THE 
 
 A RTl ST 
 
 ANIJ 
 
 OTHER POE M,S. 
 
 BY HENRY C. PREUSS. 
 
 W^SHIJ^GTOJ^", D C. 
 
 PRINTED AT THE DAILY FOUN'TAIK OtFiCH 
 1847. 
 
THE 
 
 A ]{ T 1ST. 
 
 AND 
 
 ' T II E Pi P E M S 
 
 y 
 
 BY HENRY C. PREUSS. 
 
 ^ 
 
 I'RINTED AT THE DAILY FOUNTAIN OFFICE, 
 1847. 
 

 TO 
 
 ONK OF AMERICA'S MOST TALENTED 
 
 YOUNG ARTISTS, 
 
 THiy LITTLE WORK IS RESPECTFULLY 
 
 P.Y HIS .SINCf:RE FKIEIST), 
 
 The Author. 
 
THE AETI^T. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 There is a strange and mystic liniv 
 Between tlie climate and the mind; 
 And Poets in their lofty flights 
 Have sung of genius and of love. 
 With all their light and glowing warmth. 
 As offsprings of the sunny South. 
 And yet, methinks, there're many pure 
 And gushing founts of poesy. 
 E'en in the cold and icy North. 
 To him, whose gloomy spirit loves 
 To hold communion with the dark 
 And dreary things of Earlli — there is 
 A charm — a wild and potent cliarm. 
 In mourning Nature when her hrow 
 Is clouded by a wintry sky ! 
 
 Wiien bright and joyous Spring unfolds 
 Her budding beauties to tlie Sun, 
 We feel a soothing balm, whicli steals 
 Like Love's first dream upon the soul. 
 And Summer too, whose beauties are 
 More luscious yet tlian tliose of Spring ; 
 
And more than all, tlie mystic giaiice 
 
 or pale and hectic Autumn — all 
 
 Have povv'r to move the Poet's soul. 
 
 And yet Dame Nature has a charm,^ 
 
 A far more wild and fearful charin, 
 
 Wlien in l\or graver mood she clothes 
 
 Old mother Earth in shroud-like voh:3 
 
 Of pale and yellow sunsliine — Oh ! 
 
 There's magic in a Winter's scene. 
 
 Which pen nor pencil can portray : 
 
 A feeling of the InJinUc^ 
 
 ^Vhcn Earth puts on her snowy garb. 
 
 And seems one mighty sepulchre! 
 
 The sunny rose and lilly soft, 
 
 Which deck'd the blooming hrow of Sprint 
 
 The .cweet and blue-eyed violet, 
 
 And all those children of the Sun, 
 
 Bright miniatures of Angels ! 
 
 W^hich come among us for a tiiuc, 
 
 To point us to a purer world — 
 
 Thi've died in all their loveliness ! 
 
 No trace is left by which to mark 
 
 The sunny spot v.'bere once they bloomed 
 
 And yet they're not forgotten, for 
 
 The melancholy wintry blast 
 
 Oft pauses in its lonely course 
 
 To sing its holl(.>w requiem ; 
 
 And e'en the pale and twinkling stars 
 
 Their cold and tearful vigils keep 
 
 Jn sdence o'er their resting place! 
 
^Tis scenes like these which animate 
 The hidden fires of the mind : — 
 Which give to man a longing for 
 The glories of Eternity ! 
 And such they were which did surromi-d 
 The humble cottage of a youth. 
 Whom I would feign essay to sing 
 In words of burning Poesy ! 
 Then tune thy lyre, Oh ! gentle muse. 
 To notes of wildest melody : 
 And go thou forth with magic wand 
 To waken up the spectral flame 
 Of Art and fairy Poesy, 
 Which long have slumbered in neglech 
 Forgotten by a grov'ling world ! 
 Go wing thy flight to realms above, 
 And cull the fairest plants which grow 
 Upon the azure field of Heav'n : 
 Go wander forth from cloud to cloud 
 And hold commune with sun and stars-, 
 Then pause at twilight's holy hour, 
 When night comes Imrried on — and catch 
 The fading %eauties of the West, 
 Ere darkness shrouds the earth beneath. 
 And thus ihou'lt learn, Oh ! gloomy muse, 
 The myst'ries of th' Eternal mind : 
 And thus thou'lt read the Sybil leaves 
 Of life, and death, and destiny. 
 But hark ! A voice doth speak within. 
 Of stern, a'ld hoarse sepulchral tone : 
 ^' Down, down ! oh mortal with thy pricle ! 
 1* 
 
liow dare>st thou to seek the keii. 
 
