■■■ r yii ■ m BY M & O X, L E G 1 A St* CHARLOTTESVILLE* VA. ■: PUBLISHED BY C. P. M'KENNIE, PRINTED BY D, DEANS AND CO. 1*33.- V ^ .;cm CO tf 36fll H3- fe TO ONE, WHO, ABOVE AIL OTHERS, SHOULD RECEIVE THIS HUMBLE TOKEN OF GBATITUBE AND RESPECT; «NE ALIKE ESTEEMED EOR HIS VIRTUES, AND ADMIRED EOR HIS TALENTS : TO HIS FATHER, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY AN AFFCTIONATE SON. [Page 77, second line from top, for So graven on hu lovely face — read To graven on her lovely face, ]. COM TENTS. -vw The history of whose hapless race, Thro* blood and tears we dimly trace ; The glories of whose brighter day Like morning mists have passed away; While mental slavery lingers there To curse the few whom death may spare ; Yet where bright maids of angel mould, Their beauties to the sight unfold, Set there man's cheerless lot to bless — — An Eden in some wilderness — The hue of whose clear laughing eyes Can fear no rival but her skies, The beauty of whose ruby lip Might tempt the bee its dew to sip ; TO MY COUNTRY. 13 Wliose long and curling golden hair, Floats like a sunset cloud in air ; The light of whose unshaded brow, Can make e'en mailed monarchs how ; Thy daughters— in that clime, we say, No fairer maids are found than they ! VI. Press on, my country — let thy way Be guided by the brilliant ray That beams from glorious Freedom's star ; Let no rash strife or ruthless jar Cause thee to leave thy onward track ! Bring thou, the erring nations back To the true sense of nature's right, Despising laws of power and might; — And Virtue to thy shrine shall bring Her high and holy offering ; Content her heavenly home shall leave Her chaplet round thy brow to weave ; And Plenty scatter round the land Her golden sheaves with bounteous hand ! POMPEII. Years have flown o'er thee, city of the dead, And Time hath pinioned still his changeless way, As swift and noiseless as a spirit's tread, Bringing to all things heauty and decay, Since the sun rose upon that sulph'rous day When thou wast huried in a fiery sea : Yet once again the glorious sunbeams stray Down to thy prison'd grandeur — there to be Kevealers of thine ancient wealth and luxury. POMPEII. 15 The echo of thy smothering people's cry Seems still to linger o'er their lava grave ; And, to my fancy, as the winds go by, They wail the dirge of heantiful and brave, Whom nothing from the fiery death could save,— Nor youth, nor beauty, nor the wealth of mind, Riches of Ind, nor gems of ocean cave, While the few traces they have left behind Prove the weak hopes of erring human kind. The traveller, as he urged his weary course Along thy smiling plains, fair Italy — The bandit, as he plied his murderous force, — A stain upon thy children's name and thee, — Ne'er dream'd that 'neath thy vinyards there might be A buried city, perfect in its gloom ; Nor knew thy peasant, in his harvest glee, He used his wine-press on a nation's tomb — - How often is death hidden by the brightest bloom ! Where are thine ancient glories ? — Writ in sand. Where all the trophies of thy might and pride ? On human tablets graved, by human hand — Such ne'er the mouldering touch of time defied. With Rome and Greece in grandeur thou hast vied— 16 POMPEII. Yet where is now thy grandeur F—With the dead! Thy name and glory may have been allied — What boots it ? for thy poets sung and warriors bled In vain. Thou and thy glory are a dream— 'tis fled. THOU HAST BEEN TO THE LAND, Thou bast been to tbe land where tbe lemon trees bloom, And tbe nightingale sings to the god of perfume ; Where clouds bathed in sun-light together are rolled Like visions of genii in purple and gold ; Where each leaf in the breath from a rose garden quivers, And the moonbeams lie sleeping on emerald rivers, Hast thou brought from that land any token of love, A ring, or a bracelet, a jewel or glove ? Did young eyes that glowed with the color of night Illumine thy path as twin meteors of light ? 18 THOU HAST BEEN TO THE LAND. Were love's words to thine ear in sweet confidence given, Making Eden of earth ; like a foretaste of Heaven ! Hast thou wandered along by the ruins of time, In grandeur still clothed amid slavery and crime ?•— - Or breathed rich perfumes where the wild flowers wave, That are nourished by blood upon Liberty's grave, In that land, tho' so fair, a meet emblem of sin, Whose tinsel can't veil the foul blackness within ? Thou hast come, and once more will I jewel my hair, And the lute and the seat in the arbour prepare ; I'll pluck thee my greenest geranium leaf, And recount, since thine absence, each pleasure and grief; And my lute, which has had such a long, long reprieve, Shall echo the song which I sung jou-^that eve! NATURE'S MUSIC. Where the cataracts roar 'mid the desert hills ? Or the earth laughs out from her thousand rills ; Where the eagle screams from his splintered crag, The clouds unfurled like a gilded flag Above where he sits ; or where the gay song Of the mock-bird swells tremblingly, loud and long ; Where the breezes creep thro' the singing grass, Or the oaks moan out as the whirlwinds pass ; Where the frosty moon on a winter night Gleams down on the ice with her diamond light, And the skaiters glide o'er its polished face, Wliile it crackles and heaves 'neath their magic pace ; c £0 nature's music. And the water chilled in its sluggish flow Utters'forth dull sounds in its course below ; Where the yellow leaves as they float to earth In the autumn time — when the frost has birth — Alight on the turf with a rustling sound, As the waters make in their pebbly bound ; Where the forest rings with the silver cry Of the eager pack as it hurries by ; Or the chirping sound of dissolving snow, As it runs in a gush 'neath the sun's red glow; There's Nature's music-— and her harp doth there Peal out on the sense with its liveliest air ; While its chords for another note are strung, For songs of the earth that are yet unsung. CASTLE BUILDING. When Nature's in her fairest dress, Which is to me the summer eve, And stars look out in loveliness, Forbidding all on earth to grieve ; When waters give their sweetest sound, And Nature's incense fills the air ; When opens Heaven her curtain round To show the charms which linger there ; 9 Tis sweet to walk with one of those, The fairest, lightest forms of earth, Whom poets liken to the rose, Or lily glowing into birth ; 22 CASTLE BUIIiDINGc With one who hath the mind to look Upon these things with bounding soul, And read in them as in a book, The sympathies which rule the whole-. One nigmV—just such a night as this, Of which I'm talking to you now — The flowers were drinking dew like bliss, And peace reposed on Nature's brow ; I wandered out with heart all flame, As tho' a lava spring were there, And she was with me, whose loved name E'en now can