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POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 / 
 WILLIAM WINTEJi. 
 
 m.L 
 
 " The firstlings of my muse — 
 Poor windfalls of unripe experience, — 
 Young buds plucked hastily by childish hands, 
 Not patient to await more full-blown flowers."-LowELL. 
 
 BOSTON; 
 GEORGE W. BRIGGS & CO 
 
 MDCCCLV. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 
 WILLIAM WINTEK, 
 
 In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 
 
 E1)i3 Folume 
 
 IS, BY PERinSSION, RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF 
 
 THE author's AD]MIKATI0N OF HIS GENIUS 
 
 GRATITUDE FOR HIS KINDNESS. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 The autlior of the volume now sub- 
 mitted to the publiC; is at present eighteen 
 years of age ; and the poems here col- 
 lected have been written at different 
 periods during the last four or five years. 
 This fact is not mentioned with a view to 
 disarm criticism or invite lenity, but only 
 to explain in some degree the presence of 
 errors in structure, a certain mutability of 
 style and wavering tone of thought, from 
 the disadvantages of which, inasmuch as 
 they are almost inseparable from the 
 productions of inexperience, the author 
 has no right to believe himself exempted. 
 
yi PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 Quiet elegance and refinement, acquisitions 
 which can only ensue from a continued 
 association with all that is beautiful, are 
 more naturally the characteristics of maturer 
 years. To spring to excellence at a single 
 bound is impossible; we must exercise a 
 careful indulgence in endeavoring to satisfy 
 the untiring desires of a restless ambition. 
 This volume is therefore presented without 
 pretension, as a collection of juvenile 
 poetry; and, as no claim is preferred to 
 peculiar originality, it will be more just to 
 judge these poems, not as the results of 
 careful study and cautious revision, but as 
 the mere accidents of circumstance and. 
 
 passion. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 Cambridge J Nov. 1854. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Melancholy 9 
 
 The Valley of Life 21 
 
 Twilight Musings 26 
 
 Of the Actual . 31 
 
 Of the Unseen 35 
 
 To the Evening Star 38 
 
 Thoughts at My Mother's Grave . . . .41 
 
 Life 45 
 
 Beauty in Nature . 47 
 
 Stanzas for a Rose 49 
 
 " Mild as the Midnight of a Summer Sky" . . 52 
 
 " The Power of Grace " 53 
 
 Stanzas ; Except the Bloom of Virtue, &c. . . 55 
 
 The Philosophy of Life and Death . . . . 56 
 
 Night 60 
 
 Remembrance 61 
 
 Lines to a Friend 63 
 
 Sunset 65 
 
 Nature 66 
 
vill CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 A Stanza from Racine's Athalie . . . . 71 
 
 Morning in the Country 72 
 
 Order 75 
 
 A Serenade . '^ 
 
 The Abbot's Grave . . . . . . . 79 
 
 The Elm 81 
 
 The Creation 84 
 
 A Bower of Lilies I 've raised for Thee . . . 86 
 Lines on the Death of Robert Rantoul, Jr. . . 87 
 
 An Evening Thought 89 
 
 Retrospection 90 
 
 Morior 92 
 
 'T is Hard to Part 95 
 
 Sailing by Moonlight ; A Fragment . . .96 
 The Religion of Night . . .' . . . 98 
 
 Wait and Hope 102 
 
 To my Friend A 103 
 
 Ad Mortuam 106 
 
 Mount Auburn 109 
 
 Prologue to an Unpublished Poem . . .115 
 
 The Convent; A Romance 118 
 
 Goodnight 137 
 
 Notes 141 
 
MELANCHOLY. 
 
 " The glance 
 Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
 What is it but the telescope of truth? " — Byron. 
 
 Lo ! in the west float upward one bj one, 
 The golden glories of the setting sun. 
 The distant tower in mellow lustre glows, 
 Calmly and pure the gentle south wind 
 
 blowS; 
 Faintly the echoes float upon the air 
 And all is beauty — in the hour of prayer. 
 
10 POEMS. 
 
 Hail ! peaceful solace — hail ! beloved repose 
 From daily cares and from oppressive 
 
 woes ! 
 Now the rapt soul uplifted to the skies, 
 Back through the past the kindling memory 
 
 flies J 
 First, all that's good and beautiful in hue, 
 All we 've possessed and all we 've longed 
 
 for too. 
 Trips swiftly on, in short, too short review. 
 
 Lo ! there, slow moving like a funeral train, 
 The memories throng of weariness and 
 
 pain. 
 The years glide on ; oh, when will these 
 
 be past? 
 Tell me is this, is this indeed the last? 
 Ah, no ! the wrinkles on the pallid brow 
 Too plainly tell the misery is now. 
 
MELANCHOLY. 1 1 
 
 While distant evils foolishly we fear, 
 Those are o'erlooked which hover threaten- 
 ing near. 
 
 But though these memories may be dark 
 
 and drear, 
 There 's much that 's precious, much that 's 
 
 beauteous here. 
 From sadness virtue springs, not discontent, 
 And the dark veil of worldliness is rent j 
 And all that's tender, genial, good, and 
 
 kind, 
 Springs in the heart and blossoms in the 
 
 mind. 
 Where sorrow is, all, all things must be fair, 
 For beauty, heaven-born beauty will be 
 
 there ', 
 Bound by a tie no earthly power can move. 
 Strong as the bond of Innocence and Love- 
 
12 POEMS. 
 
 Saj! whence the nobler pleasures of the 
 
 soul — 
 The glorious wish that spurns a base control ? 
 Those mighty thoughts by which the unseen 
 
 eye 
 Pierces the depths of far futurity ? 
 Cometh that knowledge from ignoble source 
 Which points the planets in their endjess 
 
 course, 
 Lays bare the wonders of yon vaulted sky 
 And all the dread magnificence on high? 
 Ah; no ! such knowledge is but cheaply 
 
 bought 
 By years of toil and nights of laboring 
 
 thought ; 
 And such its majesty it may not spring 
 From any grovelling, any worthless thing ; 
 Not foolish mirth with idleness replete — 
 Nor youth — the dearest, sweetest, best 
 
 deceit, 
 
MELANCHOLY. 1 
 
 «> 
 
 Nor aught in earth that 's thoughtless, light 
 
 and gay, 
 Can ever hope to reach the primal ray; 
 But bound in darkness, laboring darkly on, 
 Sink down forgotten when their day is 
 
 done. 
 
 Hail ! spirit ever lovely, fond and dear ! 
 To thee we owe the joy that crowns us 
 
 here. 
 Whom should we worship, every power 
 
 above, . 
 If not that being whom we fondly love? 
 Or who so dearly worth as one that gives 
 Kindness alike to every thing that lives? 
 Say, was his mind who traced creation's 
 
 - ^ laws,^ 
 Seeking through darkness the primeval 
 
 cause, 
 
 B 
 
14 POEMS. 
 
 Wrapt up in folly when lie hailed thee 
 
 friend — 
 The kindest blessing that the fates might 
 
 send ? 
 Did not thy spells charm upward to the 
 
 light, 
 The mystic spirit of the Stagyrite ? 
 Issued not forth thine ever blest decrees 
 Unto blind Milton — blind Maeonides ? 
 Didst thou not linger where from out the 
 
 sea 
 Spake the immortal bard of Italy ? 
 In Tasso's dungeon make thy sad abode, 
 And reign triumphant o'er an earth-born 
 
 god? 
 Where silver Avon gently winds away, 
 Didst thou not settle at the shut of day ? 
 Were not thy shadows twined about the 
 
 brow 
 Of Passion's haughty lord? and even now. 
 
MELANCHOLY. 15 
 
 Can tliese be ever lifted from his tomb, 
 
 '; 
 
 Where, as in life, all loneliness and gloom, 
 
 With shadowy shapes that never, never 
 sleep. 
 
 Surround him still to murmur and to weep ? 
 
 When the dear girl whom living he adored 
 
 Knelt o'er his grave and mourned the 
 buried lord,^ 
 
 Was she not happiest bending o'er that spot 
 
 While fancy feigned the sad " Forget-me- 
 not,"— 
 
 And those sweet words of tenderness and 
 pain 
 
 His lips had framed, to memory came again ? 
 
 Ah ! trust the influence, trust the magic 
 power 
 
 Of heavenly sorrow in the soul's dark hour ! 
 When sense hath palled and passion's 
 
 throbs are gone, 
 
 Still this remains all lonely and alone. 
 
16 POEMS. 
 
 'T Ls round the cradle ; when the mother's 
 
 eyes 
 First meet her babe's in mute and glad 
 
 surprise, 
 Straightway her fancy, reasoning from the 
 
 past;3 
 Pierces the future where its lot is cast; 
 And as the joys which wait on life are seen, 
 With the long intervals of grief between, 
 Sadly she turns, and to her glowing breast 
 Presses her babe, where only it can rest; 
 For never, nevermore shall time allow 
 The blissful innocence that shields it now. 
 
