LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DDDDE7DEDm • O K ;> a • ^^ 1*0- * .**,*- ^ /-O ^Zt^*^ O^ ^ * e « o « ^-A^ z&2^€y^^ THE OETHERI HAEP: CONTAINING SONGS PROM THE ST. LAWRENCE, FOREST MELODIES. MARION ALBINA BIGELOW. DERBY & MILLER, AUBURN, N. Y. 1852. 4 Entered according to Act of Cong^ress, in the year 1851, by A. F, BIGELOW, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court o. the Northern District of New-York. EDITOR'S PKEEACE. Mrs. Bigelow has been for several years a regular contributor to the columns of several periodicals, and, thus far, has had no reason to reproach the public with any lack of attention to her poetical productions. Nearly three hun- dred have thus been published ; and the flatter- ing reception they have enjoyed, seems to afibrd ground for the belief that this publication will not be unsuccessful. The Editor has found no lack of materials, having been permitted to examine more than a thousand manuscripts. Those which have been selected, very fairly represent the character of the rest, except that there is, among the former, a much larger class of elegies, and a smaller 4 EDITOR'S PREFACJS. proportion of sacred and irregular pieces, similar to "Are they Gone ?" and the "Penitent's Offer- ing," in this volume. So large a number of elegies have been selected, for the reason that such compositions are more popular among the masses than any- other species of serious literature. The author is wholly incapable of levity, and the reader will find nothing of it in any of her productions. As in most other cases, we are able to dis- cern, in the early history of the author's life, the cause of that singular melancholy which breathes so sadly in many of her productions. She was, while yet in her father's house, called to part with one sister and three brothers in succession. Her affection for them was intense, and her sorrow overwhelming. The brothers all died of consumption; she saw them die, and never could forget the scene. With all the devo- tion of a sister's heart, she attended the first until he sunk into the arms of death. Month after month she hun§ over the bedside of the second, anticipating every wish, and exhausting her strength, until she stood by his grave. Her EDITOR'S PREFACE. O cup of sorrow was now too full — she could not bear it ! For several weeks she lay on the verge of the grave, tortured with fever, and de- liriously talking of her brothers. As her strength slowly retui'ned, while the scenes through which she had passed seemed like the parts of a troubled dream, she listened once more to the consump- tive's cough. Her misery was all repeated, in the slow decline and death of another to whom her affections clung, "Like tlie close tendrils of the clinging vine." Is it any wonder that her muse should drop a tear over the remembrance of pleasure, and thenceforth devote herself to the shades of the willow, and the memory of the dead ? It is believed that the follovfing poems — so simple, so true to nature, and so free from ob- scure allusions — will find an echoing chord in the hearts of thousands. They are offered to the pubhc without apologies. Probably no book was ever yet published which was in no point open to criticism. The reader will be able to find here a few bad rhymes, some faults in 6 EDITOR'S PREFACE. metre, and some prosaic sentences ; so lie could in the best volume of poetry now extant. It may be proper to add, tbe editor would have attempted some emendations did not the author prefer her original forms of expression. A. F. BiGELOW. CONTENTS. Genius Page 11 Angel of His Presence 14 Ontario 15 Woiinding Words 16 Cliildren Disinterred 16 Nature's Voices 18 Angelic Ministries 19 The Angel Visitant 20 The Absent One 22 Falling Leaves 23 The Better Land 24 To a Friend 26 1 Corinthians ii, 9 27 Reply to a Dj'ing Brother 29 The Old Chapel 31 Charity 32 Divine Chastening Illustrated 33 The Two Poets 35 Ellen 38 Excellency of Christ 39 Struggle on 41 Rev. L. D. Gibbs 42 To the Bible 44 The Dewy Flower 45 Children at Play 46 Evening Shadows , 47 8 CONTENTS. In memory of David Blish Page 48 Sjiiritual Calmness 49 My Mother 50 The Blind Husband 51 "Thou shalt see greater things" 52 Cheering Thoughts 53 Mrs. Kev. E. Pease 54 Eesignation 55 Theron 56 The First Flower of Spring 57 The Lone Survivor 59 Teacher's Farewell 60 "Feed my Lambs" 61 Farewell to Spring 62 Farewell to my Harp 63 Two Smothered Children 64 The Charms of Autumn 65 Two Poses 67 The Missionary 67 " Thy Brother shall rise again".. 68 Hon. Silas Wright , 69 ToMissS. M.G 70 A Response 72 On the Death of a Child 73 The Grave-yard 75 They are Passing 76 A voice from Africa 77 My Mother 78 To Melissa 79 Angel Ministries 80 Penitent's Offering 80 ToAlmira 82 To a Dying Penitent 82 A Walk to the Grave-yard , 83 The New Year 84 The First Grief. 86 Cu STENTS. 9 A Lost Spirit Page 87 The Memory of Home 88 Have Faitli in God 89 The Old Rock 90 He Knoweth the Way that I take 92 Farewell to Winter 94 White Robes 95 The Bride's Farewell 96 The Sailor's Hymn 97 The Di\ine Signet 98 Mother, Home, and Heaven. 99 Passing Away 101 The Consumptive 103 The Dove 105 Love — A Confession 106 The Old Year 108 The Sister's Inquiry 108 The Winds 109 An Autumnal Evening • 112 ♦'I'll Wake Again" 113 Christmas Morning 114 The Bride 116 The Steamer's Bell 118 Mildly the Sun 119 To my Father 120 The Spirit of Liberty 121 The Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence 122 My Brother 124 A Burial atSea 127 To a Monthly Pink 128 A Scattered Household ; 130 Sudden Storms 132 The Forgotten 133 Distant View of the River 134 The White Cloud 135 The Deserted Cottage 136 10 CONTENTS. The Young Disciple Page 138 Let me Sleep 139 Hope and Fear 140 Clouds at Sunset 141 Is it Nothing to Thee? 142 The Broken Harp 144 The Drunkard's Bride 146 Thoughts in Autumn 148 What is Submission? 150 Song to the Birds. 151 Bu'ds Wiser than Men 153 Summer Noon 154 Trial, a Blessing 155 To the Western Breeze 156 The Broken Pencil 157 Happy New Year 158 Are they Gone? 159 Angels -, 161 The Vine 162 The Moon 163 Falls in Parishville 164 The Warning Voice 165 The Farewell 167 The Darkness of Grief 167 To Marianne 168 Adelia 169 Be of Good Cheer 171 M.W. S 172 Unspoken Gratitude 173 Send me that Flower 173 Dew Drops 175 SONGS PROM THE ST. LAWUENCE. GENIUS. Founded on an incident which transpired at the Natural Bridge in Virginia, as related by Elihu Burritt, in his *' Lectures on Genius." 'TwAs midday o'er that miglity arcli. Which Jfature's hand hath framed ; And, far beneatli, the Cedar Creek Then in the snnhght flamed. In the rough channel deep below, Three rosy children stood ; Uncovered was each thoughtful brow. Beside the sweeping flood. Lo ! now, with earnest, curious eye, - They read in letters deep, 'Nsime after name engraven high, Alongf the rocky steep. 12 SONGS FKOM THE ST. LAWRENCE. At once they climb that juttmg rock, Which might the bravest dare, And in rude letters carve their names Deep in the limestone there ! They all descend again, save one, — One, with a dauntless eye. Is reading, far above his own, A name engraven high. It is a name to Freedom dear, Our country's noblest son, — " My humble name — I '11 write it there, " By that of Washington !" 'Tis done — yet onward, upward still. Fast he pursues his flight. Till, from an op'ning o'er his head. Rushes a stronger lio-ht. o o Many have gather'd hastily. To see our hero there ; Anon, he hears the voice of praise. Or cry of faint despair ! But still he toils the vast ascent. Beyond the reach of aid ; Still for his patient, tireless feet Niche after niche is made. GENIUS. 13 He pauses — turns a look beneath ! What arm can save him now ? A dizziness comes o'er his brain, A paleness o'er his brow ! His father's hand a strong noose flings From the high archway there ; — A moment, and that slight form swings. Suspended in the air. And now the parent clasps his child. With tones of transport loud ; And mingled shouts of rapture swell From the assembled crowd. Is it not thus with those who climb The dangerous heights of fame. To write imperishably there A name, an humble name ? Genius must never slack his course. Nor pause to look beneath ; One reckless glance at sordid earth May bring impending death, — Unless, thou venturous boy, like thine, His Father's hand of love Send succour from the arch of heaven, And take his child above. 1548. 14 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE. In all their aflaiction lie was afflicted, and tlie Angel of his presence saved tliem. — ^Isaiah Ixiii, 9. Christian, in tlie hour of sickness, When the fever' d pulse was high. Did the Angel of his presence Pass before thy languid eye ? Were his arms then laid beneath thee. Yielding pure and tranquil rest ? Was thine aching head then pillow'd On the dear Redeemer's breast? When around thy rugged pathway Clouds were gath'ring thick and fast ; When the world seem'd cold and hollow. And thou couldst not bear its blast ; Didst thou then, amid the darkness. See a bright, angelic form? 'Twas the Angel of his presence. To protect and shield from harm ! When in gloomy hours of anguish Thou didst kneel beside the tomb. And, with gushing tears of sorrow. Strive to penetrate the gloom; ! the Angel of his presence Then was near, divinely near. And thou heard'st his counsels stealing, Soft as whispers, to thine ear! ONTARIO. 15 Christian, when the waves of Jordan, Rolling from the further shore, Fiercely surge, and dash about thee. And thou tremblest at their roar; Then, ! then, amid the darkness. One will linger at thy side ; Yea, the Angel of his presence Then will bear thee o'er the tide ! 1845. ONTARIO. Ontario ! thy deep-blue wave Shines in my mem'ry clear to-day; I see the shores thy waters lave In beauty stretching far away. I see the vessels on thy breast With snowy sails go speeding on; I see the sunset kiss imprest. And stars appearing, one by one. O! beautiful was that wild scene. And beautiful that stilly night, When o'er thy waves of glimm'ring sheen We took of late our westward flight ! In thought how oft I trace the track We made across thy smooth wave then! How oft the mind goes hurrying back. To live that evening o'er again ! 184B. 16 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. WOUNDING WORDS. More fearful is their sound Than the quick, sharp, steel-bow's twang ; And deadlier far the wound Than that of the serpent's fang ; And severer far the blow Than that of the rankling dart. Bidding the life-blood flow From the writhing, quiv'ring heart. Wounds by the pointed steel, Though deep and severe they be, We hope to see them heal. We hope for a remedy; But woe to thy frail heart. If wounded by rankling words ! The keen and OTOwinjr smart No room for relief affords! 