 Of those things which are yet to come f 
 
 Thon low-born offspring of the earth ! 
 
 Could'st thou but find what thou dosjt seek, 
 
 Dost know that thy poor fragile clay 
 
 Would crumble 'way in pallid fear, 
 
 To see the dread and awful truths — 
 
 The Revelations of its God ! 
 
 But know ! thou hast a vital spark 
 
 Within its prison-house of flesh, 
 
 Eternal Light, and first struck from 
 
 The ess nee of the Deity ; 
 
 And when death disembodies it 
 
 From all the clogs of earlhliness. 
 
 Then slialt thou find loliat thou dost seek! ''" 
 
 'Tis ever thus with all the dreams 
 
 And aspirations of the soul : 
 
 \Ye thirst for something more tlian earlh- 
 
 With all its cold realities \ 
 
 We long to plume the spirit's wing, 
 
 And soar into the dreamy sky ; 
 
 And when, alas ! we find 'tis vain 
 
 To burst the shackles of the flesh, 
 
 How does the poor degraded mind. 
 
 Like exile from his native land. 
 
 Fall back upon itself, and feed 
 
 its burning thirst with phantasies 
 
 Of rosy joy, and sunny mirth, 
 
 And pleasure which can never die ! 
 
 But ah ! amid its re veilings. 
 
Through inoon-ht glades and lighted hall; 
 Where angels bright are channting forth 
 In strains of Heav'nly melody, 
 K'en then there comes a gloomy Sprite 
 With lips so pale, and haggard clieek, 
 AVMio breathes her Simoon breath npon 
 These fairy realms of fancied blis.s, 
 Which fade like day before the night ! 
 Then comes that wild and burning thirst 
 To know what 'was and is to come ! 
 But these are dark and gloomy thoughts, 
 The ofTsprings of a troubl'd mind ; 
 And thou, my muse ! be thou content 
 To sing e'en in an humbler strain, 
 Shouldst thou but touch one gentle chord 
 Of human kindness in the heart ; 
 Shouldst thou awake the genial flame 
 Of love and holy sympathy, 
 For him who now inspires ihy song, 
 My end is gained — 'tis all I ask — 
 My richest, brightest, best reward ! 
 
 Where rolls Penobscot's icy stream 
 
 In vvild and lonely majesty, 
 
 Through forest dark and snow-clad vales. 
 
 There liv'd — the hero of my song. 
 
 He wa5 not born in '^Marble Halls," 
 
 Amid the dazzling glare of wealth, 
 
 And fickle fortune never shed 
 
 One beam of sunshine o'er his path ; 
 
 Nor had he learn'd to bend the knee 
 
8 
 
 or sycojkhancy to the great ; 
 
 For in his inmost soul there was 
 
 A feeling of the proud and free, 
 
 Which scorn'd to slain, or stoop beneath 
 
 The dignity of freedom''s sons ! 
 
 From early youth lliere was a tinge 
 
 Of dreamy romance in his mind, 
 
 And this was Inuglitened by the wild 
 
 And fearful scenes which nature had. 
 
 In rich profusion, placed around 
 
 The humble cottage of his birth. 
 
 From icy rock and forest bare, 
 
 P^-om Earth in all her loidow'd channs 
 
 Did he, this son of Genius, catch 
 
 The elements of Poesy. 
 
 jSTor long was he content to live ~ 
 
 Amid these scenes of rural bliss ; 
 
 But feeling in his spirit's depths 
 
 A thirst to breathe unto the w-orld. 
 
 The bright creations of his mind, 
 
 lie turn'd him from his pleasant home 
 
 Where all was, which is dear to man. 
 
 And wander'd forth with bold resolve 
 
 To win a name upon the earth. 
 
 Nor have his efforts been in vain, 
 
 For he haih pencill'd out the bright 
 
 And glowing beauties of his soul 
 
 In forms and hues most gorgeously! 
 
 The verdant vale and limpid stream 
 
 The star-lit sky and crimson cloud. 
 
 Have yielded up their beauties to 
 
The magic of the artist's skill. 
 
 And yet his eagle mind dwelt not 
 
 Alone upon the beautiful. 
 
 For he hath drawn with fearful art 
 
 The wild horrific strife of war ; 
 
 We see the stern commanding brow, 
 
 The moral strength and iron will. 
 
 The majesty of intellect 
 
 In danger and impending death! 
 