 Childhood is fettered ; even the laughing 
 
 boy. 
 Languid and satiate with continual joy. 
 To his kind mother's side will sadly creep. 
 And softly sighing lull himself to sleep; 
 
MELANCHOLY. 17 
 
 When pleasures only weary and distort 
 He seeks a mother's love — the last, the 
 best resort. 
 
 When life is young — when hope's bright 
 
 beams expand, 
 And thrill the quivering lip and trembling 
 
 hand ; 
 When fancy paints that thorny pathway 
 
 bright, 
 Which leads through suffering and is lost 
 
 in night; 
 When first in Nature's loveliness we 
 
 spy; 
 
 The glowing, native, inborn majesty; 
 When all that thought receives or sense 
 
 can find. 
 With novel power pervades the towering 
 
 mind ; 
 
 B * 
 
18 POEMS. 
 
 Then Friendship springs, then Love its 
 
 influence gains, 
 And rivets fast its ne'er, forgotten chains. 
 And Hope, enchanting Hope, without fore- 
 boding reigns. 
 
 Yes! we may love without a single fear '. 
 Save that we cherish passion too sincere ; 
 Then (for our thoughts are kind, our hearts 
 
 are light. 
 Of cruel care as yet we 've felt no blight,) 
 In Friendship's bondage with the sons of 
 
 men. 
 Blithe we may join, for all is brightness 
 
 then. 
 Yet truest friendships are not light and gay.; 
 And such as are so quickly melt away, 
 That, like the morning mist beneath the sun, 
 Their course is finished ere 't is quite begun. 
 
MELANCHOLY. 19 
 
 But . years _ roll past ; the. paths of life 
 
 spread wide; . 
 Its many miseries, all: its beauties hide : 
 Fancy's creations crumble to the dust^ 
 We felt they might deceive — we know they 
 
 must. 
 Pride wastes affection — what is Wisdom's 
 
 state ? 
 The soul is void, the heart is deso- 
 late. 
 Our better feelings flit like dreams 
 
 away, 
 And fade as fades the glimmering summer 
 
 day: 
 Dissolved, dispersed the phantom hopes of 
 
 youth, 
 For we have lived to know, to feel this 
 
 truth ; 
 However reason's vanity may range. 
 Existence is one vast unceasing change. 
 
20 POEMS. 
 
 Then, musing sadly o'er our former woes, 
 From present pain we seek secure repose ; 
 And with a firm resolve, inured, resigned. 
 Leaving forever vain regrets behind, 
 We stem the rushing tide of ills anew — 
 True to ourselves — to human nature true. 
 
21 
 
 THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 
 
 • 
 
 The path of life lies through a wilderness 
 Barren and dreary, and if aught appear 
 
 Of summer radiance; 't is to mock distress 
 And gild an ideal bliss which is not here. 
 
 Happy, indeed, is he who knoweth naught 
 Of its heart-sickening sorrow, but hath 
 found. 
 Solely by physical contentment: taught,. ' 
 'T is ill to pluck the flowers that grow 
 around. 
 
22 POEMS. 
 
 Though fair in truth, they multiply the pain ; 
 For whoso tasteth pleasure must indeed 
 Wear round his heart a heavy, festering 
 chain, 
 For pity mourn and for contentment 
 bleed. 
 
 There is a valley, distant, broad and deep, 
 In climate various, in formation strano;e ; 
 
 Behold a turbid river onward sweep 
 
 In varying shadow — on each side a range 
 
 Of dizzy mountains gradual sweep wide, 
 On either hand — the stream of life 
 within 
 Boils on, and widely o'er the changing 
 tide, 
 Lo ! giant nature strives with giant sin. 
 
THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 23 
 
 The rock, the tree, the fruit, the flower, 
 the thorn. 
 Are seen b}^ sparkles of Hope's diamond 
 gem ; 
 A single glance, and ages yet miborn. 
 As we have gazed, so shall they gaze on 
 them. 
 
 Nature commands ; Ambition, Hate and 
 Fear, 
 And Love, and Hope, and Virtue spring 
 apace ; 
 All with ulterior influence appear. 
 
 Each in the power of unity and place, 
 
 '' We are the fools of time and terror, 
 years 
 Steal on us and steal from us," this is 
 true J 
 
24 POEMS. 
 
 Blindly we wander through this vale of 
 tears, 
 Wishing, yet fearing, what we 're hasten- 
 ing to. 
 
 'T is vain to dread the end, for it will be. 
 Whether we hope or fear, or mourn or 
 smile ; 
 Dust unto dust, a stern fatality. 
 
 The bourn of life whatever dreams be- 
 guile. 
 
 What is this little life if not a prison 
 
 Wherein the nobler spirit is entombed ? 
 And when that part immortal shall have 
 
 risen 
 Unto the high estate where once it 
 
 bloomed. 
 
THE VALLEY OF LIFE. 25 
 
 Shall there not be with it the recollec- 
 tion 
 Of what was here, as some remembered 
 dream ? 
 Shall it not feel, now it hath reached per- 
 fection, 
 Things of this world are never what they 
 seem? 
 
 Oh, truth transcendent ! could we but in- 
 herit 
 
 Such knowledge ere life's early, early 
 
 wane. 
 
 How should it soothe and tranquilize the 
 
 spirit, 
 
 How quell our longings and how soften 
 
 pain ! i 
 
26 
 
 TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 
 
 The mist is gathering closely round. 
 
 And darkly falls the shade of night, 
 Through which there 's not a thrill of sound 
 Nor ray of light. 
 
 » Dense, spiral clouds of vapor wreath 
 From off the waters fading dim, 
 O'er which the breezes faintly breathe 
 A funeral hymn. 
 
• 
 
 TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 27 
 
 I stand within the darkened room 
 
 And through the open casement gaze 
 Into a dim and shadowy gloom — 
 Mysterious maze ! 
 
 Sweet odors from the flowers arise, 
 
 And now the cricket's sharp, shrill note 
 Grates on the ear, while gleaming flies 
 In circles float. 
 
 The soft wind murmurs 'mid the leaves, 
 
 And sways the branches to and fro. 
 With a sad moan as one who grieves — 
 Lonely and low. 
 
 I cannot see a single star, 
 
 Though ghastly tombstones glimmer white. 
 Shedding a solemn influence far 
 Into the night. 
 
28 POEMS. 
 
 How solemn all ! how sad, how wan, 
 Is this calm night, so like despair ! 
 Ah ! many sighs are resting on 
 This soft night air. 
 
 Dark, hidden love is living now 
 
 Its hour of mad and fierce distress, 
 And Jealousy is plotting how 
 To find redress. 
 
 And dread Revenge, who never sleeps. 
 
 Arouses now his devilish brood. 
 And stalks abroad, and laughs, and weeps,. 
 And howls for blood. 
 
 Lo ! cowering Fear is crouching down, 
 
 'Neath his own shadow to be hid; 
 Even as he who smote the crown, 
 Thereafter did.* 
 
TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 29 
 
 And soft-eyed Sorrow tells her tale, 
 
 With many a sigh and many a tear, 
 To the low winds that softly wail 
 And will not hear. 
 
 And Memory weeps and watches through 
 
 The long, long hours that pass awa;^, 
 And mourns that life is gliding to 
 Another day. 
 
 Before mine eyes the shadows flit, 
 
 The gliding ghosts of ruined hopes, 
 And golden moments lost; and yet 
 With time, Pride copes. 
 
 There is no more of anguish left; 
 
 There is no shrinking back from pain. 
 Ah! nothing that the years have reft 
 Returns aQ:ain. 
 
30 POEMS. 
 
 Mourn not, mourn not I Press boldly on, 
 
 The end of all must be at last ! 
 Wherefore regret? when all is done, 
 Then all is past. 
 
 Dark and more dark the sliadows fall, 
 
 But drearier are the thoughts that throng, 
 Binding the mind in solemn thrall 
 Of Right and Wrong. 
 
31 
 
 OF THE ACTUAL. 
 
 Lo I the sunlight, gaudy, glowing, 
 O'er the hill-top bends its bow, 
 
 Gorgeous, golden lustre throwing 
 On the forest spread below. 
 
 In the air there is a token. 
 In the wind there is a voice, 
 
 Words by better angels spoken — 
 'T is the hour when men rejoice. 
 
32 POEMS. 
 
 Fade ye midnight memories glooming 
 Onward through the solemn hours ! 
 
 There is rest in nature's blooming, 
 Wanton joy among the flowers. 
 
 On my dazzled vision breaking 
 
 Throng the truths of coming years, 
 
 Years that to themselves are taking 
 Rosy joy through many tears. 
 
 And I see that while repining 
 O'er mistaken grief and pain, 
 
 Still an unseen hand is twining 
 Over all a golden chain. 
 
 There shall be an hour of trial, 
 Disappointment's withering touch; 
 
 Bitter, too, shall be denial. 
 Having little, wanting much. 
 
OF THE ACTUAL. 33 
 
 Couched behind the future waiting, 
 There is solace, there is peace ; 
 
 And reflection is elating, 
 
 Thinking that our care must cease. 
 