1844. CHILDREN DISINTERRED. Suggested by seeing four children disinterred, and placed by the side of their mother. Come, lowly ones, and take your places now Beside the mother, who so long had wept, Had mourn'd yom' absence with an aching brow, And eyes that stream'd with tears while others slept ; CHILDREN DISINTERRED. l7 Whose heart with Mem'ry oft its vigils kept, Presenting to her eye each lovely form. As when around her ye so hghtly stept, Bidding her see once more the smiles so warm, Which o'er her evening days had shed a hallow'd charm. Come, gather round her now ! she had not thought To see you leave again your mossy tomb — But ye are rising from that sacred spot ; The turf is broken — one by one ye come ! Is it to cheer again that lonely home. From which the sunny smile with you departed ? ! I have sat beside that hearth of gloom. When at your names the fondest tears have started, And I have wept with them, the lone and broken- hearted ! And now ye come ! is it to cheer the heart Of the fond father, with your smiles of love ? Ye come again ! and is it to impart A gladness to the home where friends still move? To tread the path where ye were wont to rove — The path left desolate by wood and dell — The wildest haunts of streamlet, and the grove ? To list again the music of their swell. Which has been sadder far since hearing your farewell ? 2 18 HO^UH I'llOM TJllC BT. LAVVllKNfHC. Nay, Tiny ! yo. como nol, v/hh Ibo Iniii^'lilni^ eyes, And rinn;l(;l,H sir<'.'uuiri<^ in the Hunny air, An(H)oun(lin;jf stoj), that with affection flies To moot th(» tender friend, and Hoothe his care I Nny, n;iy ! y<^ vv, Wiiich now in HweetnesH rests on all thin<^^s horo below. Bhe welcomes not her children, as they come 'l\> rest beside her, Jis in dnys «i^one by! That mother — ah I lier brow is dajk with jrloom, And dimness, too, hath darkly voil'd hor eye; Ibir breast no more can heave the painful sigh ! Come, rest beside her. free from grief and care, Together now in darkness sweelly lie ! Ye of the laughing lips and sunny hair, W(^ leave you to repose in solemn silence there. 1047. NATURE'S VOICES. TxiTcimi are voices in the moonlight. Voices in (be sihmt stars, Voices in the? mighty oci^an, lvoUin And rested firm on Him, Who scatters many a holy charm, Along my path once dim. Sweet odours, rich with sacred bliss, Are borne on every breeze, While notes of thrilling happiness Float thro' the shadowing trees. Blent with the tones of nature's harp, Which in wild music wake. Is gushing from my bounding heart, " He knoweth the way I take." But higher yet shall be the song, That gushes from my soul, As still I trace my way along. Up to the shining goal ; And purer yet shall be the glow Of transport in my breast. As still I press thro' doubt and woe. Towards my eternal rest. And when I reach the fearful track Where Jordan's billows break, I'll send this shout of triumph back, " He knoweth the way I take." 94 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. FAEEWELL TO WINTER. Thou art passing from us now. With the ice drops on thy brow. Fare thee well ! We sorrow not to say that word. So oft in scenes of sadness heard. When the spiiit's chords are stirr'd By some passing knell. We sorrow not with thee to part. Sad and dismal as thou art. Cold and stern ; With thy dark, forbidding brow, And thy breath of sleet and snow, Chilhng in their genial glow The thoughts that burn. Adieu ! stem winter ; and when death. With his cold and icy breath. Shall close around, May we fall as plants, which lie. While the snow-wing'd storms pass by. Waiting for a vernal sky T' unlock the ground. 1845. WHITE ROBES. 95 WHITE ROBES. White robes were given to every one of them. — Bev. vi, 11. And who were those to whom white robes were given, Who stand so radiant on the plains of heaven ? They who on earth sustained the hallowed cross. Suffered and died in the Redeemer's cause. May we not wear the martyr's crown in heaven. ; May not the martyr's robe to us be given ; Although our lives we jdeld not at the stake. And though no fagot-fires around us wake ? We may ! we may ! I have seen those on earth Who nobly sacrificed their land of birth — Friends, home, and country, freely gave up all, Even health and life at the Redeemer's call. The angel answered, " These are they who passed Through earth's thick darkness, bore its howling blast, Who meekly waded through affliction's flood. And washed their robes in the Redeemer's blood.'* Then I, even I, may gain a crown like theirs ! My soul is struggling on through waves of tears, And 0, its stains have all been washed away In the red stream that flowed on Calvary I 96 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Ye sacred host, when fleeting time has gone, I'll take my place with you aromid the throne ; And then my spirit's robe of spotless white Will shine hke yours in heaven's resplendent light. 1845. THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. Sister, wilt thou think of me When the buds are on the tree ? WTien the flowers around our dwelling In the warm spring air are swelling ? When thou tendest them alone. Wilt thou for the absent one Ever shed one silent tear ? Tell me, tell me, Sister dear ! Farewell ! Brother, let my forehead rest For the last time on thy breast ; Let my arm encircle thee. And my tears fall silently ; For I feel, 'tis hard to part, While around my youthful heart Chngs so soft, so sweet a tie — Dearest Brother, let me sigh Farewell ! Father, on thine aged brow Shadowy thoughts are brooding now': 1848. THE sailor's hymn. 97- Thou art thinking of thy child, Thinking of hfe's cheerless wild — Heaven, my Father, will direct me. When thine arm cannot protect me ! Then look not so sad to-day. Duty beckons me away — Farewell ! Mother, weep not, though I roam From my early, happy home ! Though thou miss my step at eve. Do not in my absence grieve ; For, my Mother, I am blest. On another arm I rest ! Ah ! thy sweet, maternal heart Swells, and breaks as I depart — Farewell ! THE SAILOR'S HYMN. Kudely dash the waves on high. Toward the darkly frowning sky ; Vengeful tempests, full of wrath, Gather o'er our ocean path. Such is life — a troubled way. Dark with clouds of dashing spray ; Thus do passion's billows roll Fiercely o'er the human soul. 98 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Who shall calm the storm of life ? Who shall still the tempest's strife ? Who shall sweetly whisper, *' Peace,'* Bidding all the tumult cease ? Thou, who, on the stormy deep AVaking from a peaceful sleep, Spakest, and the winds obey'd. And the raging waves were stay'd. Tarry with us, Son of Grod ! Calm to peace the angry flood ; Let om- hearts thy presence feel. Saviour, whisper, " Peace, be still !'* Then our shroud may be the wave. And our tomb an ocean cave. And our knell the wild alarm Of the fiercely howling storm ; Yet, how safely shall we rest, Sweetly and securely blest. Till the Voice, which Avakes the dead. Reaches to our coral bed. 1842. THE DIVINE SIGNET. I knelt beside a coffin where was laid The shrouded form of one that bloomed to fade ; A brother, nearer to this heart of mine Than the close tendrils of the clinging vine. MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. 99 That pale, cold hand how ardently I pressed, Which lay so passive on the pulseless breast ! His heart, once throbbing warmly as my own, Was still in death — the vital spark had flown. Tears, bitter tears, streamed o'er that peaceful brow, My heart grew sick — I feel thsii faintness now ; Upward towards Heaven I turned my tearful eye, And Jesus whispered, " Let thy tears be dry." Again he spoke : my spirit felt the power Of those sweet words in such a soiTOwing horn' — " Weep not, thy brother lives in glory now, Behold my signet on that placid brow f" I heard, I gazed — there was the signet ring Which told me he had spread the unchained wing, And passed the swelling wave to that blest shore Where loved ones meet to separate no more. 1S43. MOTHER, HOME, AND HEAVEN. Three of the sweetest words in the English language are, Mother, Home, and Heaven. — Ladies^ Bepository. Mother — it sounds like melody by night Borne o'er the waters in a dreamy spell. Or like the music of the early light. Whose soft tones thro' the rustling foliage swell ; For in the heart's deep shrine its memories dwell 100 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Fresh mid tlie cares that cluster darkly there ! What poet harp could half their sweetness tell, Or breathe the emotions melting in a tear. With which the heart looks back through many a varied year ; Back to the time when, cradled on her breast, The little heart forgot its lightsome care, And revel'd in a mother's fond caress. And listened to a mother's voice in prayer. O happy hours, how sweet a light ye wear ! Even at that name, fresh thoughts of earliest love Crowd o'er the heart with images so fair. We turn from where our fond affections rove. To think of dewy hopes which first our garland wove. Home — 'tis the spot, tho' humble and obscure. Where the warm heart has cent'red all its joys. Where life's sweet sunshine falls most calm and pure: Home — 'tis the spot where pleasure seldom cloys. Whose sacred peace no stormy wind destroys, A place where love is made the hallowed tie. Where social sweetness rules the heart and voice : From its fair portals cold distrust may fly. And a world's tinsel'd show pass all unheeded by. PASSING AWAY. 101 Heaven — ! there's something in the very sound. That breathes a hfe-draiight to the fainting soul, And kindles joy, where naught before was found Save clouds of darkness in full many a fold ! Our gaze it fixes on the shining goal, The end of all our hopes and our desires, And bids the ransomed spirit oft behold The shining gates, and the celestial choirs. And fits the hand to tun<3 our ringing, glowing lyres. Heaven — ! its portals in the sunlight gleam Of an unclouded and eternal sky ! When shall we wake from life's bewildering dream. And cease at once to suffer and to sio-h ? Wake, where the friends we love shall never die, Beyond this stormy world's chill, wailing blast, Among the ransomed and the blest on high ; Where, when the waves of death are safely past. Heaven, Home, and Mother may be gained at last. 1848. PASSING AWAY. On the vernal flower that gleams In the sun's rich, mellow beams. With the dew-drop on its breast. Is this sad'ning truth imprest. Passing away. On the glowing forest leaf. Stamped with freshness strangely brief, 102 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. We may read in lines all sere, At the closing of the year, Passing away. On the flashing river's tide, "Where the sportive sunbeams ghde, In its rocky, winding course, We may list in accents hoarse, Passing away. Through the vines around our eaves, Deep'nmg through the changing leaves. Comes this whisper strangely sad, As the summer's glories fade, Passing away. Gleaming in their transient hght, All things beautiful and bright, All things dearest to the heart. Speak in tones that bid us start. Passing away. Sweet to think there is a clime Far beyond the change of time. Whose rich scenery, sweetly fair, Never may this impress wear. Nor pass away ! 1847. THE CONSUMPTIVB. 