lay my feelings bare. As yet we had not breathed a word — My heart beat quick, irregular, Like to the wing of a tired bird, Come from its summer home afar- — But as the eagle in his flight, Soars high above all meaner things And dives into a sea of light, Which o'er his plume its jewels flings ; So Love doth rise o'er all its foes, And conquer with the thrilling glance, Which round the heart a fetter throws- Chaining the soul as in a trance- Cleaving its way thro' hopes and fears To the bright realms Of mutual bliss— CASTLE BUILDING. Love's antidote for sorrow's tears Is its own talismanic kiss. And we that night did feel Love's thrill, And picture scenes of future joy ; Nor dreamed that guile, or hate, or ill Could such pure happiness destroy. w w w ^F But short our hopes were left to build Upon the bliss themselves did give ; 3?or with despair our breasts were filled, Almost ere hope had ceased to live* '€ £ THE HURRICANE. Fiercely it rushed in its lightning wrath. While the spirit of death hover' d over i1s path. From the home of the thunder, the place of the storm^ It came, with destruction enrobing its form. On the mountain's lone bosom it revelled awhile, Lit there the deep forest's funeral pile, Then hurrying on, in the pride of its power, Seemed sent as though Nature itself to devour, And borne far away on the pinions of death, Breathed over the earth its desolate breath. — Many a spirit was bowed that night, That never had quailed in the gory fight; THE HURRICANE. 25 For how can the strife of man compare With the battles that rage 'mongst the spirits of air? It passed as the blackening surge of death, 'Whelming all life its dark waters beneath, And as it rushed in its terror by, Its roar seemed the trump of eternity. ^THE INDIAN'S COMPLAINT.* We must depart ! — And who can say How soon our race will pass away ? How soon we'll sing our death songs where (Our nation's shroud the desert air) The western forests sleep in gloom, A sombre tho' majestic tomb, Fit for a monarch people's rest ; * An Act was passed at a late Session of the Congress of the U. S., providing for the removal of certain surviving Indian Tribes west of the Mississippi River, &c THE INDIANS COMPLAINT. 27 How soon our name and scattered race May be a by- word and a jest, E'en in our fathers' dwelling place ! Here once our council fires arose, Unfanned by breath of eastern clime ; Here were the graves of hapless foes, Memento of a braver time ; And here the wild flowers' rich perfumes Are wandering o'er our fathers* tombs ! Here each bright river murmurs through The bowers and shades our mothers knew ; While every bud or leaflet tells Of home, and all home's magic spells ! Our childhood here was laughed away, (The passing of an April day) Love visioned here his gayest dream, Hope charmed it with her brightest beam, And here each tree or flower that waves, Is nurtured on our fathers' graves ! The wild bird breathes as gay a note As e'er it did in days of yore, Its lays on every breeze still float, Yet we shall hear those lays no more ! The diamond sprinkled heavens, at night, Are still as blue and richly bright, Yet we in other skies afar Must seek some brighter guiding star ! 28 the Indian's complaint. The land of our forefathers' fame, But to their sons a land of shame, We leave for one we dread to name- White man ! you have the power, the will ! You'll have jour recompence of ill ! EVENING. Evening is stealing with her nectared breath, Slowly and calmly down to kiss each flower That pouteth in rich beauty from beneath Its emerald colored guardians — the bright leaves-— ('Tis strange what solace brings that magic hour To every heart that hopes, or loves, or grieves — It is the fitting time for fervent prayer, Which rises holily on kindred air — For then the air is holy — 'tis the time For love — the only time to gaze and die Beneath the lustre of a diamond eye ; Yet strange to tell, it is the hour for crime !) In golden majesty the glorious sun. 30 EVENING. With light too pure for eye to gaze upon* Is sinking slowly in the gorgeous west — A monarch going proudly to his rest.~- He's gone, and mellow twilight creeps along As gently as the cadence of a song, — Twilight, to whom each poet in his day, Hath breathed melodious and impassioned lay* While o'er his soul thy witchery was stealing, As sweetly as the whispered tones of feeling. Evening — 'tis then the o'er fraught heart doth pour Its wealth of pious incense at the shrine Of deity — the spirit then may soar Into those regions where the angels twine Wreaths for the glorious of our earthly race ;—* *Tis then that we can see, and feel, and trace His glory in the realms of starry space! TO Years, with their weight of joy and care,. Have gone like shadows by, Since first I knew thy hird-3ike voice ; And loved thine ehon eye ; And days, which pass as sunlight From the breakings of a cloud, Bring to the scenes no lethe draught Which on my memory crowd. I knew thee in the summer time With its wealth of bud and blossom, And have plucked the sweet mouthed violet To wreathe upon thy bosom, TO And hunted many a wildwood dell, With joy I now confess, In search of Ih ing perfumes To bind thy raven tress. And when the stars were breathing out Their holy light to earth, And diamonding the glad blue sky For the young moon's queenly birth, I've gazed upon some lovely one, And thought that it might be A glorious home in the afterworld, In which to live with thee. And my heart has throbbed with ecstacy To catch thy mellow glance, And feel thy soft hand's pressure, As I've turned thee in the dance ; And I've watched thy speaking features, As the music's rich note came On the sense with its gush of melody, Or burned in its tone of flame. And when the flatterer's painted words Were breathed into thine ear, Have scanned thy bright eye anxiously To see how thou wouldst hear; TO And thy lightest tone would thrill me, As by a magic spell But the feelings I have had for thee. Words can but faintly tell ! But 'tis enough — I would not bring B ack to thy memory now A single thought to give thee pain, Or shade thy noble brow ; For the love I once did bear thee, Thy faults I'll not relate, And though I ne'er can love again, Be sure I ne'er can hate. STANZAS. Where rest the bones of millions — where the grave Has swallowed up embattled myriads, go ! With eye undaunted look beneath the wave — With fearless footstep tread the Alpine snow I Sit at Palmyra, in a pillar's shade- Tread on the dust of Thebes' hundred gates — Hear the wind howl thro' some long colonnade, Where once trod those who held an empire's fates ! List to the surge that foaming washes o'er The sands where mighty Pompey's bones were laid, Then walk those streets where spirits did deplore The debt wiiich soon his mightier rival paid ! STANZAS. 