er the Alpine hills. 
 Was there e'er one, who in his inmost heart, 
 By its wild throbbing and its burning thrill, 
 Felt not they were celestial and echoing still. 
 Through the blue deep from the far lyres of heaven, 
 It seem'd a concert by the seraphs given. 
 Born and dying at the mighty minstrel's will. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. S9 
 
 Thou speak'st. Oh, Genius ! the heritors of ages 
 We become, as we unfold their mouldering pages, 
 The mists of time roll back, and the thick dust 
 Which on the noble dead had gathered with the ruS^, 
 Of years, are scatter'd — and we feel within us bum 
 Our hearts, when we hear that in the urn 
 Of the hoary past lie heroes, martyrs, sages 
 Wrapt in the somber gloom of distant ages, 
 In mental vision do we not see them pass 
 Along the stream of time a glorious mass ; 
 rhe noblest f)art of life's fraternity. 
 Leaving a glory lasting as eternity. 
 Years lay dreamily and chill upon the past, 
 Knrapt in gloom a dark chaotic waste. 
 Until thou — oh ! radient one, with visions bright, 
 Upon its ample page didst shed a light. 
 To thee, the past unfolds its mysteries, 
 And crumbling monuments, and histories 
 Of lost races — ruins of earth and thrones 
 Demolished — dynasties extinct — unknown 
 Nations, with all the giant wrecks of time. 
 Which still exist in every land and clime. 
 Have been from darkness and the engulphing past, 
 By thy superhuman power to light restored at last. 
 Majestic are thy works, oh. Genius ! by thine aid. 
 Weeping humanity is comforted and staid. 
 Thou strik'st the lyre ; thy radient eyes. 
 Full of the mysticisms of the skies. 
 Beyond the rolling spheres is heavenward bent ; 
 
90 MRS. MUNDAT^S POEMS. 
 
 While floating through thy mind are dim presentiment 
 
 Of a majestic destiny for all thy race, 
 
 When the glad earth shall rest in harmony and peace- 
 
 When order, from disorder shall have sprung, 
 
 A.nd joy shall reign of which the angel's sung. 
 
 We hear thy burning songs, and now 
 
 We feel we are immortal — hast not thou 
 
 Link'd time with eternity ? Chosen thou art 
 
 To enter the most holy place ; thy great heait 
 
 Js full of inspiration, while to us is given, 
 
 .A palmy joy — a living sense of heaven. 
 
 .Nearer to earth seem its celestial plains, 
 
 As wrapt we listen to thy lofty strains. 
 
 Sublime and sweet as songs of Paradise, 
 
 When at Aurora's birth in orient skies, 
 
 Hesf)erus led the morning stars, whose song 
 
 Exulting broke the stillness of creation. Among 
 
 Yon wheeling orbs — the eternal music rings ; 
 
 Genius, thou hearest, great interpreter of things 
 
 Most holy — by thy hand-maid Art we view 
 
 Images most fair, and of prismatic hue. 
 
 We feel a subtle spirit of delight 
 
 Transfuse our frames — visions of light 
 
 Dart through the mind, as oft we gaze 
 
 Upon the glorious arts of other days. 
 
 Moments there are when the impassion'd soul 
 
 Would burst its prison, and without control 
 
 Stretch forth its youthful wings, and hence 
 
 Clothed in aromal robes commence. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 91 
 
 Angel ; alas ! 'tis but a phantasy — a dream ; 
 A glimpse — a drop of the celestial dew, 
 That we have tasted — a joy intense and new. 
 
 The Wandering Ship. 
 
 The following Poem was suggested by a notice in "Scott's 
 Weekly Paper," of a ship, which, having been abandoned and set 
 on fire, sailed the distance of two thousand miles without a man 
 on board. She hailed from New Brunswick — was discovered off 
 Cape Clear, and towed into Cork. 
 
 Lo ! where upon the seas in outlines dim, 
 
 Some spectral form begirt with feathery spray ; 
 
 Along the horizon's encircling rim, 
 Floats proudly on its solitary way. 
 
 But look again ! as nearer still it glides, 
 
 A stately barque now meets the yearning view ; 
 
 How gracefully the billowy deep she rides, 
 
 Through veils of wreathing fog and vapors blue. 
 
 Proudly aloft her towering masts arise. 
 
 And yet no helms-man bold, or pilot brave. 
 
 Or flowing sails, now greet our wondering eyes — • 
 No siornal colors from her mast-head wave. 
 
 o 
 
 " No dread alarms on the rent air float," 
 Or shouts of woe, or wailings of despair *, 
 
92 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 No booming gun, or soul-awakening note, 
 Of warning bell — all, all is silent there. 
 
 And yet how lightly — buoyantly she sweeps, 
 Across the wildering waste of waters drear ; 
 
 As doth a bird that cleaves ethereal deeps. 
 No hand to guide, no eye to steer. 
 
 Or like some lone and isolated soul, 
 
 Without or friends or home, striving to gain 
 
 Some island heaven of rest, some peaceful goal, 
 'Midst the cold surges of life's dark domain. 
 
 A fearful, pleasing sight, that silent barque. 
 As nearer, yet more near, she draws to view ; 
 
 Abandoned to the surging billows dark, 
 Bereft — alone to stray without a crew. 
 
 Why alone and tenantless go'st thou forth ^ 
 Tell us, what secrets doth thy breast contain ; 
 
 To the ice mountains of the rock-bound north. 
 Art bound thou barque .'' or to the southern main ^ 
 
 But look within ; what meets the startled sight .? 
 
 Ruin hath left its awful impress there ; 
 'Tis dark and silent as a moonless night, 
 
 And looks a very symbol of despair. 
 
 Who hath wrought this deed of desolation .'* 
 
 And whither have thy wretched inmates flown ? 
 Here havoc sits enthroned — and desolation 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. «3 
 
 Hovers round ; yield, oh, barque ! some answering 
 tone. 
 
 Who hath despoiled thee of thy treasures vast ? 
 
 Thy gold and gems, and trappings beautiful ? 
 Thy streamers proud, that round about thy masts 
 
 Waved to the ocean breeze .'* — thy blacken'd hull. 
 
 In chilling gloom responds ; methinks thou'st roain'd 
 
 O'er many a weary league of ocean ; 
 Where foam-plum 'd waves, and spray-wreath '(? 
 breakers comb'd 
 Thy lonely deck, while to the beck'ning motion 
 
 Of the seas thou'st bent, and then there came 
 
 Annihilation grim with torch of fire ; 
 And on thy gorgeous walls in blasting flame, 
 
 Its devastation left — yet could not tire. 
 
 Thy struggling frame, fiercer and wilder still, 
 
 As if to mock the progress of decay ; 
 The blight swept on — and yet o'er many a hill 
 
 Of flashing brine, thy noble prow made way. 
 
 And plunging waves did goad thy creaking sides, 
 Banners of flame were round about thee furl'd j 
 
 Yet gallantly thou'st faced the roaring tides. 
 To roam alone o'er ocean's shad'way world. 
 
 Thou'st boldly rode before the whirlwind's wrath, 
 And heeded not the thunder-trumpet's blaze; 
 
94 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Nor raging elements in their battle-path, 
 And bid defiance to the lightning's glare 
 
 Then speed thee on, thou wand'rer of the deep. 
 With naught to cheer before, or weep behind ; 
 
 Thy haven, the waves, where silver moon-beams 
 sleep. 
 Thy realm, the sea— thy sails, the winged wind. 
 
 Thy comrades-things, that in thy wake shall play, 
 Thy voices, sounds—that in the breakers dwell, 
 
 And as they bare thy less'ning form away. 
 
 Do seem to moan in haunting tones — farewell ! 
 
 The Maniac. 
 
 "Such things are." 
 
 Hark ! that wild shriek — 'tis borne upon the gale, — 
 
 It is a frenzied maiden's fearful wail ; 
 
 That voice which oft gush'd forth in sweetest song, 
 
 In broken tones now trembhng floats along ; 
 
 She comes — behold her— fading— dying, 
 
 Her withered hopes around her lying, 
 
 Her care-worn cheek now faded grown, 
 
 Whose roses are forever flown. 
 
 The vacant gaze of that wild eye. 
 
 The unsubdued and deep drawn sigh. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 95 
 
 The transcient flush upon her cheek, 
 
 The clenched hands — the piercing shriek, 
 
 The dark brown hair dishevel'd now, 
 
 With straw wreath twin'd around her brow, 
 
 Her rounded form — her graceful air, 
 
 Now wan and w^asted by despair. 
 
 Tells of a dark and deadly strife. 
 
 Within her breast destroying life. 
 
 Now seldom does the tear drop start, 
 
 Tho' grief is wasting her young heart ; 
 
 Scorched is her brain by phrenzy's fire, 
 
 Quench'd in her heart each young desire. 
 
 Gone is that light elastic tread, 
 
 Which scarcely bent the violet's head ; 
 
 Her taper fingers in despair, 
 
 She mingles with her flowing hair, 
 
 She plucks and gives it to the wind, 
 
 (Fit emblem of her tortured mind,) 
 
 Which oft through haunted church-yard raves, 
 
 In fitful gusts o'er mouldering graves. 
 
 And, as in Spring young tender flowers. 
 
 Oft droop beneath the w^eight of showers, 
 
 Like them she droops the vales along. 
 
 And sings anon a plaintive song. 
 
 E'en now I hear her phrenzied laugh. 
 
 She's deeply drank of sorrow's draught; 
 
 Upon the startled air it rings, 
 
 And now she laughs — and now she sings — 
 
 It tells to me in language sad, 
 
96 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Poor child of sorrow, thou art mad : — 
 
 So7ig, 
 
 They call me crazed and simple maid, 
 And ask me why I roam ; 
 
 And me they cruelly upbraid, 
 As oft they hear me moan. 
 
 They ask me why my pensive song, 
 When heard at eve is sad ; 
 
 They hint that I have suffer'd wrong. 
 But then — I am not mad. 
 
 'Tis true this riven heart of mine. 
 Will never more be glad ; 
 
 That here in loneliness I pine, 
 But then — I am not mad. 
 
 I'm weary of the sounds of life, 
 My brain is hot — my heart is sore ; 
 
 When will the mad'ning fever strife 
 Of my rent heart be o'er .'' 
 
 Sweet as the notes of the dying swan. 
 In mournful melody glides on — 
 That voice — attun'd in happier days. 
 To trembling strings or saphic lays ; 
 But now she starts as from a dream, 
 I hear her weep, and sob, and scream, 
 She sings again, all wild and shrill. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 It echoes over vale and hill : — 
 
 Song. 
 
 I hear the scream of the mountain bird, 
 
 And the howling storm at sea ; 
 And the shriek of the mighty winds are heard 
 
 Far o'er the distant lea. 
 
 The harsh and grating thunders roll, 
 
 Along yon mountain crag ; 
 But wilder horrors wreck my soul, 
 
 As me they downward drag, 
 
 A curse is on my wither'd heart, 
 
 A sleepless eye is mine ; 
 I pray that I may soon depart. 
 
 And woe and care resign. 
 
 The deep'ning shades of twilight fall, 
 
 And spread around a sable pall ; 
 
 Forth comes the moon in vapory shroud, 
 
 Adown the sky through mist and cloud. 
 
 And now her shining forehead laves. 
 
 In the clear serene of ocean waves. 
 
 The Maniac's voice is hush'd and past. 
 
 She wanders forth amid the blast, 
 
 Where the raven cries and the owlets scream, 
 
 'Neath the glim 'ring stars that faintly gleam, 
 
 She grasps within her hand a steel, 
 
 *• This — this shall all my sorrows heal." 
 
98 MRS. MUNDAT'S POEMS. 
 
 Then with a wild and shriek-like laugh, 
 
 She snaps the fatal blade in half, 
 
 " Away " — she cries — " thou deathful blade " — 
 
 And flings it to the adjacent glade. 
 
 She starts — that wild and blopdshot eye, 
 
 \s turned upon the earth — the sky — 
 
 " Welcome " — she cries — " thou deep, deep sea, 
 
 ^' My wasted form I'll hide in thee ;" 
 
 Then with a madden 'd voice she cried 
 
 Of fell despair and grief allied, 
 
 *' Ye cavern'd spirits of the earth, 
 
 " Come forth with all your fiendish mirth, 
 
 " Ye're not more fearful in your arts, 
 
 " Than the fell purposes of men's hearts, 
 
 " O ! bear me to some Lethean ware, 
 
 " Where wretched spirits cease to rave, 
 
 " Exult ye in my sorrows dire, 
 
 ** I shall not feel your vengeful ire." 
 
 Her voice grew weak — its piercing tone, 
 
 Now sank into a plaintive moan : 
 
 " Ye spirits of yon starry realm, 
 
 " My soul, which now sad griefs o'erwhelm, 
 
 " Receive, and let it cleansed be, 
 
 " From earth-born follies ever free, 
 
 " Possess'd of new develop'd powers, 
 
 " Roaming through Amaranthine bowers, 
 
 " Through azure fields, I'd soar afar, 
 
 *' Through the cold moon-beams from star to star, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 99 
 
 " On wings of silvery light I'd fly, 
 
 " Through the rainbow arches of the sky, 
 
 " Where flaming worlds in ether glow, 
 
 " And Truth's celestial fountains flow. 
 
 " Beyond those orbs of golden ray 
 
 " Through trackless space I'd wing my way, 
 
 " Till T reach 'd the viewless gates of heaven, 
 
 " Where I might rest and be forgiven. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Sure now some direful purpose she intends. 
 
 As o'er the rocky cliff she bends ; 
 
 She flings her wasted arms on high, 
 
 While dark despair gleams in her eye : 
 
 " Welcome sweet sea ! in thy oblivious wave, 
 
 '•' My fevered brow and faded form I'll lave." 
 
 A sudden plunge — one shriek — the scene is o'er — 
 
 The wretched maiden is no more. 
 
 Amazed the startled water nymphs survey'd 
 
 The stranger who thus dar'd their halls invade, 
 
 And music from her pearly shell 
 
 Peal'd forth a deep and solemn knell. 
 
 The melody of chiming waters flow'd. 
 
 From rocky steeps to dismal depths below. 
 
 And the sullen roar of the dashing surge. 
 
 Sent forth in leaden sounds a dirge. 
 
 The Tritons mourned and the Naids wept. 
 
 While the maid in their crystal bowers they kept, 
 
 The Mermaid braided her glossy hair, 
 
 W^ith her cold damp fingers, long and fair, 
 
100 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Her tears congcaPd to strings of pearl, 
 
 With which she entwin'd each clusterino; curl, 
 
 With a coral wreath she bound her head, 
 
 And laid her on an amber bed ; 
 
 With a diamond clasp she bound her hands. 
 
 And cover'd her o'er with golden sands — 
 
 And thus the Mermaid wept and sang, 
 
 While sweet through the ocean-halls it rang. 
 
 Hark ! hear her song, 'tis as sweet and low 
 
 As the Nymphs' who sing in the sunset's glow, 
 
 " Thou art laid in thy silent chamber low, 
 
 " Where the flower-like gems of ocean grow. 
 
 " Sleep on — within our crystal cell, 
 
 " May soft-winged peace around thee dwell." 
 
 And thus the Mermaid sang and wept. 
 
 While calmly and deeply the maiden slept. 
 
 The demi-gods breath'd from their tinted shell. 
 
 To the death-cold maid a Ions: farewell : 
 
 " Now soft and sweet is the maiden's sleep, 
 
 " In tears no more shall her eyelids steep ; 
 
 " Thou art luU'd forever to sweet repose 
 
 " By the rocking waves that over thee close ; 
 
 " May the wrecking of ships, and the mariner's screams, 
 
 " Disturb not thy long night with troublous dreams; 
 
 " May memory's echo never fall, 
 
 " Upon thy glassy watery pall, 
 
 " But in these pearly vaults so low, 
 
 " Sad earth-born cares thou ne'er shall know, 
 
 " In the minowy grottoes of the sea. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 101 
 
 " Shall angel-quiet reign with thee ; 
 *' Thy marble form so cold and white, 
 " Shall rest in the shades of obhvious nisrht. 
 " Sleep on — fair maid, our hollow shell, 
 *' In liquid sounds, bids thee farewell ! 
 " Farewell !— farewell ! !" 
 
 My Native Land. 
 
 There is a radient land of balmy winds, 
 
 Of cloudless climes, blue vales, and starry skies, 
 
 Where from sweet lips, and lutos low music sighs. 
 
