^ N SK ETCH B8 <,t LIFE AND LANDSCAPE, 'I II I, RE V. Ri I. I'll IIOVT, A . M. N I. '.'.' v 'i ii. i. 0. s II 1; i' a R D & C 0. P U B I, I s H B its, 152 Fulton- Street. 1 6 . r * 2 • -^s ^o *>^ \A S % £1; Filtered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S51, by RALPH IIOYT, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. PuDNEY & Russell, Printers. k& THE TRUE LIFE; A REVERIE IN THREE CANTOS. I. I On dusky wing now night comes gently down ; Dissolves the landscape in a vapory gray ; The monarch hills resign their sunset crown, Slow droop the eyelids of the drowsy day ; All weary life, and every heart oppressed, In soothing slumber now may sink to rest : Save, I must vigil while all nature sleeps ; Not self-devoted, but ordained to be A poor way-farer o'er life's rugged steeps, Its sternest aspects fated still to see, To taste its bitter draughts at many a brim, And chant withal earth's earnest, awful hymn ! TRUE LIFE. Thou that hast tuned my reed, if tuned it be, If this high prayer to such low dust belong, Ineffable Inspirer ! speak to me, That I sing not an inharmonious song. Speak to me, trembling in thy glory's blaze, That chanting Life, withal I chant thy praise. This earth-strung harp but teaches me to weep, Furrows my aching brow before its time ; ! give me now the lyre that I shall sweep Upon the hills of yon celestial clime : God ! make my spirit like a surging sea, Rolling its thundering anthems up to Thee ! Such scope I covet — fitly to adore ! Such scope, the import of my theme to scan : Ocean of Life ! no swimmer finds a shore ; Unfathomable mystery of Man ! So vast, so various, whence, or whither, all Shrouded in secrecy as with a pall ! Dread dissonance of earth ! each life a note Swelling the mighty uproar tempest high ; Harmonious voices few, and too remote To temper the wild clamor of the sky ; ! for a plunge that ocean to explore ! ! for a wing that chaos to outsoar ! hty TRUE LIFE Give me to love my fellow, and in love, If with none other grace, to chant my strain, Sweet key-note of soft cadences above, Sole star of solace in life's night of pain, Chief gem of eclen, fractured in that fall That ruined two fond hearts, and tarnished all ! Redeemer ! be thy kindly spirit mine ; That pearl of paradise to me restore, Pure, fervent, fearless, lasting love, divine, Profound as ocean, broad as sea and shore. While Man I sing, free, subject, and supreme, ! for a soul as ample as the theme ! Sad prelude I have sung; by Sorrow led Along the mournful shades that own her sway, Where, by a stream that weeping eyes have shed, Low chanted I my melancholy lay, In pensive concord with the sootheless wail Of sighing wanderers in that lonely vale. Ah, chide not those whose wo is hard to bear, Tin' heart must hover where its treasures sleep, I saw the great, the Avise, the gifted there, With humbler multitudes compelled to weep ; No penury, no wealth commands relief, No serf, no sovereign in the realms of grief ! y>, v. _r £9| ^ & TRUE LIFE. Equality of wo! a form there sate, With rggal diadem upon his brow. But all the glory of imperial state Could not eousole that aching bosom now ; Death in his palace a dread summons spoke, And the stout heart of the proud monarch broke ! Unheeding such high presenee, the bereaved Of lowlier name, despondingly around, In silent anguish, or sad accents grieved. Or sternly smiled in agony profound ; So equal poor humanity appears In the humiliating vale of tears ! Stern lesson ! — yet much profit to the soul : Good to be taught the nothingness of pride ; To free the spirit from earth's strong control, And on the sea of sorrow heavenward glide. Humility! the burthened heart's release; Who enters that low portal findeth peace. Not fair Avoca's deep sequestered dell Such sweet serenity and rest bestows ; Nor winding Arno's bowery banks can tell The weary traveller of such repose As soothes the soul in that dim shadowy glen, Where mighty monarchs own themselves but men. :C§J p ^ TRUE LIFE. Hears now my loitering muse a stern demand ; Why thus so long these dreary shades among? Sad dirges sighing of the spirit-laud ; Humanity's grand lyric all unsung. Arise, and with heroic strength be strong, And chime thy numbers in a worthier song! Vain importunity, and counsel vain ; Not mine to follow fancy's airy flight ; Earth's faithful annals must record its pain : Yet, oft the sun may gild the storm with light ; And hope, that makes the gloom of sorrow glow, On showering tears may paint life's brightest bow. As some poor mariner adrift at sea, When ruthless storms have driven his bark a-wreck, Climbing his riven mast in agony, The sole survivor of a crowded deck, Sees, as he clambers upward, sad and slow, The dark horizon widening on his wo ; So, as I climb my splintered spar