103 THE CONSUMPTIVE. *' Sister, remove that curtain towards the west. And raise my head awhile. For I would see the sun sink down to rest. With his departing smile, " Perchance it is the last sweet sunset scene That I shall gaze upon ; My life has past, even like a short, sweet dream. Its moments now have flown. '' 0, I had hoped to live, but fain would rest ; Those hopes have vanished now : Consumption's weariness is at my breast — Its languor on my brow. *' Yes, I had hoped to live, for earth has charms To hold my spirit here : Life has high prospects, youthful hopes are warm. And all looks bright and clear. " Yet, better far to leave a world of pain Ere it shall gain our trust — Ere time has forged his strong and heavy chain To bind our souls to dust. *' There's one sweet thought, my sister, of the past. One thought of purest bliss That lingers with me, even to the last, And yields a soothing peace— ^ 104 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. "Early I gave my wayward heart to God, And breath'd my solemn vow ; In weakness since, this narrow path I've trod — This thought sustains me now. *' And calmly now I gaze o'er Jordan's wave Without a single fear : There is no terror in an early grave — I would not tarry here. *' Tlie one, whose footsteps I have followed here. Will not desert me now — That Saviour, methinks he lingers near To soothe my aching brow ! ** Sister, I thank thee for the tender care. So long on me bestowed : ! shall my name no more be in thy prayer. When it ascends to God ? ** Nay, na}?-, these cares for thy sick brother dear Soon, soon shall all be o'er, And yet I would not be forgotten here. Though I shall wake no more. " might my memory lure the hearts I love To my Redeemer's breast, And thoughts of Thcron point the soul above To my eternal rest." He * ^ ■•!: ^A' ^ ^ « THE DOVE. 105 He pass'd away, but yet tlie boon he claimed In that sad hour was given : To those who knew him here, that cherished name Is linked with thoughts of Heaven. 1842. THE DOVE. Dove, with the drooping wing, I gaze on thy plumage softly fair, And think, as thy spreading pinions fling A radiance on the air. Of the messenger they sent From the lonely ark on the waters wide. When nauo-ht but the sea and firmament Were spreading on every side. I think of the welcome bough Brought by a beautiful one like thee. Reviving hope on the heart and brow Of the world's one family. Beautiful, beautiful Dove ! I think of that messenger sent from the sky. The Spirit of God to the Son of his love, Descendino; in fashion like thee. 0, may that Spirit divine In his meekness and gentleness rest upon me ! May his glowing fervour and love be mine. With his sinless purity ! 106 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. LOVE-A CONFESSION. Theme my lyre has never waken'd In its brightest hour of song ; But its chords of late are shaken With an impulse new and strong. Earthly love to me was ever Like a bright, unreal dream ; Or a star that seem'd to quiver Far o'er life's cold, turgid stream. It was something all ideal That my fancy sometimes wove — Tinged with nothing true or real Was the thought of youthful love. Could this gloomy world of sorrow. Hollow-hearted, drear, and cold. Gleams of sacred sunshine borrow E'en from interchange of soul ? Sympathy — methought it vanish'd. If it ever hved on earth ! Love — I thought it long since banish'd To its place of heavenly birth. And my soul was upward tending With a wing unpoised below. Through the mist its glance was sending Where the living waters flow ; 184T. LOVE A CONFESSION. 107 Panting for that tender union. For that sympathetic glow, For that melting heart communion, Which methoiight earth could not know. Thus, while all below seem'd dreary. Faith was pointing through the vale. But my soul was sad and weary. And I fear'd 'twould faint and fail. ISTow a softer gale breathes o'er me. And my pathway seems to shine, For a beinof stands before me With a heart that beats like mine. Not an angel — for their pinions Have been spread above my way — One that, in earth's dark doixdnions. Has been struggling on like me. One with sympathetic feeling. With affection deep and true — Love around my heart is stealing With a bliss it never knew. Saviour, thy love shall never Yield its place to earthly bliss ! But its deep and holy fervour Shall be mingled e'en with this! lOS SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THE OLD YEAE. The old year whisper'd His stern farewell ; I listen'd at midnig-lit. And heard his knell. I wept for the friend That long I had known. When I found his moments Forever had flown ! I have loved the old year : It brought to my heart Full many a blessmg That shall not depart. THE SISTER'S INQUPRY. Zephyrs ! that stray 'mid the garden flowers, Shakhig the leaves of the vuie-hung bowers ; Say, have ye met in your rambles to-day The brother I Ve miss'd from my dreary way ? And thou, gentle sunbeam ! whose beautiful glow Lightens each path that is traversed below, Hast thou seen of late, on the wide-spread earth. The brother who pass'd from our lonely hearth ? The zephyrs are silent, and haste from the spot ; The sunbeam falls fainter, but answers me not; THE WINDS. 109 Ah ! who shall inform me — who knoweth the road To the land where that brother hath found an abode ? Ye spirits of glory ! ye angels of light ! Have ye heard of him yet in your world-wide flio-ht ? O yes, ye have met in the heavenly throng That brother whose absence has grieved us so long ! 1844. THE WINDS. Whence dost thou come, thou boisterous wind ? And where to-day has thine errand been ? What messao'e of love, or of fearful wrath, Hast thou borne to the trav'ler in thy path ? 1 ask'd, and the hoarse wind, murmuring, sigh'd, Grew soft as a zephyr, and thus replied : — " I came from the south, where a gallant band Have planted, upon the aggressor's land. Their proud eagle standard : I bade it wave As it loves to float in the " land of the brave !'* But a sadder errand was mine to yield, A balm to the faint on the battle-field ; And, alas ! as I swept o'er the mass of slain Which darken'd that trampled and gory plain, I could have thimder'd, in deafening peals That would echo far from those hostile fields. 110 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. To the mansions of joy and tlie liouse of woe, Man is himself his most terrible foe /" Perhaps it is thus — but tell me no more Of the battle-fields and the flowino; o;ore : The dove, methinks, has extended her wing "With the olive branch she is soon to bring. Ah ! hast thou not flown o'er a brighter scene, Where even the hand of the Spoiler hath been ? " I have — I have ! I have scented my breath In the place of sickness, the place of death ; Not where the clarion of war was heard, Not where the breast by its impulse was stirr'd, But in the quiet of a peaceful home I 've seen the brightest descend to the tomb ; I have fann'd the consumptive's pallid brow, And breathed over lips of a li\dd glow. Where the spoiler had set as sure a seal As amid the gloom of the battle-field ; Yet kindness and peace shed a holy calm. While I dried the tears with a cooling balm." How sad is thy story ! yet milder far Than the horrid tales of discord and war ! Thou tellest of cheering with thy cool breath The dwelUngs of those who were nigh to death, And hast thou no tales of the stormy main ? Of the gloom that thou earnest there in thy train ? THE WINDS. Ill *' I have borne a message of fearful wratli To the shipwreck'd mariner in my path : I sported all night with his hopes and fears, Occasion'd, and then put an end to his tears. I shiver'd the masts to a fearful wreck, I swept the rich spoils from the shatter'd deck, I scatter'd a part on the frightful shore, And the rest went down to be seen no more. My victims I dash'd on the rocky coast. Their shrieks in my deaf 'ning roar were lost ! Ask me not wherefore — thou never shalt know Till the billows reveal their tales of woe 1" O cease, ye winds, for I would not hear Of the wreck-strewn beach, or the fields of war ; !N'or more of the chambers of death and decay ; But have you not pass'd, in your lengthening way, Some sacred spot where beloved ones reside ? Some pleasing scene to my vision denied ? " Aye, I Ve breathed thro' the far-off western glades, I have seen the beloved who sought their shades ; I pass'd by the one thou hast miss'd so long. And bore far aloft her dehghtful song. I return'd — she question'd me there, like thee. To know if I 'd pass'd the old homestead tree : I Mss'd the iair child of the laughing eye Which you loved so dearly in days gone byj 112 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. I shook the bright leaves from her flower- crown'd hah*, And her laugh rung wild as I left her there : Yea, I 've pass'd the shades where those dear ones stray, And I know the haunts where their children play." Strange that a wind, which has pass'd o'er the deep, Spreading woe and death, in its awful sweep. Should delay to gambol with childhood fair. Playfully shaking the shadowy hair. Or fan the sick couch as a softening gale — But thou art away : farewell, farewell ! 1846. AN AUTUMNAL EYENING. I SIT me down beside a gloomy fire, With naught around my sphit to inspire : All, all alone — 'Uo sound is in my brain, Save the dull beating of the dismal rain. And that faint rustlins^ of the wither'd leaves Upon the aged tree beside om* eaves. Now all without looks gloomy, dark, and dread. And my lone thoughts are with the quiet dead : Friend after friend is passing Jordan's wave. And I must follow shortly to the grave — Leaving a name which, like the fitful sigh Of autumn breezfis, shall pass quickly by. 1848. "I'LL WAKE AGAIN." 113 "I'LL WAKE AGAIN/' ** What shall I tell your father, should you he sleeping when he arrives?" asked an attendant of a sick friend. The dying girl answered, with a smUe, — "Tell him I'll WAKE AGATN." She slumbered — it was the sleep of death. Tell him I would have linger'd Until I heard his step, But nature sunk in weariness, And heavily I 've slept. Tell him my rest is quiet And undisturb'd by pain. And that I bade you tell him His child would wake again. Not in the dewy morning Shall his cherish'd one arise, When the sim begins his shining In grandeur through the skies — Nor when the flower uncloses. And the bird awakes his strain. Nor with bees, amid the roses. Shall his loved one wake again. Nor when the brook awakens The song I 've loved so well. And the enhvening melodies Of spring ai'ound me swell ; 8 114 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. He may no longer see me 'Mid the flowers I loved to tend ; Though they may claim my care again, I shall not waken then. But tell him not to mourn me As one forever lost, As a star that drops in brightness From the high and shining host — For the child of his affection, Free from each earthly stam, At the glorious resurrection Shall sm-ely wake again ! 1846. CHRISTMAS MORNING. Six years ago, this Christmas morn. With heavy, tearful eyes I rose — Eyes that had watch'd too sad and long. Heedless of slumber and repose. And with a heart as heavy, sad. That struggled between hope and fear, I hasten'd quickly to the bed Where lay a suffering brother dear. The mom had broke ; but still a ligfht Burn'd feebly in his lonely room, As struggling with the day-beam bright. To drive away the shadowy gloom. CHRISTMAS MORNING. 