 And o'er the pine clad hills the echo dies 
 
 Of sparkling stream, that chime through orange bowers, 
 
 And tamiriad trellis'd vales, where blooming lies 
 
 The prairie's wealth of rainbow-tint'd flowers 
 
 Fair smiling chiPren these of genial skies and golden hours. 
 
 Land of beauty and country of my soul. 
 
 Brave hearts have striven, and true ones died for thee. 
 
 .Land where the stately pine groves wave 
 
 Where softly glows the sky ; 
 Land of the beautiful and brave, 
 
 Of forests wild and high. 
 
 Oh ! blest and heav'n-gifted clime. 
 
 Well may thy sons be brave ; 
 Where Freedom's eagle soars sublime — 
 
 Her starry banners wave. 
 
 The broad streams here go sweeping by, 
 Swift rolling to the sea ; 
 
102 SIRS, munday's poems. 
 
 They say as 'twere with a heaving sigh, 
 " We leave the home of the free." 
 
 Thy sunny plains — thy vine-clad hills, 
 Thy warm and tranquil vales ; 
 
 Thy sombre woods so dark and still, 
 Tell spirit-thrilling tales — 
 
 Of many a one whose tameless soul, 
 
 Sought the deep solitude ; 
 Whose spirit strong and uncontrol'd, 
 
 Lov'd independence rude. 
 
 Here glides " La Belle Riviere " along. 
 With softly murmuring tide ; 
 
 Where many gallant steamers throng. 
 In majesty and pride. 
 
 Along thy brinks sweet natal stream, 
 How oft I've sought to cast ; 
 
 Like chaff upon the winds, each dream, 
 Of all the wildering past. 
 
 But no — tho' faded is the flower, 
 
 Its fragrance is not done ; 
 So upward come with thrilling power, 
 
 Those memories one by one. 
 
 And here of old in his bark canoe. 
 The son of the forest brave ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 103 
 
 'Skim'd lightly o'er the waters blue, 
 Fleet as the foam-wreath'd wave. 
 
 Afar thy cloud-cap'd mountains soar, 
 
 Like a giant warrior band ; 
 Along thy streams — from shore to shore, 
 
 Their brown rocks frowning stand. 
 
 How beautiful their blue knobs rise. 
 Like ancient battlements they seem ; 
 
 Bear they no message from the skies — 
 A glimpse — a hope — a dream ? 
 
 Oh ! land of heroes, song, and fame !♦ 
 
 May Freedom's eagle fires ; 
 Still warm and wake with kindling flame, 
 
 Our altars and our lyres. 
 
 Musings. 
 
 Sugs^ested by the untimely death of Thomas Mit7iday, to 
 whose bereaved parents this poem is respectfully inscribed. 
 
 Thou art gone home ; oh ! early crown'd and bless'd 
 Thou tak'st our summer hence ; the flow'r, the tone, 
 The musia of our being all in one, 
 
 Depart with thee ! — Mrs. Hemans, 
 
 Thou art passing hence glad summer. 
 With all thy wealth of bloom ; 
 
104 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 And many an earthly treasure, 
 Thou bearest to the tomb. 
 
 Thou tell'st of home-Elysian, 
 
 Of boundless joys divine ; 
 While on the soul's quick vision, 
 
 Its fadeless summers shine. 
 
 Unto our yearning spirit-dreams, 
 A deathless thirst thou'st giv'n ; 
 
 While through thy sun-born glories float, 
 Bright imageries of heaven. 
 
 Thus list'ning to thy melodies. 
 
 Thy rapt and breezy lay j 
 Borne on thy rosy pinions, 
 
 Our darling pass'd away. 
 
 No more thy breath sweet summer, 
 Shall wave his shming hair ; 
 
 From out those eyes have faded. 
 The light that sparkled there. 
 
 No more those buoyant footsteps, 
 The home-path now shall wend ; 
 
 Nor with songs of happy children, 
 That missing voice shall blend. 
 
 Too wildly loved — too early lost, 
 Wert thpu our household's pride , 
 
 But, oh ! the gulph that yawns between — 
 Dark, fathomless and wide. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 105 
 
 If in thy transient wanderings, 
 
 In this our twilight clime ; 
 Among the joy-born blossoms, 
 
 That grace the brinks of Time. 
 
 Thou (lid'st grow weary — tell us ; 
 
 Oh ! tell, our angel one ; 
 Say was thy soul's brief mission fill'd— 
 
 Thy earthly labor done ? 
 
 If so, 'twere well indeed with thee, 
 
 Bright heritor of heaven ; 
 No scorpion blight, or grief was thine, 
 
 No sin to be forgiven. 
 
 'Tis ours to bear the heavy chain. 
 
 The blight, the sting to know ; 
 While all the heart's deep fountains gush, 
 
 In lava streams of woe. 
 
 We call on thee, fair spirit-child, 
 
 Is there in heav'n relief; 
 For this our bitter sorrow. 
 
 Our dark impotent grief? 
 
 Oh ! for one smile, sweet spirit, 
 
 One soft responsive tone ; 
 One glance from those lit eyes of joy 
 
 Our beautiful — our own ! 
 
 Now softly on night's pinions, 
 Low seraph whisjDers conne ; 
 
106 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Of hope and joy they're telling, 
 In yon bright angel home. 
 
 They tell that thou art happy, 
 And bid us v/eep no more ; 
 
 They tell that we shall meet again, 
 Upon that summer shore. 
 
 While through the calm air ripples, 
 In many a breezy swell ; 
 
 From light wings gently waving. 
 An angel's soft farewell ! 
 
 To 
 
 ■' Thou hast aroused within me to a flame 
 The embers that had lingered ready to expire ; 
 Thou'st given wings unto my thirst, for fame, 
 And waked the slumb'ring music of mv lyre j 
 And I would win for thee a deathless name, 
 That men should worship and in vain desire." 
 
 To thee, god of my lyre, and shrine of holiest thoughts 
 I dedicate my verse with in-born music fraught ; 
 To the rich glories of thy mind a tribute pay. 
 And at thy feet Parnassian garlands lay. 
 For hast thou not been to me more than ft-iend ? 
 And through the midnight of my soul did'st thou no,, 
 send 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 107 
 
 To pierce the gloom a pitying ray ? 
 Like starlight o'er a wanderer's way. 
 Hast thou not made my soul a sacred shrine, 
 And wakened to a flame its fires divine .'* 
 
 Hast thou not sought the hidden fountains of n^^ 
 
 heart ? 
 And in their depths dost thou not share the angel part ? 
 By the deep sympathies of soul divine, 
 That made me ever and forever thine ; 
 By the high unities of deathless thought, 
 By the blest harmonies of heart and mind, 
 Profound and full — refined and heaven-wrousrht ; 
 By the strong onenesses that bind, 
 In sweet according tones the deep heart's lyres ; 
 To thee, forever more, shall thrill my trembling wires. 
 Within whose tones I'd have thee live when I am cold, 
 Smit by the Stygean wave sin-born of old. 
 That 'gainst the many-peopled shores of Time ; 
 Upheaves, where oft we've heard^ with deep prophetic 
 
 ear. 
 Full many a God-awakened spirit chime. 
 Or billowy sound of life profound and clear. 
 
 * * jf; * * 
 
 Was it not ours to read — celestially given — 
 Eternity's text-book, the star written heaven .'' 
 And oft in sweet musings and spirit-wrought dreamc. 
 Have we not strayed by those classical streams } 
 Where the swains of Arcadia awake the soft flute, 
 In gentle complainings to Love's tender suit j 
 
108 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 We have basked in the wealth of fair Thessaly's bowers, 
 A.nd a chaplet have twined of pale daphne flowers ; 
 A. signet of soul — of thought — and of worth, 
 Sweet boon of the gods to the gifted of earth ; 
 We have dwelt 'neath the shades of Tempe's sweet 
 
 vales, 
 And quaff'd the soft breath of Ionian gales ; 
 In the Pyrean fount together we've sought, 
 A soul-giving draught from its depths to have caught ; 
 We have roamed through the ages of bronze and gold, 
 And talked with the gods in*he temples of old. 
 
 Then oh ! may the spell, so spiritually given, 
 
 Ne'er fade from my heart, or by cold hands be riven. 
 
 Oh ! light of my life, and light of my soul, 
 
 Still point thou the way to some Eden-goal ; 
 
 Still shine on my heart as a star on the night, 
 
 And gild my dark path-way with soul-halos bright ; 
 
 Like aromas of roses soft floating around. 
 
 Thine image shall dwell in my soul's far profound ; 
 
 And bright be thy day-dreams — while o'er thy repose, 
 
 May kind angels gently their white wings close ; 
 
 Inspire thy wrapt slumbers with visions of light. 
 
 Till that last sleep shall fold thee in the bosom of night 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 109 
 
 P A Cr A N I N I . 
 
 It was a beautiful sontiment of the great Ttnllan TJolinist, 
 that when his mothor died, her passing^ spirit took po?ses?ion of 
 his violin, inspiring those wizaid strains that have charmed the 
 World. 
 
 " He touched his harp, and nations heard entranced." — Pollock. 
 
 Where rolls the Tiber's arrowy tide, 
 Beneatii Italia's rosy skies; 
 Where in majestic strength and pride, 
 The purple Appenines arise ; 
 And where the tall Laburnums wave, 
 And cypress groves and myrtle bowers, 
 In Tyrrhene deeps their shadoAvs lave ; 
 And spicy winds to fadeless flow'rs. 
 Expiring songs are whispering ; 
 A potent master minstrel dwelt — ■ 
 A genius of the silver string, 
 Whose wildering notes could move and melt, 
 . (As from enchanted chords they flew,) 
 The stern and cold, the warm and true ; 
 And with a joy intense and new. 
 Could the enraptur'd soul imbue. 
 Cradled amonjr the classic rills, 
 How soft and low, then wild and high, 
 It burst alons: the Roman hills. 
 And warbled in bending sky. 
 
 Not in that gorgeous clime alone, 
 Those stirring harmonies were heard ; 
 For northern lands had caught the tone 
 
l\^ MRS. MUNDAY's poems. 
 
 Of thy deep lyre, thou minstrel bird ; 
 
 In the dark pine groves, and Alpme homes, 
 
 And o'er the glacier's icy plains. 
 
 Where the bounding chamois hunter roams, 
 
 Linger'd those spirit-thrilling strains. 
 
 Amidst Ionian isles thy strings 
 
 Were heard, their magic sounds prolong d, 
 
 In wild, sweet miisic-murmurings, 
 
 So soft, it seem'd those notes belong'd 
 
 To some far sphere or spirit-lyre ; 
 
 So deep the billowy music came — 
 
 The breast of flame, the heart of fire. 
 
 Those syren songs could soothe and tame. 
 
 And where the surging Baltic foams, 
 Where dread Black Forest's caverns frown, 
 Where Albion rears her stately domes — 
 And Occidental suns go down. 
 Beyond Atlantic's swelling floods, 
 On Freedom's eagle-banner'd shore — 
 ' Her Indian isles, and grand old woods — 
 Those melting tones awoke once more. 
 Where e'er he smote the sounding chords, 
 Rich, pealing harmonies of song, 
 Gush'd out among the the wondering hords, 
 That swept the lofty halls along. 
 Ripples of sound, then wave on wave, 
 Of liquid melody arose — 
 Now ravishing and sweet — then grave, 
 And full, as gathering water flows ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. IH 
 
 Again roll'd on those notes profound, 
 As the hoarse roar of falling floods, 
 Or battling sounds that shriek around, 
 In sudden bursts thro' distant woods. 
 Then dying — falling — soft and low, 
 As angel voices heard in dreams, 
 Or evening winds, that gently blow, 
 O'er dewy vales and silver streams. 
 Oh ! whence those soul-subduing strains ; 
 Born of Apollo's kindhng fires ? 
 Decending from celestial plains, 
 Some seraph o'er the tuneful wires, 
 Methinks, hath swept its golden wings j 
 Whence thy power ? — enchanter tell ? — 
 Like Passion's dream, that wildly flings 
 Around the heart its circean spell ? 
 There comes a voice through distant years, 
 And to my list'ning soul responds. 
 Like music from the far off" spheres. 
 And through the night of spirit bonds 
 Draws near — it is the minstrel's own :— 
 " A mother's voice inspir'd the song, 
 Her soul's deep voice — her spirit's tone- 
 As those wild harpings gushed along. 
 Her spirit free my harp possess'd, 
 Breathing electric melodies ; 
 Her soul's rich harmonies express'd, 
 In wild unearthly symphonies. 
 When weary of the sounds of life. 
 
112 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Her dust sank down to rest at last, 
 
 From earthly discord, pain and strife, 
 
 And being's fitful dream was past. 
 
 Then sweetly from each quivering string, 
 
 Her song in many a music-swell. 
 
 Would at the touch enchantment bring — 
 
 The master's touch — she loved so well." 
 
 The voice is hush'd — the strings are rent- 
 Cold is the magic master hand ; 
 
 The wizard's mystic power is spent. 
 That only could those tones command. 
 
 E p I T II E L A M I u ar . 
 
 There is a Tningllng of sweet tones and voices, 
 Bleat with the dewy fragrance of the ni.cht ; 
 So wild those strains as when the soul rejoices, 
 With iis o'erflowing fullness of delight. 
 The old — the youa^ — a happy throng is there, 
 Bright lamps and dmcinir feet and garland fair. 
 
 Extract from an unpublished poem. 
 
 Away ! to the festal halls to-night. 
 For jf'outh and beauty will be there ; 
 
 Upon whose brows the radiance bright. 
 Is yet undim'd with care. 
 
 Oh ! there amid the halcyon bow'rs, 
 
 Is one with eyes of light ; 
 Go twine her hair with orange flow'rs, 
 
 For she will wed to-night. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 1 13 
 
 Emblems of spotless innocence, 
 
 Of purity and truth ; 
 A richer dower than gems of earth, 
 
 She brings that gallant youth. 
 
 From her soft eyes no tear-drops fall, 
 
 His brow is free from care ; 
 The doubt that held their hearts in thrall, 
 . Shall dwell no longer there. 
 
 Oh, bliss intense ! oh, holy joy ! 
 
 When wilHng hearts and hands 
 Seal every dear and whispered vow. 
 
 In Hymen's rosy bands. 
 
 Then weave of joy, a rosy chain, 
 
 To stay the gorgeous hours ; 
 And o'er each heart let gladness reign, 
 
 These are life's summer flowers. 
 
 Lyri c s. 
 
 Addressed to Theon. — 
 
 I bid mine image dwell, 
 
 (Oh ! break not thou the spell.) 
 
 In the deep wood and by the fountain side. 
 
 Hemans* 
 Straying at noon, 
 
 Neath bluest skies of June j 
 
114 MRS. MUNDAY's POEIVIS. 
 
 Amid the forest's wealth of summer bloom, 
 Where every air is heavy vrith perfume ; 
 While on the breezes rippling round, 
 Accents of strange sweet wand'ring sound. 
 Come whispering by, 
 Or gently nigh, 
 i]cho awakes the sound of distant floods. 
 Through the green dimness of the voiceful woods ; 
 Then oft with thoughts of thee my soul's true friend, 
 To some still nook my lonely way I wend. 
 Or when returning from his fiery chase, 
 Along the purple fields of space j 
 Titan driven. 
 His golden car, 
 Adown the distant heaven, 
 
 Flashing far ; 
 Apollo seeks in haste, 
 The rosy charms. 
 Of Occident, whose bosom chaste, 
 Oft glows with sweet alarms ; 
 When at her shrine, 
 In tones divine ; 
 Her hunter-king, 
 To Love's familiar pleasmg. 
 Wakes the spheres' sweet lute, 
 Soft as Arcadian shepherd's flute ; — 
 And on the breezy syllables of sound. 
 Sweet nature's vespers float around. 
 Then with the soul. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 115 
 
 In sweetest harmony of tone, 
 
 Without control ; 
 
 Wand'ring alone, 
 
 O'er balmy meads, 
 Where showers of summer dew, 
 Fall down like silver beads ; 
 'JN'eath which the violets blue. 
 