of life, The dreary desolation still expands ; Float by, betokening the mighty strife, Rude fragments from all ages and all lands ; And mournful voices answer to my soul, As far along the roaring surge they roll. }«p TRUE LIFE. Each billow wears some diadem unclaimed, Or sceptre wrested from some regal hand ; Brave palaces, and castles, all unnamed, Yet once the glory of some mighty land ; The costliest baubles of a royal dream, Gone like a leaf upon a rushing stream. There, rushing headlong, with portentous speed, With faded banners and strange tokens dight, Its destiny fulfilling as decreed. Its crescent waning into utter night, Dismembered, shrouded in a rayless gloom, The Prophet's empire hurries to its doom ! There, gone forever, o'er the heaving deep A mighty fabric plunges on amain, Stern warrior ghosts a bootless vigil keep, In sanguine fields o'er ghastly heaps of slain ; That realm where wide the conqueror's eagles flew, Gone with the battle-smoke of Waterloo ! How humbled haughtiness, how calmed all rage : Helmet, and lance, and shield, and brazen mail, There fill for chivalry its final page, As down the current gloomily they sail, The same irrevocable doom to read, With Goth, and Roman, Hebrew, Greek, and Mede! TRUE LIFE. Old Nineveh, of grc:it Aturian Phul, Ecbat'na, Babylon, and Tyre remote, Menuf, and Meroe, that in the dull Far-distant verge of mythic ages float, Careering still upon their fated way, And, mote by mute, still crumbling in decay. Great shrines of Phtha, and hundred-gated Avails, The pillared temples where old bactrians knelt, The chiseled marble of imperial halls, h Where Pharoes, Ptolemies, and Cesars dwelt. Strong fanes of Iuvc piled to meet the sky, Deep in the dust of perished empires lie. There swoops in awful solitude sublime, The shattered remnant of the elder world, Like some primeval orb, unknown to time, Through the wild realm of chaos helmless hurled : On, on, forever ! rushing o'er the wave, A rebel skeleton denied a grave ! Dark, silent, desolate, an outcast globe Blasted beneath the sin-abhorring frown ; Shorn of the sunbeam, and the verdant robe, In an unbounded deluge still to drown ! Imponderable ruin ! can it be The morning stars sang sweetly once, for thee ! TRUE LIFE. Dread Shape ! In terror though constrained I gaze, The shadows of old ages roll awn v ; The Past is present, and the first of days Pours brightly down its new-created ray; Dim, mystic visions aggregate apace, And primal earth stands out august in space ! How wonderful ! Jehovah deigned to will, And this Creation with obedient awe Came booming forth the mandate to fulfil ; From darkness, glory ; from disorder, law. So pure, so beautiful, so formed for love, It might allure the angels from above ! I can no more ! My struggling pulse beats high, Oppressive thought o'erwhelms my weary sense, Absorbed in too much grief, I cannot sigh, Nor vent the agony that, too intense To flow in liquid anguish, doth corrode, And canker where it hath its seared abode. Then hush, my lyre ; my mournful muse, adieu ! Day breaks and calls me to its toilsome din ; Farewell ye mighty visions ! but for you, Spirits of all my dead, too deep within My soul's shut sanctuary ye abide, To be submerged in life's oblivious tide. THE TBUE LIFE; A REVERIE. II. How changeful and how fleet the tilings of earth : But yester' the fair season of sweet flowers, Breathing its odorous beauties into birth, With jessamine arid roses twined the bowers ; But soon that time of bud and bloom was o'er, And summer glowed, where spring had smiled before : Summer ! gay, golden summer ! Lo, the fields, Flushed with the wealth that Industry hath won ; Blithely the swain his sweeping sickle wields, And binds his heavy sheaves. September's sun Tinges the clusters on the bending bough, And autumn holds a brief dominion now. TRUE LIFE. And now 'tis winter! so the moments roll That wear oul life in fanciful disguise. And show full oft a winter in the soul. Blight on its blossoms, gloom upon its skies : The cherished buds of hope unblown depart. And strew their leaves all withered on the heart. Nor Flora's beauty, nor her sweei perfume, O'er hills, and vales, and woodlands, can restore The blighted tree of Life its eden bloom ; It cannol see the sun it saw before, It cannot the decaying stem renew. Dead, in the wintry garden where it grew ! Serencst spirit of the hallowed lyre, Sweet soother of all sorrow, come to mej My burdened thought with utterance inspire: Sad harp of mine, thy saddest minstrelsie, I here would fling upon the chilling wind. Chanting unto the dead ! All, how we hind The memory of each departed joy Close to our bleeding bosoms, till wo feel The past our only good, the earth a toy With all its present charms. D let me steal From the mad whirl of life, and pour my breath, My heart, ;.iy soul, upon the ear of death ! c3- ^y TRUE LIFE. Long years have sped since first I learned to sigh Upon some dear Patroclus' funeral pyre ; Since Borrow found a channel in mine eye, And for a buried brother, sister, sire, Gushed out in hitter torrents, till this heart, Drained to its depths, no more can feel the smart, That still unsoothed hath sole dominion there; The busy dream of life but paints it o'er With evanescent hues as brief as fair ; The melancholy groundwork, as before, Stands out unsoftened, unrelieved by time, Drinks up my spirit, saps my early prime. 