115 I laid my hand upon his hair, And press'd it backward from his brow — That face, how strangely, sadly fair ! I seem to look upon it now ! He mildly raised his eyes to mine. Then wish'd me, in a cheerful tone, " A merry Christmas " — paused, and said, "Sister, I meant a happy one. " I know you '11 not be merry now, Your buoyant spirits all have flown ; Sadness is brooding on your brow. Sadness is breathing in your tone.'*' That day is fled, and years have gone Since my pale brother pass'd away ; But ever, as the Christmas morn Sheds over me its earliest ray. Thought wanders back to the sad hour I saw my brother lying there ; And then I hear his voice once more. And fondly smooth his dewy hair. And when, from many a happy heart. The Merry Christmas wish I hear. The swelling tear-drops quickly start, — My brother's tone is in my ear ! 1846. 116 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THE BRIDE. She stood at the altar, array'd in "white, With roses entwined in her hair, But her deep-blue eye was too strangely bright. Her cheek too transparent and fair : Her heart beat quick as she breathed that vow. And the flower leaves trembled o'er her brow. She turn'd away, in confiding love. From the scenes she held so dear ; The garden haunts, the streamlet, the grove. She left without shedding a tear — She left them in untried paths to roam, Left them to gladden another home. Yines round her casement were dropping away. The blossoms beginning to fade. When, clad as she was on her bridal day. They brought her once more to that shade — Back to that shade of her childhood's home — But she, like the rose, had lost her bloom. Gather around her, ye loved ones, now ; Her lips with your kisses impress — Affection's seal is still on her brow, Though she cannot return your embrace : On her hps there lingers the same sweet smile — O, weeping parents, behold your child ! THE BRIDE. Il7 Father, take back jour wandering one To the spot she had loved the best — You almost trembled to see her rove, She returns for a place of rest : Tear now the vines from the garden bowers, And lay your child with her faded flowers. Mother, take home the blossom you rear'd, Which you shielded from every blast ; Its tender petals, wither'd and sear'd. Return to your bosom at last — Take back yom- child to her early home ; She never more from its scenes may roam. Brother, your sister returns again. But she may not gladden the hearth With her former songs — she sings a strain Which cannot be sung on the earth ; Yet welcome her back to scenes so dear, She comes to sleep by yom- pathway here. And thou, sad one, most bereaved of all. Haste thee back to thy lonely home. And live — so live, that when death shall call, And thou shalt descend to the tomb. Thy soul may meet, where ties are not riven, Thine angel bride in the light of heaven ! 1846. 118 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THE STEAMER^S BELL. A piece of the wreck of the Atlantic, with the steamer's bell attached to it, became at the time, and continues to be, fastened between two rocks. During every swell of the waves, the bell tolls forth its melancholy dirge over the spot where the living cargo was engulfed. — Neiospaiier. Heard'st thou on a distant strand Its sound midst the ocean's roar. Like a voice from the spirit-land — A call from eternity's shore ? 'Twas swept in a fearful hour From the shatter'd wi'eck away. And hung by the wild waves' power Where it owns the tempests' sway. That bell hath a language deep, Which reaches the inmost soul ; And thoughts, which at other times sleep, Awake as those billows roll. It speaks of ambitious aims In their tow'ring pride laid low, But tells not of the many names Of the dead who sleep below. It speaks of the hopes, once bright, Quench'd in the waves forever ; Of those bands which trouble might Labour in vain to sever. i846. MILDLY THE SUN. 119 It speaks like a tocsin tost Up from the surges of time. Chanting a dirge for the lost, "With heavy, unceasing chime. 'Tis thus with surviving hearts. Where passion's billowy swell Has hung the memory of the past. Like an ever-sounding knell. That bell, on a distant strand. Heard mid the ocean's roar — • 'Tis a voice from the spirit-land, A call from eternity's shore. MILDLY THE SUN. Mildly now the sun is shining Where I 've seen it shine so oft ; Slowly, radiantly dechning, And the winds are low and soft. Wintry storms, methinks, are dying, Blue and tranquil seems the sky ; Silvery clouds are calmly lying In the broad expanse on high. Since last winter breath'd her farewell, I have pass'd through scenes most strange ; " O'er the spirit " of my vision There has come a sudden change. 120 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. In my sky, then clouded over, Now appears a heavenly charm ; And white pinions near me hover. Shielding me from ev'ry harm. There is one angelic spirit. Clad in mortal garb, beside me. With a heart of deep affection Ever near, and near to guide me. One to whom tliis heart is sending All its warmest throbs of bliss — Round me ho2^e and love are blending All their hues of happiness. 1848. TO MY FATHEE. Who shall smooth thy hoary hairs In thy life's declining day ? Who shall steal away the cares Deep'ning fast around thy way ? I had thought to be thy stay In the evening of thy years ; I had thought to cheer thy way, I had thought to share thy tears. But the path of duty led To a far-off field of care ; In another sphere I tread, And another's joys I share. THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY. 121 O ! may kindred hearts as warm Scatter comforts round thee here ! Mid the darkness and the storm, May'st thou have a light to cheer ! May thy falteiing steps descend Calmly, sweetly to the tomb ! May thy great, Almighty Friend Safely guide thy spirit home ! THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY. The Spirit of Liberty Wakes in our vales, I hear a low melody Borne on the gales : The sound is inspiring. It rouses the free — List, hst to its thrilling notes, Wild though thev be ! " Awake, Columbia ! Awake in thy might. While the sunshine of freedom Falls over thee bright ! ** While thy star-spangled banner Triumphantly streams. And each plume of thine eagle Refulgently gleams. 122 SOXGS FROM TflE ST. LAWRENCE. "Rouse, rouse thee, Columbia! The eclioing sky To thy watcli words of freedom Shall yield a reply!" Free Men and F7'ee Lahour, Free Speech and Free Soil, Shall be heard till the minions Of slavery recoil. Free Speech and Free Labour Each mountain and vale Shall echo, till tyrants With trembling turn pale ! Then shout for free labour. Ye millions that toil. Till the heavens shall thunder. All earth is free soil ! 184S. THE THOUSAND ISLANDS OF THE ST. LAW- RENCE. Inscribed to tlie Rev. P. D. Goreie, of Ogdensburgh, at wliose request tliese lines were written, while on a trip to Oswego, in July, 1848. The cloudless heavens were blue and mild. As swift we sped our watery way Amidst the thousand, verdant isles Which make the broad St. Lawrence gay. THE THOUSAXD ISLANDS. 123 Our course was onward, mid tliose gems Of green wliicli lie in beauty there, And on, and on — till day grew dim. We saw tliem scatter'd everywhere. Thus, thus along life's rapid stream A thousand objects tempt om' sight. Which brightly in om- visions gleam, O'erspread with beauty and with hght. As we advance they all recede. And a broad lake before us rolls, — O, in that fearful hour of need. One hand alone can save our souls ! If, when upon that wave we 're hm'l'd. We have the Saviour at our helm. With joy we leave behind the world, And death cannot our souls o'erwhelm. Ye beauteous Isles ! ye beauteous Isles ! I leani'd a lesson from you there — Ye ever lend your choicest smiles The lonely mariner to cheer. Ye wear a look of calmness bright. That never in the storm departs — Who would not, in this world of night. Thus cany hope to troubled hearts ? 124 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. "WE KNOW NOT HOW HAPPY WE ARE." " We know not how liappy we are," Said a voice at the close of the day. As we sat where a beautiful star Was shedding a silvery ray : So blissful and sweet were the skies above, I fancied them glowing with looks of love ; All nature with transport seem'd to thrill, Tho' the breeze was hush'd and the vine was still. " We know not how happy we are," I have thought in my musings to-night : We are free from earth's festerino- care. And blest with unmeasured -delight. Away from the world, its noise and its strife. So sweetly secluded and tranquil our hfe ; Here nothing arises our pleasures to mar — We know not, we know not how happy we are. 1848. MY BROTHER. Written on the anniversary of his death. Four long, long years have past Since I watch'd beside him, with a tearful eye> Night after night, and knew that he must die. And fear'd each day the last. MY BROTHER. 125 At length, as darkness fell Over the earth, he call'd us round his bed. And told us that his day of life had fled — Bade us a long farewell ! I almost see him now — His thin white hands were clasp'd upon his breast, That spoke of peace — and yet of that unrest The dying only know. His forehead, white and clear, Glistened with gathering dews of life's last night ; But 0, that cheek and eye, how strangely bright ! Consumption' s seal was there. He spoke ; but that deep tone Scarce rose above a whisper, and a quiver Was on his lips, as when the roses shiver. Ere the white leaves are strown. He spoke of youth and hope — Of death and parting — of a home above ; Said that even then a Saviour's priceless love Could buoy his spirit up. He bade us weep no more, Nor grieve that he had pass'd from earth's dull care. But follow on, in faith and humble prayer. Toward that eternal shore. 126 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. He ceased to speak ; and then We knelt in fervent prayer his couch beside. Committing to that sure Eternal Guide That dear, departing friend. But morning dawn'd again ; And still he lingered, calm, serenely fair. As if etherealized for pm^er air By long-refining pain. The sun at noonday shone ; And o'er those features pass'd a fearful change ; That hectic cheek grew dark, and sudden, strange, Turn'd white as sculptured stone ! Fainter the quick breath grew : He murmur' d, " Pray ;" the voice of prayer arose, And when it ceased, those beaming eyes unclosed. And looTc'd a sweet adieu ! Gently he pass'd away : Death left unchanged that calm and holy brow. But ! the grave has soil'd its brightness now With darkness and decay. Scarce eighteen winters' snows Had fallen around that fondly cherish'd form. Ere, like a flower that bows beneath the storm. It sunk to sweet repose. A BURIAL AT SEA. 12*7 My brother ! hast thou fled ? Thou gentle playmate of my infant years. Sweet sharer of my earliest hopes and fears, 0, art thou with the dead ? It cannot, cannot be ! I see thee as in health ; thy look, thy voice — That cheerful smile, that made the heart rejoice, Is fix'd in memory. But deeper graven there Is the submission deep, the holy calm That o'er those fading features shed a charm. Serene, di\dnely fair. 0, sad and dismal day The day I wept above thy dying bed ; The day I saw thee number -d with the dead ; Its hours moved mournfully. Another day shall come, When I, like thee, shall lay me down to rest. When I shall meet thee, with the pure and blest. In that immortal home. 1847. A BURIAL AT SEA. Night lay upon the stormy seas, AVhere that lone vessel stood With banner flung upon the breeze. Above the ocean flood. 