 Like angels' eyes, 
 Reflect the dewy radiance of the skies ; 
 
 With sad sweet joy, 
 Shrined in my heart dost thou my secret thoughts 
 employ. 
 Or when night's stillnesses prevail. 
 Dim spectral forms in shadows pale. 
 Flit through the pleasant gloom ; 
 While soft the locust's bloom. 
 Upon the night breeze flings, 
 A breath of painful sweetness, 
 Like the memory of things. 
 On the waves of Time departed ; 
 And in their fleetness. 
 
 Sometimes come. 
 With yearning dreams of home, 
 And haunt the broken hearted. 
 Thus oft I think of thee. 
 My soul's bright sanctuary. 
 And when the gentle moon. 
 Throughout night's quiet noon, 
 Along the Ithureal plain 
 
116 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Doth lead her shining train, 
 
 Of stairy sisterhood ; 
 While glittering round a flood, 
 
 Of radient light, 
 Lays like a robe about the queen of night. 
 The spirit-flame then more serenely burns ; 
 More fo.ndly then the tender bosom yearns, 
 
 For loved ones gone. 
 
 Or absent friends : — 
 'Tis then thy spirit's tone, 
 A sweet enchantment lends. 
 
 To memory's ear, 
 Profound — and full — and clear. 
 And oh ! how oft, sweet orb, 
 In childhood's elfin hour, 
 Thou did'st with mystic power, 
 My infant mind absorb. 
 Thus gazing oft on thee. 
 Thou seem'st a beauteous mystery ; 
 And I did sometimes deem. 
 Thou wert a spirit's dream, — 
 Or soul of bright Evangel, — 
 
 Or alien angel, 
 By powers supernal doomed ; 
 
 When Eden fair, 
 In pristine beauty bloom'd ; — 
 In pale and mute despair. 
 To wend thy silent way ; 
 With no responsive beam — no self-resembling ray. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 117 
 
 Musing alone I sit, 
 
 While through the night halls lit, 
 
 With angels' eyes ; 
 
 Some spirit sighs, 
 Upon the perfumed air — 
 Like some lone string. 
 In love-tones whispering, 
 Of joyance deep and visions fair ; 
 Is it thy soul's deep voice, 
 That bids mine own rejoice ? — 
 Is it thy spirit's ray, 
 
 That from afar ; 
 Bends o'er my twilight way, 
 A lone and guiding star ? — 
 And will thy soul upon that shore divine, 
 Yet know and speak to mine ? 
 Oh ! will these raptures spirit-born, 
 Illume the soul upon that glorious morn ? 
 And shall these joys there be complete ? 
 Or is it but a passing gleam ? 
 
 And brief as sweet, — 
 
 A thought — a dream— 
 
 The spirit of a spell, 
 That in my bosom's infinite must dwell ? 
 Again I bend mine ear. 
 To catch those seraph w^hispers dear ; 
 While through the still profound. 
 No murmur wakes around ; 
 Save in the vale remote. 
 
118 
 
 MRS. MUNDAys POEMS. 
 
 / 
 
 Sad philomelas lonesome note, 
 
 With ceaseless woe, 
 Floats on ^olean whispers low. 
 Now comes a dream of tender memories o'er me, 
 When wrapt in silken bonds of spirit sympathy, 
 United oft in by-gone hours, 
 'Neath Silvia's pleasant bowers. 
 Together we have sought, 
 The fane of deathless thought. 
 
 The time is past — 
 
 Those joys are flown ; 
 While on Life's changing surges vast. 
 Afar from me thy bark floats on — 
 While like a bird that's on the wing, 
 'Tis mine in other bowers to sing. 
 
 Or sad or gay. 
 My gothic roundelay ; 
 But, Theon, when upon thy way. 
 Thou seek'st some spirit's kindred ray. 
 Then cast a lingering look behind, 
 And think of one whose soul and mind. 
 To thee will like the magnet turn, 
 And oft with tearful vision yearn. 
 For that sweet converse of the soul. 
 Which then was often ours. 
 
 Without control. 
 In summer evening's pleasant hours ; 
 And may the memory of those days. 
 Float round thy heart like ruby rays, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 119 
 
 Of sundown glories ; 
 And as thy mind oft backward flees, 
 From present care to some bright spot ; 
 
 Then turn again, 
 
 To Friendship's fane. 
 
 Forget it not. 
 
SONGS OF WAR. 
 
 No. 1. 
 The Departure. 
 
 All are gone forth — and of that all, how few, 
 Perhaps return. Sardanapalttt, 
 
 There is a radient land of balmy winds. 
 Of cloudless climes, mild seas, and starry skies, 
 Where Pleasure's syrens oft the wand'rer binds. 
 And from sweet lips, and lutes low music sighs, 
 And o'er the pine clad hills the echo dies 
 Of sparkling streams — that cnime thro' orange bow'rs, 
 And tamarind trellis'd vales, where blooming lies 
 Tbe prairies wealth of rainbow-tinted flowers, 
 Fair smiling chil'ren these, of genial skies and golden hours. 
 
 Hark ! — that pealing sound ! — 'tis the shrill trumpet's 
 
 note, 
 The forest-hills, and peaceful vales along — 
 And wild alarums on the rent air float ; 
 War's tocsin rolls — the northern hills prolong 
 The startling sound — the sword unsheath, be strong — 
 Our country calls — " To Arms!" — young soldcer. rise— 
 " Away " — thro' hall or bow'r, where Hope's bland 
 
 song 
 Had whispered Paphean joys, the dread war-cries, 
 O'er the broad land resounds, and through the bending 
 
 skies. 
 
 (121) 
 
122 
 
 MRS. MUNDAT\S POEMS. 
 
 We saw in pride depart, that battle host ; 
 The good, the brave, the gen'rous and the true ; 
 The old, the young — aye ! those we lov'd the most ; 
 We felt their warm hands' clasp, and beard their last 
 
 adieu. 
 Oh ! who can tell if o'er the sad eyes' hue, 
 Would ever steal the tears of joy at their return t 
 In dreams we see them yet — their shad'wy forms 
 
 pursue — 
 Say is it vain for them that our hearts burn- 
 Will they not heave a sigh, and for their bright homes 
 
 yearn ? 
 
 Oh! there were partings dread, young cheeks grevr 
 
 pale. 
 And long adieus were told with streaming eyes ; 
 And there were ringing hands, and many a wail — 
 Low faltering words — and tearful sobs — and sighs, 
 From woman's heart, with childhood's shrieking cries, 
 Burst forth. — The low winds rose with gentle swell, 
 And bore the wail alon2; the tranquil skies. 
 Till soft and low the mournful cadence fell. 
 Blending and dying with the sound — Farewell ! 
 
 =dJ 
 
SONGS OF WAR. 123 
 
 No. 2. 
 The March. 
 
 I knew 'twas a trumpet's note, 
 
 And I see my brethren's lances gleam ; 
 
 And their pennons wave by the mountain stream, 
 
 And their plumes to glad winds float. — Hcmans. 
 
 I dwelt in a grand old home, whose sea-girt walls 
 
 Rose like some tower of olden time ; 
 
 Columns of marble strength adorn 'd its halls, 
 
 While perfum'd light, with music circean chime, 
 
 Stole up midst rosy lamps and forms sublime, 
 
 Of alabaster mould ; and the low sound 
 
 Of martial strains, blent with the ocean's hymn ; 
 
 As on the frowning rocks grey, cold and ivy-crown'd 
 
 The wild waves roar'd with fearful bound. 
 
 The pale round moon wept down her silver light, 
 
 Where slept an army's strength all hush'd and still : 
 
 And the sentry lone, with bayonet bright. 
 
 Still kept his weary watch — while cold and chill, 
 
 The wet dews hung o'er tent and vale and hill, 
 
 Whije far thro' chap'rell groves, the watch-dog bay'd 
 
 The wolf; — where wrapt in past or future ill. 
 
 By Nuces' falling floods, 'neath the palm-tree's shade, 
 
 With folded arms in gloom some lone Camanche stray'd. 
 
 Hush'd was the night, and calm the sky-lit bay ; 
 The drill was done — the song, the dance was o'et. 
 
124 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Upon the shad'wy wave in mute array, 
 The starry host look'd down — and near the shore, 
 A thousand masts reposed — the flashing oar 
 JfJo murmurs woke — and loos'd the white sails hung; 
 While through the dreamy vales and blue seas o'er, 
 The incense-breathing airs their odors flung — 
 Oh ! fairest land that ever patriot loved, or poet sung. 
 
 But hark ! — is that the sound of seas I hear ? — 
 
 Or trump and prancing steed and reveille drum ? — 
 
 That rous'd from flaming dreams of sword and spear, 
 
 The slumbering soldier ? — Lo ! where in terror dumb. 
 
 The foe retires — our arm'd legions come ! 
 
 With banners proud and streaming pennons white. 
 
 And hurried steed — car— mortar and bomb ; 
 
 While their lances gleam in the rosy light, 
 
 Like stars that dance on the glittering seas at night. 
 
 Like the phantom forms of a warrior's dream. 
 In martial pride our wheeling squadrons pass ; 
 O'er scorching plains, wild hills, and rocky streams, 
 Through tangled beds of cactus green, or dark morass j 
 There the spotted snake in the tall rank grass. 
 With deadly fangs in fearful beauty lies. 
 But where are they — that army vast f — Alas ! 
 The proud hills rise between, e'er the crimson dies 
 Of early Hesperus fades from eastern skies. 
 
SONGS OF WAR. 125 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 RioGrande. 
 
 The battle gathers like a storm. Soon shall ye hear the roar 
 of death. — Oi>sia7i. 
 
 Look ! where upon the seas the tow'ring masts, 
 UnfurPd their banners to the low winds bland, 
 
 Where throng'd the shores two armies vast ; 
 
 And the dark waters of the Rio Grande, 
 
 Boom'd thro' the hills, while far along the strand. 
 
 In must'ring troops our fierce battalion flew ; 
 
 Grimly the war-god smil'd — o'er the hot sand. 
 
 Dread carnao;e stalk'd. Ah ! there were those who 
 
 drew, 
 
 E'en from their death-pangs, inspiration new. 
 
 And there were those whose every thought, 
 
 Of grief, or joy, or wish that life inspired ; 
 
 Or hope sublime, from glory's throbbings caught, 
 
 Or deed of good, or ill, or aught the soul desired, 
 
 In one dread moment rush'd — and wildly fir'd 
 
 The glazing eye. — And there was one who bleeding lay, 
 
 Whose thoughts of home in one deep sigh expired ; 
 
 While by his native streams, unconscious play 
 
 His orphan children — and the lone mother kneels to 
 
 pray- 
 That Ac, their dying sire, might yet return. 
 Still from affections cells no tearful lavas gush'd, 
 
126 MRS. MUNDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 Although with seas of grief his dim brain burn'd ; 
 But all at once as from that proud heart, crushed, 
 The crimson life-stream flow'd — the moan was hush'd- 
 The spirit-flame expir'd. — There is a goal 
 Where the brave triumph, thither hath he rush'd, 
 Beyond where the dark waters of oblivion roll, 
 On deathless wings — thence flew the lightning soul. 
 
 And moans and shrieks, and curses of despair, 
 With shouts and savage yells, and piercing cries, 
 Along the squadrons rent the scorching air, — 
 And many a glance from dying eyes, 
 W^ould seem to say that on their native skies, 
 They fain would look once more, until afar, 
 The din of arms, upon his faint ear dies — 
 While wringing lance — flying steed and rolling car, 
 Blend with the thunders and the storm of war. 
 
SOINGS OF WAR. 127 
 
 No. 4. 
 I-ALG Alto 
 
 As a hundred winds in Loclilin's groves— 
 As fire ia the pines of a hundred hills— so loud — ^ 
 So ruinous— so vast — the ranks of men hewn down. 
 Farewell! — thou bravest ol men ! thou conqueror 
 In the field ! — But the field shall see thee no more — 
 Nor the dark wood be lighted with the splendor 
 Ot thy steel. — Thou hast left no son. — Future 
 Time shall hear of thee — and the song shall 
 Preserve thy name. — Ossian. 
 
 And here o'er Palo Alto's crimson plains, 
 Now let us pause ; — O ! muse of tiagic song — 
 And o'er the brave — the lov'd — the early slain— 
 Awake the lyre — in tears the strain prolong. 
 Who with the brave the lurid field along, 
 Can fill thy place, O Chief in war ? — Who dare 
 What ne'er thine eagle eye or spirit strong 
 Could tame ? — Who cope with thee in battle's glare .^— 
 Save he, the bold Dragoon of flaming sword and 
 streaming hair. 
 
 There amid the lightning flash of steel, 
 
 And the deep booming of artillery, 
 
 Where long and loudest was the deafning peal 
 
 Of the dark war-storm and wing'd victories. 
 
 On chariot-wheels roU'd through the flashing sea,^ 
 
 Of blood and fiery deaths — a mighty star — 
 
 Went out from war's red firmament — he 
 
 That fought with^the proudest steed and flying car, 
 
128 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 The laurel'd Chief, far famed in Seminola's war. 
 
 He fell ! — But why, or wherefore, who can tell ? 
 
 Time, the destroyer, in his deathward course, 
 
 Yields no reply — but onward sweeps to swell 
 
 The gulph of ruin. — Yes, rider and horse 
 
 Have fall'n — and bravely, too — without remorse ; 
 
 For when he felt away the life-drops run. 
 
 Nor did his spirit lose its fire or force ; 
 
 But as he fainting fell, still shouted " on !" 
 
 And " on !" — nor reck'd he of the fame he lost or won. 
 
 And there, all agonized, was prostrate seen, 
 
 Bleeding and spent, his proud war steed, 
 
 (The princely gift of Britain's haughty Queen ;) 
 
 Who once with eye of fire and hoof of speed. 
 
 Nor foe — nor flame — nor battle's roar did heed; 
 
 But onward rush'd, amid the stern array 
 
 Of war, to peril's gaping jaws and war-like deeds, 
 
 And foremost fell — biting the earth whereon he lay, 
 
 While fast in crimson tides his proud life ebb'd away 
 
 Where the dark waters of the Rio Grande, 
 Respond in music to the sounding shore ; 
 Where fond familiar eyes, or voices bland. 
 Of those he lov'd shall greet him never more, 
 The warrior sleep's — and glory's dream is o'er. 
 Brave Ringgold, fare thee ivell ! — here must we part. 
 We mourn — but tears will not the dead restore. 
 
SONGS OF WAR. 129 
 
 Yet nought shall 'rase thy deeds from battle's tragic 
 
 chart. 
 Or blot thy memory from a nation's weeping heart. ^ 
 
 No. 5. 
 
 * * * * Against some storm, 
 We often see a silence in the heavens, 
 The bold winds speechless, and the orb below, 
 As hush as death. — Otway. . 
 
 There came a pause — and from the flaming field, 
 
 Belowna's car retir'd — the ocean rush 
 
 Of gathering hosts and steeds had ceas'd — nor peal'd 
 
 The deep mouth 'd cannon's voice again ; — a hush, 
 
 Like that of death, dwelt where the lava gush 
 
 Of many lives went out. Oh ! strong the chain 
 
 That could those proud souls bind, or brave hearts 
 
 crush. 
 While music far along the sounding plain 
 Awakes — and wildly peals in peans o'er the slain. 
 
 (B) 
 
NOTES TO MEXICAN WAR SONGS. 
 
 The fore "-oino- poem wa^ su?p;esteii and written at the com- 
 mencem»nt"if the war between the United Stat»^a and Mexico ; 
 but at the fitth number a temporary cessation of hostilities took 
 place, when they were laid aside with the view of bem": again 
 re?umed and concluded, as the circumstances and progress ot 
 the war should suggest. Since which period the health ot the 
 anthore&s has been so sadly on the decline, that she abandoned 
 the idea of writing little else than short poems or stanzas, 
 merely to beguile a few invalid hours— hence the abrupt discon- 
 tinuation of me Mexican War Songs. 
 
 JSTote 1— J\'o. 4, verse \st. 
 
 " Who with the brave the lurid fields along, 
 Can fill thy place, Chief in war? &c.'' 
 
 Comparative allusions to Col. May and Maj. Ringgold. 
 
 JVote 2 — JVo. 4, verse 1st. 
 
 " Save he, the bold Dragoon of flaming sword and streaming 
 hair." 
 
 Never shall I forget the picture presented to my eye in the 
 etately person of Col. May, mounted on his coal black charger, 
 and, unlike E. P. R. James' solitary horseman, went flying like 
 a phantom over the chaparrell hills, while his wealth of long 
 sunny hair floated like a banner in the wind. 
 