35 Beneath a willow in Helena's isle, Sit on a grass-grown tumulus ! — then say, u Man, and his pride and power exist awhile, u But soon into the past like shadows die away. >B '2 "TO Memory ! Memory I—'tis like the talismaft We read of in the page of Eastern story, That magi used the inmost soul to scan Of friends or foes ; or oft mayhap to call From his bright crystal, gold, or diamond hall, Some brother in his supernatural glory— The talisman of feeling, that doth bring Back on the heart the deeds of other days, With all their dark or glorious colouring— The wizard of the soul, whose wand can rak« The disembodied spirits of the dead to . ST Palpable as it were to touch j — impress The face of such as long ago have fled Into their state of holy blessedness, Upon the mind. And sometimes, love, it shows Bright glimpses of the past — shadows of bliss, Like fiittings of an angel's wing in dreams— The memory of our love — so bright, it seems As of another world— too pure for this ! Sweet love, those days may yet return — who knows ? One night — -you recollect that night- There was a festival among the stars, They had put on theii -jewelled robes, and shone Each like a monarch on his saphire throne, And each did nobly act a monarch's part, "While 'neath their beams the waters glanced as bright As gleam in battle Turkish cimetars. 'Twas to do homage to the young new moon. Their queen — perhaps to you, my love— how soon To change and change again, like — —-woman's heart* Well, well, you recollect the night ? and sky ? ■• "'Twas such as poets say they have, alone, In that soft land, which men call Italy ;-— ''Tis no such thing— by Jove! I'd scarce give oue Of old Virginia's skies — that is, in June, When nature revels 'neath the "harvest moon"— For twenty such ; nor e'er believe the man Telling sach tales of skies Italian ! ^8 *fo ** And don't you recollect how you did rest Your head upon my arm, and whisper low Into mine ear the feelings of your breast, And how I motioned you to talk them slow, They were so grateful ? And how I plucked a kiss From the ripe coral of thy melting lip, For every love you murmured ? and the bliss Which passionate, uncorrupted, I did sip From off their cherried pouting, and— don't blush-"- You need not — 'twas the first warm, fervent gush Of warm first love ! — and how I gazed, and looked Into that rich dark eye of thine, till sight Was palled with lustre ? Then I could have brooked Aught, ere ceased gazing on its mellow light — And that dark hair of -thine, which fell and wreathed Adown thy shoulders as an angel tress, How it was stirred by the low sighs we breathed, As hearts that undulate with happiness ? Enough ! you needs must recollect full well — - /see, Jfeel it now, by wizard Memory's spelL TIES. The earth is full of hidden spells, To weave around the soul ; The sunny skies- — old ocean's cells, And the waves that o'er them roll ; While every zephyr whispering tells Of nature's deep control. The soul hath ties in the mountain breeze. In the charms of a summer sky ; In wandering along 'neath budding trees By the light of a laughing eye ; Or living in isle of Indian seas, Where perfumes wanton by. 40 TIES. And ties it hath in each lone! y grove, In the rage of an angry wave ; It hath ties in the many spells of love ; It hath ties in the dreary grave — The grave, to which all downward move, The beautiful, the brave. Love sits upon an ivory brow, And sleeps in a wreathing tress, Looks out from an eye with a diamond's glow, In holy joyousness ; Which charms away the pang of woe, The heart with hope to bless. *Tis the deepest tie — for it chains the mind, Like a fairy's 'chanted wand ; It holds e'en giant forms confined, Hath worlds at its command, And in its silken folds doth bind The bright of every land. LINES OCCASIONED BY THE ANTICI- PATED FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE.* i. Thy plumes are ruffled now, proud bird ! O'er land and ocean, forest, solitude, The echo of thy last, sad shriek is heard! — The glance of majesty Is quailing now from thy fierce eye, And the deep wailing of thy scattered brood Is dying to a murmur. Sadly dark * These lines' were written on receiving intelligence that the Russian army was on its march to that capital in the summer of 1829. 4£ XINES OCCASIONED BY THE ANTICIPATED Is thy soiled plumage, and thy gilded crest Has fallen—so often fall the loftiest and the best. Hark! To the tread of the devouring foe ! — ■ But ere thou art laid low, Shall not one last avenging blow Be struck ? Rouse thee, proud bird ! Thy voice of triumph 'mid the nations, yet May swell from mosque and minaret — May with the bravest and the first be heard ! ii. Stamboul! proud city of the East! Sister of Homo ! — old mistress of a world — Wilt thou from thy high state be hurled? Shall not thy sinewy arm be strung With its accustomed power? — at least Gird on thy mail, and let thy dirge, If thou must die, upon the battle's verge, Amid the shock of arms, be sung! in. The tread of armies gathering around A nation's grave, One, proud 'mongthe proudest, 'mid the bravest brave, FALL OF CONSTANTINOPLE. 43 Comes like the rush of waters from afar. Peals with an echo thro' thy forest halls^ Great Europe ! and there calls, Amid thy peopled solitudes, a voice, A deep, imploring sound, Begging thy strength against the hloody Czar, Where he and his red myrmidons rejoice, Gloating upon the savage charms of war. IV. And shouldst thou fall, great city — should the wind Be burthened with thy dust, Tho' not a trace he left behind Of where thou standest now, On History's page there will he — ay, there must Be w T oven Memory's brightest wreath, With flow'rs that flourish'd 'neath Fame's breath, To bind thy gallant brow I F, TO ISABEL. Where sweeps the wanton zephyr with a slow And gentle motion o'er the waving grass, That moves beneath it as a thing of life ; Where bend the wild flowers to its lambent kiss, Hanging their heads and blushing as a girl When her heart's idol whispers in her ear ; Where the pink clover blossoms peep from out The rich green leaves that half conceal their hue, Like sprigs of coral in a Nereid's hair ; I'll walk alone and think of thee my love, Swearing thy cheeks glow brighter than the rose, Which pouts in gaudy richness to mine eye ; TO ISABEL. 