128 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Thro' the dark clouds the moonbeams threw Anon a fearful glare Upon that dark ship's mournful crew, Gather'd m silence there. They bring their dead, not for a rest In some green place of graves, But in grim ocean's fearful breast, Down mid her awful caves. Slowly they lower the lifeless form — A sullen plunge is heard. And moving sobs, amid the storm. From hearts with ansfiiish stirr'd. One moment, and the waves close o'er. And roll with fierceness by. Mingling their thunders, as before. With the loud tempest's cry. The vessel then speeds on her way. But sorrowing hearts are there — Keep the memorial, thou Sea, Intrusted to thy care. 1847. TO A MONTHLY PINK. What, budding now? Other flowers have long since died ; They all fell, with drooping brow. Side by side. TO A MONTHLY PINK. 129 Here thou art, Blooming in thy freshness still, Like the green hopes of the heart Naught can chill. Look abroad, — Clouds are gathering in the sky. Tempests, wailing fierce and loud. Pass thee by. Drifting snows Through the garden lanes are seen. Showing where the flowers repose, But thou art green. Wouldst thou teach This poor heart to wear a bloom Which the tempests cannot reach, IS" or e'en the tomb ? O ! sweet flower. Thou dost whisper gentle things Of the sunshine, and the shower. And zephyr's wings. Thou dost speak Of the summer's golden hue. Of the lilac's blushing cheek. And violet blue ; 9 130 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Of the breeze. Laden with its incense meet. Trilling through the leafy trees, 0, how sweet ! Gentle flower. Winter holdeth still his sway ; He must tjrannize his hour, Then away. Thanks to thee ! Thou hast brought me visions bright. Of the summer's buoyancy, Free and light. Feb., 1848. A SCATTERED HOUSEHOLD. One perish'd on the raging seas. Where the tall mast was bow'd ; While death was on the starthng breeze. And terror in the cloud. He made his pillow deep below The ocean's sounding waves. Where the bright pearls and corals glow In its unfathom'd caves. One fell upon the battle-field. Where the war-spirit frown'd ; No kindred hand his eyehds seal'd. Or drest the fatal wound. IMS, A SCATTERED HOUSEHOLD. 131 And one lay calmly down to die Beneath the cocoa bough ; No kindred voice, no hand was nigh, To soothe his burninaf brow. One in the valley of the West Adorn'd an humble lot — A happy home for child and guest, A peaceful, rural spot. She sleeps amid the forest glades, Where the wTong'd Indians roam ; Far from her childhood's rural shades, Far from her early home. Another, and the last one, fell Beneath a southern sky ; Where soft, melodious murmurs swell, And softer winds sweep by. A scatter'd household ! who, that saw Them mingle round one hearth, Deem'd that this day would find them thus All scatter'd o'er the earth ! But thus it is — Ah ! ever thus Is our allotment strange ; And happy would it be for us. Had earth no sadder change ! 132 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. SUDDEN STORMS. I thouglit to wander merrily, With the bird and singing bee. But, alas, alas ! Clouds have gather'd — winds grow chill- All is dark, and cold, and still — Hark the dismal blast ! Why do tempests ever gather In the bright and glad spring weather, When all nature smiles ? Why the sun not always shine. Cheering, with his rays divine, Fields and woody dells ? Why ? Ah soon ! how very soon. These bright and sunny days alone Would the meadows sear ; And make the little brooks shrink back From their wmding, pebbly track, As if smit with fear ! Then let the chilly tempests gather ; Even in the glad spring weather, Let the storms rage wild — Quickly as they disappear, Nature's glowing face shall wear A greener, sweeter smile, me. THE FORGOTTEN. 133 THE FOUGOTTEN. Above her grave tlie turf was not yet green. When lie who wept so late her conch beside, Approach'd the altar with a brow serene, Leaduig another and a fairer bride. No more shall tears, for the belov'd one shed. Stain that fond cheek lit up with smiles so soon ; No more shall wailings o'er the early dead. In sadness steal around that marble stone. Ah, no ! another claims within that heart The place left vacant there by buried love ; Another's smiles have drawn the rankling dart. And wreaths of gladness for the mourner wove. Rest, thou forgotten one ! 'No startling sighs Sliall burden the soft zephyrs near thy tomb ; Another fills the place, by thee so priz'd. In that chang'd heart, and that deserted home. love — connubial love ! and art thou this, A flame soon smdther'd in the closmg grave ? A spirit vanishing with no impi'ess Left on the lonely walk, or moon-lit wave ? Alas ! what fond memorial of the dead Shall earth retam when human hearts forget ? When hearts forget / Ah, well it hath been said. That " Change on all things hath her signet setJ'* 1847. 134 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. DISTANT YIEW OE THE RIVER. From an elevated tract in Bangoi', N. Y., the St. Lawrence river can be distinctly seen at the distance of about twenty miles. Far along the blue horizon, Stretch'd in tranquil light it lay, While my eye went wand'ring o'er it. In the distance far away. Many a pleasing thought was rising. Waken' d by that lovely scene. Of the beauteous vales and hamlets. Of the homes that lie between. Thus the eye of Faith may venture O'er the boundary of time, Pierce the deep involving shadows Hanging o'er that mystic clime. But the heart that would be ranging Thro' those lovely skies serene, Will be ling'ring round the objects That in dimness lie between. Far along the dim horizon, Stretch'd in tranquil light it lay. While my eye went wand'ring o'er it . In the distance far away. 1848. 1848. THE WHITE CLOUD. 1^5 THE WHITE CLOUD. One snowy cloud is resting now Upon the blue sky's breast. And while I gaze, with anxious brow, I envy such a rest — Long for the peace earth may not know My soul has been in quest. Well purified from stains of sin, Calm as that cloud of wliite, Above the world, where, all serene. The air is ever bright — Thus would I rest, when storms descend. And tempests gather might. But lo ! that cloud is floating there Into the depths of blue, The breezes, springing fresh and fair. Are wafting it from view ; Clouds, there is not in earth, or air, A place of rest for you ! But though through space ye hurry on. And Change your motto be. This weary soul, when life is gone. Shall spread its pinions free. And rest with the unchanging One Through all eternity. 136 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THE DESERTED COTTAGE. The vine, untrained, was creeping there — Round the low porch it hung. And sighing, seemed to ask for care. As in the breeze it swung. The violet, all uncultur'd, too. Grew with the daisy wild ; But with a leaf of paler blue. It bowed and meekly smiled. The twitt'rino' swallow round the eaves Kept up a dismal song ; The wind blew sadly through the leaves. And sio-hino', died alono;. The green-sward in its freshness lay — The path was all untrod ; No foot had shook the dews away. Which glisten'd on the sod. A sense of loneliness was there — I felt it as I gazed ; It came in every breath of air. And in the sun's pale rays : 'Twas not the tangled vine, nor yet The violet so fair, — Nor untrod path, with dew-drops wet — Nor breezes sighing there ; THE DESERTED COTTAGE. 137 Nor song of bird, that touclied the soul With loneliness so strange, — It was a thought that o'er me stole — A thought of death and change. I heard the step that once rung there — The tones that cheered that spot. And saw once more the faces fair Of that deserted cot. Conversing with the past, I felt 'Twas consecrated groimd. Where joy or sorrow once had dwelt, Or love a place had found. There hope had sweetly swelled the heart. And fear had been a guest ; There death had shot his sudden dart, And stilled the throbbing breast. And footsteps here, once echoing roimd. Were hushed within the tomb. And some a watery grave had found. Far in the ocean's foam. Just as the slanting sun-rays shed Their beauty round that spot, I passed, with slow and thoughtful tread, From the deserted cot. 1848. 138 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THE YOUNG DISCIPLE. She walk'd with even tread Through the wild mazes of a reckless world ; Beauty and youth were circling round her head, And Hope her flag unfmi'd. She dwelt among the gay, Among a joyous and a thoughtless crowd ; And she was bright and beautiful as they. Though not of beauty proud. Her modest, humble mien Show'd that a spirit lowly, meek was hers ; Her brow was as the morn still and serene. Ere the &st zephyr stirs. ! she had cast her heart. With all its fulness, on the Saviour's breast. And found the peace Heaven can alone impart, A sure and tranquil rest. Pale sickness came at last. And she, though lovely, faded day by day. As thou hast seen a bright cloud, hurrying past, Slowly dissolve away. They laid her down to rest. One evening, with the cold drops on her brow, Andgather'd round her as the struggling breath Came fitful, faint, and slow. 1848. LET ME SLEEP. 139 She spoke in broken tones Of the blest Saviom% as her friend and guide, Then whisper'd " Farewell" to those mourning ones, And sweetly smil'd and died. Fair as a star declines, In all its brightness, but to shine elsewhere ; Thus did she vanish, thus the immortal mind Pass'd to another sphere. LET ME SLEEP. " Let me sleep," she softly said, As she meekly bowed her head With a peaceful smile ; And those eye -lids drooping low. And those lips, as white as snow, And that cold and drooping brow. Gleaming mild, Told me 'twas her latest sleep ; And the mourner bowed to weep O'er the dying one : Gentle child ! she past away Like a star at dawn of day — Like the latest sunset ray She was gone. 140 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. O, she slept a gentle sleep ! Yet metliinks 'twas dreamless, deep. For slie wakes not now ; Wild winds blow around her bed, Nightly dews their incense shed Round the spot where sleeps the dead. Cold and low. 1848. HOPE AND FEAE. Hope and Fear, Strangely are ye blended here — Here in this sadavorld of ours. Where joy and sorrow meet together. Where the gloomy storm-cloud lowers Often in the sunniest weather. Hope, thy smile Can the heart of care beguile ; Thou pointest to a flowery way, Throuo^h the distant futm'e wending — O, how man}- a joyous ray With each sunny beam is blending ! Risinof Fear Sees that pathway through a tear — Beholds along the distant sky Dark and dreadful omens hover ; Hears in the wid-o'ust's fitful sio'h Sounds that hope could ne'er discover. 1846. CLOUDS AT SUNSET. 