 JVote 3 — JVo. 4, verse 2d. 
 
 "That fought with the proudest steed and flying car, 
 The laurel'd Chief, far famed in Seminola's war." 
 
 Alluding to the victories achieved in the border wars of 
 Florida with the Seminoles. 
 
 (131) 
 
132 ' MRS. Monday's poems. 
 
 J^ote 4 — JVb. 4, verse Ath. 
 
 The gallant liorsemansbip of Maj. TJinjrgoltl, f nd the beauty 
 of bis noble steed, elicited my admiration; whereupon I was 
 informed by an officer at my side, that the animal was presented 
 by Queen Victoria to the Major, during his sojourn in Europe. 
 I have never received any further authority on this subject. 
 
 JVote 5 — JVo 4, verse 5th. 
 " Where the dark waters of the Rio Grande." 
 
 Since the publication of this poem, the remains of this gallant 
 .yfficer have been removed from the Rio Grande to Hagarstown, 
 Maryland. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 
 
 Song of the Flowers. 
 
 The following fanciful little effusion was suggested to the 
 authoress in a dream. 
 
 There's wit in flowers, if we've the wit to gather it. — Shakespear. 
 
 From the morning skies and the sunset's dyes, 
 
 We've borrow 'd our blushing hues*, 
 Here the butter-fly dips its hyblied lips, 
 
 Then its cloud-ward course pursues. 
 
 'Tis the star-rays bright, and the moon's pale light,, 
 
 And the burning sun by day ; 
 The gentle showers in spring-time hours. 
 
 And the dews that vanish away — 
 
 That to us bring, while the free birds sing, 
 
 Our colorings rich and fair ; 
 From our glowing vases the hum-bird chases^ 
 
 The insect tribes of air. 
 
 With rainbow wings the dewlet springs. 
 
 From our emerald leaflets gay ; 
 And the zephyr's breath, fiir o'er the heath, 
 
 Our odors beareth away. 
 (133) 
 
134 MRS. munday's poems* 
 
 Our tinted bowl, is the secret goal, 
 Where fairies love to dwell ; 
 
 Our leaves they fold, and o'er us hold, 
 By night, their charmed spell. 
 
 Oh ! lady fair, weVe perfumes rare 
 
 In silence floating on — 
 Like morning beams, on chiming streams, 
 
 Our lives will soon be gone. 
 
 The summer day long, his drowsy song, 
 The bumble-bee dreamily hums ; 
 
 But haste, haste, away, we may not stay, 
 When the frosty spirit comes. 
 
 Spring. 
 
 All Nature joyful, shouts along the plains, 
 And echo swells the chorus o'er the hills ; 
 
 Catch the glad sound, ye music-murmuring rills, 
 For Spring in rosy garlands comes again. 
 
 How gaily now the Floral Queen, 
 In emerald robes assumes her rei^n ; 
 
 Blue pansies strewing o'er the plain, 
 With daisy wreaths and cowslips green. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 
 
 135 
 
 On evening's brow her blushes glow, 
 Her voice is in the wild bird's song ; 
 
 And softly floats the streams along, 
 
 Blent with the zephyrs' flute-notes low 
 
 Now sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 Through woody vales and vine-clad bow'rs, 
 
 Or thron'd among the May-born flow'rs, 
 Her smiles illume the rosy dawn. 
 
 Pan's breezy lute among the whisp'ring reeds. 
 Awakes the Nymphs with many a sj^lvan call ; 
 From grottoes dark, where silvery fountains fall, 
 While fairies dance along the moon-lit meads. 
 
 To A Friend. 
 
 When the dusky shades of night. 
 
 With noiseless steps are creeping ; 
 And Luna's silver light, 
 
 On vale and hill is g'ecpin/ 
 I'll hie me then away, 
 
 To my lonely wood-land bow'r^ 
 Beneath the shadows gray. 
 
 Of twilight's sombre hour. 
 
11 
 
 136 MRS. mundat's poems. 
 
 O ! wilt thou come with me ^ 
 
 When chiming streams are bringing ; 
 A dream-hke minstrelsy, 
 
 In sylvan echoes ringing ; 
 When soft decending dews, 
 
 Be-gem each queenly flower, 
 And swift the night-bird 'sues 
 
 The glow-worm to his bower .'* 
 
 Say does thy sensate heart. 
 
 Overflow with ardent feeling ? 
 Dost feel the tear-drop start. 
 
 When holy thoughts come stealing .'' 
 Thou'lt love the mystic hour, 
 
 And drink its softness in. 
 Thy soul will feel its pow'r. 
 
 And know its calm within. 
 
 W^hen down the woody dell. 
 
 The summer winds are straying ; 
 When day hath bid farewell. 
 
 And light the stars are raying — 
 Come then with steps so light, 
 
 With that true heart of thine, 
 And eyes so like the night 
 
 As darkly bright they shine. 
 
 Then will some fairy sprite 
 
 With evening shades descc 
 Glide round in haloes bright, 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. • 137 
 
 Each thought and feehng blending ; 
 Come seraph of my dreams — 
 
 Star of my lonely soul ; 
 Come with thine eyes bright beams, 
 
 And lend thy lov'd control. 
 
 JS T A NZ A s. 
 
 To a Class-mate. 
 
 We met when the first gush of youth, 
 Was beating free, and hopes were high ; 
 
 Our hps breath 'd nought but tales of truth, 
 And our young bosoms heaved no sigh. 
 
 In rainbow glories, pure and bright, 
 To us did all things seem to gleam ; 
 
 Thy smiles were bland, thy steps were light, 
 No grief disturbed thy halcyon dream. 
 
 At dewy twilight's elfin hour, 
 
 How oft I've wander 'd forth with thee ; 
 And felt the spirit-soothing pow'r. 
 
 Of gentle friendship's sympathy. 
 
 There oft enchantins: music's swell. 
 We've heard amid the odorous gale ; 
 
138 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 With " wood notes wild " from flow'ring dell, 
 And streams that chime along the vale. 
 
 Ah ! still that joy-dream of the past, 
 Around my riven heart shall twine ; 
 
 Like a green spot on mem'ry's waste, 
 Or ivy round the broken shrine. 
 
 Or like the breath of faded flowers, 
 That lingers round the snowy urn ; 
 
 Back to my heart those sinless hours, 
 On memory's wings return. 
 
 I S A B E L L . 
 
 The following " Petite " effusion was suggested to the 
 authoress on becoming acquainted with a very interesting 
 little girl, who was exceedingly precocious for her years. 
 
 Oh ' who hath seen my Isabell ? — 
 Her witching ways 'twere hard to tell. 
 Her sylph-like form and angel grace. 
 Her lightsome step, and smiling face, 
 These are the charms that ever dwell. 
 Around my little Isabell. 
 
 The neck of snow and eyes of blue, 
 Her cheek a rose-bud bursting through, 
 The sunny brow and auburn curls. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 139 
 
 The ruby lips and teeth of pearls, 
 Charms which my heart remembers well,. 
 Of beauteous little Isabell. 
 
 Her smile like morning's rosy light, 
 Illumes my sadden'd heart to-night. 
 Her merry song now sweetly trills. 
 Like bird-notes ringing o'er the hills, 
 Or flute-note echoes in the dell — 
 The syren voice of Isabell. 
 
 Pure is her heart as mountain snows 
 
 Where deep the fount of kindness flows, 
 
 And gentle in her mirthfulness. 
 
 As is an angel's soft caress, 
 
 Ah ! these are charms my bosom swell, 
 
 For charming little Isabell. 
 
 Oh, should you meet this little fair. 
 Your heart she surely would ensnar 
 An houri strayed from Eden's grove 
 Or wand'ring star-beam from above, 
 Mission'd awhile with us to dwell, 
 Is joyous little Isabell. 
 
140 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Written in a Lady's Album. 
 
 They tell me thou art young, 
 Then I will guess thee fair, 
 And like the wings of nriidnight, 
 Thy softly flowing hair ; 
 Bright as a summer sea, 
 Reflecting bluest skies, 
 ' The smiling witchery, 
 That floats within thine eyes. 
 
 I ween there's many a charm. 
 And many a nameless grace. 
 Adorns thy gentle form. 
 And lights thy rosy face ; 
 And better far thy heart. 
 All glad and fancy free. 
 Around thee doth impart, 
 A joy-born melody. 
 
 Thus ever glad and free, 
 May Virtue's eagis bright. 
 Lay like a robe about thee. 
 And shield thy heart from blight, 
 And soft as evening winds. 
 That sigh o'er summer streams, 
 Be every link that binds. 
 Thy heart to rosy dreams. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 141 
 
 To A Portrait. 
 
 Say, Portrait ! whence the pleasing spell, 
 That binds me to this place ; — 
 
 Why does my heart with rapture swej 
 While gazing on thy face ? 
 
 Enchanter ! sovereign of my soul, 
 
 I'd here forever stray ; 
 Here silent weep w^ithout control, 
 
 And sigh myself away. 
 
 Oh ! might I round those breathing charms, 
 
 In sinless purity ; 
 Enraptured wreathe my clasping arms. 
 
 Unknown to even thee. 
 
 The Pagan priest adores the sun, — 
 
 The Heathen gods of clay ; 
 But dearest semblance thou hast grown. 
 
 More idolized than they. 
 
 To 
 
 Sweet Friend ! it was a rosy hour, 
 The festive time when first we met ; 
 
 Midst mirth and song whose circean powei) 
 Forbids that I should e'er forget. 
 
142 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 How oft I've sought some sylvan bower, 
 To wake the harp of memory ; 
 
 Recalling oft the palmy hour, 
 
 When first I learned to think of thee. 
 
 And when the gentle evening star, 
 Looks down in love on thee and me ; 
 
 Then in my western home afar, 
 I watch that star and think of thee. 
 
 When sorrow darkened o'er my way, 
 
 And wrapt my soul in misery : 
 Thy name hath lent a pitying ray, 
 
 To pierce the gloom with thoughts of thee 
 
 What though upon my throbbing, heart, 
 Death's icy chains should fastened be ; 
 
 What though the light of life depart, 
 My latest thought shall be of thee. 
 
 And yet those palmy bowers of light. 
 While thou wert slumb'ring quietly, 
 
 Vd leave ; — and through the jewel'd night, 
 A guardian spirit prove to thee. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS, 143 
 
 Stanzas. 
 
 Oh ! wake once more that mournful strain, 
 Around me fling its haunting spell ; 
 
 Oh ! let me hear those sounds again, 
 Of joy-dreams past their accents tell 
 
 Yes ; touch again the trembling string, 
 What scenes those mournful sounds recall ; 
 
 While memories dark, their shadows fling, 
 Upon the past a sombre pall. 
 
 When first I heard that music's swell, 
 I stood within the spacious hall ; 
 
 The light in streamy glories fell, 
 Along the lofty parien wall. 
 
 And there were dazzling forms and bright, 
 The proud, the beautiful were there ; 
 
 My young heart trembled with delight, 
 And fluttered with a secret snare. 
 
 For there was one who watched my step, 
 
 And by me ever lingered nigh ; 
 On me his ardent gaze still kept. 
 
 And softly breathed a languid sigh. 
 
 The scene is past and faded quite, 
 The image fled and my heart's rest ; 
 
144 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Yet many a vision of that night, 
 On memory's tablets are impressed. 
 
 Oh ! that this heart which now is breaking, 
 In Lethe's stream might ever sleep ; 
 
 For fell despair my soul is shaking, 
 And hopeless I am doomed to weep. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! my soul, the music's ended, 
 Yet let me hear one gush again ; 
 
 There's grief and joy so sweetly blended, 
 I could expire upon that strain. 
 
 Song . 
 
 In sadness I languish for thee love. 
 
 For thee I impatiently call ; 
 ! come to our old willow tree love, 
 Where murmuring waters fall. 
 O come ! come ! O come ! dearest beloved come 
 
 The whippowil sings of her mate love, 
 From yonder lone beachen tree ; 
 
 Thus lonely thy presence I wait love^ 
 Thus lonely I sing of thee. 
 O come ! O come ! O come I dearest beloved come 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 145 
 
 Soft zephyrs are sighing low love, 
 
 Adown our own sweet vale ; 
 Where oft we have wandered slow love, 
 And breathed the ambrosial gale. 
 O come ! O come ! come ! dearest beloved come ! 
 
 I go, but by 3'onder star love. 
 
 That beams on thee and me ; 
 Although I may wander afar love. 
 Yet fondly I'll still think of thee. 
 Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! dearest beloved farewell! 
 
 Stanza. 
 
 Oh I ye dreary days of sadness, 
 
 Clothed in funeral array ; 
 Days of youthful joy and gladness, 
 
 Now forever pass'd away. 
 
 Mine was once the heart of gladness, 
 
 Pleasure's cup I gaily sip'd ; 
 'Tis broken now — and grief and madness, 
 
 With bitter dregs now bathe my lips. 
 
 What to me is beauteous nature, 
 Fa"fled are the charms of spring ; 
 
 Lost to me her loveliest feature, 
 No joy to me the seasons bring. 
 
 l^ 
 
46 MRS. MUNDAY*3 POEMS. 
 
 Even music's notes of sweetness, 
 Has sorrow in its floating song ; 
 
 Of by-gone days and of their fleetness, 
 It "whispers as it floats along. 
 
 Cease, warbling lyre, my heart is breaking, 
 Nay, tell to me that tale no more ; 
 
 Despair is from her trance awaking. 
 And every dream of hope is o'ei'. 
 
 Fantasies. 
 
 The breezes all met in a bower one day, 
 
 To frolic the noon-tide hours away. 
 
 *' Hush ! soft ! be still !" — young Zephyrs said, 
 
 " On this bed of flowers reposes a maid, 
 
 I'll softly fan the brow of the girl, , 
 
 Then nestle me in some clustering curl." 
 
 And thus around her a watch they kept. 
 
 Inspiring her dreams as soft she slept. 
 
 Escaped from her eyelids' silken fringe 
 
 Stood a tear, bedewing her cheeks soft tinge. 
 
 One kiss'd the pearly gem away, 
 
 When a butterfly came of pinions gay ; 
 
 " Begone !" they cried — " you will break her repose, 
 
 Her cheek you have rudely mistook for a rose," 
 
 And that thieving bee now reveling sips, 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 147 
 
 The nectar from off her halmy lips. 
 
 " Fly away noisy bee — we are sorely afraid, 
 
 With your humming and buzzing you'll wake the maid." 
 
 Then in glee their pinions sw'eet they spread, 
 
 And from them a thousand odors shed ; 
 
 One swept her lute's soft trembling strings. 
 
 Another kept time with his sportive wings, 
 
 And gaily liut'ring one gentle wind. 
 
 Breathed a much loved name to her dreaming mind. 
 
 She murmur'd low and sighed the name. 
 
 And whispered of a secret flame. 
 
 The laughing breezes heard the maid, 
 
 And flew round in a whirl as thus they said, 
 
 " Make haste and scour the sunny plain, 
 
 And bear it to the favored swain." 
 
 Alarmed the maid awaken'd sigh'd, 
 
 *' Yield back that name." " Nay," Zephyrs cried. 
 
 And he wrapt it in his frolic wing, 
 
 " I'm off," said he, '^ in a twinkling." 
 
 So saying, away the babbler flew. 
 
 " Ye reckless swains, to w4iich of you 
 
 Was told the tale ? If I only knew 
 
 'Twas the right one. What then ? Confess it true ? 
 
 Well, really— I— ril be-blam'd if I do." 
 
148 MRS. munday's poems, 
 
 Response to 
 
 '' Alas ! what grief should thy heart know ?" 
 
 'Tis not by outward sign or show, 
 
 The deep heart's anguish we can know ; 
 
 We cannot fathom Passion's storm, 
 
 By writhing brow or faded form ; 
 
 Or in the tearful torrent's start. 
 
 That lava fountain of the heart. 
 
 What tho' the brow seem free from care, 
 
 The lips be wreathed in smiles all fair ; 
 
 Within the brain a pool of fire. 
 
 May rage and burn and not expire ; 
 
 And on the heart a curse may lie, 
 
 That still consumes yet will not die. 
 
 What tho' the step be light as air. 
 
 The heart may burn with rankling care, 
 
 And writhe and break in mute despair. 
 
 To Miss Amanda Harte. 
 