 But where is he, the gifted one 
 With all his wild and glowing thoughts? 
 Where is that mind which once reveaPd 
 'In color'd forms of living light, 
 'f ts bright conceptions to the world ! 
 Oh, gentle reader ! if there be 
 One chord of pity in thy heart: 
 If thou canst in fraternal love 
 A glow of molting sorrow feel. 
 For Genius fallen in it's^rime 
 And all its light gone out in Death — 
 'Then pause ! and hear the simple tale 
 'Of him whose life and destiny 
 Are to the philanthropic eye 
 Sad monuments of cold neglect 
 And baseness of a sordid world ! 
 
 Far in the soft and sunny South 
 There is a wild sequesler'd spot 
 Of most romantic loveliness. 
 It may be called a village, for 
 
10 
 
 There're many smiling cottages 
 Which here and there are interspers'd* 
 That heighten still it's rural charms. 
 Toward the West, with visage grim 
 The Alleghany rears its proud 
 And giant-form; and here we see 
 The noble and sublime of Earth ! — 
 Piles of frowning elevations 
 Which to the faded vision seem 
 Like "wind-hills" of the Druid Priests 
 Chain'd by the mighty agency 
 Of Him — the Spirit of the air f 
 
 Not many years have pass'd away, 
 
 Since to this " Eden of the South '^ 
 
 There came a youth ; and one might deem. 
 
 To gaze upon his flashing eye 
 
 And catch the light of intellect 
 
 Which played upon his classic brow — 
 
 That nature had intended him 
 
 For high and noble destinies- 
 
 But ah ! there was a hue of death 
 
 Upon his dark and pallid brow — - 
 
 And fell consumption had affixM 
 
 Her hectic seal upon his cheek. 
 
 And he, this stranger youth had sought 
 
 This little wild secluded spot, 
 
 Far from the noise and strife of men 
 
 To yield his spirit to its God ! 
 
 The blushing buds of early hope, 
 
 I'he fev'rish dreams of ffolden fame. 
 
11 
 
 Tiiiagination's weird charms 
 Were now no more ! Nor yet had his 
 Proud spirit tamely yielded to 
 The storm which laid it desolate ; 
 For dark and deep it's struggles were 
 To win a name that could not die. 
 But he was thrown alone amid 
 The cold and heartless crowd of earth. 
 The cursed pomp of money 'd pride, 
 The envious critic's leering grin — 
 And more than all, the deadly blight 
 Of cold and chilling penury — 
 To these — his spirit bow'd at last 
 In wild and dark despondency I 
 And no one came with soothing balm 
 To heal the wounds of blighted hopes 
 Which fester'd deep Mdthin his soul \ 
 And he was far too proud to seek 
 The heartless sympathies of man : 
 But darkly did his spirit brood 
 With vulture-fangs upon its woes. 
 Until his fragile frame gave way 
 Beneath the burning weight within ; 
 And then he sought this little spot 
 In peace to lay him down to die ! 
 Oh ! wild and fearful were the words 
 Which he did utter, when the hot 
 And burning fever rack'd his brain ! 
 Dark spectres of the past arose 
 In horrid form before his eye : 
 The criish'd and blasted hopes of youth' 
 
12 
 
 Tlie boyish sport — the sister's love — 
 The doating mother's parting tear — 
 And all the cherish'd scenes of home 
 Came back to mock his tortur'd soul I 
 But this was only for a time ; 
 And after this a calm came o'er 
 The \f ild convulsions of his mind. 
 And ere death strook the vital spark 
 Forth from that fair and noble form. 
 A bright and mystic gleam of lighti 
 Did play about his dreamy eye, 
 And ever and anon it came 
 Like moonbeams on a clouded night T 
 Oh ! it did seem, as if his pure 
 And holy spirit was absorb'd 
 In sweet communion with its God I 
 And he had no wild yearnings for 
 The life which was to pass away ;' 
 But as the children of the sea, 
 Who long have pin'd upon the land^ 
 Do feel a native ecstacy 
 When first they catch a misty view 
 Of ocean, with her splendid train 
 Of billows, rolling mountain-high ! — 
 So did his spirit pass from earth 
 In joyousness, to mingle with 
 It's kindred in the sunny sky ! 
 
 And this, oh Genius f was the end 
 Of thine own bright and gifted child,- 
 Whose pure and gentle spirit fell 
 
13 
 
 A bleeding victim to the cold 
 And bitter scorn of selfisli man ! 
 Methinks the very stars should weep, 
 In holy sympathy, to see 
 The pure and beautiful of earth 
 As flowers, fading in their bright 
 And early spring! — Oh! is there not, 
 Far in the blissful realms of Heav'n, 
 Some " chosen spot," for those who fail 
 Like Stars from out the Firmament ! 
 