 Press ye onward in your duty ! 
 
 Thus, and only thus be blest ! 
 Then discern in death its beauty — 
 
 Lo, it giveth final rest. 
 
 Beauty in all things abideth. 
 
 Born inherent there to be ; 
 But the scoffer all derideth — 
 
 He is blind, and will not see. 
 
 Spring they not from God's intention? 
 
 Shall we mock supernal might ? 
 In the noonday — but prevention 
 
 Bideth 'neath the vaulted night. 
 
34 POEMS. 
 
 In the noonday — but the morning 
 Sacred is to God and truth ! 
 
 Let there be no idle scorning, 
 Crushing down celestial youth. 
 
 Lo ! the gentle twilight falling, 
 Rouseth up the slumbering soul, 
 
 And it bursts from its enthralling, 
 And it grasps the glorious whole. 
 
 Grasps the mystery of creation, 
 « 
 
 Yiews the conflict end in restj 
 
 Plunges to the deep foundation 
 
 Far in Time's abysmal breast. 
 
 And in this is confirmation. 
 Ends our life as it began — 
 
 Dwells in God the termination 
 Of the destiny of man. 
 
Q 
 
 5 
 
 OF THE UNSEEN. 
 
 Soft, low murmurs echoing faintly, 
 Thrill throughout this dreary hall; 
 
 And the shadows flickering quaintly, 
 Waver up and down the wall. 
 
 How the spectral fire-light dances 
 On the gleaming window pane — 
 
 Which in flame a moment glances, 
 Then to shadow turns again. 
 
• 
 
 36 POEMS. 
 
 Viewless forms arc with me biding, 
 Biding with me to condemn; 
 
 And I feel an inward chiding 
 When my spirit turns to them. 
 
 Ah! indeed, full oft I meet them — 
 Day and night, they falter not; 
 
 Pride, alas! can ne'er defeat them — 
 Grief can never be foro-ot. 
 
 Memory holds not joyous traces 
 
 Which past pleasure may have made; 
 
 But if pain perchance embraces. 
 When shall its grim token fade ! 
 
 Never, never ! Dark and fearful. 
 Backward comes the stern reply; 
 
 And I bow me sad and tearful — 
 But with tears that dim no eye. 
 
OF THE UNSEEN. 37 
 
 With a grief that knows no sighing, 
 With a pain that none can see, 
 
 In a faltering, fainting, dying 
 Spirit of solemnity. 
 
 Hark ! a solemn whisper stealing, 
 
 Floats throughout this shadowy room — 
 
 " Mortal, wherefore shrink from feeling, 
 Sorrow resteth in the tomb ? " 
 
 Yea, let all at last be finished, 
 Hope and fear, and joy and pain; 
 
 Let the spark of life diminished 
 Part, and naught but clay remain ; 
 
 Then, indeed, there is an ending 
 Of the sufi*cring we have borne, 
 
 With the dust a final blending 
 Of the heart that hath been torn. 
 
38 
 
 TO THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Dear little star, how mild thou art! 
 
 Thy pale sad beams that kiss my brow, 
 Pure as her lips thou know'st ere now, 
 
 With gentle kindness thrill my heart. 
 
 Would I were like thee, little star ! 
 And that thy soft and silvery light, 
 Which streams upon my aching sight 
 
 From those light, fleecy clouds afar. 
 
TO THE EVENING STAR. 39 
 
 In a slight, tiny, trembling ray, 
 
 Arid like, perchance, an angel's eye, 
 From out the windows of the sky 
 
 Darting a calm serenity, 
 
 Was in my heart ! Ah, then indeed, 
 For something noble might I live ! 
 But now — for what life cannot give. 
 
 This heart can only droop and bleed. 
 
 Say, if among the eyes which are 
 This moment gazing on thee there, 
 Thou se'st as sweet and softly fair 
 
 As thou thyself art, little star: 
 
 Then seek her thoughts and bring them here, 
 Across this floating bridge of gold; 
 Then thy rich radiance shall I hold 
 
 More bright, more lovely, and more dear. 
 
40 POEMS. 
 
 Farewell ! I dare not longer gaze, 
 The memories are so sadly sweet, 
 Whicli throng upon me while I meet 
 
 The soft effulgence of thy rays ! 
 
 These but distress when thus they 're 
 thought on ! 
 The past can only live again 
 In sighs, in bitter tears, in pain — 
 
 Better forget and be forgotten. 
 
 C 
 
41 
 
 THOUGHTS AT MY MOTHER'S 
 GRAVE. 
 
 Ah! many a year hath passed and gone 
 
 Since last I stood beside this tomb ; 
 And many a hope hath o'er me shone, 
 
 And life hath sped in light and gloom; 
 And now when comes at last the end 
 
 Of this probation, sad and slow, 
 My sorrowing course I hither bend 
 
 To mourn for her who rests below. 
 
 D * 
 
42 • POEMS. 
 
 Full dear wast thou to all who knew 
 
 That gentle kindness, which with thee, 
 Was so sincerely, sweetly true. 
 
 None failed to love who once did 
 see. 
 But far too gentle, far too mild, 
 
 Wast thou for such a world as this, 
 And Heaven received its chosen child 
 
 Back to the realms of spirit bliss. 
 
 I linger long upon this spot, 
 
 I mourn thee — and is grief a sin? 
 Alas, alas ! I 'm thinking what. 
 
 If thou hadst lived, thou might 'st have 
 been. 
 But Death compelled his tribute, ere 
 
 Thy son had lived to know thy worth; 
 And I am left in my despair, 
 
 With but a single friend on earth. 
 
THOUGHTS AT MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 43 
 
 They tell me that mild beauty crowned 
 
 Thy form with an angelic grace, 
 It wrapped thee like a garment round, 
 
 And glowed divinely in thy face ; 
 That thou wert also kind and good 
 
 As thou wert beautiful to see, 
 And all but makes me murmur, " would 
 
 Thou hadst been spared, been spared 
 to me ! " 
 
 How paltry all affection seems 
 
 Contrasted with a mother's love ! 
 And all those rapid, transient dreams 
 
 Of youthful passion — who can prove? 
 Such " love is lust, " a meteor glare, 
 
 Consuming all it rests upon; 
 Its only products are, dgspair. 
 
 And burning shame, when all is 
 done. 
 
44 ' POEMS. 
 
 But this burns on so calm and pure ; 
 
 This is so sweet by virtue fed, 
 This is so steadfast and so sure, 
 
 Increasing still as life is spedj 
 'This is so beautiful, so true, 
 
 It seems a spirit born of Heaven — 
 For every sorrow finds its due, 
 
 And every sin can be forgiven. 
 
45 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 'T is something in a world of woe, 
 'T is something in a life of pain, 
 
 When all at length is passed, to know . 
 We have not lived in vain. 
 
 We have not long to linger here, 
 
 But we have much to struggle through; 
 
 Perplexed by hope, dismayed by fear. 
 And trembling 'twixt the false and true. 
 
46 POEMS. 
 
 But lie who wields his life aright 
 
 In thought and action bold and strong, 
 
 Who, craven, cringes not to might. 
 Who grapples with the giant wrong; 
 
 Who looks beyond the present time. 
 Who can discern the chain of things ; 
 
 Who sees, each year its gentle chime 
 In perfect modulation rings ; 
 
 Who feels the struggling soul within. 
 Who comprehends what is to be — 
 
 He truly spurns a life of sin. 
 And lives for all eternity. 
 
47 
 
 BEAUTY IN NATURE. 
 
 I love, I love each beauteous flower 
 That haply meets mine eye, 
 
 But more I love the midnight hour 
 When winds go wailing by. 
 
 I love, I love each gentle bird • , 
 That sings in fern or brake, 
 
 But sweeter music ne'er was heard 
 Than stormy winds can make. 
 
48 POEMS. 
 
 I love bei^eath tlie summer sim 
 To muse along the sliore ; 
 
 But, better when the day is done 
 Old Ocean's wrathful roar. 
 
 I love the tiny, tinkling sound 
 
 From every golden star, 
 But when the lightnings dart around 
 
 Their arrowy tongues afar; 
 
 And when the thunders roar along 
 The grim and frowning sky; 
 
 Ah! then I love the rushing, strong. 
 And glorious symphony. 
 
 The humblest gift that nature brings, 
 
 In beauty doth appear ; 
 But majesty is in her things 
 
 Of deep and awful fear. 
 
49 
 
 STANZAS FOR A HOSE. 
 
 Dear maid, this pure and graceful rose 
 
 Enwraps a world of tender thought; 
 But that which chiefly burns and glows 
 
 Is, that thou gav'st it all unsought. . 
 Sweet source of many a happy dream 
 
 It bends full gently on its stem, 
 But such the hidden thoughts, 't would seem 
 
 'T were bent more firmly down by them. 
 
 E 
 
50 POEMS. 
 
 I count its pearly leaflets o'er, 
 
 I count them slowly, one by one, 
 Till centred at its inmost core, 
 
 I sigh to feel the shrine is won. 
 Not that its fragrance fails the root, 
 
 Not that the heart less pure hath 
 lain, 
 But that I close the fond pursuit 
 
 Which never can be new again. 
 