54 And that thy voice hath more of melody Than that of yellow breasted lark, who sings His evening love-song from yon leafy hough. And then I'll stroll beside the crystal brook, Counting the pebbles for a lack of thought, Until the blue of heaven, reflected from The stream, reminds me of thy beaming eye, Which doth surpass in richness that pure blae ; Its glances too, I'll dare to think as bright And sparkling as the day god's golden rays, Which gild the ripples on the water's face ; Then as thy charms together fill my mind, I'll breathe in song the ardor of my love. THE ESTRANGED. On a foreign shore his grave was made, And none were there to love him ; hi a foreign land his corse was laid, With the bright blue sky above him. With a careless mein they laid him there, Far far from the friends of his bosom, For his breast was now cold as the winter air. And his heart like a withered blossom. The stranger men, they heaved no sigh, And shed no tear of pity, But moved away as carelessly, As the men of a crowded city. THE ESTRANGED. 47 In after time no maidens came To strew Ins grave with roses, And on the plain stone is graved no name, Where the hapless youth reposes. And there he lies neglected still, With his brightest deeds unspoken ; And none there be who e'er could tell How his heart and hopes were broken. is 2 TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. -WWW— i It was a happy morning — twilight's gloom Formed a faint contrast to the waning star, Whose mellow richness came like silver down Upon — — 's shadowed brow. The crescent queen Was gliding slowly to her curtained rest, Attended by her handmaids of the sky, And as the last beam glowed upon 's tress, 'Twas ambered lustre on a raven's wing. — The sky, the air, the very earth was still ; The majesty of nature was abroad, And incense from earth's petaled censers rose A meet and silent homage to His power. TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. 49 It was a morning such as Love might choose To hold his court — the Love, I mean, who dwelt In fancies of the old philosophers, — Or such an one as faithless Helen took To trust love's guidance with her guilty boy. — Well, well, but I have wandered— it is strange How the still beauty of a jeweled sky, As now, can win me from my theme ; or how My errant thoughts will mutiny, as when A dear old aunt once lectured me, I thought, On Isabel's first kiss, and w T ept — good soul ! She deemed her homilies had done their work. It was a glorious morn, and we must part ! O Time ! one moment stay your flight, we prayed — Another, but another ! — Time flew on. It came, like sunshine to a captive's eye, Or as the perfume from a violet bank, Bracing a sick man's frame ; or any thing On earth of rich, or pure, or beautiful, That strikes the mind with its most wonted rareness,, That mellow note of thine, my unseen bird ! Sorrow may come upon the heart — despair May almost claim it — yet there is a spell In all the untaught harmonies of earth, A charm in nature's simple melodies, Whether of bird, or bee, or leafy songs, 50 TO A BIRD HEARD AT BREAK OF DAY. Or noise of running waters, that can bring Man to Ills noble bearing back, and cheer The soul, as moisture doth a desert plant. — Thy note, sweet bird, was like an angel's note. Or fairy lute from hayacinthine bed, ■As its rich volume wandered from the buds Of my young sister's fragrant lemon tree, And bore unto my drooping spirit hope That we should meet again— I can't tell why — Such fantasies will crowd upon my brain — That oft-times I am half inclined to think I have a poet's soul— and this was one — - But no, it cannot be— the stern old page Of legal lore will stoop my spirit down To all the dull realities of life, Bringing life's cares without life's poetry. — I've wandered once again — fie truant thoughts !- Sweet bird, I thank thee fop thy song. The accompanying sketches were found in an envelope, among some old papers, endorsed with the word "ATHEIST." -Pale as a statue of Despair, Yet still most brightly, calmly fair ; With an eye in which volcanoes slept, Though for distress that eye had wept ; And a look in which deep scorn was writ, So deep that you might not gaze on it ; With a lip that an angel might deign to press Yet a lip that was curled in haughtiness ; And a face that mirrored grief and .care, In vspiteof the scorn which lingered there | — The lady sate. Through the lattice came The breeze, that to her was a breath of flame ; 52 ATHEIST. And the river that softly glided below, So soft that sweet music breathed out in its flow, Was to her as a fabled river of wo ; While the balmy and holy air of even Seemed rather of hell than a breath from Heaven : Yet she was so sternly beautiful, With her scornful but majestic eye, That your very sense might e'en grow dull In scanning such a mystery. With a flashing red glare from his blood-shot eye, And a scornful glance at the passers by — His brow darkly shaded by care and pain, Where was swelling with pride each purple vein— With a regal stride in his haughty gait, And a face that looked wan and disconsolate, — The stranger passed. What means the stern glare Flashing out from beneath his shaggy hair ? Why doth he cast on each face a look As though he were reading a printed book ? And as he stalks through the peopled street, Why doth each passenger dread to meet His earnest gaze ? And why is this dread, As if he wero of the risen dead ? And who is he ? — A man, alone, Who has reared in his mind a blackened throne Where the demon of self doth sit and reign, And scoff at the work of his Maker's pain ! STANZAS. ? Tis said that the heart thro' long absence forgets The love of its earlier hours ; But ah ! who can say that it ever regrets Time spent with that love in her bowers ? ? Tis said that the memory seldom will stray To the scenes of our young love back, For the roses that bloomed in our joyous way Have withered and hidden the track. Yet tho' in the days of maturer affection, The heart does consider its young love lightest, It cannot resist the intense recollection Of pleasures, tho' vague, that were sweetest and brightest. DAVID, ■v\vwv— King David knelt. Rich perfumes played around, Rising luxuriantly up from flowers, That droopingly bent down their heads, as grieved To part from their rich spirit of existence ; Yet that was not the cause, for pestilence Was out upon the land, and its hot breath Came siiHingly upon the sense like death, Q? languor caused by slowiy working drug. The song of birds from many a gaudy clime, That fluttered in their tiny palaces, Rose not upon the ear as free and full DAVID 55 As when it cheered a Prince's dalliance hour, For clammy fever burthened every note ; And e'en the very jewels lacked the bright And varied lustre of their native mines — So deadly was that breath of pestilence ! The diadem had fallen from his head, and lay As if in mockery of its owner's state- — His hands were clasped so earnestly that blood Oozed out from 'neath each jewelled hoop of gold, Making the rubies redder, while large drops — ■ — Like drops of agony — stood on his brow. — Not thus upon the battle field he smote, In youthful might, the mailed one of Gath 5— The victor's flush was now usurped by wan And pallid aspect — O ! he was bowed down ! And David prayed ! — Even as an infant's prayer— — That holier whisper than an Angel's brj^jth — Which floats to Heaven in purity at morn, Or when the stars are out, looking as bright As tho' they shone upon a sinless world, So rose the Monarch's prayer— most holily— For was it not the prayer of penitence ?