'Tis midnight now. Upon the latest guest, The weary door hath made its final close, And one sweet hour of deep, oblivious rest, Shall yield my soul luxurious repose — My soul, o'erworn on life's tumultuous sea, And sighing for that stream where peacefully The pillowed mariners unconscious glide, Soothed in a dreamless, care-dispelling sleep : ! let me launch upon that lethcan tide, Thought shall be rocked a-slumber, and a deep, Deep plunge of memory beneath its wave Shall leave my spirit quiet as the grave. =r^°; &>«jc TRUE LIFE. Illusive hope ; as soon yon gem of night, Soft peering through my casement from on high, Shall cease its vigilings and quench its light, Tired of its toilsome errands up the sky ; While none but He who lighted up its ray, May bid that little twinkler pass away. Star of my Life ! etherial mystic flame, Kindled in heaven, yet deigned to me on earth, Know thou thy destiny is e'en the same : Burn till He gives thee rest, who gave thee birth : From thought no solitude can set thee free, The world shut out, shuts in thyself to thee. That spark aloft at midnight brighter glows, In silence gleams in its sublimest power ; So thou, my soul, while grief around thee throws "Its gloomy curtain, let it be the hour Thy noblest energies to freely pour, Yet not to shine, — but from the earth to soar. For what is earth, that spirit e'er should dwell E'en in its sweetest eden 1 Let this dust Cling to its fading kindred, — it is well : The soul hath riches where there is no rust, Afar, in heaven, a paradisial grot, Where joy's perfection is, and sorrow cometh not. ^ TRUE LIFE. Now let me call up from the misty past, The venerable one 'twas mine to love Till manhood's years upon my brow had cast Their boding shadows ; — he is now above, Nor would I bring him thence, — but oh, to greet That reverend form once more, how sweet, how sweet. Father ! I need not haunt thy resting place, Nor send my thoughts to seek among the blest, Thy care-worn countenance again to trace : Here lives thy image in this burning breast ! And here it still shall glow, nor ever fade, Till low beside thee thy lone child is laid. I wot again a flower in life's bright morn, The solace, and the hope, and ay, the pride Of its fond, fostering stem, — that flower was torn By a rude tempest from its parent's side : Where are its beauties now? — go ask the tomb : That rosy child, — where now its living bloom'? I trode his father's hall, and used to hear His little step light tripping in its glee, But now I hear it not, — and lo, a tear Springs in that eye so gladsome wont to be : Death hath shed mildew on its dearest joy, Borne to the silent world that prattling boy. J cA :C ^ TRUE LIFE. Yet can it be that he no more shall come'? See, here are all his pastime toys arranged As though this moment ho had loft his homo, The recreative for the school-hour changed. There stands his kite against the chamber wall, There hangs his garden hat, there lies his ball, And here, with scientific skill disposed, His tiny cabinet is ope to view; Would ho have left the little door unclosed, Were ho to sojourn a long year or two ? Ah ! now upon the dusty shelves I see The sad solution, — doath — eternity! And where is [da I Answer ye sweet flowers Here clustering in the path she loved to tread; Oft from her hand ye drank the mimic showers ; Now whither hath the gentle Ida tied I Fair stream, along whose margin oft she strayed, Where wanders now the lovely, lonely maid? The lover's bosom heaves the frequent sigh, The hearts of dear companions inly weep, The varying seasons drearily roll by, Yet Ida seems in some enehanted sleep. Sweet maiden, why so long in slumber bound? Ah! mark yon willow! — Ask the turfy ground! :C2 THE TRUE LIFE; A REVERIE. III. Life's germ from heaven, though on earth the bloom, And seems the flower with full perfection blest ; But ah, there's poison in its sweet perfume, And spots appear within its snowy breast. How could I weep in sootheless, ceaseless grief, That life so soon is sere and yellow leaf. Perfidious heart ; so subtle, so debased ; But for the bitterness in it that springs, The tearful history were soon erased, And earth-born man would