141 Friends are ill — Hope sees liealtli's returning smile, Speaks of days Avlien at the board Or the fireside Ave shall meet them — When, to health and friends restored, We shall joy to see and greet them. Boding Fear Sees them on the sable bier ; Beholds them clad in garments white. Hears the fearful dirge-note swelling, Sees them borne beyond our sight, To their Ioav and silent dwelling. Hope and Fear, Strangely are ye blended here — Here in this sad world of ours. Where joy and son'ow meet together — Here where oft a storm-cloud lowers In the brightest, suimiest weather. CLOUDS AT SUNSET. The sun in his splendour is sinking away Far down in the rose-coloured west ; The black clouds, that darken'd tlie sky through the day. Lie cradled in beautiful rest. 142 SONGS PROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. They have chang'd then- hue — all white and serene Theh banners are softly unfnrl'd, Like the hov'ring pinions of angels, when seen In the light of the heavenly world. ! thus, when the sun of the Christian descends To pass with its splendor away, The dark, floating clouds of advei-sity lend A charm to the close of his day. These clouds in the light of the future all change. And put off their mantles of gloom — Like heavenly messengers, lovely and strange. They brightly encompass the tomb. 1848. IS IT NOTHING TO THEE? We were anxious to stop, after the conclusion of the sermon, as the sacrament of the Lord's Supper was to be adminis- tered. I asked a friend, one whom I thought to be a friend of Jesus also, to intercede with our company and persuade them to tarry until the services were closed. She replied in a careless tone, " 0, it is nothing to me." Is it nothing to thee, that the Saviour has said, " Do this in remembrance of me ?" And nothing to thee that his blood has been shed. To wash thy pollutions away ? IS IT ICOTHING TO THEE ? 143 Is it nothing to tliee, that he came from above. And so swift to thy rescue fled ? That he left his throne on the wings of love, To suffer and die in thy stead ? When a rebel condemned, in dark bondage to sin. Thy spirit was hopelessly boimd ; Was it nothing that angels the praise should begin, Of Him, who a ransom had found ? Is it nothing that justice should sheathe his sword, When reekinaf in Jesus' blood ? That the risen, ascended, and glorified Word, For thee intercedes with thy God ? If 'twas nothing that sundered the temple's veil. And the rocks of Judea in twain, Which burst the graves of the saints that slept. And woke them to hfe again ; If 'twas nothing which darkened the mid-day sun. With a shroud of the deepest hue. When the Saviour exclaimed, *' It is finished, 'tis done," The scheme of salvation for you ; If all this was nothing, then well may you say, As they gather around the board. It is nothing to me, and I will not obey The words of my crucified Lord. 144 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. 0, if aught could tlie obdurate spirit move, And stir all its depths within, "Tis the thought of that sacrifice offered in love. To purify man from his sin. 1844. THE BROKEN HARP. A -writer in the New- York Gazette, on visiting the tomb of Margaret Davidson, remai'ks, "On one side of the pediment is sculptured the representation of a broken harp, with some appropriate lines." That thrilling harp is broken, Whose numbers o'er us stole. And bade entrancing sweetness To gush within the soul. Its melody was wakened By a yoimg spirit here. Till all the world was ravished. And angels bowed to hear. That ringing harp is broken, And on the willow swings — A weight like death has fallen Upon the tuneful strings ; The young and lovely minstrel Has laid her down to rest. And the sunlisfht falls unheeded Above her peaceful breast. THE BROKEN HARP. 14,5 But her spirit doth not slumber, Though her harp is now unstrung ; For those messengers of Heaven, Who were hstening while she sung, Thought her numbers too entrancing For this sterile world below, And wish'd to hear them sounding Where the waves of crystal flow. That harp, that harp is broken; But the list'ning angel choir Conveyed the minstrel's spirit. In a chariot of fire. To a clime of bliss and beauty. To a harp of sweeter tone — They promoted the young minstrel To a place before the Throne. Weep not for her advancementrr- She was needed in the sky ; Weep not for the rent harp-strings-*' She has better ones on high ! And mom'n not for the numbers Which were floating to thine ear. But haste, my soul, to join her Where she charms a purer sphere I 10 146 SONGS FROM THE ST, LAWRENCE. THE DRUNKARIVS BRIDE. What was it 'woke a thought of her — The Q-entle and the beautiful ? I know not, yet fond niera'rie? stir, As wlien the sudden zephyr's swell Takes up the leaves that long have lain. And makes them seem alive aoain. I see her as I saw her Avhen Hope had her bridal chaplet wove ; A stranger ftir from youthful friends, Buoy'd up by ever constant love ; When from her eye a something beamed. That told how fondly she had dreamed. Upon her forehead, pure and fair, Lincjered a trace of tender thouoht; The soul of lore was mirrored there — What eye could gaze and see it not ! O ! she was beautiful, and bright As spring-time's earliest, purest light. I see her as I saw her when A change had pass'd upon that brow : The joyous spring w;>s here again, And the same tiowers began to blow — ■ A fleeting twelvemonth passed away, And m her snowy shroud she lay. THE DKUNKAIID'S BKIDE. 147 A look of bitterness was there Upon her still and shadowy face ; A look of deep, corroding care, Too painful for the eye to trace ; A look of woe tliat touched the heart. And bade the fount of feeling start. Some whispered that a few sad years Would bow her gentle spirit down ; Yet no complaint, save silent teare. On the meek face was ever known : They said that her's was blighting woe — Ah, who could all its blif^htinr^s know ! Who knew the weary hours she listened With beating heart the well-known tread ? The while her dark eye sadly glistened, And her young heart grew faint with dread ? And who could know the pang that rent Her soul from its clay tenement ? None, save that ever watchful Eye Placed on the wrong'd and helpless ever — Heaven heard the first disturbing sigh. Heaven saw the quiv'ring heart-strings sever ! Woe, woe to him, the thoughtless one. Who crushed the fair, meek blossom down ! 1848. 148 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. THOUGHTS IN AUTUMN. I started from a dream of bliss At Autumn's plaintive wail, And each sweet thought of happiness Fled on the passing gale. That gale awakened memory's lyre To numbers thrilling, deep. That Autumn can alone inspire — I turned aside to weep. I thought how oft in early years I started with a si^h, And turned away to hide my tears As the cold blast swept by ; How once I wept when Autumn's tread Among my flowers I heard — Wept when I found they all had fled With each brio^ht singing; bird. More bitter now the tears I shed. But not for flowers I weep : Callista slumbers with the dead, And Theron shares her sleep ; . Hazen at length grew sick, and fell Beneath the blast of death, And Ira since has sighed " farewell," And fled from Autumn's breath. THOUGHTS IN AUTUMN. 149 One left ns when the summer's sky- Was bright, serene, and fair — When the wild flower of richest dye Shed fragrance on the air : One left us when the faded world Lay in her snowy shroud, When wintry tempests fiercely whirled Their way along the cloud. One died when the spring blossoms hung Upon the garden trees. Where the blithe swallow's anthem rung Upon the balmy breeze. O 'twere a fitter time to die When Autumn flowers grow pale. And the wild mnd sweeps sadly by With such a mournful wail ! But I will only ask to stay. Beneath our changing sky. Until amid this dire decay I learn to live and die : Then, if the angel Azriel bring A summons to depart. The glorious gate of heaven shall fling Its radiance round my heart. It matters not if summer bring Her load of rich perfume. 150 SOXGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Or if the Aiitninn zephyr sing A requiem o'er my tomb ; I shall not heed the transient mirth, In which the gay delight ; 'Nor shall I pause to see if earth Looks beautiful and brio-ht. I then shall pass beyond the cares Of this inconstant life — Beyond its sorrows and its snares, Its turmoil and its strife. Then, then pale Autumn, then thy breath Shall never reach me more ; For clouds of sorrow, pain, and death O'ershadow not that shore. WHAT IS SUBMISSION ^ May we not feel the chast'ning rod. And yet be reconcil'd to God ? Or, must the stricken heart In a deep, pulseless stupor lie. And know no grief, and heave no sigh, 'Nor writhe beneath the smart ? " Be calm," they say, " Be reconcil'd, " !N^or weep in agony so wild — " 'Tis wrong, 'tis wrong to mourn !'* 1843. SONG TO THE BIRDS. 151 Mj Father, is it wrong to sigh, When many a strong and kindred tie Is from the spirit torn ? Ah ! is it wrong, when passion's wave Rolls its high surges round the grave. Breaking amidst the gloom ; Can it be wrong, at such an hour, To feel its overwhelming power, And weep above the tomb ? It is not wrong ! Sure I may/ee?. Yet be submissive to the will Of Him who dealt the blow : 'Tis right to feel ! 'tis right to weep ! My Saviour wept in anguish deep. While wand'ring here below. God will not chide me for my tears — He knows how dark the cloud appears. Which has shut out the dawn ; Full well he knows I 'm reconcil'd. And, though I weep with anguish wild. Can say, " Thy will be done !" SONG TO THE BIRDS. Ye restless waijd'rers through the air, Pause on your tireless wings awhile. And watch with me the sunset fair, And see the radiant landscape smile. 152 SONGS FROM THE ST, LAWRENCE, Come down from yonder tow'ring height. And sit ye on this spreading bough — Nay, nay ! those crimson clouds of light Allure you onward, upward now. Had I your wings, thou restless train, I would not mount those clouds of light ; I 'd take my course more near the plain. And find some spot to me more bright. Some spot, where smiles, that warm the heart. Scatter their purer, richer rays ; Where crimson clouds more softly float In the calm, summer evening's haze. Some spot, where long belov'd ones tread. Some sacred hamlet far away ; Quick, quick my pinions should be spread. And seek those shades without delay. In part my search would be in vain. For some I 've lov'd I might not find — Nay, nay ! my flight naught should restrain, I 't? seeTc the dwelling of the mind ! I shall have wings, sweet birds, like you. And then I '11 find the lov'd and lost ; I '11 bid the world a long adieu, And fly to what I covet most. 1844. BIRDS WISER THAN MEN. 153 BIRDS WISER THAN MEN. he stork in the heaven knoweth her appointed times ; and the turtle, and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their coming ; but my people know not the judg- ment of the Lord. — Jek. viii, 7. Yes, the aerial songsters know The time to leave this land of ours : When chilly blasts begin to blow, And frosts of autumn scathe the flowers. How quick they spread their airy wing, And take their flio^ht to sunnier skies — A land where sweeter flow'rets spring. And wintry tempests never rise ! They know when to return again : Swiftly they come, on wings of light. When Spring breathes sweetly o'er the plain. And earth is beautiful and brio:ht. But 0, my people, saith our God, Have not the swallow's wisdom here ; Though tempests wild come like a flood. They look not for a brighter sphere. When storms of sorrow beat around. And judgments are in mercy given. Their souls, still clinging to the ground, Refuse to seek their native heaven. 