 So 't is with love ; a sly, soft glance. 
 
 Perchance a kiss — by these we're ledj 
 It is a gay and glad advance. 
 
 Till all unwound the golden thread: 
 Then, then bright ftope shall burn no 
 more. 
 
 And memory be a type of pain. 
 Because the fond pursuit is o'er 
 
 Which never can be new again. 
 
STANZAS FOR A EOSE. 51 
 
 Thee in thy gift shall I forget? 
 
 Ah, that 't were hardly just to do : 
 Thou wilt forgive the thought, and yet 
 
 There 's much in common 'twixt the two- 
 If one be graceful, tender, sweet j 
 
 If innocence with one there be j 
 The other truly, is replete 
 
 "With beauty and with purity. 
 
 Well, let that pass — 'tis naught to me, 
 
 Thine image as thy gift must fade. 
 And with these thoughts must flit and flee 
 
 All dreams of bliss thou might'st have 
 made. 
 No more ! no more ! the hour for this. 
 
 Hath lived, and thrilled, and burned — 
 and fled J 
 There but remains a phantom kiss 
 
 On lips that now are cold and dead. 
 
52 
 
 Mild as tlie midniglit of a summer sky, 
 And gentle as the moonbeams on its brow j 
 Radiant and pure as ideality, 
 Yet fond as youtkful love — such, such art 
 thou. 
 
 Bright are those dark and deeply lustrous 
 
 eyes, 
 Expressive in their beauty, wildly sad; 
 And as faint shadows o'er the sunset skies. 
 Musical thoughts, now sorrowful, now glad. 
 Appear and vanish there, thus to express — 
 Naught but the mystery of loveliness. 
 
53 
 
 "THE POWER OF GRACE. 
 
 'T was but a moment, yet the light 
 Of love that lay -within her eyes. 
 
 Hath haunted me by day and night, 
 For there were in them mysteries; 
 
 They spoke of a diviner fire, 
 
 A soul to feel and to aspire. 
 
 E * 
 
54 POEMS. 
 
 "We never, never since have met; 
 
 But there 's a charm which must endure : 
 Nor can I, if I would, forget 
 
 Those eyes that even now allure; 
 In the far distance gazing through — 
 Those tender eyes of brilliant blue. 
 
 Those rosy lips, for kisses formed 
 
 And words of love, that throbbing breast. 
 
 With such a flood of passion warmed. 
 Seemed only eager to be pressed: 
 
 Ah! cold that heart must.be and chill 
 
 Which so much beauty may not thrill ! 
 
55 
 
 Except the bloom of virtue; there 
 Is naught of beauty but must fade ; 
 
 And man hath power, and man will dare, 
 To blast the loveliest God has made. 
 
 Woe to the rosy lip of youth — 
 
 Woe to the smooth and pearly brow — 
 
 Woe to the hopes of love and truth, 
 While men exist as men are now! 
 
56 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE 
 AND DEATH. 
 
 In time is truth, and only there 'tis seen ! 
 All else is vain and fruitless, void and 
 
 base J 
 Life is a bondage, heaven and earth 
 
 between. 
 Through the dull course of which we 
 
 closely trace 
 The struggle of the soul to reach its place. 
 And upward soar i^to the blest abode 
 Of nobler essences : yet this cold case, 
 Howe'er debased and worn, hath been 
 bestowed. 
 And not in vain, by him — our great cre- 
 ator, God. 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE AND DEATH. 57 
 
 The soul devours it, and it wastes to 
 
 naught 'j 
 It perisheth; commingling with the dust. 
 And the great lesson its existence taught, 
 Is soon obliterated by the rust 
 Which passion, care and sorrow ever must 
 Leave after them to canker and to blight : 
 Devouring hate, and jealousy, and lust — 
 Desire, which blasteth all with deadly 
 
 light, 
 Will ruin peace, and then, to Happiness, 
 
 Good night! 
 
 Yet doth it teach us — this weak, suffer- 
 ing clay — 
 
 A mightier lesson than aught else can 
 teach ; 
 
 That life is even as an April day, 
 
 Or as a wave that breaks along the beach. 
 
58 POEMS. 
 
 Let zealots rant, let parsons pray and 
 
 preach — 
 Most part in vain — there 's nothing so 
 
 intense, 
 So potent in its wide, majestic reach, 
 As of decaying time the thrilling 
 
 sense 
 And of uncertain life, — Ah, when shall I 
 
 go hence ? 
 
 That which the mortal body makes must 
 die ! 
 
 But that which springeth from the im- 
 mortal mind 
 
 Must live forever — its divinity. 
 
 Is in the soul which animates man- 
 kind. 
 
 "Dust unto dust" — then what is left 
 behind 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE A^D DEATH. 59 
 
 Of that poor structure, may not long 
 
 survive ; 
 It passeth even as the unknown wind — 
 The other liveth on and still must live : 
 Vitality to life, what; what is there can 
 'give? 
 
 Death is to man, and ruin to his works : 
 In mutability existence is : 
 Beneath the surface, lo ! the viper lurks — 
 The mortal perisheth — what hath been 
 
 his" 
 In dread destruction sinks into th' abyss 
 Of lapsing centuries, and what begun 
 In pride and promise comes at last to 
 
 this ; 
 Even as a drop of water 'neath the sun, 
 It dwindles, fades, and now, all, all is past 
 
 and done. 
 
60 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 'T is in the glory of the night 
 A thoughtful solemn mind can see, 
 
 In one broad blaze of living light. 
 Creation's Deity. 
 
 The lovely stars — the wind's low sigh — 
 The broad blue lake — the forest's nod — 
 
 In all around — in all on high, 
 There is the hand of God. 
 
61 
 
 REMEMBEANCE. 
 
 When birds shall sing, and plants and 
 flowers 
 
 Shall flourish in their beauty bright; 
 When Spring shall shed her gentle showers, 
 
 And Summer's breath perfume the night ; 
 
 When on thy grave the violet blue. 
 In modest loveline'ss shall spring; 
 
 And in the rich and glowing hue 
 
 Which nature paints each living thing, 
 
62 POEMS. 
 
 The sky shall spread its azure fold 
 Above this spot of peaceful rest; 
 
 And all that 's now so drear and cold, 
 In robes of splendor shall be drest; 
 
 Then lonely, sadly shall we weep 
 
 For all we Ve loved and all we' ve lost ; 
 
 But pain is foreign to th}^ sleep — 
 
 No Hope disturbs — no Love is crossed. 
 
 Then why, if peace at last . hath crowneid 
 Thy few, sad years of grief and pain, 
 
 Should we lament in gathering round 
 The mournful relics that remain ! 
 
63 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 The hopes which are with us to-day 
 
 Are gone to-morrow j 
 So youth and beauty fade away, 
 
 So cometh sorrow. 
 
 The fond deceit of youth will fade 
 
 And lonely, leave us 
 To the wild yision it hath made, 
 
 Only to grieve us. 
 
64 POEMS. 
 
 But in tlie sweet communion 
 
 Of heart with heart, 
 There is a bond of union 
 
 Nothing can part. 
 
 And this, dear friend, is ours ; ay ! here 
 at rest 
 Our hope remains; 
 And though, perchance, 't is fruitless, 't is 
 the best 
 Of earthly chains. 
 
 Yet but a little while, and then we two 
 
 Must go away J 
 But while we linger, let us still be true. 
 
 Then come what may ! 
 
Q5 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 See the sun is sinking lowly 
 
 Down into a golden pile 
 Of thick clouds that moving slowly, 
 
 Grace his funeral couch the while ; 
 See, at parting, see how holy 
 
 Is that melancholy smile ! 
 
 Still a struggle, now 't is ended ; 
 
 Calmly hath he sunk to rest, 
 Hues of heavenly lustre blended, 
 
 Gleam through all the glowing west. 
 Now the darkness hath descended 
 
 And the lover's hour is blest. 
 
66 
 
 NATURE.5 
 
 Hail ! miglity mother of the universe, 
 
 all hail ! 
 Queen of creation which is spread 
 
 around ; 
 Borne on the lightning's wing as thou 
 
 shalt sail 
 O'er rugged mountain-tops mid thunder's 
 
 sound, 
 Onward, still onward, to the farthest 
 
 bound 
 
NATURE. 67 
 
 Of thine eternal limitS; where my gaze 
 Can meet tlie light unveiled, and where 
 
 is found 
 The image of his glory — in the blaze 
 Of majesty divine disclose thy wondrous 
 ways I 
 
 Nature ! the caverns of the earth re- 
 sound 
 
 In hollow tones its adoration deep; 
 
 Old Ocean bellows through his depths 
 profound, 
 
 Wild echo answers from each craggy 
 steep ; 
 
 The thunders raise their voices — light- 
 nings leap; 
 
 And comets crackle as they burst along ; 
 
 In honor of thy coming, whirlwinds 
 sweep, 
 
68 * POEMS. 
 