soar on seraph wings. Ah, heart, thou need'st the re-creating sway Of Him who is the Life, the Truth, the Way. TRUE LIFE. I sec the awful vision of all time ; All lite, since man became a living soul; All change, since woman taught him love ; and crime, And death's dark wave began o'er earth to roll: Stupendous pomp! far reaching to that night Ere stars were kindled, or the sun gave light. Swayed as eternal symphonies imped, Chord answering chord, mysterious harps I hear, And myriad voices still the anthem swell, Pouring grand harmonies from sphere to sphere*, Chanting historic, the great psalm of earth, Since chaos labored with its mighty birth. Man, the epitome ! Still chiefly he The mighty argument of that high song; Of His omnipotence who bade him be, Sublimest miracle of all the throng That at his mandate from the nought of space Came forth, substantial majesty and grace. Materiality, and essence, each Its full perfection in his form to find ; A universe articulate in his speech; All spirit-greatness imaged in his mind. Harp on forever, all ye bards above ; Man still your theme, and man-creating love ! Life's budding, blooming, bearing, and decay. TRUE LIFE dream of time ! — Yet good to ponder o'er The strange vicissitudes of this low sphere ; To muse how swiftly from its rock-bound shore Life's voyagers set sail and disappear : How phantom-like the generations pass, Confessing as they fly, all flesh is grass. Hope draws the outline, let the honest hand Of truth fill up the picture, till we see Life's lights and shades as they are wont to stand, On the broad canvass of reality. Reality, yet strangely frail as fair, Substantial landscape, painted on the air. Mysterious ! — It is the hallowed time When spirits are abroad ; and, while I gaze, My buried bosom ones assume their prime, And greet me with the smiles of other days ; And whom I love on earth, a cherished" few, Press with the visioned dead upon my view. From guileless infancy, to silvered age, They crowd to make the catalogue complete, As from my heart's imperishable page, Their deep engraven names my thoughts repeat : Be these my pencil's theme, while I portray TRUE LIFE. Come, my Lctitia, — mine by that strange tie Which makes us ever love the artless soul ; Now let me look into that lustrous eye, And trace the course thy coming years shall roll ■ Th' original for life's first picture be, The early stem before the towering tree. Ha ! there's a change upon that tiny cheek : Smile on ! not I thy joy would ever mar, Though mournfully it makes the past to speak, And sorrow's heavy step recalls afar : Smile on, and claim my pencil's brightest hues, Life's rainbow tints, to look upon, and lose. Oh, would I were, my cherub child, like thee, So newly from the skies, that earth hath gained No inlet for its deep impurity : Oh, would I were like thee, so soul-unstained ! Sweet Innocence ! my thought, my hand be still ; The holy theme demands an angel's skill. Hope of thy mother, could her mandate stay The hours that bear thee from a sinless heart, Full amply would thy lessened pangs repay The love that dared to keep thee as thou art. But time's swift tide will ne'er forbear to flow, The little bark must on, the bud must blow. - TRUE LIFE. Companion mine, along this devious page Let me a tale to thee discourse awhile, May haply much thy curious ear engage, And this brief hour right worthily beguile ; Yet, as the chronicle unfolds to view, Though fancy's record, deem the burden true. In sooth, my soul is fain to seek repose, . And would to thee its lore of years impart ; The meditative gatherings disclose, That miser memory garners in the heart ; A tale of death, pride, passion, riches, fame, And virtue tried in love's intensest flame. In a sweet vale amid a desert waste, There dwelt a maiden radiant as light ; As a pure angel delicate and chaste ; No lovelier form e'er greeted mortal sight ; Nor lived she but to bless, and wide to show The living joys that truth and love bestow. At every fount of knowledge drank she deep ; Not erudition's sages so profound ; Of things divine could scale the cloudy steep, And all the depths of faith and reason sound ; Yet ever meek, no one desire she knew, Save still to be all heavenly and true. TRUE LIFE. These peerless charms and all-surpassing grace, That humble vale might not unknown retain ; A world were blest to look upon that face, And contemplate a heart that knew no stain. From hill to hill wide flew the wondrous tale, So bright a gem in such a lowly vale ! Came one and knelt adoring at her shrine ; And, sooth, a great and seemly suitor he ; Could she his prayer and plighted troth decline 1 Ah, who can know a maiden's mind, perdie ! Not all unmoved his suppliance she heard, Yet gave no hope, save only 'hope deferred.' Ah, gentle