•— Long and most deep the struggle ! — Yet he rose With lightened hnart; and ere the sun went down The dreadful plague was stayed, and from that hour, He walked a better ami a holier man. TO A HUMMING BIRD, Bird of the bright enameled wing, That seemest scarce a thing of earth, From any mortal source did'st spring, Or did some fairy give thee birth, And thou the work of sportive hour, Wast made to show her fairy power ? Oft I hear your humming sound. When seated in a rural bower, As you take your morning round, Sipping each delicious flower, And then your hum doth seem to me The sound of sweetest melody. TO A HUMMI1CG BIRD. 5 7 The nightingale of boasted lay Trolls her dull song on summer night. But more I lo^e the summer day That brings me thee of heart so light, F or unto thee it doth belong, To gather nectar with a song. When sets the sun in splendor bright, And burnishes the western sky, Just ere its orb gives way to night, I love to see the twittering fly From honeysuckle to jasmine sweet, Around most tremulously fleet ; — And then where'er thy glittering crest Doth intercept a dying ray, In all thy brightest colors drest, Thou lookest the servant of a fay, Come down from her aerial bowers To cull for her the choisest flowers ! [The following lines were found, many years after his death, in the escrutoire of a venerable, but melancholic gentleman, who was much given to indulgence at the csena- torial meal. He had been heard to make strange noises in his sleep, and certain uncanonical exclamations to which he at times, gave utterance, suggested the belief that, during that interval of passive existence, he had strong contentions with some real or imaginary cause of inquie- tude ; but whether his sufferings were of a mental or phy- sical nature, was never distinctly ascertained. These lines were supposed to have been written shortly after a more than usually severe struggle with his nocturnal tor- mentor, and while laboring under the state of depression consequent on his exertions. Whether they referred to any passage in his life, or were the promptings of a dis- tempered fancy, was never known, as his youth was spent in a foreign land. By dint of active enquiry and investigation, however, we to . 59 have been enabled to find a single circumstance which may possibly throw light upon the origin of these singular lines. It appears from a half-worn miscellaneous journal book of the old gentleman's landlady, that about the pe- riod, which the verses bear date, she received from the good city of New York an invoice of pickled lobster, and some other piscatory edibles, well calculated for experi- ments in the abstruse science of gastrodynamics.] TO I have had dreams of wild romance^ Too high for human means to know ; The burning spell of beauty's glance ? The rich lip's pure and coral glow ? — No — these are human, and I've clung With madness to thy Ihrilling kiss, And could (and did I not ?) have flung To earth my hopes for that wild bliss. It was not this ! — though like a form Of angel mould, a dying man ¥ou might to sense and being warm — ■ It was not this !— the talisman, F S CO TO -. Which threw my spirit at your feet, And called my fancy's visions up, With such unearthly hues replete — The foolish dream which dashed my cup, Was that your bright form had a soul. You may have loved me — yes, you did ; I once had o'er your heart control ;— Dost recollect how you have hid Your glowing features in my breast, And how I've kissed you to your rest ? Dost recollect that glorious night When the stars held their carnival, And the glad heaven was jeweled quite, And dew like joy on flowers did fall, And how thy tears upon my hand, Warm tears of bliss were calmly shed ?— I sealed the bond of union — and — Away ! — those scenes have fled. 1 had a fever once ; — my brain And very blood did boil again ; Life was a bUrtuen io my sense, Until thy cheek of innocence — Then, then I thought it innocent — The thrill through all my fibres went— * Was lain to mine — a recompense For a whole age of damning pain. TO • Dost recollect ? — You bathed my brow With a soft and cooling medicine ; The touch of thy white hand did throw A balm upon my spirit then, And I got well — you know the day When first I kissed your fears a\N ay — Your fears !-— ha ! ha ! — you mock me new- Fears of a thing as false as thou J Did ever word or act of mine Pain thy young feelings ? — No— The falsehood and deceit were thine— To me was left the draught of wo. And here we part ! — one look — a kis.s-^ No, no — and has it come to this ! Thy name will ne'er be breathed again — > It has been breathed too oft in vain ! I'll pray for thee thou heartless toy-^ Another look — no look of joy ! — ■ A fond and trusting heart you've broken ; Yv'e part ! — the bitter words are spoken. w ^ ^ ^ ^ 3? Away !-- -the fiend is near me now, •1 feel Ids hot breath on my brow ; He smiles to win me from my thought, As if I could again be caught By .falsehood's deep and subtle wile-- 61 62 TO As if thy failings had not taught How hollow were the sigh and smile ! Again, I feel that fever's heat ; Again, I feel my pulses heat, Like some half-hidden raging fire, Which for its covering burns the higher. My life-blood courses black and thick, As tho' its passage were so quick Along my frame, that heaven's pure breath Its vital portion had not lent, To guard against the pang of death, When its first action had been spent. But still I breathe, — and think, — -and hope. That in our life-time's narrow scope, Only a certain portion's given Of misery, by all bounteous heaven ; — > If so, that I shall soon outlive The greatest share that heaven would give— • If so, that I might soon depart-^- And then I'd tear thee from my heart ! That grinning fiend again I see Dancing before me merrily — God ! that I should be forced to bear Its taunting mockery of air I to . 