 I have never known thee, never met thee, 
 Yet is my roving fancy prone to set thee 
 Like a fair picture in my mental vision, ^ 
 Born half of earth an^ .alf of realms Elysian. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 
 
 149 
 
 All heart I ween thou art by name and nature : 
 A warm, confiding, young and joyous creature ; 
 And hke the hart that nimbly thro' the wild-wood. 
 Seeks the green dell where falls the fountain flood, 
 Be thy heart free and clothed with innocence. 
 Serene and pure as the bright stars from whence 
 Youth's happiest hopes and vision-dreams are caught, 
 And may thy future lot with heaven-hues be fraught. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Around another's brow, 
 
 The myrtle wreath I'll twine ; 
 
 Thou dost not love me now, 
 I am no longer thine. 
 
 Before another's shrine, 
 
 Thou'st bent the supj^liant knee ; 
 Thou call'st her divine — 
 
 Thou said'st the same of me. 
 
 Thine ever changing heart 
 
 Upon the altar lay ; 
 Its fires will soon depart, 
 
 Its incense pass away. 
 
 Thine image on my heart, 
 I now no longer wear ; 
 
150 MRS. munday's poems 
 
 I do not grieve to part, 
 My brow is free from care. 
 
 The illusion now is o'er, 
 I do not think of thee ; 
 
 I dream of thee no more, 
 Of what thou wast to me. 
 
 Low hov'ring round my head. 
 
 Ethereal visions play ; 
 And softly from my bed, 
 
 Charm all sad dreams away. 
 
 4l» H 
 
 The shadows of the past 
 Like night have fled away ; 
 
 While Love around me casts, 
 Its bland and ardent ray. 
 
 Thou'lt meet me in the throng. 
 
 Again will see me smile ; 
 Wilt press my careless hand. 
 
 Nor cause one thrill the while. 
 
 Around another's brow. 
 
 The myrtle wreath I'll twine ; 
 
 Thou may'st not love me now, 
 Since I'm no longer thine. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 151 
 
 To Mary Bell 
 
 Sweet Mary Bell — that gentle name, 
 
 Is linked with many a spell ; 
 My aching breast has felt no rest, 
 
 Since thee I met, sweet " Mary Bell !" 
 
 Her gentle voice sank in my heart, 
 
 As low its accents fell ; 
 I strove to speak — my voice grew weak, 
 
 I only sigh'd — sweet " Mary Bell." 
 
 Her sylph-like form and witching face. 
 Where all the Loves doth dwell ; 
 
 The silken lash whence glances flash, 
 Hath won my heart, sweet " Mary Bell.' 
 
 As oft on me her glances fall. 
 
 Soft as a young gazelle's ; 
 A thrilling flame darts through my frame, 
 
 I feel I love thee—" Mary Bell." 
 
 But hush ! my weak and faltering tongue 
 
 Can ne'er my feelings tall ; 
 Oh ! is it vain, the tender pam, 
 
 I endure for " Mary Bell?" 
 
152 MRS. MUNt)AY'S POEMS. 
 
 Song. 
 
 The circean spell is over, 
 The Paphean dream is done ; 
 
 The mystic cord is broken, 
 That bound our hearts in one. 
 
 And gentle Love lies weeping, 
 Above the urn of Hope ; 
 
 The flowers of mem'ry keeping 
 To guild Life's downward slope. 
 
 The last fond word is spoken, 
 The murmur'd prayer is o'er ; 
 
 The spirit-lute is broken, 
 
 'Twill sound in song no more. 
 
 A Dream of the Past. 
 
 " Thy voice is in mine ear, sweet friend j 
 Thy look is in my heart." 
 
 I'm thinking now of one. 
 Beloved in distant years ; 
 And fondly cherish'd still, 
 
 Through pain and bitter tears. 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 153 
 
 That one to me how dear, 
 
 No tongue can ever tell ; 
 How deep within my heart, 
 
 The haunting dream must dwell. 
 
 I see thee even now. 
 
 And as when last we met ; 
 My breaking heart is fall. 
 
 Mine eyes with tears are wet. 
 
 They're floating in my mind. 
 
 The look — the smile — the tone — 
 
 The tender kiss of love. 
 
 Which once were all mine own. 
 
 The light of all my life. 
 
 And life of every dream ; 
 As soft Hesperus shines. 
 
 On some benighted stream. 
 
 Oh ! for one gentle glance, 
 
 From those Ithureal eyes ; 
 One tone of that sweet voice, 
 
 As soft as summer sighs. 
 
 Or might I clasp once more. 
 The hand that once was mine ; 
 
 And greet that pleasant smile, 
 As angels look divine. 
 
 What were a world of joy, 
 To exstacies like these ; 
 
154 MRS. MUNDAY^ POEMS. 
 
 Or richest argosies, 
 
 That float upon the seas ? 
 
 Within my soul's profound, 
 There is a sacred spot ; 
 
 Serenely calm, and where 
 The world's breath enters not 
 
 Oh ! there for aye,, enshrined, 
 A gentle form is set ; 
 
 And ne'er till life is o'er. 
 Shall I that dream forget. 
 
 The Serenade. 
 
 I leaned me on the midnight air, 
 The wind was sighing low ; 
 
 The youthful moon adown the West, 
 Hung like a silver bow. 
 
 Methought if I were but a ray, 
 
 How softly 1 would shine 
 Into thine eyes, and silently 
 
 Read every thought of thine. 
 
 When soft a manly voice arose, 
 How deep and rich its tone ; 
 
SONNETS AND SONGS. 155 
 
 My pulses paused — my heart grew still 
 I heard but that alone. 
 
 Entranced I heard the witching song, 
 
 As oft it rose and fell ; 
 And memory still those sounds prolong, 
 
 As with a magic spell. 
 
 Ah ! sing again, who e'er thou art, 
 
 I'll hsten tho' it kill ; 
 Within the chambers of my heart, 
 
 Those sounds are echoing still. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Thou didst lure me from the circle. 
 Of the cherished and the true ; 
 
 Midst streams and hills and woodlands, 
 Alone to dwell w^ith you. 
 
 But the joyous dream is fleeting. 
 
 As fast the moments roll ; 
 It is our last wild meeting, 
 
 To mingle soul with soul. 
 
 In sorrow I must wander, 
 
 O'er scenes that's fair no more ; 
 
156 MBS. munday's poems. 
 
 And oft my heart will ponder, 1 
 
 On blissful hours o'er. 
 
 Fare thee well ! farewell forever ! 
 
 Since we, alas ! must part ; 
 'Twere hard indeed to sever, 
 
 'Twill break — 'twill break my heart. 
 
 When the moon's pale beam reposes, 
 
 Along the quiet sea ; 
 Then in thy bower of roses. 
 
 Oh ! dearest, think of me. 
 
 I 
 
^OLI AN MELODIES. 
 
 Where of ye, Tempests, is the goal ? 
 
 Are ye like those that shake the human breast, 
 
 Or do ye find, like eagles, some high nest 1— Byron. 
 
 The winds, the loud high winds, whose mournful choir 
 
 Of many voice blent, sends forth their varied notes, 
 
 From the hoarse roaring of assembled floods, 
 
 To the low whispers breathed to trembling flowers. 
 
 As they upon soft summer's lap expire ; 
 
 Oh ! these, from sinless childhood's rosy dawn, 
 
 Have a strange spell upon my spirit flung — 
 
 While floating round my brain, were shad'wy thoughts 
 
 Of dream-like beauty, as my spirit oft 
 
 Caught the strange meaning of their anthems wild. 
 
 Are they not messengers divine, whose songs, 
 
 Eternal, are forever fraught with sounds. 
 
 Caught from celestial spheres ? And then again, 
 
 So near the earth they seem to bend their wings. 
 
 That their glad strains are blent with wailing tones 
 
 Of mortal cares. 
 
 And oft in mine imagings, 
 I've heard commingling with their shrieking songs, .^ 
 Voices, which rose from earth in sad lament, 
 For those — the lov'd — the good — the brave — the 
 pure — 
 
i 
 
 158 
 
 MRS. MUNDAy's poems. 
 
 The beautiful and true — too early lost ! 
 
 When o'er fair Nature's cheek stern autumn casts 
 
 The fitful hectic of decay, I've heard, 
 
 As wand'ring through the vistas blue, 
 
 Of woodlands beautiful, this minstrel band 
 
 Come moaning up the vales, and wildly breathe 
 
 Their dirge-like melodies. 
 
 'Tis then my soul, 
 With sweet intelligences rapt, communion sweet^ 
 Communion most divine — doth seem to hold ; 
 And to shuffle off this mortal coil 1 long. 
 Of all its earthly film, to have my vision cleared ; 
 To feel my soul expand its unknown powers : 
 Its wings stretch forth, and far beyond these fields 
 Of azure soar, where, in the bless'd abodes. 
 Of etherializing joys I might forever dwell. 
 But hark ! e'en now amid the giant bouo-hs 
 Of yonder towering woods, in war-like strife. 
 Their trumpet blasts I hear — and sorrowing tales, 
 To those of exiled spirits lost akin, 
 Unto my rapt and list'ning ears are borne. 
 
 1 
 
 The Exile^s Lament. 
 
 They bear me hence, my native land, 
 
 Far, far away from thee ; 
 From loving friends — a kindred band — 
 
^OLIAN MELODIES 159 
 
 On o'er the surgino; sea. 
 They bear me hence o'er foaming deeps, 
 
 To that benighted shore ; 
 Where many a weary exile sleeps, 
 
 To wake and weep no more. 
 
 They waft me from thy happy scenes. 
 
 Thy merry dancing rills ; 
 Thy waving woods and vales serene, 
 
 And heaven-soaring hills ; 
 While from the dark pines waving high. 
 
 With deep and solemn swell, 
 Are wafted on the wind's low sigh. 
 
 Sad murmure of farewell. 
 
 Now lowly cot, and vaulted dome. 
 
 Are fading fast from view ; 
 And thou, alas ! my boyhood's home. 
 
 Must vanish with them too. 
 Yet will the glory of your skies. 
 
 Your ever flashing streams, 
 And many a glance from loving eyes. 
 
 Still haunt my fever-dreams. 
 
 Ah ! now they're gone — they're shut from sight. 
 
 Behind the ocean wave ; 
 Oh ! for one glance, those visions bright. 
 
 In memory's glass to save ; 
 Where is the wrong ? — may I not know .'' — 
 
 Ye men of power, tell why. 
 
160 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 To alien climes why doom'd to go — 
 In gloom to toil and die ? 
 
 Cease — cease, my bursting heart give o'er, 
 
 Since exile chains are thme ; 
 Once more adieu, my native shore, 
 
 Britannia, home of mine. 
 
 3jC JfC 5jC ^ ^ ^ 
 
 Like flute notes sweet the waving whispers glide, 
 Then swelling on, so mournful and yet wild, 
 That its deep tones still float within my heart. 
 
 :(: ^ ^ ^ ^ il/i 
 
 But hark ! there is a gush of melody, 
 
 Strange and sweet, as when the summer winds, low 
 
 And tremulous, over rich harp-strings sweep ; 
 
 And on those chaunting cadences of sound, methinks 
 
 Some sorrowing spiiit's voice in haunting tones is borne. 
 
 The Broken Hearted. 
 
 The moon is forth, the stars are bright, 
 The earth is passing fair to-night, 
 But still mine eyes with tears are wet. 
 For one whom I can ne'er forget ; 
 Who round my brows once loved to twine. 
 The pale white rose and myrtle vine ; 
 Oh ! he is gone — and joy has flown. 
 My broken heart has lost its tone. 
 
JEOLIAN MELODIES. 161 
 
 And burning tears and wasting care, 
 Have chased the smiles I used to wear. 
 
 Alone I roam o'er hill and dell, 
 To cull the flowers he lov'd so well, 
 And by the shadowy lake I stray, 
 Where oft we met at close of day. 
 Ah ! there I've vainly hoped to see, 
 My once fond lover come to me. 
 Oh ! have I loved him all too well ? 
 Let ray woe and anguish tell ; 
 By all that yields me no relief, 
 By my sleepless nights of grief. 
 By my brain's wild misery, 
 I have worship'd faithfully, 
 With the soul's most mad'ning thrill. 
 And as madly worship still. 
 
 Tell me, ye winds, ye spheres divine^ 
 
 If aught ye know of lover mine ? 
 
 Tell me, ye viewless sprites of air. 
 
 Is he false to me — the young and fair ? 
 
 At another's shrine doth Theon dare 
 
 To breathe the same impassioned prayer, 
 
 That was his wont in happier hour 
 
 To breathe within this rose-wreath'd bow'r ^ 
 
 And doth he for that maiden's sake. 
 
 His charmed mandolin awake ? 
 
 Or sleeps he 'neath the ocean wave. 
 
 In a pearl-spared cell of the sea maid's cave ? 
 
fl 
 
 162 MRS. MtmDAY'S POEMS. 
 
 Or battling 'mid the stern and brave, 
 Hath my hero found a glorious grave t 
 
 1 have mourned my life away, 
 
 And the hectic of decay, 
 
 O'er my cheek and o'er my brow. 
 
 Burns intensely even now. 
 
 I have sighed and wailed for him. 
 
 Till life and all its joys look dim ; • 
 
 But the wasted, broken heart, 
 
 May suffer on — endure the smart ; 
 
 And so intense may be its woe. 
 
 That its tears will cease to flow : 
 
 The brain maj^ burn with Passion's fire, 
 
 The spirit break, and not expire. 
 
 Wrapt in shadows pale and dim. 
 Where I shall not dream of him, 
 I soon shall know death's placid sleep. 
 And o'er me roses pale shall weep. 
 Oh ! parent earth, upon thy breast. 
 Take thy woe-worn child to rest. 
 
 3fl 5jC ^ ^ H* *|f 
 
 The lute-like winds now faintly fall. 
 
 And down the distant glades in sorrowing tones expire. 
 
 ^ ^ 5jx ^ ^ 5}C 
 
 But hark ! again those melancholy sounds, 
 
 Like plaintive voices on the sobbing winds arise. 
 
 And as they fall upon my listening ear 
 
 Methinks their tones from dying innocence were caught, 
 
JEOLIAN MELODIES. 163 
 
 As o'er its lowly couch soft zephyrs sighed, 
 And with the chime of many mingling sounds, 
 With odors, dew, and summer flowers were blent, 
 And gently wafted on. Tell us, ye winds, 
 Do we not hear upon your murmurs borne. 
 Some deathless spirit's voice, whose yearning eaT 
 Hath drank the music of angelic choirs ? 
 
 The Dying Boy. 
 
 Mother ! where am I ? — and what ails me now .'' 
 Oh ! I'm so weary — and — I cannot rest ; 
 For some strong hand is pressing on my breast, 
 The damps of death are settling on my brow. 
 
 I scarce can hear your voice — your face looks dim— 
 Oh I mother shall I ne'er behold thee more ? 
 Hark ! nearer they come, from heaven's celestial shore, 
 Those voices soft of harping seraphim. 
 
 Oh ! mother, shall I ne'er go forth with thee. 
 O'er the sweet fields and by the sparkling streams } 
 Shall none of all my boyhood's glory dreams 
 Be here fulfilled ? Oh, speak to me ! 
 
 And shall I ne'er behold the morning sun. 
 Or watch the mountain clouds that chase along the sky ; 
 Or the pale moon that beams at noon of night on high, 
 Or count the «tars when the bright day is done ? 
 
164 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 No, mother, no ; for from beyond yon brilliant dome, 
 Methinks some heavenly seraph now is hov'ring near; 
 And this sweet summon falls upon mine ear; 
 Sweet brother mine, come to the skies with me, 
 
 Come home. 
 
 And now I feel death's icy surges round me swell. 
 Oh, mother ! mother ! weep not when I'm gone ; 
 For we shall meet again upon that other dawn ; 
 Then wipe away your tears — 'twill not be long — 
 farewell ! 
 
 Like Memnon's sweet uncertain sun-awaken'd strains, 
 
 Those plaintive murmurs died away. 
 
 More sadly still the grieving zephyrs sigh, 
 
 As tho' upon the sorrow-laden air 
 
 A fearful change had pass'd ; its fitful moan. 
 
 Along the purple hills and twilight vales. 
 
 In sobbing accents falls, so mournful and yet wild. 
 
 As tho' the heart with anguish full would break. 
 
 ')=) 
 
 The Mother'^s Lament. 
 