fair, why thus my suit disdain, Cried he, reproachful, with offended pride : A nobler name in story must I gain ; What task performed shall win thee for my bride 1 Though years attest my studious toil for thee, Yet say what more to do ; what more to be. Then she, all-pitying, raised a tearful eye, And owned the fond emotion of her breast, But thoughtful, drew a deep deploring sigh, And a strange, startling answer thus expressed; 0, noble youth, though earth's best gifts are shed Around and on thee, thou, alas, art dead ! TRUE LIFE. Yet must you mourn, ye minstrels of the sky ; Through all your strains still sweeps a note of woe, As myriad hearts Avere breaking in one sigh ; Now in profoundest octaves moaning low ; Up the careering scale now frantic flies, Shrieks its sad tale in heaven, and wailing dies. Me now instruct, that justly I discourse Those joys and sorrows, your immortal themes ; Reveal of each the annals and the source ; And as I, listening, muse along the streams, And o'er the mountains, all my thoughts inspire Till your high burden thrill my lowly lyre. 'Tis evening now, and all the stars again, Like pensive spirits, look lamenting down ; A sister orb woe-smitten ! and a stain, How deep and lasting, on its old renown. What envious hand so impiously could dare, To mar so mournfully a world so fair. Would I might speak to them ; my soul would know From those high witnesses, so pure and true, Whence came, and why, the desolating blow Could leave such deserts where such edens grew ; Could doom to perish an immortal race, And earth itself to fail and have no place. TRUE LIFE. Speak, stars, ye nightly mourners ; and no more In mute amazement wait the coming hour That shall earth's wasted excellence restore, And give man back his innocence and power, Too long your silent sorrow ; sootheless grief May quench your glory, yet bring no relief. Known your sad secret ; mark the fearful word Rebellion ! traced on every human brow ; And oft in scathing tempests hath been heard The tale that moves your deep compassion now. 0, to my call, ye weeping worlds, reply ; Man and his home in ruin ! tell me why ! % Great Volume of the Word ; behold, in thee The dark enigma is resolved and clear ; But lo, the eye of nature cannot see, And ah, the ear too heavy, cannot hear. His paradise how long with wo o'erspread ; And the immortal dweller, outcast, dead ! Dead ; yet infatuated not to know Essential vigor, beauty, truth, and love Fled when he dealt the self-destroying blow, And lost the Life that cometh from above. 0, Word Almighty, the dread bondage break ; Awake the sleeper, bid the dead awake ! ""?N\\l ®L> TRUE LIFE. As starts a dreamer when some hideous shape The slumbering sense with sudden terror thrills ; So he, with shuddering soul, would fain escape Back to the refuge of his native hills . But still transfixed he stood, in mute dismay, Till all like some dread vision passed away. Again ere long to conscious thought returned, He sighed the import of those words to know ; Dead ! while his bosom with such ardor burned ; Love, reason, and ambition all a-glow ; Yet oh, that word, with such dark meaning fraught ; And that sweet spirit ; could they be for nought 1 The maiden's bower again he trembling sought, And prayed a lover's pure impassioned prayer ; 0, might he at her feet the truth be taught ; Or would she but vouchsafe to tell him where, Where might he terminate the doubtful strife ; And find, if he were dead, the soul's true life. O, sweet to see how she inclined the ear ; How soon disclosed the " the true and living way ;"' And ah, how brake his heart the brimming tear That bade him never from her love to stray, As forth, elate, with hastening step she trode, And showed a temple — Truth's august abode. TRUE L1FK Now, onward thou, she cried, the mountain climb, And press for yonder porch with steadfast heart ; There enter, and the wisdom of old-time Its prophet-voices shall to thee impart ; Obey, and lo, thou shalt to life arise, And this, my long-sought hand shall be thy prize. Then thitherward a wistful look he cast, Bending his step within a narrow way ; And on his joyous pilgrimage he passed, Still wending onward all the weary day, Till at the portal pausing, lowly there He knelt and breathed a penitential prayer. 