63 I see it in my nightly dream, In leafy wood — by crystal stream, And aye the demon seems to wear The features that were once so fair ! It mocks me still — away ! away ! Thank heaven I see the breaking day I TO A LADY. I knew thee when my heart beat high With many a dream of love, And thoughts, which then I fondly deemed Were whispers from above. Thy form seemed not then fashioned like The misty things of earth, And fancy gave thy spotless mind A high and holy birth. I weaved the lily's glowing gems Amid thy raven hair, And thought their beauties made for thee, Though not so pure and fair. TO A lADY. 65 I loved to touch thy snow-white hand, And read thy speaking eye 5 A nd dared to think it told me then, My hopes were not too high. You know the eye we wandered forth To look upon the sky, And single out the brilliant star. Which ruled your destiny. It was a vain and foolish thing, You sighed and lowly said, B ut bade me watch that glowing star, When you were with the dead. Was it that thoughts of thy blest state Might clear my drooping mind ? Or that you then would commune with The heart you'd left behind ? But time passed on — you did not die, Nor give the merest chance, That I might ever prove to you My vows were not romance. You did not die — nor show to me Your sentiment and truth ; Although the fancy ball attests How well you looked in Ruth. 66 TO A XADY. That brilliant star is shining still, As pure and brightly fair, As when I bound the rich bouquet Among thy raven hair. And I suppose, you've quite forgot Our long and lonely walks, Our sentimental metreing, Our soft and dove-like talks. You Ihink I care — but list awhile — I saw the other day. Amid those long and jetty locks A single sprig of grey ! NIGH TV I look upon the stars sometimes — I love To watch their twinkling in the azure ground Of Heaven's o'er-arching canopy, where move Ten thousand worlds — which, starting with a bound- Plough with fiery track, the unseen waves Of fathomless immensity ; to see, Age after age, that sky hung o'er the graves Of buried nations, as a tapestry— A funeral canopy when dyed with gloom ; That sky, which, robed in majesty, looked bright Upon Columbus, when he sought the tomb Of all his hopes, or strove to snatch from Bight, G 68 NIGHT. And claim the birth-right of a world. "Tis when 1 view the stars, bright handmaids of the moon— Who walks among them as a virgin queen- That, with those stars to riot, seems a boon From Heaven ; I love to see that moon's pure beams- Like lightning shot upon the a\ atery waste, Which like a mine of living diamonds gleams — Each sparkling but an instant—as in haste To hide its liquid lustre in the wave — A jeweled bathing place— a starlit home- Fit— ay, beautifully fit to lave The light of worlds in upper air which roam. NUNC TEMPI'S. The flowers are springing, Like fairy things bright ; And the young birds are singing By fountains of light- Then hail ! mirth and laughter, And love song and wine ; Let sorrow come after — The present is mine. Lets' away to the shadiness By the cool stream, Where joy is forgetfulness, And care but a dream, 70 KTXC TEMPUS* While the blush of the morning Is bright on the roses, Which, each dew drop adorning, In freshness discloses, — From old Time let us borrow A moment or two, Ere the dark form of sorrow Intrude on the view ! LOVE. ^Twas in a high and dimly lighted hall (Whose gilded wainscot and rich tapestry Were scarcely visible) that a pall Was placed. Dark forms were gliding softly by. Which, ever as they passed it, gave a look That timidly withdrew itself again, Yet still was turned there, as if the eye took A pleasure in beholding what gives pain, Or tho' there were a superstitious dread (But yet it scarce was dread) that fixed her gaze Upon the sable livery of the dead, As sure as when the look of serpent stays, g 2 LOVE. And fixes on its own its victim*s eye.**- Tliess forms passed on — the dead alone was there !**- The summer air, that made the arras sigh, Was all the sound that broke upon the ear. There is a solemn stillness in the hour Of midnight, when all nature's hushed to calm. And she, and her rich beauties, voiceless pour Upon the glowing soul their holy balm.— '*Tis at that hour that death seems doubly death. Then few can calmly see its cold caress, Who feels not then a chilling of his breath. To view the spirit's home when tenantless ? Affection tho' will stem the roughest wave That's caused by passion's storm on life's wide sea. Will face the hardships of adversity, and lave its cygnet bosom where the tempests he, And count it pleasure with the dead to bide. That living was the theme of love and care— Yea, think to watch with that one by its side The consummation of each wish and prayer.— When the warm heart is lone and desolate, Reft of the form whose image centered there, There is a sort of charm in sorrow's state, A pleasure joined with pain that heart must bear ;■— For who with feelings that are fresh and young, But loves to sec the source from whence they sprung. Altho' that source be dry, and love's pure font Be parched as streams that flow near JEtna's morit? xoye. : There is a charm in solitude— not that which loves The cold, secluded cell of anchorite, And looks upon each thing in life that moves. With misanthropic eye of selfish spite ; But what is felt when in a musing mood We sit ; above us the sky gemmed with stars. But that to me is scarcely solitude— I cannot look upon those heavenly cars, That wheel in endless flights, and be alone ; For na1 ure's breathing incense to her God, And any he art that feels not, must be stone, Tho' loss of such sweet pleasure is the rod To punish it. In solitude, the charm Which makes the poet love its influence, Is, that it rouses feelings new and warm, And opens in his mind a loftier sense Of things. The lover feels it too — But I must stop : my feelings so can win Me from my proper subject to pursue Their endless promptings, that it seems no siu To humour them a little. I have said In a rich hall the trappings of the dead Were seen. — Now by them a young female stood Who looked as living death and solitude, T**or her young face bore marks of grief and cult. Sou seldom see such vouthiul faces wear. 74 10TB. She was quite pale ; her roses all were fled. She lowly bowed upon the bier her head, And as the light her ringlets played upon, They shone like neck of dove turned proudly to the sun. # # # # ? 4* She raised her eyes to heaven ! The crystal tear, That slowly stole adown her roseless cheek, Was like the dew drop in the spring of year That settles on the lily. Proudly meek Was her fixed look a moment ; then burst forth The feelings of her heart, as if in prayer, Or lamentation for departed worth. " He's gone from me ! My God ! with what intenseness did I love him ! — Just when my cup seemed nectared to the brim, *Twas broken suddenly. He was the oak, Round which the tendrils of my young heart clung ! — The storm came there — -the oak was prostrate flung — The tendrils were all broke ! The very air That wantoned in his ringlets charmed, Because it love of all its fears disarmed, And laid my whole heart bare ; Lovfi. 