154 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. O, wretched man, how frail thy boast ! Wert thou not form'd for nobler ends ? Arouse thee, ere forever lost ! The bu'ds' thy wisdom now transcends ! 184S SUMMER NOON. Still and glassy lies the river In its sultry light ; Not a leaflet deigns to quiver O'er its bosom bright. ISTot a breath of air awakens In the hazy sky ; And the brooklet is forsaken — Tuneless, drear, and dry. Summer noon, thy hours are weary To the human heart ; And, though all may seem more dreary When the cold winds start ; Yet there 's not this morbid weakness Hanging o'er us then, For the heart can bear the bleakness Of stern winter's reign. Thoughts awake with the wild ringing Of the stormy wind ; Tempest clouds are ever bringing Freshness to the mind. TRIAL, A BLESSING. 155 But tile summer's noon-tide fervour Sears the soul witliin ; Thought hes hke a turgid river — Not a wave is seen. 1848. TRIAL, •A BLESSING. Blessed is tlie man that endiiretli temptation : for -wlien he is tried, he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love him. — .Jajies i, 12. Blessed indeed are they. Who in the evil day Stand firm against temptation's wily power ; Who on that God rely That rules the woiid on high, And can support them in the trying hour. Blest with the Saviour's love, Who " hides their life above," And fill'd with peace that earth can ne'er bestow ; With Jesus for their guest, How joyfully they rest, Though storms of sorrow o'er their pathway blow. And blest, when life shall close. With triumph o'er their foes. They shall arise, released from worldly strife — Released from earthly chains. From cares, and griefs, and pains. Which throng them now along the way of life. I§6 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. And in the world above, That clime of light and love. Millions shall welcome them at last to rest ; And Jesus shall appear, Jesus their friend most dear. To crown his servants, and pronounce them blest. 1848. TO THE WESTEEN BREEZE. Sweet western breeze — sweet western breeze, Now sobbing faintly through the trees. Pause on your fleety pinions here. And brush away my falling tear ! Say, hast thou pass'd that spot afar Where the belov'd of childhood are ? When didst thou wave those homestead trees ? When wast thou there, sweet western breeze ? Say, wert thou there at morning's dawn ? Or, later still, when eve came on ? And did thy breath, aromid those eaves. Then gently stir those lattice leaves ? ! didst thou catch those tones of love Which follow me where'er I rove ? Still sobbing faintly through the trees. Thou answerest not, sweet western breeze. 1848. THE BROKEN PENCIL. 15*7 THE BROKEN PENCIL Emma gave me, when we parted. This small gilded pencil here ; She was cheerful and light-hearted. And we thought not of a tear. Now I 'm weeping o'er the token Of her friendship and her love ; For its glitt'ring case is broken. Like the heart I did not prove. Worthless thing ! thou hast deceived me, Proved my confidence in vain — Like the friend I loved so dearly. But may never trust again. Tender friends — how high we prize them, How we weep when they are dead ! But to see the world despise them. Is by far more darkly dread. And to feel the spell is broken "Which has bound them to our heaa?t — 'Tis a feeling none have spoken, WTien they saw the loved depart. Choice memento ! fittest emblem Of the heart I thought so pure ! Emblematic of the friendship WiiiQh I thought ijaust iQog eadwife 158 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Thou art broken, fragile cliarmer. Like the friend my heart held dear ; Cast aside, neglected lying. Fast thy beauties disappear. Emma ! 0, the love I 've borne thee Costs me many a blush of shame ! From my bleeding heart I 've torn thee. Cast aside thy tarnish'd name ! HAPPY NEW YEAR. Suggested by hearing a friend say lie had found the New Year, but was in search of the Ha];>iiy. Surely, thought I, 'tis this, 'tis this— A thirst for earthly happiness — Which prompts our search below ; A somethinp- lurks within the breast Which pants for happiness, for rest. That earth cannot bestow. To-day how many hearts beat high With hopes as bright as yonder sky, With dreams of earthly bliss ! Thro' pleasure's paths they take then* way. And, like my friend, this New- Year's day. They search for happiness. Onward the pleasing phantom flies. And on they press to grasp the prize. 1841. ARE THEY GONE ? 159 And lo, 'tis onward still ! Yain, vain their search ! Th' immortal mmd No earthly happiness can find, Its mighty void to fill. Delusive dream ! These long-sought joys Are naught but empty, fleeting toys. Like bubbles on the wave : A moment they allure us here. Then rapidly they disappear. And perish in the grave ! AEE THEY GONE? A LONG-ABSENT friend sat down by our hearth. And I saw a deep shadow of gloom Pass over his brow, as he spoke, with a sigh. Of those dear ones who sleep in the tomb. " Are they gone ?" he exclaim'd, and his voice was so sad That it moved the deep fountains of grief ; They burst from concealment, and bitterly flow'd. Till my bosom experienced relief. " Are they gone ?" — And he gazed on the vacant seats Of our cncle, deserted and lone. As if he would question the sorrowful truth — Can it be, can it be they are gone ? 160 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. That evening remembrance presented to view Each form and each featm-e so plain, That it seem'd my dear brothers had waken'd from death, And encircled our fireside again ! I saw them — I saw them ! The first one, who fell With a forehead so tranquil and fair, And the dark eye, whose lustre was caught from above. With the look which the glorified wear: As calmly he smiled as when this was his home. And his voice had the same gentle tone — I saw him, I heard him beside our lone hearth — How could I believe he had gone ! The one who soon follow'd, the next to depart. The youngest, whose cheek was so bright Ere Death's fearful signet was placed on his brow, Where it glisten'd so pearl-like, so white : — He was there with that smile of affection so warm, Which in sickness and health ever shone ; The light of his cheerfulness gladden'd my heart. And I could not believe he was gone. And the other was with us — the last one who fell. The last one who sunk to the tomb ; The last one who whisper'd a solemn farewell. And enter'd the mansions of gloom ! ^^ ANGELS. 161 jSo late, that it seems like a dream of tlie night, Which on wings of the morning has flown — How can I believe that he sleeps in the grave How can I believe he has gone ! They are here, they are here ! Say, have ye not heard That the pnre and the blest often come With a message of love from the heavenly land. And as guardians to pilot us home ? Ye spirits of Paradise ! say, are ye here To fill up the circle so lone ? O, let me believe ye are hovering near, For I sorrow to think ye are gone ! 1845. ANGELS. Angels from their native bowers. On their starry pinions. Come to this sad world of ours, Search its dark dominions. And where'er contrition's sigh 'Scapeth from the lowly. They are sure to finger nigh With a transport holy. And wherever faith is found In the heart upspringing, Those bright hosts encamp around, Joy and solace bringing. 11 162 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Where the mother rocks her child, In its cradle sleeping. Watches its soft dreaming smile, There their wings are sweeping. Sweetly, fondly do they lend Solace to the weary ; On the steps of age attend. Make its path less dreary. And they Imger by the side Of the sick and dying, Who in Jesus' love confide, E-eady wing'd for flying. 1850. THE VINE. I SAW my brother tear away a vine. Which had been clinging to om" garden-L. Up to the branches closely did it twine, And yet he tore its little rings away ; And on the ground its ^vither'd tendrils lay : Pressing the damp earth o'er its clusters then. Before I ask'd the cause, I heard him say, That had he left it to the wind and rain. It would have never lived to see the Spring again. And thus, me thought, ou? father tears away Our fondest hopes, which cling so close below. And in the dust doth our affections lay : "iHE MOOX. 163 Lest the dark storms of sorrow, grief, and woe, Tlie sui'ly blasts that here in darkness blow, Should blight th' immortal part, that fain would rise, He makes us sleep in death, and slumber low, Till softer air breathe o'er our radiant skies. And in eternal Spring these deathless souls arise. 1847, THE lOON. How sweetly the moon, in her silvery light. Looks down on this beautiful scene ! All nature seems smiling more peaceful to-night. And the earth and the trees are more green. O, the sweet, placid moon ! her burnishing rays Are giad'ning the earth with dehght ; She has caught those beams from the king of day. To light up our shadowy night. Thus, when some earthly attraction shall lend A charm to our pathway below ; When the rays of gladness and hope shall blend In their brightest and hohest glow ; Thou sweet, placid moon, we will think it like thee ! Though it ravish our hearts with delight. It has borrowed its beams from the Ruler of day, From the Fountain of beauty and light ! 1848. 164 SOXGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. PALLS IN PARISHVILLE. 'TwAs pleasant on those sloping banks, Down by that rushing tide, To watch, at daylight's ebbing hour. The foam- crests roughly glide : High rocks were piled on either side, Alono' that soundinp- shore ; And, while we gazed, e'en thought was lost In the tumultuous roar. How beaiitiful that lovely night. The wave, the earth, the air ! My spirit revel'd deep in bliss While I was standing there ; It drank the sweetness of that scene. The sweetness of that hour, And, list'ning to the foam- white waves. Felt all their music power ! O ! I have gazed on many a scene, Which might have been as bright ; But never had my heart before So kindled at the sight ! Ne'er had I felt the rapt'rous awe. That so entranced my soul, Biddino- successive waves of bliss In sweetness o'er me roll ! 1847. THE WARNING VOICE. 165 What was the cause ? what was it gave Such brightness to this scene ? Which made the wave more musical, The landscape more serene ? Not til at my heart at once had caught An answering, echoing tone — A feeling more poetical Than it before had known : Nay, but a hand was clasp 'd in mine, A heart was beatinij near. That made this scene of loveliness A robe of splendour wear ! An eye was gazing then with mine. Which kindled at the sight ; Making the scene more beautiful. More glorious and bright. THE WARNING VOICE. Hark ! a mystic voice is calling Soft and low, And a gloom is round me falling — I must go ! I must go in youth's bright morning. When my sky is clear ; For this strange, strange voice of warning Now is in my ear. 166 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Earth looks briglit, and hopes are beaming All around my way ; And my spirit has been dreaming Of a longer stay. But this restless, high ambition, And this hope sublime, May not yield their full fruition On the shore of time. And the lofty thoughts aspiring, Ranging uncontined ; And the quenchless, deep desiring Of the immortal mind — Say, must these be- quench'd forever In an early tomb ? They will never, never, never Be eclipsed in gloom. Earthly friends must shortly fail me. Earthly hopes must die. But far truer friends will hail me In a holier sky. Hark ! that mystic voice is calling Soft and low ; Death's dark mists are round me falling — I must go ! 