0, Fount of Life ! in thy blest courts how free The sacramental stream all-cleansing flows, When the benighted wanderer bends the knee, And o'er his head the mystic waters close. Baptismal Jordan ! and the Spirit-Dove ! Life, Reconciliation, Peace, and Love ! So knew the pilgrim as the ghostly shower From holy hands descended on his head. Regenerated ! By redeeming power Awaked from sleep ; arisen from the dead ! How flashed the light ! What rapture thrilled the youth ; There, and forever his, were Life and Truth. JULIA, AN AUTUMNAL TALE Where rural Chester spreads in hill and plain, And rippling Bronx pursues its peaceful way, Just as you turn within a winding lane, Skirting the border of a little bay, There stands a cottage ivied-o'er and gray. The home of Julia's joyous spring of life ; Ere the sweet blossom ripened into love, Ere she had known the autumn of its strife, The cold rude blasts that pierce the gentle Dove, And warn its wing to calmer climes above. Alas, there came a change upon her heart, A hopeless sorrow like an April blight : For other lands she saw her swain depart ; And swift departed then each gay delight, Spring became Winter, — Morning turned to night ! # n JULIA. Still climbed the wood-bine by the cottage door, Si ill sang the robin sweetly to his mate, Si ill strove parental fondness as beforej Bui .1 1 lia's grief still knew bul one dark date, Ami Sower and soul; and Love came ;ill too late. li was October, — sadly wailed the breeze, As o'er the hill and through the wood it sped ; The tin it was gathered from the sapless trees, A Frosty veil the meadows overspread, And all the groves were withering or dead. The harvesl fields of all their treasures shorn Betrayed again the rude unseemly ground : Where grew the bending wheat, the towering corn, Bui stubble now, and Leafless stalks were found, Furrow, and ridge, the fading Landscape round. Fair Chester seemed Like some desponding maid, The scene so sad beneath the autumn sky : Her summer sun to rival climates ftrayed, Her dewy pearls ungathered left to lie, And limpid Bronx in grief to murmur by. JULIA. (All, gentle stream, glide on in ceaseless wo, While by thy margin sleeps thy plaintive bard, Sweet minstrel Drake ! Ye autumn winds sing low ! Ye seasons all, leave that green slope unmarred Where yon lone willows his dear ashes guard.) There came a stranger to the gate one eve, And craved in gentle words to be a guest ; Might that sweet cot his weariness relieve, Now day so far was drooping down the west ; A pilgrim's blessing on the roof should rest. All welcome ever to that kindly hearth ; None sought its plenty or its peace in vain ; Though pensive Julia knew no more of mirth, Yet none abiding there might know her pain, Did in her heart such holy calmness reign. Came hastening on the chill autumnal night, With rustic pastime and its guiltless glee, The floor was stainless, and the fire was bright, The nuts were cracking upon every knee, And new-made cider flowed most sweet and free. 3= t *&- JULIA. High rose the mirth as from the embers flew The roasting chesnul with a sudden start, For blushing John, or Jane, an omen true Of love's sly passion glowing in the heart, And Hymen's speedy aid with his sweet art. Tin 1 stranger's hearl was moved by Julia's grace, Ami oft he gazed, as bound by beauty's spell, Upon herfaultless form and winning face, Ami as he fell the pure emotion swell He longed the secret of his love to tell. Nor he unworthy such a maid to win : Of noble aspect, manly, yet serene : No foul deceiver, stained with reckless sin ; In sportive group upon the village green, He were a goodly king, and she a queen. With gentle accents soon, and whispering low, Besought he Julia for a hopeful smile : But ah, his suit still added to her wo — Her mournful thoughts were far away the while, Ami loving words might not her heart beguile. JULIA. Ah ! stranger said she sweetly, one I knew Who wooed and won this simple heart of mine, And to his image still it must be true, Though weary seasons it; may yet repine, Till life's last sun of* hope in death decline. 'Twas autumn e'en as now when last we met, And seven long years their dreary course have run, Since hero we plighted, never to forget ; That holy pledge I may recal for none ; One shares my silent love, — and only one. I still remember how we used to rove, Young and light-hearted in the frosty Fall, Far in the lonely depths of nut-wood grove, List'ning the squirrel's chirp, the cat-bird's call, Hid from the world, and happier than all. How through the rustling leaves we loved to walk, Our ample baskets bountifully stored, As hand in hand we held our cheerful talk, And still each nook for hidden nuts explored Proud to bear home an unexampled hoard JULIA. Oft through the bending orchard have I prest, Among the fruits in rich abundance there, To cull for him the ripest and the best, The evening pastime early to prepare, Undreaming then that love is linked with care ! When in the barn the laborers and he Threshed out the treasures of the ripened sheaf, How sweet the music of his flail to me ! But all is over, — save my helpless grief, And life to me is now an autumn leaf! Oh stranger, there be fairer maids than I Would proudly welcome such a proffered hand ; Your lordly wealth a paradise may