 Fierce earthquakes groan a deep and 
 dismal song, 
 And lowly valleys rise to mountains proud 
 and strong. 
 
 The boundless Ocean flowing far and 
 
 wide, 
 And the blue depth of yon ethereal sea, 
 And all the wonders which their bosoms 
 
 hide, 
 Witness thy massive might, and worship 
 
 thee. 
 All, all that forms the vast immensity 
 Yon journeying worlds in golden radiance 
 
 veiled 
 Bend lowly down, supernal deity ! 
 To that high majesty which ne'er yet 
 
 failed 
 In action or event whatever power assailed. 
 
NATURE. 69 
 
 Morn, witli its balmy breeze and opening 
 flowerS; 
 
 And all the spangles of the glowing east ; 
 
 Evening so beautiful^ with moonlit bowers 
 
 And silver waves by summer breezes 
 creased ; 
 
 The silence of the night when sound 
 hath ceased, 
 
 And all things slumber, wrapt in deepen- 
 ing gloom ', 
 
 All these thy power confess, and not the 
 least 
 
 Of thine, yon blooming verdure of the tomb, 
 Which springs obedient forth from foul 
 corruption's womb. 
 
 So shall thy might be known; for ever- 
 
 more 
 As thou hast been so ever shalt thou be ! 
 
70 POEMS. 
 
 Systems sliall rise where systems were 
 
 before, 
 And thou unchanged in thy eternity 
 Of endless years, shalt hold thy course ; 
 
 no tie 
 Of thine be severed ; still thine iron rod 
 Shall rule the passing ages ; thou art 
 
 high 
 Exalted where no form of clay hath 
 
 trod — 
 Before his throne ; All hail, Nature and 
 
 Nature's God! 
 
71 
 
 A STANZA FROM RACINE'S 
 ATHALIE.6 
 
 Act. I. Scene iv. 
 
 'T is he who gives the beauteous flowers ; 
 
 By him that spangled fruits are given; 
 Which cast abroad in golden showers 
 
 Make earth a seeming heaven. 
 The fields receive the heat of day, 
 
 And too, the cooling air of night; 
 And yellow grain and fruits repay 
 
 Thy care — the bounties of his might. 
 
72 
 
 MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 'T is morning j in the east fleet; many 
 
 liued, 
 Fast changing clouds dazzle my wavering 
 
 sight ; 
 And rising from the broad green fields 
 
 bedewed, 
 Masses of wreathing vapor, snowy white, 
 Vanish like dreams ; yon circle of red 
 
 light 
 
MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. 73 
 
 Arises varying as the clouds glide 
 
 past ; 
 And now in proud effulgence gleaming 
 
 bright; 
 It rushes forth, its modest mantle cast; 
 Day winds his horn and mounts his golden 
 
 car at last. 
 
 Now a broad glory flames across the 
 
 sky! 
 The deep blue arch of heaven is opening 
 
 fast — 
 Thin fleecy clouds are hurried swiftly by, 
 Swept on the pinions of the northern 
 
 blast. 
 Now the warm sunbeams to the earth 
 
 are cast, • 
 
 And o'er the meadows float the liquid 
 
 notes 
 
 G 
 
74 POEMS. 
 
 Of the Spring songsters ; now within the 
 
 vast 
 And leafy trees, from tiny squirrel 
 throats 
 We hear the chirrup shrill, and note their 
 glossy coats. 
 
 ■jf^ ^ * -jf 
 
75 
 
 ORDER. 
 
 Life liath a method, nature hath its laws, 
 For everything that is there is a cause. 
 That principle sustains the mightiest tree, 
 Which guards the lowliest flower the eye 
 
 can see ,* 
 And that same law which bids the starting 
 
 tear. 
 Guides the long march of each ethereal 
 
 sphere. 
 So nice the various parts we can perceive, 
 That reason bids us the unseen believe. 
 Search further yet, and when the whole is 
 
 known, 
 'Twill be perfection, 'twill be that alone. 
 
76 
 
 A SERENADE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Awake, love, awake, 
 
 Thy lover greets tliee ! 
 
 Awake, love, awake. 
 
 The moonbeam meets thee ! 
 The zephyr plays on thy marble brow. 
 
 Awake, love, awake, 
 All is beauty now. 
 
 Come in thy robes of snow. 
 Nothing can harm thee ; 
 
 Melting with love 
 
 Let not passion alarm thee. 
 
A SERENADE. 77 
 
 From thy arched casement 
 
 Give me a token; 
 Say that thou lovest me — 
 
 Speak ! I have spoken. 
 
 II. 
 
 Well if thou wilt not, 
 
 Why should I pain thee ? 
 Shall this sad farewell 
 
 Free and unchain me ? 
 Yes, I will leave thee ! 
 Never again shalt thou look on thy lover : 
 What though it grieve me ? Thou shalt 
 
 not discover 
 Aught of the pain that now scorches this 
 
 bosom — 
 Ah! heart that will rest from its sorrow 
 no more ! 
 
78 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sweet be thy slumber! 
 
 Soft be thy pillow! 
 Cool breezes lull thee, 
 
 Sighing through the willow ! 
 Never may sorrow droop in thine eye, 
 Nor Love disappointed cause thee a sigh ! 
 Thine be all happiness 
 
 Steadfast and sure, 
 Virtue and loveliness 
 
 Truthful and pure. 
 As into the blossom 
 
 Falleth the dew. 
 So may peace in that bosom 
 
 Reign, gentle and true. 
 Adieu ! adieu ! 
 
79 
 
 THE ABBOT'S GRAVE. 
 
 The convent bell is pealing, 
 The tapers shining bright — 
 
 How those iron anthems stealing, 
 Fall on the wings of night ! 
 
 How the moaning lingers long, 
 With a faint and wavering thrill, 
 
 Like the huntsman's echoing song. 
 Over mountain, vale, and hill ! 
 
80 POEMS. 
 
 When the leaves are stirred by the sum- 
 mer's breath, 
 There riseth a murmur that's gentle and 
 clear ; 
 But thiS; ah ! this is the voice of death, 
 And it freezes the blood as it jars on 
 the ear. 
 
 Denser yet the shadows throng, 
 Still more gloomily the sound 
 Groaning in the forest round 
 
 Peals its messages along. 
 
 They have laid him away in his narrow 
 home, 
 Cold and silent, and still, and lonely; 
 Where nevermore shadows of peace may 
 come. 
 Where the wild night demons are brood- 
 ing only. 
 
81 
 
 THE ELM. 
 
 At midniglit I stood by the dark rolling 
 riverj 
 Beneath the broad shade of that noble 
 old tree; 
 And I thought as I saw the blue waves 
 curl and quiver, 
 How soon their wild anthems might 
 moan over me. 
 
82 POEMS. 
 
 Like a giant it stood 'neath the clear light 
 of heaven, 
 
 Alone in its majesty, dark in its might, 
 As a token to grovelling mortality given. 
 
 To shadow and shade immortality bright. 
 
 A breeze from the west murmured soft in 
 its leaves, 
 As the memory of those we have loved 
 and have lost,* 
 Alas ! that affection so often deceives, 
 And leaves us to mourn where we 've 
 worshipped the most. 
 
 We live, and we love, and we mourn, and 
 we die ; 
 Still " Dust unto dust " is the warning, 
 the call; 
 
THE ELM. 83 
 
 Ah! wherefore regret the poor pleasures 
 gone by, 
 The pride of the heart still surviveth 
 them all. 
 
 Such, such were my thoughts as I wended 
 my way 
 Through the dark forest trees by the 
 lone river's side ; 
 And I .saw in the east the first glimmer- 
 ing of day, 
 Ere I left the dim woods and the far 
 rolling tide. 
 
84 
 
 THE CREATION. 
 
 " And the earth was without form and void, and darkness 
 was upon the face of the deep, and the spirit of God moved 
 upon the waters. And God said, ' Let there be light :' and there 
 was light." 
 
 Darkness and boding death ! 
 
 No motion, sound, nor breath ! 
 
 Dread chaos reigns, and deep mysterious 
 
 night. 
 But hark! the shadows hear 
 With reverential fear, 
 The voice of one at whose pervading will 
 The storm is hushed, the raging sea is still ; 
 
THE CREATION. 85 
 
 Those solemn accents stern and slow, 
 Echo through all the vast abyss below, 
 And rolling off from heaven's concealment 
 
 high 
 Peal the long note through all eternity — 
 
 "Let tlierc be light!" 
 At once the veil of night 
 Swayed backward and the dawn of nature 
 
 came ; 
 Of never yielding nature still the same. 
 The earth, the ocean, and the star-decked 
 
 [Glorious creation ! G-lorious Deity !] 
 Sprang into perfect life as now we see. 
 But what in all this beauty have we, save 
 A living palace and a living grave ! 
 
 H 
 
86 
 
 A bower of lilies I Ve raised for thee, 
 All beauty and all purity; 
 ril place thee there and guard thee well, 
 For the moon shall be my sentinel. 
 