 Alas ! my only hope of this cold gloomy earth. 
 Last link of life — my dream — my pride — my joy-« 
 Thou wert to me, my gentle, darling boy ; 
 But now thou art gone, leaving desolate my hearth^ 
 
 Gone — gone, indeed ! — and yet how sadly sweet 
 Death's stillness, like a robe, lays gently round thee 
 
 =J 
 
^OLIAN MELODIES. 165 
 
 That I could almost dream thou didst but sleep, 
 And soon again would wake thy mother's smile to 
 greet. 
 
 How sweet the smile thy pleasant eyes could give ; 
 And oh ! how oft these locks of sunny hair 
 I've paited from thy brow, so ivory white and fair, 
 While in thy gentle voice my very soul did live. 
 
 As some rude child with untaught sway, 
 O'er a voluptuous harp oft idly flings 
 His uncouth hands across its strinjrs. 
 Sundering chords attuned to sweetest lay — 
 
 So death, with blackened wings. 
 
 Hath swept his icy fingers o'er thy heart ; 
 
 Where gushing sweet did living harmonies upstart, 
 
 And severed all its thousand strino-s. 
 
 The cup is full — the music of my life is hushed — 
 Come soon, O death, and grant thy Lethean sleep ;■ 
 There is no grandeur here for thee to reap. 
 My being's light is p;one — my heart is crushed. 
 
 * ;{i * * * ;f: 
 
 i)ied on the summer air the melting strain. 
 And as the sighing gales flew softly by. 
 They seemed to nestle in the tall rank grass, 
 And fold their dewy wings. 
 
 And yet again, 
 'Shose gentle airs in whispers low did breathe 
 
166 MRS. MUNDAT^S POEMS. 
 
 Unto the trembling flowers of earth-born cares, 
 Who bent their weeping heads and quivering leaves, 
 And sighed their tender perfumes on the night. 
 
 The Orphans. 
 
 Why, brother, is thy brave young brow, 
 Where soft the dark locks lay, 
 
 All shaded o'er with sorrow now, 
 When all the world looks gay } 
 
 Oh ! ask me not, my sister dear, 
 Too young and fair thou art. 
 
 To know what brings the swelling tear. 
 The anguish of my heart. 
 
 For we are orphans now. alone, 
 From place to place must roam ; 
 
 Our parents, once so kind, are gone. 
 We have no friends or home. 
 
 Where stands embower'd on the hill 
 A cottage white, around whose walls 
 The creeping woodbine twines, and sti^ 
 The gay glad streamlet falls. 
 
 There, once in happiness we dwelt. 
 
 And oft the altar round. 
 In prayerful breathings lowly knelt. 
 
 While peace our labors crowned. 
 
JEOLIAN MELODIES. 167 
 
 But change came o'er the scene of bliss, 
 
 And draped our hearts in gloon ; 
 Then came the misery of this. 
 
 Our dark and early doom. 
 
 In freedom's wars our father died, 
 
 Upon a distant shore ; 
 Fain would I slumber by his side. 
 
 To wake and weep no Knore. 
 
 Then o'er each heart and brow there came 
 
 Dark clouds of doubt and fear ; 
 We were too sad to breathe his name, 
 
 He was to us so dear. 
 
 For strangers cold our home we left. 
 
 In grief and want to dwell ; 
 Each heart grew sick — of hope bereft. 
 
 And sighed to home — Farewell ! 
 
 •to' 
 
 At length our gentle mother died. 
 
 Who used to love us so. 
 No friend have we — no home — Ah ! me : 
 
 Oh, who'll protect us now ! 
 
 * 
 
 In low complainings ceased those wind-waked strains ^ 
 But now my solemn ear drinks in a wail of woe, 
 So sad, 'twould seem the very winds did weep. 
 
168 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 The Bereaved. 
 
 Ob, heavily the hours glide, 
 
 For she who erst dwelt by my side, 
 
 Is now no more — my gentle bride, 
 
 Lost, lost lannie ! 
 
 Her tender eyes were like the hue, 
 
 Of modest voilets shining through 
 
 A tissuey veil of pearly dew — 
 
 Lovely lannie ! 
 
 Soft on her brow the silken hair. 
 
 Lay goldenly in tresses fair ; 
 
 Her cheek was like the r©se-bud rare — 
 
 Beautiful lannie ! 
 
 Joyous and happy as a child, 
 Would she sing so sweetly wild : 
 Oh, she was gay and yet so mild. 
 
 Gentle lannie ! 
 
 But now my dreams of joy are o'er ; 
 
 The star hath set that I adore ; 
 
 Its beams will glad my soul no more — 
 
 Lost, lost lannie ! 
 
 I have loved the wildly well ; 
 O, what can my heart's anguish quell ? 
 'Tis nought but death ! Till then— Farewell, 
 Sweet, sweet lannie ! 
 
-EOLIAN MELODIES. 169 
 
 Distant, in sobbing tones, the viewless winds, 
 
 Amid the dark green pines, arise and softly sigh 
 
 In syllables of breezy sound — Farewell ! 
 
 But now, like angry floods, harsh tones awake, 
 
 And fiercely roar along the bending sky. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The Captive Chief. 
 
 Long years in these prison walls I have pined, 
 With the tyrant's chain over me ever ; 
 
 And long have I stiuggled the chain to unbind, 
 This thraldom dark to sever. 
 
 Alas ! 'twill be my only tomb, 
 
 Companioned for age by silence and gloom. 
 
 They may bind these limbs with burning chains; 
 
 They may rack this writhing frame : 
 But they never can conquer with torturing pains, 
 
 A fearless spirit of flame. 
 They cannot subdue the chainless mind, 
 Nor the freeborn soul with fetters bind. 
 
 Curse on, curse on, ye minions of power; 
 
 Bring fire, bring faggot — I reck not my fate ; 
 Nor lament I in sadness the soul-mad'ning hour. 
 
 That ye bound me in chains, and thus taught 
 me to hate. 
 Aly spirit is free in these prison walls, 
 As the sky-soaring bird in its forest-halls. 
 
170 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 And proud as the eagle that swoops o'er the hills, 
 Is my tameless soul and its fetterless will ; 
 Your mercy I spurn, and your tortures defy, 
 And sooner than yield I gladly would die. 
 
 Aye, whatever betide, I ne'er will give o'er ; 
 
 For the soul that can triumph o'er death and 
 its foes, 
 
 Fair Freedom shall weep when I am no more, 
 
 And love, though afar, shed a tear to my woes. 
 
 Jfc * 5jc * :f: ;K 
 
 Now swelling on, one piercing shriek it gives. 
 
 And on swift pinions takes its flight through space 
 
 Dying in echoes low amid the trees. 
 
 * * ^ * * * 
 
 With transing spell some viewless sprite now sweeps 
 
 Its breezy lyre, and soft eeolian warblings wake, 
 
 While on the dreamy murmurs come sweet strains 
 
 Of long ago, and memories of home. 
 
 The Captive Exile, 
 
 Oh sad was my fate when in youth's sweet prime. 
 
 From my vine-clad home I strayed, 
 Alone to roam in a foreign clime. 
 
 Where fate my footsteps staid. 
 In dreams I wander back again. 
 
 To childhood's joyous hour, 
 To friends and home — the heart's sweet fane. 
 
 Beyond oppression's power. 
 
^OLIAN MELODIES. 
 
 171 
 
 How oft have I loved in my mountain streams, 
 
 'Nealh the forest shades to lave ; 
 Where the glory of boyhood's elfin dreams 
 
 Went floating on the wave ; 
 And glad through the aisles of the voiceful woods, 
 
 Resounded the hunter's horn ; 
 Where swift o'er twilight fell and flood, 
 
 The light fawn skip'd at njorn. 
 
 The herds I see from the dim blue hills, 
 
 Wend o'er the distant plain ; 
 The dark-eyed maid her rude lay trills — 
 
 My heart drinks in the strain ; 
 Sweet haunting memories arise. 
 
 And float around my soul, 
 Of voices dear and radiant eyes. 
 
 And home the young heart's goal. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 A fearful change shrieks on the yelling blast. 
 
 * * * Hs * * 
 
 'Tis vain — 'tis vain — o'er my cheek and brow. 
 Grief's plague spot, like a cankering fire. 
 
 Intensely burns. My sad soul now 
 Knows only one desire ; 
 
 A boon that death alone can give- 
 One draught from Lethe's midnight wav« 
 
 Oh ! dying heart, how long canst thou thus live ! 
 Answer O Death ! Grave ! 
 
17,2 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 I have spent my life in these prison walls, 
 With a bursting heart and a brain of fire ; 
 
 And I've sadly v^ept for my father's halls, 
 Till it seemed that my life would expire. 
 
 The dream is past, its hues have fled ; 
 The heart-wish now departed : 
 
 For hope is crushed and joy is dead, ,:, 
 
 And I am broken-hearted. % 
 
 tt-"' 
 
 I hear at last the 'death trump call ; 
 
 My soul shall have its meed ; 
 And from my limbs the chains shall fall — 
 
 These prison walls recede. 
 The music of celestial wings, 
 
 In breezy murmurs low, ,^ 
 
 Unto my heart a joyance brings, ^;' 
 
 Like strains of long ago. 
 
 Mine eyes wax dim, and faint mine ear j 
 
 Life's earth-born sounds depart ; 
 Death's pulseless hand, with grasp severe, 
 
 Is laid upon my heart. 
 Yield, yield — O, dying heart give o'er ; 
 
 Of joys superne these raptures tell — 
 O poor crushed heart — forever more. 
 
 The spirit weeps to thee. Farewell. 
 
 The wail hath ceased, and on the voiceless air mute 
 silence reigns. 
 
^OLIAN MELODIES. 
 
 173 
 
 ^S nr *!• *l* *!* '^ 
 
 List, list — in hollow moans, 
 Its own wild requiem of solemn plaints. 
 The grieving spirit breathes, all fraught with sad 
 
 unrest, 
 And inborn woe. 
 
 Euthanasia. 
 
 Oh, were it not better far to die. 
 And in the Lethean tomb to lie ; 
 Than thus to live and tortured be, 
 In burning chains of misery ? 
 There's nought in life for me to quaff, 
 But pain and woe — a bitter draught. 
 Joy sends no sweetened chalice here, 
 No sunshine on my path to cheer 
 The wand'rer o'er life's dreary wild ; 
 Nor gleam of hope with radiance mild, 
 To chase the glooms that o'er my way. 
 Shuts out the light of life and day. 
 No tone from life's great lyre around, 
 Falls on mine ear — a pleasant sound ; 
 No soul akin or answering tone 
 Responds unto my spirit's moan ; 
 No hue of bliss, except in dreams. 
 That sometimes o'er my slumber gleams, 
 As shines the pale sweet wand'ring light 
 Of Cynthia thro' the clouds of night — 
 
174 MRS. munday's poems. 
 
 Too sweet to last, too bright to rest, 
 
 Like vermil fading from the West; 
 
 And joy and hope, and glory's beams, 
 
 Are but the light of passing dreams — 
 
 Shadows of some supernal clime, 
 
 When God shall close the Book of Time, 
 
 And open on our yearning sight, 
 
 A volume of seraphic light. 
 
 Then, at his word the soul shall soar 
 
 Through bright infinitudes of lore — 
 
 Eternity's broad page explore, 
 
 And quaff its truths and thirst no more. 
 
 Oh, could I sleep the sleep of death, 
 I'd gladly yield my struggling breath. 
 Could I but find that dreamless rest- 
 That long deep slumber of the blest : 
 For they are blest who die at last. 
 Shut out from life's dread battle blast. 
 And sink to that serene repose, 
 O'er which the sable wings shall close, 
 Of death and night, forever more. 
 Would I might leave Time's dreary shore. 
 And find oblivion of the soul. 
 Where cold the Stygian surges roll — 
 Death's solemn folds across my breast 
 I'd gently wrap, and seek my rest. 
 Grant me, ye fates, this last behest : 
 Let me but sleep, and I am blest. 
 
iEOLIAN MELODIES. 
 
 175 
 
 » 4: ^ :t: 4c 4e 
 
 Away, like ocean's swelling surges, died, 
 
 On distant hills, those sad Euterpean strains. 
 * * * * * % 
 
 And now, methinks, deep organ-tones I hear, 
 
 Borne on the stately winds, sad, solemn, an^ 
 
 sublime. 
 
 Sorrows of Genius. 
 
 Long years I have toiled in the mines of thought, 
 
 With a yearning soul and a brain o'er-wrought ; 
 
 I have shut myself out from the haunts of men — 
 
 From Fashion's mart and Deception's fen ; 
 
 From the festive board and the halls of mirth — 
 
 The social throng, round the cheerful hearth ; 
 
 From the youthful band, who with twinkling feet, 
 
 In the gay, glad measures of joyance meet. 
 
 Where the syrens of love in their sweet bow'rs sing. 
 
 And over young hearts their soft spells fling. 
 
 Aye, the things of all time, for this lonely cell 
 
 I have left, with my thoughts and my soul to dwell ; 
 
 Till with heart-sick'ning woe and with sorrow of mind 
 
 For some kindred tone, my lonesome soul pined ; 
 
 Till mine eyes waxed dim and my cheeks grew pale. 
 
 And the heaven-borrowed hues of earth did fail ; 
 
 Thro' blight, and thro' pains, and thro' struggling tears, 
 
 It hath lain on my heart and burnt for years ; 
 
 This deep mountain thirst for God-given truth, 
 
176 
 
 MRS. MUNDAY^S POEMS. 
 
 For all science and lore ; till the fires of youth, 
 And its vigor of thought are extinguished and dead — 
 Till hope hath departed and Love's light hath fled j 
 In multitudes mixed my soul stands alone, 
 I^ow distanced from men, by the mind's wave 
 
 upborne ; 
 In the great harp of being there's no answering tone— 
 There's nothing in life to love or to mourn. 
 I have worshiped wildly in Learning's fane — 
 Through blood and through fire, through anguish and 
 
 pain ; 
 And thus I had madly hoped to have caught 
 The undying hues of God-gifted thought ; 
 Some heart-breathing tone from Apollo's rapt lyrt, 
 Or soul-waking spark of Promethean fire. 
 That should mount o'er the storms and the ruins of 
 
 time,. 
 Like a star en the night, immortal, sublime. 
 But, where is the wealth in the temple of lore, 
 The glittering thought-gems the brain had in store ; 
 The spoils of the mind, and the deep soul-strain ? 
 Are they gone with the dreams that return not again } 
 Oh, what can assuage the deep thirst of my soul.'' 
 The race is not won, and unreached the goal ; 
 For the grasp of the mind stops not with the stars, 
 But still soaring on till eternity bars 
 The soul's deathless fount, and the source of all light 
 From the spirit's deep thirst and its yearning sight. 
 Oh, a fearful boon to my soul was given ! 
 
JEOLIAN MELODIES. 
 
 177 
 
 Too brightly tinged — too much of heaven, 
 
 Are my hfe's burning dreams, and too strong the chain 
 
 That around my deep heart-affection hath lain. 
 
 The web of my being's too etherially wrought— 
 
 Too heaven-born the music my soul's ear hath caught:) 
 
 For the raptures of earth too spiritually given, 
 
 And too much of earth for a dweller of heaven. 
 
 Yet the chain will burst and the bars be riven, 
 
 And the quest of my soul at last be given. 
 
 It shall stretch forth its wings and soar at last 
 
 From heav'n to heav'n in those realms vast ; 
 
 It shall bask in the light of eternal truth. 
 
 And quench its thirst in the fountain of youth. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Hark ! again mine ear drinks in a tone profound, 
 
 Like the far roar of ocean's liquid thunder, 
 
 Or voices of assembled storms remote — 
 
 So strangely, terribly, with life-sounds blent ; 
 
 Yet musical and clear, that it would seem 
 
 The earth-encircling hymn of some strong angel's lyre ; 
 
 While on its cadences sublime methinks I hear 
 
 The stirring sounds of martial strains or battle's yell : 
 
 As if the viewless heav'n-sent wanderer, 
 
 D'er fall'n myriads from Mars' red field, 
 
 f2s cloud-clearing wings had swept. 
 
 'Twould seem, eagle-winged winds of heaven, 
 
 Ye were the earth-directed harbingers of ill. 
 
 Unto a world guilt-stricken, from the great god of 
 
 storms, 
 
178 MRS. MUNDAT'S POEMS. 
 
 Who full of power rides in majestic wrath, 
 
 On chariot clouds, whose winged steeds 
 
 Are the embattling elements, lightning-reigned. 
 