buy, But vain for me the glittering, or grand ; My sootheless heart is in another land. Said then the traveler, I knew full well Your wandering Youth in Oriental climes ; Oft have I heard him of sweet Chester tell, Repeat its tales, rehearse its rustic rhymes, And talk of all its pleasant autumn times. = • JULIA. The ardent skies where he has sojourned long, Have tinged his visage with the Indian hue ; His youthful limbs have stalwart grown and strong ; And scarce his voice might now be known to you ; Yet beats his heart unalterably true ! How cruel was the storm that wrecked his bark, And drove him helmless o'er the raging wave ; Above, below, and all around him dark, No voice to soothe him, and no hand to save, No hope, no refuge but a billowy grave, And when the rescue came, and bore him far Through widening seas to India's distant shore, How sank in gloom his bosom's love-lit star, How seemed the visions of his home all o'er, Without a promise he should see it more. But still he lives ! — and in his dreams of bliss His faithful Julia all his ardor claims ; Oft has he longed for such an hour as this, Oft in his prayer his cherished one he names ; Dear angel ! — I am he,— your long lost James ! i JULIA. As sudden sunshine gilds a murky sky, Or moonbeams tip the raven wings of night, That happy word illumined Julia's eye, Made all the clouds of her dark sorrow bright, And filled the cottage with a new delight. The glowing hearth grew warmer than before, The baking apples tumbled to and fro, The singing kettle instant SpOUted o'er, Kate could no longer spin, nor Sally sew, And e'en the wind seemed gladsomely to blow ! Joined all the household in a loving din ; Fantastic shadows danced upon the wall, Such clasping, kissing, gliding out and in ! Such leaping, laughing, talking, one and all, It might he deemed a romping rustic Ball! Still rural Chester spreads in hill and plain, Still murmurs rippling Bronx its autumn lay, Still stands a ruin in that winding lane. Skirting the border of a little bay, — Bui all the dwellers there have passed awa\ ! EDWARD BELL. A RURAL SKETCH OF MAY. One bright May morning there were children playing By a brook ; There was no care upon their young hearts weighing ; No sad look : The forests, fields, and flowers were green and gay, That morn in May. And they were six, those children, sweetly mated Two and two ; Three urchins and three maidens, and they prated As such do : They prattled, played, and helped the birds to sing The rosy Spring ! v . P\v A R D B E 1. 1.. Full simple tnd all artless was the story That each told; But truth and innocence have still a glory \s of old : Ami rudesl childhood may inspire a page For wisest age. Oh lite! why are thy early joys forsaken! Why should time Lull innocence to slumber, and awaken Pride and crime ! Oh years, oh change, how swift ye hear away Lite's sinless May ! They were not whispering the shame of others: Nor would fling The brand ot' enmity among earth's brothers: Nor the sting Of jealous rivalry did they endure. — For they were pure ! They loved each other, and they loved the flowers, Streams and trees. The vine slow creeping o'er the latticed bowers. Buzzing bees. The mossy cottage, and the old stone wall, — Thev loved them all. EDWARD BELL. The fragrant cluster of wild roses glowing In the dell, Pink, woodbine, lilach, and sweet-briar blowing By the well, With holly-hock, like soldiery around, Guarding the ground. Oh, could the sordid ones of earth have listened Each sweet word — The heart had softened and the eye had glistened While they heard : Such guileless love, such gentleness were there, — Alas, so rare ! May ! o'er the distant wood the crow is swelling His wild cry ; To pilfering broods in sprouting cornfields telling Danger nigh ! Just as the ambushed farmer to the sun Betrays his gun. Loud chants the brook, some lovelorn myth repeating ; Shouts each boy ; E'en drifting leaves, in little eddies meeting, Dance for joy ; The odorous air, the sky, the sun's warm ray All make it May ! = — EDWARD BELL. But there were two among the group that season, Edward Bell, And one whose name the muse with mournful reason, Shrinks to tell — An angel girl — the eldest that was there, And passing fair. They sat together where the trees o'ershaded, And they walked Along the margin of the stream, or waded, Sang and talked, And looked into each other's eyes to say — Oh, sweet, sweet — May ! And they discoursed of all the rural pleasures Spring imparts ; Field, garden, grove, — how full of truest treasures For true hearts ! The sweet vicissitude — the toil — the rest, Supremely blest ! How painted he the picture of the morning From the dawn : The cock's shrill trumpet earliest in warning ; The green lawn, The rising mist, the far receding night, The