87 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF 
 ROBERT RANTOUL Jr.7 
 
 Wlien in the pride of power, 
 
 Of glory and renown, 
 In fortune's favoring hour 
 
 A patriot is struck down; 
 How thrills each heart with sadness, 
 
 How sorrow's sable cloud 
 Dims every ray of gladness — 
 
 The roses on the shroud ! 
 
88 POEMS. 
 
 And when a man wliose course we trace 
 
 Bright as the noon of day. 
 Thus early closes a short race 
 
 To pass in peace away; 
 How many hearts must feel the wound, 
 
 And yet with pleasure, praise, 
 Though foremost in Ambition's round. 
 
 He trod in virtue's ways. 
 
 Such was the man whose death we mourn 
 
 Integrity and Truth, 
 Thus sudden from our midst are torn 
 
 Just in their useful youth. 
 Let Essex long remember, then. 
 
 The course which he hath run, 
 And be an honored shrine the tomb 
 
 Of her most noble son. 
 
89 
 
 AN EVENING THOUGHT, 
 
 As summer twilight fades away, 
 As darkness Wraps declining day, 
 
 So sinks the good man down apace 
 Unto his final resting place. 
 
 As darkness flies the rosy morn, 
 While golden tints the skies adorn, 
 
 So springs he up on angel wings — 
 Death is the veil which glory flings. 
 
 H 
 
90 
 
 EETROSPECTION. 
 
 Tlic turf is green upon tliy grave, 
 
 No marble marks the lonely spot 
 Where all that ardent genius gave, 
 
 Sleeps darkly on but unforgot. 
 Ah, yes ! withm the breast of one. 
 
 Thy memory ever blessed stays. 
 And still from year to 3'ear lives on 
 
 'T is all that 's left of better days. 
 
EETROSPECTION. 9 1 
 
 My thoughts float backward through the 
 years 
 
 That one by one have glided byj 
 I find the trace of many tears, 
 
 The wreck of many a promise high. 
 There, too, are early friendships lost. 
 
 Of ruined love th' enduring pains ; 
 But yet, or here or thither tost, 
 
 The memory of thy voice remains. 
 
 I hear it in the midnight gloom, 
 
 When all around is still and dead; 
 In hollow whispers from the tomb, 
 
 It sadly floats around my bed. 
 Is it thy gentle step ? I seem 
 
 Again to feel thy tender touch: 
 Alas ! alas ! 't is but a dream — 
 
 Yet do I love to dwell with such. 
 
92 
 
 MORIOE. 
 
 I go ! the sun will shine as bright; 
 
 In heaven as mildly blue ; 
 The breezes seem as soft and light, 
 
 The earth as fresh and new; 
 The hours as merrily will glide 
 
 As ever yet they Ve done, 
 When thou wilt seek another bride 
 
 And my short race is run. 
 
MORIOR. 93 
 
 When in the cold; cold earth I lie, 
 
 In my forsaken grave, 
 Or where the summer winds float by 
 
 Or sounding tempests rave ; 
 Ah ! can I think a tear '11 be shed 
 
 O'er one who loved — for ill — 
 O'er one who, though her life is sped 
 
 In death will love you still ? 
 
 You '11 wander oft where I have been. 
 
 Within yon leafy grove ; 
 The places see which I have seen, 
 
 The flowers I used to love ; 
 In every silver-twinkling leaf 
 
 Some token shall there be, 
 And all but want a tender grief 
 
 To bring thee nearer me. 
 
 'T is so ! the truth I can forsee ; 
 Now that my beauty 's fled, 
 
94 POEMS. 
 
 The memory of our love must be 
 E'en as that heart is — dead. 
 
 And, since I'm but a worthless thing, 
 Why do I plead with you? 
 
 My spirit takes its heavenly wing, 
 I go — Adieu! adieu! 
 
95 
 
 T IS HARD TO PART, 
 
 From those we love 't is hard to part, 
 
 In any clime; on any shore ; 
 Shadows will linger on the heart. 
 
 And joys departed come no more. 
 
 And when one cannot hope again 
 
 To meet the cherished friend he leaves, 
 
 The heart grows sad, and only then 
 The inmost spirit smitten grieves. 
 
96 
 
 SAILING BY MOONLIGHT; 
 
 A FRAGMENT . 
 
 How soft the ripple of the wave, the 
 
 murmur of the wind ! 
 The dark waves curl beneath the prow, the 
 
 white foam las^s behind : 
 While swiftly, gayly on w^e dance, upon our 
 
 moonlit way, 
 What strains of music, sad and low, along 
 
 the waters play ! 
 
SAILING BY MOONLIGHT. 97 
 
 Ah! then we muse on what we are, and 
 what we might have been, 
 
 Had we not wrecked the hopes of youth, 
 or haply known of sin. 
 
 The varied memories of the past come back 
 
 to us again; 
 Though pleasant, they are sad, but 't is the 
 
 softest hue of pain. 
 Those we have loved, though passed and 
 
 gone, and never more to wake. 
 Flit by us bright and beautiful as angel 
 
 hues can make ; 
 Their silvery voices mingle with every 
 
 gentle breeze, 
 Their requiem is the murmur and the 
 
 moaning of the seas. 
 
98 
 
 THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 
 
 'T was evening : in the western skies 
 
 Richly the parting sunlight played, 
 As love within a maiden's eyes — 
 
 In intermingled light and shade ; 
 And softly, with uncertain glare, 
 
 The pale sad moon looked coldly down, 
 And shed through all the summei^ air, 
 
 A chillness as of beauty's frown ; 
 And fitfully I caught afar, 
 The music of a falling star. 
 
THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 99 
 
 Day slept; and dark the shadows grew, 
 
 Impending o'er the woody plain, 
 The noiseless sods were damp with dew, 
 
 And night began her solemn reign; 
 Cold silence fled the haunted fields 
 
 To settle o'er the slumbering town. 
 And all that midnight's grandeur yields 
 
 To the dark forests, old and brown, 
 With phantoms grim in weird array. 
 Enwrapped my careless, wandering way. 
 
 As sped the hours, the crescent moon 
 
 Trailed the red splendor of her light 
 Along the west, but wearied soon. 
 
 Sank powerless 'neath the skirts of^ 
 night. 
 Then through the hills a murmur went, 
 The leaves were hushed, the air was 
 dead. 
 
100 POEMS. 
 
 And dreary were the shadows blent 
 
 Around, beneath, and overhead. 
 The stars were dim, the moon was gone, 
 And darker, deeper night came on. 
 
 Then thus the thou2:htful current ran 
 
 As on I paced along the sod, 
 " Day serves to gild the works of man, 
 
 But night reveals the world of God. 
 And, oh ! when in upon the soul 
 
 The glorious morning breaks and glows. 
 How shall it comprehend the whole 
 
 Of wliat it now but faintly knows ! 
 How feel that while it lingered here, 
 In the dark night its God was near ! " 
 
 And still I mused, " How much remains 
 Beyond the scope of mortal mind ; 
 
 Man's pathway strewn with joys and pains 
 Is dark before and dark behind : 
 
THE RELIGION OF NIGHT. 101 
 
 Some wavering years of sinful strife, 
 Some aspirations high or low; 
 
 And thus the end of human life 
 
 Is still to search and ne'er to know. 
 
 True — 'till its star becometh bright, 
 
 Thrilled with the flash of God's diviner 
 light ! " 
 
102 
 
 "WAIT AND HOPE." 
 
 Hope on, whate'er thy woes may be, 
 Oppressed with pain and full of care; 
 
 There lives an unseen power that we 
 Not least enjoy when least aware. 
 
 Oh, when thy heart is rudely torn 
 By passion fierce and raging will. 
 
 Remember how the thorns were worn, 
 And bid the tumult. Peace — be still! 
 
103 
 
 TO MY FRIEND A 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OP HER MOTHER'S DEATH. 
 
 When o'er the purple, sunset sky 
 
 With mantling rain the storm cloud 
 weaves, 
 Then low winds breathe a summer sigh, 
 And conscious nature droops and 
 grieves. 
 
104 POEMS. 
 
 Thus o'er thy youth a cloud hath spread, 
 An early grief, and mourned too much; 
 
 Peace yet shall crown that lovely head 
 Which sixteen summers lightly touch. 
 
 Nor this a grief that will not fade, 
 Though bitter be its early fruit; 
 
 When all the autumn leaves are laid, 
 Life glows and mantles at the root. 
 
 Though the first pang be sharp and chill, 
 This sorrow now so hard to bear. 
 
 Shall wake within thy heart a thrill 
 Of nobler power that slumbers there. 
 
 The firm, the glorious strength of soul 
 Whereby we make the heart a shrine 
 
 For buried grief, and bear the whole — 
 This beauteous power is surely thine. 
 
TO A 
 
 105 
 
 Think not I trifle with a pain 
 So dearly true, so justly dear; 
 
 But Time shall bid thee smile again, 
 And Love shall dry Affliction's tear. 
 