 And full of speed — whose word is fate etern, 
 
 And his voice thunders. 
 
 Now madly shrieks 
 
 The spirit-voice along the arching sky, 
 
 Dying afar like peans o'er the slain. 
 . ♦ ♦ * 4: ♦ 
 
 1 
 
 J 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Page. 
 3 
 
 23 
 30 
 30 
 
 T^rpfticp ^ •■ ■• ^ " 
 
 Memoirs of Mrs. L. A. H. Munday, - .' t 
 AcAciAN Lyrics, -""'_, 
 Jerusalem, - 
 
 Three Friends and the Jewel, - - 1<3 
 
 Stanzas for the Year, - - , 'II 
 
 Lines on the Death of Austin J. Moms, 18 
 
 An Allegory, - - " " 
 Miscellaneous Pieces, 
 
 Reminiscences, " " ' qr 
 
 Lone Tree and Solitary Grave, - ' t^ 
 
 Song of the Genii, ' " " 49 
 
 Oceola's Lament, - - - "44 
 
 Musings, " ' " " 40 
 
 Rosseau's Heloise, - - - " k? 
 
 Autumn Winds are Sighing, ' ' ^t 
 
 To a Young Poetess, - - ' -t 
 
 The Shipwreck, - " " ?^ 
 
 The Graduate's Farewell, - - ' ^^ 
 
 The Moon, _ - - - t>0 
 
 To an Absent One, 
 
 To Leonore, - - " " 
 
 Music, - ~ " " " '^n 
 
 Lines on the Death of a Lady, " " ' ^ 
 
 The Daguerrean Gallery, - - 'It 
 The Pen, .---'» 
 (181) 
 
 62 
 64 
 67 
 
182 Index. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Childhood's Rambles, 
 
 
 s 
 
 . 
 
 
 - 78 
 
 A Portrait, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 83 
 
 Genius, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 84 
 
 The Wandering Ship, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 91 
 
 The Maniac, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 94 
 
 My Native Land, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 101 
 
 Musings, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 103 
 
 To — , - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 106 
 
 Paganini, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 109 
 
 Epithelamium, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 112 
 
 Lyrics, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 113 
 
 Songs of War, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 121 
 
 The Departure, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 121 
 
 The March, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 123 
 
 Rio Grande, 
 
 
 . 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 125 
 
 Palo Alto, 
 
 . 
 
 
 ~ 
 
 - 
 
 127 
 
 Notes to War Songs, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 -131 
 
 Sonnets and Songs, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 133 
 
 Song of the Flowers, 
 
 
 - 
 
 . 
 
 
 - 133 
 
 Spring, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 134 
 
 To a Friend, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 135 
 
 Stanzas, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 137 
 
 Isabel, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 138 
 
 Written in a Lady's Album, 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 140 
 
 To a Portrait, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 141 
 
 To ^, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 141 
 
 Stanzas, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 143 
 
 Song, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 144 
 
 Stanzas, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 145 
 
 Fantasies, - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 146 
 
 To Amanda Harte, 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 -. 
 
 148 
 
 Song, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 149 
 
 To Mary Bell, - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 15! 
 
 Song, 
 
 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 
 - 162 
 
 A Dream of the Past, 
 
 
 
 
 
 152 
 
 - J 
 
Index. 1S3 
 
 The Serenade, - - • . j54 
 
 S^^gj 155 
 
 -^OUAN Melodies, - - • . I57 
 
 The Exiles Lament, - - - 159 
 
 The Broken Hearted, - - - 160 
 
 The Dying Boy, - - - 163 
 
 The Mother's Lament, - - . 164 
 
 The Orphans, - - - - 166 
 
 The Bereaved, - - - - 168 
 
 The Captive Chief, - - - 169 
 
 The Captive Exile, - « - 170 
 
 Euthanasia, - - - » 173 
 
 Sorrows of Genius, - * - - 175 
 
. , 
 
 STANDARD AND VALUABLE 
 
 BOOKS, 
 
 Pablislied and for Sale by 
 
 APPLEGATE & CO., 
 
 BOOKSELLERS, 
 
 STATIONERS, PUBLISHERS, PRINTERS, 
 
 BINDERS AND BLANK BOOK 
 
 MANUFACTURERS. 
 
 4=3 IMC-A-IKT JSTI1.E3E1T, 
 
 (below second) 
 
 CINCINNATI. 
 
APPLEGATE & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Dr. Adam Clarke's Commentary 
 
 On the Old and New Testaments. 
 
 With portrait of the Author engraved expressly for this edition accompanied 
 with M:ips, etc. Super-royal 8vo. sheep, spring back, marbled edge. 
 
 The Commentary of Dr. Clarke is most deservedly popular, being not 
 only a truly scientific and elaborately learned work, but it is also well 
 adapted to family reading. Liberal in his views, benevolent in his character 
 Christian in his deportment, and deeply learned in Scripture lore, and all the 
 science of the ancients as well as moderns, Dr. Clarke produced a work every 
 way adapted to the wants of Bible students, preachers and families. This 
 work, although the largest published west of the mountains, is yet afforded 
 at a price within the reach of all. 
 
 " It would be difficult to find any contribution to Sacred Literature that 
 has attained to a higher rank than the Commentaries of Dr. Adam Clarke. 
 It is a treasury of knowledge, in the accumuhition of which the author seems 
 to have had no purpose in view but the apprehension of truth ; not to sus- 
 tain a particular creed, but the apprehension of truth for truth's own sake, 
 restrained in t'ne noble pursuits of no party tenets liy no ardor for favorite 
 dogmas." — N'ashvUle and Louisville Christian Advocate. 
 
 " Of the merits of this work we need not speak, as its fame is as wide as 
 the world of language in which it is written, and as imperishable as the name 
 of its author ; but of this edititui we m;iy say a word : It consists of four 
 super-royal octavo volumes, two of the Old and two of the New Testament. 
 Tlie type is clear, printed upon a beautiful white paper, of superior texture, 
 bound in a strong and substantial manner, with marbled edges. The first 
 volume of the Old Testament contains a superior steel engraving of the au- 
 thor. The last volume contains the usual copious alphabetical index, while 
 the entire work is embellished with the usual number of tables and maps. 
 Upon the whole, this is an excellent and cheap edition of this great work of 
 this great man." 
 
 " Much has been written in elucidation of its doctrines and precepts, by 
 thousands of able authors, but ttiere are none who have produced more sim- 
 ple and heart-touching expositions of the ' Book Divine,' or who have em- 
 ployed a greater fund of philological and biblical knowledge in the work 
 than Dr. Adam Clarke." — Christian Advocate. 
 
 " This is a splendid super-royal edition of the commentary on the New 
 Testament by that erudite and critical scholar, Dr. Adam Clarke. However 
 persons may differ with Clarke in regard to his peculiar theological views, no 
 one, we are assured, who is competent to form a judgment of his biblical and 
 philological labors, will call in question his competency for the task he has 
 performed, and we hesitate not to say that for laborious research no work of 
 the kind has ever appeared, or perhaps ever will appear, exhibiting a more 
 profound and extensive acquaintance with the whole range of Biblical litera- 
 ture. No theological student should be without this invaluable work. Henry 
 and Scott, South, Doddridge and others, have furnished valuable practical 
 commentaries, abounding with copious and luminous observations, but they 
 are not expositions, such as the Bible student wants, and Clarke's Com- 
 mentary stands unrivaled in this respect." — Literary Casket, 
 
The Talller and Guardian. 
 
 By Addison. Steele, ktc, with an account of the authors, by Thos. Bab- 
 bington iMacauUiy. Illustrated with steel plate engravings. Complete in 
 one volume, with notes and general indexes. 
 
 Tattler and Guardian. — Addison and Steele never wrote anything that 
 was not good ; but superlatively so is the Tattler and Guardian. In con- 
 junction with i\\Q Spectator, (and neither of them is complete without the 
 other) it affords a full view of English, as well a# Continental Society, one 
 hundred and fifty years ago, and in a quaint and classic style vividly portrays 
 the follies and vices of the age. With pleasant humor, keen wit, and bitter 
 sarcasm, it overflows, and is entirely free from the nonsense and common- 
 place twaddle and toadyism of much of the popular writings of the present 
 day. It would be superfluous for us to say that the style in whicii it is writ- 
 ten is chaste, classic and unique. No Library of Belles-Lettres is complete 
 without it, and no scholar can appreciate the beauties of the English lan- 
 guage until he has thoroughly studied the diction of Addison and Steele. 
 
 The splendid series of articles contained in these journals, having such 
 authors as Addison. Steele and their associates, living through a century and 
 a h;ilf, and still retaining all their freshness, can not but make them in their 
 present shiipe sought after in every enlightened community. — CincinncUi 
 Daily Times. 
 
 TiiK Tattler and Gi'audian, whose cnpital Ess:iys by Addison, Steele, 
 Tickell and others, long since placed the volume in the foremost rank among 
 the English classics- — Cincinnati Press. 
 
 They were and are yet morlels of composition, almost indispensable to a 
 thorough knowledge of Belles-Lettres. — Cincinnati Enquirer. 
 
 The writings of Addison, Steele and their associates have rarely been is" 
 sued in a form so well adapted for the general circulation which they deserve. 
 — Cincinnati Qazette. 
 
 As a collection of rich essays, in beautiful English, The Tattler needs no 
 commendation from our pen. — Ohio State Journal. " 
 
 The publishers have done the public a good service by placing this foun' 
 tain of pure thought and pure English in a convenient form. — WtStern 
 Christian Advocate. 
 
 No library is complete unless the Tattler and Gi'ardian is on its shelves, 
 and evpry man of literary tastes regards its possession as a necessity. — Ma- 
 sonic lievieic. 
 
 Tattler and Gpardian. — TVho has not heard of Addison and Steele, and 
 where is the scholar or lover of English Literature who has not read the 
 Spectator V It is a part of English literature that we could not alford to lose. 
 The writings of such men as Addison and Steele are good in any age. The 
 book now before us is by the s.ime -.xui^xoYs.— Ledger. 
 
 Among all the flippant puhlications of the present day, in which there is 
 an awful waste of paper and ink, it is refreshing to see a reprint of a work of 
 standard merit such as the Tattler and Guardian. The criticisms of over a 
 century have only more clearly pointed out its merits and eitablished its 
 reputation. — Democrat. 
 
APPLEGATE & CO.'s PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 llosheiiii's Eccleijiiaslical History; 
 
 Ancient and Modern, from the Birth of Christ to the beginnins: of the Eigh- 
 teenth Century, in which the rise, progress and variations of Church Power 
 are considered in their connection witii tlie Stat ; of learning and philoso- 
 phy, and the political history of Europe during that period. Continued to 
 the year 1H26. by Charles Coote, LL. D., 80G pages*, quarto, sheep, spring 
 back, marbled edge. 
 
 This edition forms tlie most splendid volume of Church History ever issued 
 from the American Press ; is printed with largo type, on elesant paper, and 
 a'ltogether forms the most accessible and imi^osing history of the Church that 
 is before the public. — Oospel Herald. 
 
 This great standard history of the Church from the birth of Christ, has just 
 been issued in a new dress by the extensive ]iuhli-;liing house of Applegate 
 & Co. Nothing need be said by us in relation to the merits or reliability of 
 Mo=heim's History ; it has long borne the approving seal of the Protestant 
 world. — Masonic Hevietc. 
 
 To the Christian world, next to the golden B!l>le itself, in value, is an accu- 
 rate, faithful, and life-like delineation of tlie rise and progress, the develop- 
 ment and decline of the Chi-istian Cliurch in all its varieties of sects and de- 
 nominations, their tenets, doctrines, maimers, customs and gnvei-nment. 
 Such a work is Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History. Like " Rollin's History 
 of the Ancients,'' it is the standard, and is too well known to need a word of 
 comment. — Advocate. 
 
 But little need be said of the history as a standard work. It has stood first 
 on the list of Church histories, from the day it became known to scholars, 
 down to the present time ; and there is but little probability that any new one 
 will soon set it aside. — Beaidy of Holiness. 
 
 No Church History, particularly as it respects the external part of it, was 
 ever written, which was more full and reliable than this ; and indeed, in all 
 respects, we opine, it will be a long time before it will be superseded. — LiU- 
 rary Casket. 
 
 Who has not felt a desire to know something more of the early history, rise 
 and progress of the Christian Church than can usually be found in tiie po- 
 litical histories of the world ? Mosheim's Church History, just published by 
 our Western Publishing House of Applegate & Co., contains just the infor- 
 mation which every believer in Christianity so much needs. It fills the space 
 hitherto void in ChiMstian Literature, and furnishes a most valuable book for 
 the student of Christianity. Every clergyman and teacher, every Sunday 
 School and household, should have a copy of Mosheim's Church History. — 
 Herald. 
 
 The work is printed on beautiful whitepaper, clear large type, and is bound 
 in one handsome volume. No man ever sat down to read Mosheim in so 
 pleasing a dress. What a treat is such an edition to one who has been study- 
 ing the elegant work in the small, close print of other editions. Any one woh 
 has not an ecclesiastical history should secure a copy of this edition. It is 
 not neces-^aiy for us to say anything in relation to the merits of Mosheim's 
 Church History. For judgment, taste, candor, moderation, simplicity, learn- 
 ing, accuracy, order, and comprehensiveness, it is unequalcd. The author 
 Bpared no pains to examine the original authoi-s and ^' genuine sources of 
 sacred history," and to scrutinize all the facts presented by the light of the 
 " pure lamps of antiquity." — Telescope, Dayton, 0. 
 
Lorenzo Dow's Complete Works. 
 
 The Dealings of God, Man and the Devil, as exemplified in the Life, Expe- 
 rience and Travels of Lorenzo Dow, in a period of over half a century, 
 together with his Polemic and Miscellaneous Writings comi^lete. To which 
 is added, THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE, by Peggy Dow, with an In- 
 troductory Essay, hv John Dowlin::, D. D., of New York. MAKING THE 
 BEST AND MOST COMPLETE EDITION PUBLISHED, i vol. 8yo., 
 library binding, si')ring back, marbled edge. ■', 
 
 Notices of the Press. 
 
 Several editions of the Life and Works of Lorenzo Dow have been issued 
 by diflerent publishers, but the most comjilete and accurate is the one pub- 
 lished by Applegate & Co., Cincinnati. After perusing it and reflecting on 
 the good he accomplished not mentioned in this volume, we came to the 
 conclusion that, if for the last hundred years, every minister had been a 
 Lorenzo Dow, the whole world would have been civilized, if not christian- 
 ized, some time since. 
 
 " No wonder that he was finally crucified at Georgetown, D. C , if it is 
 true, as reported in some quarters, he waa poisoned by some enemies who 
 followed him to his retreat." 
 
 " Lorenzo Dow was not ' one,' but ' three ' of them, a St. Paul in bless- 
 ing souls— a Washington in seeking tlic best interests of his country, and a 
 Howard in getting people " out of the prison ' of conservatism and oppres- 
 sion." 
 
 " We decide (ea' Crt/Z^^'rZra) that one of the most interesting works ever 
 placed on our tible is 'The Complete Works of Lorenzo DokV,' embracing 
 his travels in Europe and America, his polemic and poetical writings and 
 ♦ Journey of Life,' by his wife Peggy, who heroically accompanied him in 
 many of his peregrinations." 
 
 " Full as an egg is of meat, so was Lorenzo Dow of sparkling wit and 
 genuine good humor. He overflowed with anecdote like a bubbling fountain 
 in a sandy basin, and was never at a loss for a good and lively story where- 
 with to illustrate his subject and engage the attention of his hearers. Ills 
 audience ever listened with breathless attention, and drank in his sayings 
 with wondrous admiration and reverence. By some he was regarded as one 
 of those special messengers the .Almighty sent in times of great dearth of 
 godliness and piety, to wake up the slumbering churcli. lie evidently had 
 his mission, and thousands now living throughout the land can testify as to 
 how he filled it. 
 
 " His life was one continuous scene of adventure and anecdote, ever vary- 
 ing, and full of the life-giving power of enthusiasm. Spotless in purity, 
 faultless in heart, and wholly devoted to tJic cause he had espoused — the 
 cause of Christ." 
 