75 For who could see The jetty r cks that shaded, now and then, His blooming cheek, and flitted by again, And rather chose to be A secret slave, Bound with the hidden chains of magic love, Than by confessing it restraint remove. — The soul of man can't brave The world's proud sneers, And when adversity and hardships come, And haggard want invades his peaceful home, Too oft his love appears A moment's spark, Kindled upon the surface of his heart, Within whose core the barb of true love's dart Ne'er left its changeless mark. But woman's love ! — It is the stay and prop of her frail life, -Unmixed with aught of earthly hate or strife, A halo from above It sheds around The object, whom its bright rays shine upon— A light, as when creation had begun, The youthful -earth first found, 76 X0VE. But his was firm, Devoted to the being he adored, Tho' when I listed his betrothing word, His love was in the germ. Yet well I knew The seeds would take a vigorous root and spring — It was not my fond love's imagining, For he has aye been true. And I, great Heaven ! How I have loved him ! — with a love as strong, As that deep love which poets tell in song, To youthful hearts is given." The tears fell fast upon her snow white hands — She clasped them in the attitude of prayer, Then used them for the alabaster bands To curb the uncinctured tresses of her hair ;— They looked while rovi-g thro' her ringlets, as The autumn lily 'midst the bro^ nish leaves. It was involuntary ; for she was So like a youthful Niobe (who grieves, As poets say. in marble for her boys) That you might see she was the monument Of hope's and youth's anticipated joys Cut short. And dark despair had spent LOVE. ft The efforts of his strong and harrowing power, So graven on his lovely face the marks Of his fell triumph. Find me in beauty's bower A lovelier form — with voice more like the lark's (Who leads the matin choir in nature's praise) Than had this peerless lady ; yet she found In life more ill than the almighty pays As heritage to common mortals. — Round Her youthful form the fires of death had blazed Already. — In a few months her cheek Hud lost its ashen paleness, and, amazed, Her friends beheld the glowing roses break The spell which their forebodings had called uj) — The spell that seemed lo woo her for the tomb. They had drunk deeply of dark sorrow's cup; The bitter draught was sweetened, for the bloom, That played upon her features, strcngthed hope. — Deceit and death glowed in tl at hectic fjot; ' Twas as his land which thro' telescope, The sailor thinks he sees ; yet finds that it is not She died ! No wonder that she died, poor girl ! For 'tis a grievous thing to lose the stay And hope of life. When dard misfortunes hurl Their missiles at us, even for a day, 78 iOVE. Is it not hard to suffer their attack ? But when life's barque is launched upon a sea, A shoreless ocean, and without a track, Or mark to show the haven of felicity, No wonder that the barque becomes a wreck, Rushing to death at deaths* terrific beck* tf- "ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS." She is a lovely girl — she hath an eye Rich with the color of a summer sky ; A high, white forehead, melting in The clustering ringlets of her golden hair, Seeming so beautiful, that it might win An angel's kiss upon its surface fair. — I would you might but see her rounded cheek, Tinted with color like the rosy streak Of a rich, melting peach or nectarine — Would you not give the world like me to sip A maddening bliss — more powerful than wine — From the ripe coral of her melting lip ? H 80 "ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLISTENS." Or drink into your very soul the glance Of her expressive eye ? Or press her hand When circling with her in the glowing dance ? Or read her looks which speak a music bland ? But stop — I'll tell no more of her, lest I Should weave about your sense a magic spell, That I might have to break unpleasantly, And fashion from your dreaming heaven — a hell. One day — it was an April day — the sun Was tripping, like a brisk young gallant, through The wide expanse of heaven's unclouded blue — I paid a visit to this fairy one — And saw — thoughts how T ye burn ! — in dishabille My charmer. — Shall I tell it ? — Yes, I will; Close, reader ! — Closer yet ! — I'll tell it you-— I found my lovely maid an arrant shrew ! THE SONG OF PLEASURE, •www— I'ix weave thee a chaplet green and bright ; I'll paint thy cheeks with a rosy light ; The power to charm shall be placed in thine eye, And thou shalt be queen when I am by ; But mark me, maiden ! the price is death, And its seeds lurk deep in my blooming wreath. STouth, thou shalt sip at my brimming bowl ! The glances of beauty shall gladden thy soul ! Where the roses bloom shall thy pathway be, And my smile shall enliven thy revelry ; But mark me, youth ! when thy days are o'er The favor of Pleasure shall greet thee no more. §2 THE SONG OF PLEASURE. Come to my bowers thou hoary old man ! Enjoy thy life though it be but a span — Come ! and the songs and the dances of mirth Shall buoy thee up as thou goest from earth ; But mark me, old man ! a coming day Will the debt you contract in tenfold pay. I roam o'er the world in a boundless flight — I make thy day brighter, and cheer up the night Wherever I go I invite with me all, And many arouse at my tempting call ; But they know full well that the price is high, Which they all must pay for their revelry. MIDNIGHT. I love to muse by the river beach, When the stars are shining o'er me, When the breaking wave doth a moral tcael As it flashes in light before me. The air is like a titleless sea Of pure and silvery light, And the waters glance transparently, Illumed by the queen of night. The crested waves as they dash on high, And dissolve in pearly beads, Appear as a carpet spread gaudily, Where the giant sea-god treads. u % 84 MIDXIGHT. The stars that glance up so peacefully, Seem set in the river's bed, And the restless leaves of the poplar tret Make music o'er my head. On such a night did the Indian woo, And win his dusky bride ; On such did he vow to be ever true, As they sat by this river's side. She looked upon the studded sky, As he told his flattering tale ; Her dark eyes sparkling brilliantly, When seen by the moon beams pale. He pointed to the evening star — *Tis reflected at my feet — And told her of a home afar, Where faithful lovers meet. He told her, when this Hie was o^er, That they'd visit that shining isle ; And sit upon that golden shore, Beneath the spirit's smile. But list to the sound of that thrilling note ! 'Tis the lover's serenade ! And his heart beats quick, that his lay may float To his own loved blue-eyed maid. MIDNIGHT. 85 And she is sleeping sweetly now — Her eyelids darkly fringed, While a shade like thought is on her browv And her cheek is slightly tinged. She's dreaming of her own true love, By the smile upon her lip ; She dreams of a fount like that above, TVhere their wings the angels dip. 