 Still, sorrow frowns away content; 
 
 The eye tells all the heart endures; 
 Each object, mute but eloquent. 
 
 Speaks from her pitying soul to yours. 
 
 'T is vacant, void and cheerless all, 
 The light of life and love hath fled ; 
 
 A nameless grief, a mystic thrall — 
 You only feel that she is dead. 
 
 And so 'twill be till o'er thy heart 
 
 The charms of Time and Hope are cast ; 
 
 Then shall, if this stern grief depart 
 Peace fondly crown thy life at last. 
 
lOG 
 
 AD MOUTUAM. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, no ! through every ill " 
 
 Thy memory must not perish; 
 But be forever, still 
 
 A gem my heart shall cherish ! 
 A thouo:ht of thee 
 Must ever be 
 A warning and a token, 
 
AD MORTUAM. 107 
 
 And though thy sleep 
 Be calm and deep, 
 My faith remain unbroken. 
 Oh, no ! through every ill 
 
 Thy memory must not perish; 
 But be forever, still 
 
 A gem my heart shall cherish! 
 
 II. 
 
 Though death hath laid his hand 
 
 Remorselessly upon thee. 
 Still, still my heart command — 
 It is attendant on thee. 
 
 Sleep calmly on, 
 
 Thy days are gone. 
 
 The tomb's grim portals hide thee ; 
 
 The hour is nigh 
 
 This heart shall lie 
 
 In peaceful rest beside thee. 
 
108 POEMS. 
 
 Oh, no ! through, every ill 
 
 Thy memory must not perish; 
 
 But be forever, still 
 
 A gem my heart shall cherish ! 
 
109 
 
 MOUNT AUBURN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Lo ! in the midnight throng the shadowy 
 
 shapes ^ 
 
 Fantastic; for the grave relaxes then 
 Its vigilance ; a myriad host escapes, 
 Revisiting again the sons of men. 
 Upon the breeze they sail, and in the glen 
 Darkly they whisper, and the mountain 
 caves 
 
 K 
 
110 POEMS. 
 
 Give back tlie echo solemnly as when 
 The druid spake o'er Conway to the waves : 
 Know ye the roving sprites — the wan- 
 derers of the graves ? 
 
 II. 
 
 " Friend to the wretch whom every friend 
 
 forsakes, 
 I woo thee, Death," ^ stern, solemn, un- 
 
 create ! 
 Thou, before whom the shining ones of 
 
 earth 
 Yanish*like chaff before the northern wind. 
 Thou, unto whom Mercy a stranger is — 
 Pity, alike unknown; to whom the pride 
 Of mortal man is an unmeaning sound. 
 And his ambition weak and without end. 
 
 * Dr. Porteus. 
 
MOUNT AUBURN. Ill 
 
 Auburn ! sweet Auburn ! lovely and be- 
 loved ! 
 Peace real, peace lasting, soul enamoured 
 
 peace, 
 The low soft-breathing dreaminess of death 
 Is in thee and around thee ; yea, thou art 
 The type of that which only death can bring, 
 Quiet forgetfulness and long repose. 
 
 Sweetness is thine ineffable ; the dead 
 
 Repose as if in palaces ; their sleep 
 
 So beauteous seems, so chaste, so calm, so 
 
 still, 
 That one might almost envy them the bliss 
 Of such pure slumber ; freed, forever freed, 
 From all the bitter grief of this cold world. 
 Its void pretences, shallow sympathies 
 And crumbling friendships comfortless and 
 
 cold. 
 
112 POEMS. 
 
 What love betrayed — liow many a broken 
 
 heart, 
 What misery — what degradation sleeps 
 Beneath thy beauteous bosom ! now at 
 
 rest, 
 Where pain can weary not, nor passion 
 
 enter in. 
 
 Hail! shade of Bowditch! mighty Spurz- 
 
 heim, hail ! 
 Twin gods of intellect and giant thought ! 
 Long since ye' ve mouldered into " dust 
 
 which is 
 Even in itself an immortality." "^ 
 Genius, ambition, the extent of power. 
 And majesty of greatness, slumber 
 
 here 
 
 * Childe Harold. 
 
MOUNT AUBURN. 113 
 
 With innocence, and lowliness, and peace. 
 Here view equality I such has been — 
 
 is — 
 And must be to the end ; the charm is — 
 
 Death ! 
 Mighty — ubiquitous, transcendent Death! 
 
 III. 
 
 'T is done ; those airy forms fast fade my 
 
 sight, 
 And one by one the stars shine softly 
 
 there j 
 Rich, gorgeous gems that deck the brow of 
 
 night. 
 And shed a frosty lustre in the air. 
 Now all is still again, serene and fair 
 As the broad surface of the harvest 
 
 moon, 
 
 K * 
 
114 POEMS. 
 
 Which, rising with its mellow, golden 
 
 glare, 
 Bows out the day, yet recreates the 
 
 noon : 
 Type too of life, triumphant first, but 
 
 fading all too soon. 
 
115 
 
 PROLOGUE TO AN UNPUBLISHED 
 POEM. 
 
 There are moments when the lightest hearts 
 
 are heavy and oppressed, 
 They know not what to dwell upon, they 
 
 know not where to rest; 
 Wild thoughts are hurried to and fro, and 
 
 altogether seem 
 Like the dim memories undefined, that 
 
 throng a troubled dream. 
 
116 POEMS. 
 
 The sluggish hours move slowly on, un- 
 noticed and unknown, — 
 
 Without, all dark and dreary is — within, 
 all sad and lone ; 
 
 The heart itself a lifeless void moves on 
 without a thrill, 
 
 We almost wish that lingering beat would 
 falter and be still. 
 
 The glories of the smiling earth and of 
 
 the vaulted sky. 
 Pass like an empty pageant before the 
 
 soulless eye; 
 We take no note of place or time, but 
 
 slip the heavy chain. 
 And dream — alas ! we only dream, that 
 
 we are free from pain. 
 
PROLOGUE. 117 
 
 Arise ! and strike the lyre again, and let 
 
 its notes of praise 
 Peal out a golden legend of the glorious 
 
 ancient days ! 
 Shake off the hideous vesture ! Let Love 
 
 attune the strain ! 
 Arouse ! arouse ! take up the lyre, and 
 
 sweep the strings again ! 
 
 In vain ! in vain ! all, all in vain ! for- 
 gotten is the tone 
 
 That spake of gladness, glory, pride — for 
 evermore unknown: 
 
 But notes of sadness yet are left, o'er 
 which is beauty's veil, 
 
 And Love, and Crime, and dark Remorse, 
 to build the passion tale. 
 
118 
 
 THE CONVENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Where rolls that noble river, 
 
 The silvery winding Rhine ; 
 
 On whose waste of murmuring waters 
 
 The moonbeams sweetly shine, 
 
 When the youths and blue-eyed maidens, 
 
 With pleasant dalliance glide. 
 
THE COXYEXT. 119 
 
 Beneath a solemn midnight 
 
 O'er the gaily glancing tide ; 
 
 Through the fertile fields of Nassau 
 
 Where rise the Taurus hills, 
 
 And onward where the sparkling Majne 
 
 Pours out its thousand rills ; 
 
 There is the dreamer's palace, 
 
 There genius is, and worth; 
 
 There lived great Schiller's Wallenstein, 
 
 There Goethe's woes ^ had birth ; 
 
 There too, the great Messiah 
 
 Of greater Klopstock rose. 
 
 And many a name is shrined with fame. 
 
 Where the noble river flows. 
 
 A mystic tinge of beauty sleeps 
 
 O'er all the wild, enchanted ground. 
 
 And Solitude forever keeps 
 
 Her sad and solemn watch around. 
 
120 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Behold yon ruined tower 
 
 Half crumbled to the earth; 
 
 Once there abode the flower 
 
 Of chivalry and mirth. 
 
 Where now is desolation, 
 
 And ruin and decay, 
 
 The ruler of a nation 
 
 Bore an unrivalled sway. 
 
 The huntsman's horn at early morn 
 
 Rang through the arches of the wood, 
 
 And the tramp and cry of the cavalry, 
 
 And the mustering note of the trumpet rude, 
 
 Echoed afar on the jDlacid stream. 
 
 Sounding up the distant hills. 
 
 Where the winding, twinkling rills 
 
 Caught the sun's first golden beam. 
 
 As he rose in the glowing eastern sky — 
 
 Divinely-tinted deity ! 
 
THE CONTENT. 121 
 
 III. 
 
 But now 't is evening, calm and mild 
 As murmured prayer of artless child; 
 When fearing naught but trusting all 
 He laughs the gathering night- to scorn — 
 However black its gloomy pall, 
 He knows that darkness ends in morn. 
 Bright as the heaven to which that prayer 
 Is wafted, shines the queen of night, 
 And through the calm and dewy air 
 Sheds forth a flood of golden light. 
 Now floating over hill and dell, 
 Comes the sweet sound of vesper bell; 
 All else around is sleeping, still. 
 Though from the chapel on the hill, 
 The nun's low hymn with many a thrill 
 Sails sweetly in the vale below. 
 But see, in sorrowful array, 
 Winding along the flowery waj^ 
 
122 POEMS. 
 
 A sad procession movetli slow ! 
 Yea ! in loneliness and gloom, . 
 Bear her to the dreary tomb. 
 Fair she was, but fallen, lost; 
 Life to her a curse at most. 
 Better she with Death should rest — 
 He hath loved and loved her best ! 
 Ah ! when woman's nonor dies, 
 Peace from off her bosom flies : 
 Then, oh then, what power can save ! 
 Then how welcome is the grave ! 
 
 lY. 
 