 " This is the best octavo edition of Dow's complete works now published. 
 The writings of this remarkable and eccentric man have been before the pub- 
 lic for years. They have been read l)y thousands. If not alto'jether unex- 
 ceptionable, they embrace many wholesume trnlhs. Vice in all its forms is 
 rebuked with characteristic severity : liis bitter sarcasm and cutting wit are 
 employed in many instances to good effect. His wife seems to have been a 
 kindred sjiirit, and V)otti, with all their peculiar eccentricities, no doubt were 
 truly devoted Christians, doing what they sincerely believed to be for the 
 spiritual good of their fellow-beinirs, and the glory of God. Those who have 
 not read this book will find suflicient to instruct and interest them." 
 
APPLEGATE & CO.'s PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Guizol's Gibbon's llistoiy of the Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire; 
 
 A new edition, revised and corrected throughout, preceded by a preface, and 
 accompanied by notes, critical and historical, relating principallj^ to the 
 propagation of Christianity. By M. F. GrizoT, Minister of Public Instruc- 
 tion for the kingdom of France. The Preface, Notes and Corrections trans- 
 lated from the French expressly for this edition — with a notice of the life 
 and character of Gibbon, and Watson's reply to Gibbon. In 2 vols, impe- 
 rial Svo., sheep, spring back, marble edge. 
 
 We are pleased to see a republication of Guizot's Gibbon, with the notes, 
 which have never bef<5re been republished in Enj^'lish. Gibbon, so far as we 
 know, stands alone in filling up the historic il sjiace between the Roman Cse- 
 sars and the revival of literature. — Cincinnati Chronicle. 
 
 While there are numbers of Historians of the early days of the great Em- 
 pire, Gibbon stands almost alone as the histoiiaii of its fall. The present 
 edition, with the notes of Guizot, is a treasure of literature that will be highly 
 prized. 
 
 The vices of the 'Roman Empire, that like the vipers in the bosom of Cle- 
 opatra, caused her destruction, are traced from their first inception, and should 
 act as beacon-lights on the shores of time, to guide okher nations that are 
 following in her footsteps. 
 
 Altisonant Letters. 
 
 Letters from Squire Pedant in the East, to Lorenzo Altisonant, an emigrant 
 to the West, for the Benefit of the Inquisitive Young. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth. 
 
 The publishers of the following letters do not present them as models of 
 style, but as a pleasant means of obtaining the meaning of the greater part of 
 the unusual words of the English language, on the principle of "association 
 of ideas." In the column of a dictionary there is no connection between the 
 definition of words, consequentli'-, the committed definitions aie soon lost to 
 the pupil. By placing in such a juxtaposition as to form some kind of sense? 
 the learner will the more readily retain the meaning of the word" used 
 To THE Youngsters. By the Author. 
 Young Friends: — Some one has said "that words not understood are like 
 nncracked nuts— the lusciousness of the kernel is not enjoyed." Believing 
 this to be so, and thinking that there are now many uncracked nuts in the 
 English language, the author went up into old Jolm Walker's garret, and 
 gathered 'Mots" of old and hard nuts, and brouglit them down for you, and 
 then he went into old Noah's ark — he means old Noah Webster's dictionary 
 — and gathered many more, and by the assistance of Mr. Altisonant, placed 
 them in the "letter basket," with the hammer, the dictionary, laid side ))y 
 side. Will you take wy the hammer and crack the nuts, and enjoy the ker- 
 nel ? Try it. Your friend, g. K. HOSIIOUR. 
 ^\^ rare book this, and rare amusement it will afford to the reader. — Daily 
 Times. 
 
APPLEGATE & CO.'s PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Th<! Complete Works of Tlios, Dick, LL. D. 
 
 11 vols, in 2 ; containing an Essny on the Improvement of Society ; The 
 Philo.s.)p!iy of a Future State; The Philosophy of Keligion ; The Mental 
 Illumination and Moral Improvement of Mankind ; AnEssay on the Sin3 
 and Evils of Covetousness ; The Christian Philosopher, or Science and 
 Religion ; Celestial Scenery Illustrated ; Sideriil Heavens planets, etc.; 
 The Practical Astronomer ; Tiie S:)lar System, its wonders ; The Atmos- 
 phere and Atmospherical Phenomena, etc. Illustrated with numerous 
 engravings and a portrait. 2 vols, royal 8vo. sheep, spring back, marbled 
 edge. 
 
 This edition is printed fr )m entirely new plates, containing the recent re- 
 vision of the author, and is the only complete edition published in the Uijii- 
 ted States. 
 
 The works of Dr. Dick are so well known and appreciated, (being such as 
 should be in the possession of every family and made the daily study of its 
 members, old and young,) that the attempt to praise them would be like gild- 
 ing fine gold. 
 
 " Dick's Works. — Those who read at all, know both the name of Dr. Dick 
 and the work itself, now reprinted. It has long found acceptance with the 
 public " — Presbijterian Review, Edinburgh. 
 
 " The range of subjects contained in tliese several essays and scientific 
 treatises is varied, all are highly import int and of practical utility to mankind 
 generally." — Presbyterian of the IVcst. 
 
 '• The best recommendation which can be given of Dr. Dick^s Works is the 
 great popularity they have enjoyed, and the numerous editions of them, col- 
 lected and separate, which have been published in England and America. 
 Messrs. Applegate & Co. are deserving of much itraise for the tasteful and 
 liandsome style in which they have issued the work, and at such a price as to 
 be within the reach of all " — Cincinnati Gazette. 
 
 "Dr. Dick's works have filled a place occupied by no others, and have pre- 
 sented the great facts of nature and the scientific movements and discoveries 
 of the present aae, in a manner at once both pleasing and instructive.''— 
 Central lVatchma7i. 
 
 "The typography, plates, paper, and binding make the book more favor- 
 able in appearance than any pul)lication we have yet seen in the West, and 
 without exulting any, we are glad to say it equals the publications of like 
 works in New York or B iston. How gl id we are to see this, as it tells well 
 for go ahead Ohio. — Springjield Republic. 
 
 " \Vq hail this remarkably cheap and greatly improved edition of Dr. 
 Dick's admirable and highly popular Works. It is a real boon to the mil- 
 lions to be able to i)ur(diase sacli an excellent work for so inconsiderable a 
 cost. We earnestly recommend this work to all our readers, and e.«peci^dly 
 to all who (1 -sire to store tli^ir minds with general information." — Weslt^yan 
 Associate Magazine, London. 
 
 Illeven different works a'-e embriced in these volumes, making it an edition 
 full and comp'et". The range of subjects embr.aced in these several essays 
 and scientific treatises, is varied, all are highly imf)ortnnt and of practical 
 utility to mankind generally. These characteristics of Dr. Dick's writinors, 
 while they render them permanently valuable, insure for them also a wide 
 circulation among j^ll classes of readers. — P rcshyierian of the West, 
 
 iz:=L 
 
Plutarch' 
 
 With Historical and Critical Notes, and a Life of PLnxARcn. Illustrated 
 with a Portrait. 1 vol. royal 8vo., sheep, spring back, marbled edges. 
 
 This edition has been carefully revised and corrected, and is printed upon 
 entirely new plates, stereotyped by ourselves, to correspond with our library 
 edition of Dick, etc. 
 
 "Next in importance to a thorough knowledge of history, and in many 
 respects fully equal to it, is the study of well authenticated biography. For 
 thifs valuable purpose, wo know of no work extant superior to the fifty lives 
 of Plutarch. It is a rare magazine of literary and biographical knowledge. 
 The eminent men whose lives com])ose this work, constitute almost the entire 
 of tliat galaxy of greatness and brightness, which stretches across the horizon 
 of the distant past, and casts upon the present time a mild and steady lustre. 
 Many of tliem are among the most illustrious of the earth." — 2u:ts/<,ville and 
 Louisville ChtisUan Advocate. 
 
 " No words of criticistn, or of eulogy, need be spent on Plutnrch's Lives. 
 Every body knows it to be the most popular book of biograpliies now extant 
 in any known language. It his been more read, by the youth of all nations, 
 for the last four or five centuries in particular, than any ever written. It 
 has done more good, in its vray, and has been the means of forming more 
 sublime resolutions, and even more sublime characters, than any other work 
 with which we are acquainted, except the Bible. It is a better piece of prop- 
 erty for a young man to own, than an eighty acre lot in the Mississippi Val- 
 ley, or many hundred dollars in current money. We would rather leave it 
 as a legacj' to a son, had we to make the choice, than any moderate amount 
 of pi'operty, if we were certain he would read it. There are probably but 
 few really great men now living, that have not been largelj' indebted to it for 
 their early aspirations, in consequence of which they have achieved their 
 greatness."— itfcZ*es' Sepository. 
 
 " No book has been more generally sought after or read with greater 
 avidity." — Indiana State Sentinel. 
 
 This is a m.a<rnificent 8vo., handsomely and substantially gotten up, in 
 every respect highlv creditMble to the enterprising house of Applegate & Co. 
 Who has not read Plutarch ? for centuries it has occupied a commanding po- 
 sition in the literature of the age. It needs no eulogy ; the reading public 
 know it.to be one of the most interesting, instructive and i)opular biographies 
 now extant.— /Si!. Louis Republican. 
 
 The We5t'^rn public are under obligations to Messrs. Applesrate &; Co., of 
 Cincinnati, for the handsome and substantial manner in which they have re- 
 cent ly got up editions of several standard works. Dick''s Works unabridged. 
 Rollings Ancient History, and now Plutarch's Lives, attest the enterprise and 
 good judgment of this firm in their publishing department. To speak of the 
 character and merits of Plutarch, which the old and the young of several 
 generations are familiar with, would be presumptuous ", but we can with pro- 
 priety refer in t^rms of high commendation to the manner in which this edi- 
 tion has been got up in every department. The size is royal octavo, just 
 right for the library. The paper is srood, the typography excellent, and the 
 calf binding just as it should be, neat and substantial. If this house contin- 
 ues as it has begun, it will soin have an extended and enviable reputation for 
 the character and style of its editions of standard works, and it will deserve 
 it. — Cincinnati Daily Times. 
 
APPLEGATE & CO/s PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Eolliu's Ancient History. 
 
 The Ancient History of the Carthagenians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Medes, 
 and Persians, Grecians and Macedonians, includin'^ a History of the Arts 
 aiiil Sciences of the Ancients, with a Life of the Author. 2 vols, royal 8vo., 
 sheep, spring bacii, marbled edj;e. 
 
 One of the most complete and impartial works ever published. It takes 
 us back to early days^ and makes us live and think with the men of by-gone 
 centuries. It spreads out to us in a pleasant and interesting style, not only 
 the events which characterize the early ages, but the inner world of thought 
 and feeling, as it swayed the leading minds of the times. No library is com- 
 plete without Rollin's Ancient History. 
 
 " A new edition of Rollings Anciont History has ju<:t been issued by Ap- 
 plegate & Co. The value and imi)ort-ince of this work are universally ac- 
 knowledged. Every pi-ivate library is deficient without it; and it is now 
 furnished at so cheap a rate, that every family should have it. It should be 
 placed in the hands of all our youth, as infinitely nuire instructive and use- 
 ful than the thousand and one trashy publications with which the country is 
 deluged, and which are so apt to vitiate the taste and ruin the minds of young 
 readers. One more word in behalf of tiiis new edition of Rollin : It may not 
 be generally known, that in previous P^nglish editions a large and interesting 
 portion of the work has been sui)pressed. The deficiencies are here supplied 
 and restored from tiie French editions, giving the copy of Messrs. Applei;ate 
 &. Co. a superiority over previous English editions." — Wester/i liecorder. 
 
 '• This work in this form has been for some j-ears before the public, and is 
 the best and most complete edition published. The work is comiirised in two 
 volumes of about six hundred pages each, containing the prefaces of Rollin 
 and the ' History of the Arts and Sciences of the Ancients,' which have been 
 omitted in most American editions." — Springfield Republic. 
 
 '• The work is too well known, and has too long been a favorite to require 
 any commendationfrom us. Thougli in some matters more recent investi- 
 gations have led to conclusions diilerent from those of the author, yet his 
 general accuracy is unquestionable." — Wcf^iem Christian Advocc.te. 
 
 " Tins work is so well known as stnnd ird — as necessary to the completion 
 of every gentleman's library — that any extended notice of it would be folly 
 on our i)art. We have named it f()r the puri)ose of calling the attention of 
 our readers to the beautiful edition issued by the enterprising house of Mess. 
 Applegate & Co " — Jfet/wdist Protestant., Baltimore. 
 
 The public arc under obligations to Applegate &. Co. for their splendid 
 edition of this standard History. — Times. 
 
 Works like this, that form a connecting link between the splendid civiliza- 
 tion of the ancients, an<l the more enduring proijress of the moilerns. are a 
 boon to the lover of literature and the student of History. — Ruilroad Jiecord. 
 
 Time is fleeting — Empires perish and monuments moulder. But a book 
 like tliis survives the wteck of time and the ravages of decay. — Globe. 
 
 The liistory of departed kingdoms, with the causes of their sad decline and 
 fall, serve as light-linuses along the sea i>f life, to warn succeeding generations 
 of their fite. and to teach tliem to avoid the mcks and quicksands of error and 
 guilt on which they were wrecked. In no history is this purpose so well ac- 
 complished as in that of Rjllin, a handsome edition of which has just been 
 issued by Ajjplegate &. Co. — yiics. 
 
APPLEGATE & CO. S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Tiie Spectator 
 
 By Addison, Steele, etc., 1 vol. royal 8vo., 750 pages, with portrait of 
 Addison. Sheep, spring back, marble edge. 
 
 The numerous calls for a complete and cheap edition of this valuable 
 work, have induced us to neuly stereotype it, in this form, corresponding in 
 style and price with our otlier books. Its thorough revisions have been com- 
 mitted to competent hands, and will be found complete. 
 
 There is no work in the English language that has been more generally 
 read, approved, and appreciated than The Spectator. It is a work that 
 can be perused by persons of all classes and conditions of society with equal 
 pleasure and profit. 
 
 " One hundred and forty years ago, when there were no daily newspapers 
 nor periodicals, nor cheap fictions for the people, the Spectator had a daily 
 ciiculation in England. It was witty, pithy, tasteful, and at times vigorous, 
 and lashed the vices and follies of the age, and inculcated many useful les- 
 sons wliicli would have been disregarded from more serious sources. It was 
 widely popular." — Central Christian Iltrald. 
 
 " Applegate & Co., 43 Main street, have just published, in a handsome 
 octavo volume of 750 pages, one of the verj'' best classics in our language. 
 It wjuld be superfluous at this day to write a line in commendation of this 
 w o r k . " — Ci7i . Com . 
 
 " There are few works, if any, in the English language that have been 
 more higlily appreciated and generally read than tlie Sjiectator. It is in gen- 
 eral circulation, and continues a popular work for general reading. I'he 
 chaste style of its composition, and ])urity of its diction, has placed it high 
 in rank among the English classics." — iSi. Lortis liepublican. 
 
 *' It is a source of general satisfaction to hear of the republication of a 
 work of such standard merit as the Spectator. In these days, when the press 
 teems with tlie issue of eithemeral publications, to subserve the purpose of 
 an hour, to enlist momentary attention, and leave no im]>rovement on the 
 mind, or impression on the heart — it is a cause of congratulation to see, now 
 and then, coming from the press such works as this ; to last as it sliould, so 
 long as a pure taste is cultivated or esteemed." — Cincinnati Gazette. 
 
 *' Criticism upon the literary merits of the Spectator would be rather late 
 and superfluous at the present time. Steele, Addison and Swift are above 
 criticism. This edition is gotten up in style and form that will make it pecu- 
 liarly acceptable to the admirers of English literature. It is bound in one 
 volume, with copious notes of the contributors prefixed. The type is clear 
 and elegant, the paper sjood, and the binding excellently suitable for the li- 
 brary." — Cincinruiti Daily Times. 
 
 " Amid the rush and whirl of this locomotive and high pressure ajre — amid 
 the almost breathless rage for the light and flimsy eflusions with which the 
 Laboring ])ress is inundating the world, Addison, the immortal Addison, — 
 one of the most beautiful, chaste, elegant, and instructive, as well as pleasing 
 writers of the English language, may be i)us!ied aside or overlooked for a 
 time, but the healthful mind, satiated with the frothy productions of the 
 times, will again return to such authors as Addison, and enjoy with renewed 
 zest the pleasing converse of such pure and noble spirits." — Methodut 
 Monthly. ^