'Tis the fount of love, as pure and deep As the faith to spirits given — ? Tis blissful, for this maid asleep Imagines it like to heaven. But the winds are rising in their might And the clouds stalk blackly on — I know there'll be a storm this night, For the sky's pure blue has gone. THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY. -www*— When the springtime of youth, and its magical hours Are passing away from their happiest prime, And Age steals the tints from Life's sunniest flowers, To aid him in weaving a garland for Time ; — When the many dull cares which environ us here Are pressing their incubus weight on the mind ; For the pleasures that leave us we scarce find a tear In gladness for tnose which still linger behind. ? Tis thus, that in times of the dreariest gloom, The heart finds a balm for its care and its sorrow In reflecting that 'mid all its grief there is room To think of the bliss it may have on the morrow* THE TRUE PHILOSOPHY. 87 And, again, when the trials of life are severe, And death and disease stalk abroad in the land, 'Tis joyful to know that our lessons of fear Are lessons dealt out by a merciful hand ! August, 1832. WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. -vwwv— . Sleep, like a healing medicine, hath come To brace the sinews of the o'ertired world. — The gentle and the simple ; those who live In palaces, or such as till the earth, Are all alike as infants in her web, Wearing away their moiety of life — The glorious half — in slumber's unknown land. Let them sleep on — I greet the liquid balm Which flows in wavelets o'er my feverish brow, Telling of far off climes — a messenger To cheer the student with its fragrant news. Sweet air, ere thou hadst come to rouse me up WRITTEN AT COLLEGE. 89 From my dull page of science, o'er \a hat brow, What fairy bosom in a mortal land, Hadst thou been wandering ? Didst steal a kiss From Julia's parted lips, and list to hear The murmur of her dream ? Or have you been Over the wide sea in your wanton mood, Wafting the good ship to her destined port, Or stirring up the depths of ocean's rage, Fretting the blue waves to their mountain swell ? Or by the dwelling place of old Romance Hast strayed ? Or 'mid the orange groves of Spain, Making low music with their fragrant leaves ? — Flow on ! flow on ! — the sweet Smith's denizen ! My spirit freshens up — trite learning's spell Is broken by the magic of the hour, And my heart wanders to that happy place, Where first we met amid the bright young flowers ; — And now when years so noiselessly have fled, Making no record of our untaught love, Thought still recalls those scenes of youthful joy, Memory will still recur to olden time — To that rent bond which once had bound our souls, MUSINGS. Life lias its sunshine and its showers — 'tis like A child smiling through tears, whose innate glee Breaks forth e'en 'mid a storm of petty grief. Life has its changes too ! I recollect How different was my childhood's waywardness From the pursuits of study and of love ; Its joys and cares from those of riper days. Philosophy has opened her deep stores To me, and now I do not, dare not view The works of nature, as in infancy, When the round moon seemed as a golden isle, Set in a sea of azure nothingness, MUSINGS. ( .> And the bright stars as homes of happy souls, Released from this worlds bondage ; — the rainbow, As the high arch that canopied with light Some festival of saints in ether wide, Fit tapestry for such a banquet place, Or as the work of an Almighty hand, Instructing, awing, and delighting man. Cares, thoughts of lucre, and ambition, then, Will oft intrude themselves uncalled, Breaking the brightest link in Memory's chain, And darkening up my thoughts, like to a shadow Cast by a cloud upon some sunny stream. GREECE. Her harp strings are broken— the spirit has fled, That once waked the lyre on Heilas's shore ; The song of the muse that once caroled is dead, And Parnassus's heights shall be vanquished no more; For the land of the poet and soldier has now Dropped the laurels of yore that encircled her brow. Her prophets are mute, and her altars defaced ; And no trace Of what once was the pride of her land Can be found 'mongst a people degenerate, debased ; For their temples are spoils to the Musselman's hand, And the country that once bore proud victory's name To the robber and pirate has yielded her fame. GKEECE. Fair land, could the grave but its inmates release From the spell that e'er binds them to yield to its sway; Could the spirits that guided in war and in peace But re-enter their frames— how soon would they say, u 'Tis the land of my birth, tho' the angel of death Hath blasted her hopes by his poisonous breath! — And as long as yon blight oi*b shall roll in his track. We'll rally around her, and dauntless oppose The tyrant's base minions, and sternly drive back The crescent, fell emblem of infidel foes !" And now sons of Greece, as your Sires of yore, Take courage, and drive the rude foe from your shore ! March, 1828. [The above was among the first of the Author's attempts in verse, which may probably furnish an apology for it - insertion here.! A MODERN POET TO HIS MISTRESS, Lady ! birt list a moment to the lay Of one who long hath felt thy sovereign sway- List ! for to thee an humble verse he brings, Writ, as it were a copy from his heart. — He is not used to tell of lofty things, Nor bear in lofty scenes a towering part ; But when his soft and lowly strains you hear— The coinage of his soul — his vows sincere — List! for no fiction warms his modest lyre- No motives base his humble lays inspire. O ! he hath 1 nought on thee by night and- day ; Ifcr thee — ay, thee alone* — hath knelt to pray— A MODERN POET TO HIS MISTRESS. 93 The world to him is naught, for but in thee Are centered all his hopes — his destiny — Thou art his Cynosure — the glowing star, Which sheds its light effulgent on his path, — That beams with glory gathered from afar, — Shines thro' the storm of sin, of fate, of wrath, And lends unto his devious way a light — A light from heaven — 'tis so intensely bright. Lady ! thine eye is as a precious stone, Brought from Peru or distant Araby, In which true love hath reared his holy throne — A throne that will exist while time shall be. Thine image is a sculptured monument, Raised on the ruins of his shipwrecked heart, To which despair and love their strength have lcnr- And memory too have given no trifling part. But lady ! shall he always tell the same — The same old tale of love find \ows rejected : And shall lie never fearless breathe thy name; Shall not his love by thee e'er be respected ? The day will come say, lady ! — will it not ? — In which his claims may have a hearing kind; (Tho* all his kindness may have been forgot) And you, one day or other, change your mind ! THE END. r m TjBRARY OF CgNgjEg, ■IVrieV 969 6