1843. lUT. THE DARKNESS OF GRIEF. 167 THE FAREWELL. Go — may Israel's God protect thee, Mid tlie dangers of tliy way •! Go — may angel guides direct thee, Wheresoe'er thy footsteps stray ! Go — may Jesus' aiTa be roimd thee, May his strength still be thine own ! Go — may the sweet ties that bound thee. Draw thee closer to his throne ! Go — may angel wings be o'er thee. And their brightness on thy brow ! Go — ^the Spirit g-o before thee, With the light which cheers thee now ! Go — th' Almighty's arms enfold thee, And his grace to thee be given ! Go — I shall,'! shall behold thee Once again in earth, or heaven ! THE DMKNESS OF GRIEF, '* She goeth unto the grave to tceep there." — The Bible. I saw her kneel beside a grave. Where the fresh earth was strown : 'Twas at the stilly hour of eve. When the rich sunset shone — 168 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Shone calmly from the crimson west. In floods of pleasmg' light ; But ah ! it stream'd upon a breast. That mov'd not at the sight. "No secret charm her spirit caught From the mild beaming sky ; And the soft breeze, with odours fraught, Awaken'd but a sigh. The flower, in whose unfolding cup The tear drops fell like rain, From the green sod look'd calmly up. To claim one glance in vain. How dark, thought I, must be the grief, "Which veils e'en nature's charm ! "When wind, and sky, and verdant leaf. And the bright sunset calm, No more can wake the echoing chords Within the human breast, — Ere such a gi'ief shall veil my soul, 0, let me be at rest ! 1843. TO MARIANNE. Sister, as the clouds of even Float along the western sky. And the countless stars of heaven Lift their giimm'ring tapers high ; ADELIA. 169 Dost tliou think of bright immortals, Past into the spirit land ? Dost thou, through its dazzling portals. See the white rob'd millions stand ? ! 'tis sweet, as shades are stealing O'er the earth and o'er the sky — All those splendid orbs reveahng, Which bestud the arch on high ; It is sweet then to be dreaming Of that fairer, holier clime, "Whose immortal lisfht is streamino- O'er the shadowy bounds of time. It is well, when we are weary. That the power to us is given. To look up, through shadows dreary, To the blessed clime of heaven. Let us live, so live, that ever Heaven's bright gates may be in view. And, when life's worn bands may sever. We shall pass triumphant through. ADELIA. She died as the first violets w^k'd to life, While woods vdth Spring notes ringing, And brooklets wildly smging, Made all with beauty, joy, and music rife. 1848. 170 SONGS FROil THB ST. LAWRENCE. She died, the fairest fiow'r that op'd to day, Died in the spring time's brightness, Died in her young heart's hghtness, While all conspir'd. to ask her longer stay. When parent hearts their richest benison gave, Their fondness lavished o'er her, And strew' d the way before her With flowers which- since have perish'd on her grave. How sad to see the young buds early droop, And pale before us lying. In all their fragrance dying — The buds of intellect, the germs of hope ! But sadder far 'twould be, if no bright ray. From yonder gates of light. Stream' d to our anxious sight, Tm'ning our tho'ts from Time's dark shore away, ! ye, who mourn for fair Adelia gone. Whose hearts with pain are riven. Look up to yon bright heaven — There lives in fadeless light your darling one ! Be it your highest care to find the road To her sweet home of gladness. Beyond the reach of sadness, And she will hail you to her blest abode ! 18:JS, BE OF GOOD CHEER. 171 BE OE GOOD CHEER. ** Be of good cheer : Iliave overcome the tcorld." John xvi, 33. Cheer up, my followers in this vale of tears. Ye with crush'd hearts* and step desponding slow; Behold, the day-star in your sky appears, And morn has dawn'd upon your night of woe. Dread dangers will bestrew yom' pathway here. And trials dark, and intricate, and blind ; And ye will oft, amid 3''our doubt and fear, Scarce venture on the narrow way to find. Clouds of disrhay may thicken o'er your path, And demon voices haunt you midst; the gloom ; The world and sin oppose with' fiery wrath. And darkness dense seem-' gathering round the tomb. Yet bear in mind, I 've overcome them all, — I, your Redeemer, and your Friend, and Guide : Before my mighty arm each foe must fall. And o'er the world thou may'st victorious ride. I overcame the tempter's .wily power, I triumph 'd over sin, and earth, and hell ! Yea, more than conqueror — in one awful hour The massive bars of death before me fell. 172 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. Then let your hearts be cheerful as ye tread The narrow way, and bear the piercing blast ; For sure as your Redeemer groan'd and bled. So sure shall ye o'ercome the world at last. M. W. S. There was a voiqp so sweet, A smile so bright around that hearth. That anarels from their blissful seat Sped down to earth ; Watch 'd o'er her dreams awhile, Shadow'd her brow with wings of love. Then flew, with the pure, lovely child. To realms above. They saw the flower was frail, And that the world was sterile, bleak ; They took it ere a piercing gale Should blanch its cheek. Ye, who have mourn'd the child, Ye, from whose eye the sad tear starts. Be thankful that she ever smil'd Upon yom' hearts. Think ye have rear'd a flower Too purely beautiful to stay ; A plant which blooms in Heaven's high bower. Beyond decay ! 1849. SEND ME THAT FLOWER. 173 UNSPOKEN GRATITUDE. She did not speak her gratitude, But, with a tearful eye, Press'd her warm, glowing lips to mine In grateful fervency. She laid her hand confidingly And gently in my o^vn ; Her blue eyes spoke thro' glist'ning tears — How eloquent their tone ! I understood their import deep, Their magic struck my heart ! The gratitude which glows so warm, Disdains the words of art. 0, Father ! shall a creature come With grateful tears to me, And I neglect to offer up My gratitude to thee ? SEND ME THAT FLOWER. Send me that long-promised flower From thy forest home in that western glade : Aye, send me one that has grown in the shade. Where, in musing, thy footsteps have often stray'd, And where in gladness thy children have play'd At the beautiful twilight hour. 1345. 174 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. And what though it fade on the way? It will be the same flower that so sweetl}'' sprung Thine own green valleys and woods among, Where the western birds then; wild notes smig. And the wilder lauo-h of thv children rmiff, From morn till the close of day. I will gaze on the faded leaf, And think of the loved who so early died, And otliers now w^andering far and wide.;; I will think of the place where, side by side, We witness'd the rapid moments glide — O, were they not far too brief ! I will think of the days that are gone ; I will think of the flowers that you taught me to love. Of the roses we gather'd, the garlands we wove. Of the pathway thy footsteps were wont to rove, By the garden, the streamlet, the meadow, the grove — .That path is deserted and lone. Thou knowest thr.t death has been here ; Then I need not have tcld thee our pathway was lone. That the wind wanders by with a sadder moan, And that many a smile and joyous tone From our pensive hearth have forever gone, Which so often our hearts used to cheer. DEW-DROPS. 1Y5 ! then, let us think of that better land, Where we '11 meet the blest fiiends who have gone before To that happy home, on that brighter shore — For these partings and sighings will all be o'er, And the blooming cheek shall fade no more, When we greet that angel band ! send me that promised flower From thy forest home in that western glade ! But let it be one that bloom'd in the shade Where thou, in thy musings, hast often stray'd, And where in their gladness thy children play'd At the beautiful twilight hour. 1844. DEW-DROPS. We have fallen on the green sward, Where the happy children play. Where their feet, in sportive gladness. Early shook our pearls away. We have lain upon the blossoms When they gather' d them at mom ; We have kept then bright and glowing, Some sweet bosom to adorn. We have ghsten'd at the bridal With the brilliant and the fair ; When the solemn vow was utter'd. We were faintly trembling there. 176 SONGS >ROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. We have gleam'd upon tlie roses, In their sweetest fragrance spread, By the hand of pure affection. On the bosom of the dead. Ye have seen us, changed to vapour. Soft on airy pinions roam — Floating, hke a gauze of silver, Throuo:h the brio^ht, cerulean dome. We have glitter'd high in heaven. In the rainbow's arch divine — In the saddest place, and brightest. We are ever seen to shine. 1849. FOREST MELODIES. CONTENTS. The Tearful Bride Page 183 A Eemembrance 186 A Wife to her Absent Husband 191 I think of Heaven 193 Eiistling Leaves 194 To Aurelia 195 The Slave 196 The Bereaved One 198 A Death-Bed Scene 200 Happiness -. 201 The Early Blest 202 I will come to Thee then 205 Remember Me 206 Spring 207 Little Eugene 209 The Night-Flower 210 Mary 211 July Fourth 213 The Rainbow , 214 Our Mother 215 Marv Stodard 216 A Thought 218 One Year Ago 218 Autumn 219 Farewell to Home 221 " Is it well with the Child ?" 222 The Two Sisters 224 Sunshine 225 A Fallen Friend 227 While the Stars are glowing 228 The Disconsolate Husband 229 To a Sister In the Far West 230 To October 232 " My Flesh shall rest in Hope " 283 TlieLand of Rest 233 Hope 235 i^ored Relic 286 180 CONTENTS. Autumn Flowers Page 237 The Portrait 238 The Sea-Shell. i'39 I woiild not stay 289 The Pdnglet 2i2 My Sister 2-±i Confidenee in God 245 Subrina 246 Autumn's Lament 247 The Old Man's Answer 248 On receiving a Geranium 250 Last Words of Theron 251 A Cause for Sadness -254 Hour of Sunrise 256 Voice of the Old Clock 257 A Vision 259 The Disappointed 262 To Mv Husband 264 The Wish of a Friend 265 An Exotic 266 Connubial Love 268 The Earlv Dead 270 What I love 271 Sorrow 272 AVhere is My Mother ? 273 Augusta 274 The Motherless Child 275 The Old Man's Tears 277 Let Me go 279 A Beautiful Thought 280 A Strange Wish 281 Separation 282 Wood-Notes Wild 1'84 The Memory of the Dead 285 To a Friend, who gave the Author a Book of Poems 280 My Tree has fallen 287 Sunrise 290 The Happiest Spot 290 Come, Beautiful Spring 291 My Sleeping Babe 292 Those Evening Bells 294 A Divine Promise 295 To Winter 297 Other Davs 298 This World of Ours 299 True Friendship 301 The Drunkard's Child 302 Forebodings 303 A Lady to her Husband '. 305 Dreams 306 The Unseen World 307 My Fatlier iia^ come > r. ...<.•<.'< i