 Fl.MS. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ADDRESS TO SLEllP. 
 
 Dark and impenetrable are llie clouds 
 
 Whicli enshroud thy form, oh, great Goddess, Sleep ! 
 
 ]Man, in all the pride of his Intellect 
 
 lias tried in vain to snatch the mystic veil 
 
 From thy magic brow ;-— thoti art coeval 
 
 AVith his own existence ; like smue spirit 
 
 Sent from the bright realms of eternity 
 
 To cheer him upon life's toilsome journey. 
 
 High and holy is thy mission ! for thou 
 
 llust been the chosen handmaid of Heaven, 
 
 Bearing its high behests to fallen man : 
 
 Through thee,, did Israel's Holy Prophets 
 
 Catch the beacon-lights of inspiration ! 
 
 Thou art an oracle, oh Sleep ! and oft 
 
 Has man learn'd from thee, the revelations 
 
 Of his own destiny. Thou hast power 
 
 To call forth from the whole world of fancy 
 
 Splendid creations of light and beauty ! 
 
 1'hou art the tyrant of a bad conscience. 
 
 And dost conjure up such horrid phantoms 
 
 In the fev'rish brain of the wicked man, 
 
 That e'en thyself art forc'd to shrink aghast 
 
 From thine own picture — leaving the guilty 
 
 To the milder thraldom of their wakino- thoughts. 
 
 I MET THEE IN MY EARLY YOUTH. 
 
 I met thee in my early youth, 
 
 When life was bright and fair — 
 Thy magic charms stole o'er my soul 
 
 And left their impress there. 
 I gave to thee a heart unstain'd 
 
 With sins of after years — 
 A heart which never ceas'd to love 
 
 In sunshine or in tears ! 
 
15 
 
 Tho- years have past since iirst we met, 
 
 And youth's bright dreams are gone ; 
 Yet art thou now as dear to me 
 
 As in life's early morn. 
 Amid the cold and heartless crowd 
 
 Thine angcl-form I see, 
 And in it's slumb^'ing reveries 
 
 My spirit turns to tliee ! 
 
 Tlie spell which thou did'st cast upon 
 
 My spirit in it's youth, 
 Has prov'd a sliield in after life 
 
 Of purity and truth ! 
 Thy magic power o'er my soul 
 
 Has shed a sunny ray 
 Of love and purest sympathy 
 
 Which ne'er can fade away ! 
 
 Oh lady ! though I dare not hope 
 
 To call thee ever mine. 
 For clouds are gath'ring o'er my path 
 
 Which ne'er must darken thine : 
 Yet in the temple of my heart 
 
 The vestal flame shall glow 
 Which cloth'd my dreams of early youth 
 
 In beauty — " long ago ! " 
 
 MY OWN NATIVE LAND. 
 
 There is an affection, no language can tell, 
 
 As strong as a magical wand, 
 Nor distance nor time can diminish its spell — 
 
 'Tis the love of our own Native Land ! 
 
 Should I die from my home, with no friend to weep 
 
 For my spirit departed from earth, 
 Dh lay me to rest, where my forefathers sleep 
 In the beautiful Land of my Birth ! 
 
16 
 STILLY, OH! STILLY 
 
 Stilly, oh ! stilly — 
 
 Lay her gently down — 
 Soft be her slumbers 
 
 In the cold, chilly ground ? ^ 
 
 Hush thee, oh hush thee I 
 
 Breathe not a sigli, 
 Her spirit hath gone 
 
 To its home in the skv ! 
 
 Bright was her beauty, 
 Deep was her worth, 
 
 And angels came down 
 To take her from earth ! 
 
 Strew flowers, bright flowers 
 O'er the place of her rest, 
 
 Fit emblems they are 
 
 Of the souls of the blest! 
 
 Let tlie snow and the storm 
 
 Beat over her head, 
 For nothing can trouble 
 
 The sleep of the dead ! 
 
 I met her — and lov'd her 
 In the bloom of her youth j 
 
 And I thought lier a model 
 Of purity and truth ! 
 
 But she's gone — she is gone 
 To her home in the sky. 
 
 And angels are singing 
 Her requiem on High ! 
 
 Fare thee well, Wilhelmina — 
 '1 hou b(>antiful girl! 
 
 I hope to meet with thee 
 In a happier world ! 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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