orient lisht ! j. lie uiieiiL uu, ^£L> %o= EDWARD BELL. The dewy glitter as the sun came peeping O'er the hill ; The lonely willow, where the loved were sleeping, Weeping still ; The skylark mounting with his matin lay To meet the day. The drowsy plough-boy to the meadow wending For the team, The barnyard choir their rueful concert blending With his dream ; The laden cows slow gathering before The dairy door. The creaking bars that John lets down for Sophy With her pails ; The hasty kiss he seizes as a trophy O'er the rails ; The patient oxen yoked and ready now To speed the plough. The grumbling mill-wheel indolently starting, And the corn In rustic wagons coming and departing ; The far horn Calling to the repast some swain remote, With welcome note c k EDWARD BELL. The curling smoke some distant cot denoting 'Mid the trees : The low bright clouds along the azure floating; The soft breeze, Where blooming orchards their sweet odors fling; The Spring, — the Spring! So penciled he, that youth, with raptured feeling, Yet serene, The guileless fountain of his heart revealing, That fair scene: And she, elate, delight in each blue eye, Made sweet reply. 'Twas her's to paint the dear domestic heaven That she knew : The tranquil joys, from early morn till even, Pure and true ; The peaee that seeks nunc oft the cottage gate Than courtly state. How eloquent to her each simple token Oi' the time. The dav's approach, — the chains of slumber broken, The sweet chime Of songsters warbling from the budding spray — Hail, flowery May ! - EDWARD BELL. The cool ablution at the dripping fountain, By the bower ; (A crystal treasure newly from the mountain, Since the shower,) The woodman's lay soft echoing on the ear, Oh, sweet to hear ! The strain now near, — and faintly now receding On the air ; Now heard, — now hushed again, some breeze impeding, Yet seems there, — The lingering cadence haunting all the sky, Too pure to die ! But yonder whistling teamster home returning O'er the farm, Slow wheeling up his load of brush for burning, Breaks the charm ; The crackling branches, and the axe' sharp fall Out-echoing all ! And now the blazing hearth, fair Jane preparing Her rich store : The idle dog the clamorous poultry scaring From the door : The frisking colt, the two pet lambs at play ; 'Tis May,— 'tis May ! EDWARD BELL. Xi 1J »1 Jl IV LI I > I / 1 ; 1 j . So mused that gentle pair, the time beguiling, That bright day ; Dreamed not the joyous group, that hours so smiling Pass away! They prattled, played, and helped the birds to sing, The rosy Spring ! Ah, brook and flowery bank how soon forsaken ! Ah, that time Should lull our truth to slumber, and awaken Pride and crime ! Oh years, oh change, how swift ye bear away Youth's happy May ! One morn again a poor old man was straying By the brook : Sore seemed the sorrow on his bent form weighing, Sad his look : For him nor field nor flowers were green, or gay, Though it was May. He gazed as dreaming of some brighter morning, Ere his wo : He missed the fairest flower that bank adorning, Long ago ! Five turfy mounds were there — there dead he fell ! 'Twas Edward Bell! ■> SNOW, A WINTER SKETCH, The blessed morn has come again ; The early gray- Taps at the slumberer's window pane, And seems to say Break, break from the enchanter's chain. Aw ay, away 'Tis Winter, yet there is no sound Along the air, Of winds upon their battle-ground, But gently there, The snow is falling, — all around How fair — how fair ! n SNOW. The jocund fields would masquerade ; Fantastic scour ! Tree, shrub, and lawn, and lonely glade 1 [ave cast their green, Ami joined the revel, all arrayed So white and clean. E'en the old posts, that hold the bars And the old gate, Forgetful oi' their wintry wars Ami ago soda to. High capped, and plumed, like white hussars, Stand there in state. The drifts are hanging by the sill, The eaves, the door ; The hay-stack has become a hill ; All covered o'er The wagon, loaded for the mill The eve before. Maria brings the water-pan, But where's the Well ! Like magic of a fairy tale, Most strange to tell, All vanished, curb, and crank, and rail! How deep it fell! q? SNOW. The wood-pile too is playing hide ; The axe, the log, The kennel of that friend so tried, (The old watch-dog,) The grindstone standing by its side, All now incog. The bustling cock looks out aghast From his high shed ; No spot to scratch him a repast Up curves his head, Starts the dull hamlet with a blast, And back to bed. Old drowsy dobbin, at the call, Amazed, awakes ; Out from the window of his stall A view he takes, While thick and faster seem to fall The silent flakes. The barn-yard gentry, musing, chime Their morning moan ; Like Memnon's music of old time That voice of stone ! So marbled they — and so sublime Their solemn tone. i =