 Love is a slow but sure disease ; 
 It rends the conquered heart in twain; 
 Who but the outward surface sees. 
 Can know the burning, inward pain? 
 The blue waves in the light may glow 
 While the ^ea monster lurks below. 
 
THE CONVENT. 123 
 
 Short was her life from honor parted, 
 And him, the source of all her woe — 
 She drooped — sad, weary, broken-hearted, 
 Still as the light autumnal snow. 
 The father lived, forgave his child — 
 He knew the passion fierce and wild. 
 Which pauseth not, doth never rest — 
 Which burned within her gentle breast; 
 And he forgave her, and had come 
 To bear the mournful remnant home ; 
 This was her home where never sin 
 Nor dark despair can enter in. 
 
 v. 
 
 Alone he stood, for now the last 
 Virgin from out the chapel passed; 
 Alone he stood, while o'er his head 
 The rustling chancel banners swayed; 
 
124 POEMS. 
 
 Before him lay the beauteous dead — 
 Behind him darkness, dense and dread. 
 Fond, trembling youth had been afraid — 
 But what had he on earth to lose ? 
 What could he fear beyond ? to him 
 •All hope was dead, it was not dim — 
 Where could he better choose ? 
 Behold that yawning pit ! there's room 
 For many in its hollow womb : 
 Of her in whom were all, bereft, 
 What, what had he save vengeance left ! 
 
 YI. 
 
 Bending, he kissed that marble brow, 
 Spread gently back her soft, brown hair, 
 And struggling words of passion now 
 Sprang to his lips, as bending there. 
 His memory wandered back through years 
 Of chequered being — joy and care, 
 
THE CONVENT. 125 
 
 Reverses stern, and hopes, and fears, 
 And sorrow, misery and tears — 
 But now by villain arts bereaved, 
 Of love, of peace, of honor shorn — 
 How, how indeed; could this be borne ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Dead ! she in whom 'was centred all 
 
 The little hope yet left me here ! 
 
 Her fearful pain, her cruel fall 
 
 I know, but cannot shed a tear. 
 
 The fierce, the heavy blight of time, 
 
 The restless influence of crime. 
 
 Remorse for sinful actions done, 
 
 Hopes crushed and scattered one by one, 
 
 These have been mine, but these combined 
 
 Were weak before my demon pride I 
 
 Flattered, acclaimed — despised, decried, 
 
126 POEMS. 
 
 I yet had left tlie unconquered mind. 
 But she hath gone and with her fly 
 The better spirits of my destiny. 
 
 And shall he live, whose cursed heart 
 Nor youth nor innocence could move ? 
 Whose fiendish; death-created art 
 Veiled in the sacred garb of love, 
 Could thus destroy — Oh, God ! could 
 
 sweep 
 Beauty and virtue all away? 
 Still shall my righteous vengeance sleep, 
 And timid justice slumbering stay? 
 No ! by my sainted father's grave ■ — 
 No! by the cross that Christian^ gave — 
 No ! by this consecrated dust 
 I bind the vow, accept the trust; 
 And he shall die : by heaven and hell, 
 And earth and sea, it were as well 
 
THE CONVENT. 127 
 
 For him to stem the lightning's course, 
 Or meet midway the Ukraine horse, 
 As that these eyes should look upon 
 The cruel, proud, and perjured one." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So spoke that gray-haired man, and then 
 
 he strode 
 Fiercely away, and 'mid the arches dark 
 He sat him down — within the sad abode 
 Of those who rest from pleasure and from 
 
 care. 
 The evening vesper, morning lark, 
 And ringing echoes of the Spring, 
 With all the beauty it can make. 
 To gild the smallest earthly thing. 
 Are void to those who slumber there — 
 Ah ! they sleep truly who may never wake ! ^^ 
 
128 POEMS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Hark ! liow fhe oaken chapel door 
 Clangs with a dull and hollow sound ! 
 List to the raging tempest roar, 
 The lofty convent towers around ! 
 Hear ye the clank of an armed heel, 
 The ringing spur and the rattling steel? 
 Lo ! the white and waving plume. 
 Like an angel's robe in the midnight 
 
 gloom — 
 A warrior seeks the mystic tomb. 
 Now he kneels by the gentle dead. 
 And he sighs — to the heavy stagnant air; 
 The altar lights are dim o'erhead. 
 And the shadows are falling faster there. 
 Alas, alas for him ! Remorse 
 Hath thrown her robe Alcidean^i round him j 
 Time dulls not grief nor bars its course, 
 Grief and despair have darkly bound him. 
 
THE CONVENT. 129 
 
 He liath laid his hand on her lovely brow, 
 It is cold like the ice, it is white like the 
 
 snow — 
 And he speaks, with a murmuring hollow 
 
 and low. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Well, thou art gone, and now I feel 
 
 How trusting and how true thou wast! 
 
 Strong Death hath set a lovely seal 
 
 On virtue crushed and honor lost. 
 
 Do I repent? Doth not the pang 
 
 Of dark Remorse this moment steal 
 
 O'er my bruised heart, from whence there 
 
 sprang 
 Evil I would not dare reveal? 
 Thou art revenged if thy pure heart 
 Ere harbored malice, anger, hate — 
 But, oh ! however dark thy fate, 
 I know thou couldst not thus be blest. 
 
130 POEMS. 
 
 Thou couldst not hate, it was not thine j 
 
 But only love, pure, noble, high; 
 
 A something holy, ay, divine ; 
 
 That burned unquenched — that could not 
 die — 
 
 This, this was thine, thou couldst not hate — 
 
 No, no ! thou couldst not, couldst not hate. 
 
 I knew thee when thy heart was young, 
 And all around thee kind and sweet; 
 A robe of light upon thee hung, 
 An angel watched thy fairy feet; 
 But now how changed and sad the scene 
 "Where such fond love and truth have been ! 
 And what am I if thou art lost. 
 Whose crime it was to love too well? 
 You on the waves of passion tossed 
 Resisted long, reluctant fell; 
 But I from earliest youth have been 
 A monstrous prodigy of sin." 
 
THE CONVENT. 131 
 
 " Yes ! but the time at length is near 
 When justice shall reward thy deeds ! 
 Thou se'st I do not shed a tear — 
 No! 'tis the inmost heart that bleeds 
 For such fell crimes as this which thou 
 Foul wretch — nay! start not, look on 
 
 me ! 
 Old age is truthful, so is grief, 
 And what I boldly say to thee 
 Trust me is worthy of belief. 
 Thou art a yillain ! Ho, wilt now 
 Most noble, brave, and generous wretch. 
 Thy princely privilege further stretch 
 To cover this dark crime ? Is fear 
 Joined to thy many virtues here ? 
 Come ! draw thy steel ! once more be 
 
 true 
 To that which is from manhood due ! 
 Her life thou hast — come, take mine 
 
 too ! " 
 
132 POEMS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The bright steel flashes in the light, 
 
 And fast, and faster twine their blades : 
 
 Have care old man, thy wavering sight 
 
 Scarcely can fix the flitting shades. 
 
 Hold ! now thou hast him — nerve thine arm ! 
 
 Strike home, strike boldly — think on her, 
 
 And be the thought a deadly charm 
 
 To urge thy vengeance darkly on; 
 
 Let not the dregs of mercy stir — 
 
 Strike! thrust! he falters — ha! 'tis done. 
 
 Along the marble altar stone 
 
 The youthful warrior moaning lies. 
 
 The spark of life not wholly gone, 
 
 But closed forever those sad eyes. 
 
 The warm blood gushing from his breast, 
 
 Stains deeper yet his purple vest; 
 
 Those white lips murmur faint and low, — 
 
 Old man, why dost thou shudder so ? 
 
THE CONVENT. 133 
 
 Those little words, they were his last- 
 "Ella, dear Ella," so — 'tis past. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The sighing echoes faint and die 
 Along the arches broad and hi^hj 
 The faint light from the altar shed. 
 Just tints the faces of the dead; 
 Just shows the dark avenger's eye 
 Is gleaming cold and dreadfully; 
 G-lances along that reddened blade. 
 And on the marble spreads a shade ; 
 All else as weird and shadowy seems 
 As memory of our midnight dreams. 
 But darker yet the shadows fall. 
 More ghost-like gleams that snow-white hair; 
 And now thick darkness covers all, 
 And naught but awful death is there. 
 
 * -Sf * ^ -Jf 
 
 M 
 
134 POEMS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 'Neath the chancel side by side, 
 Sleep they, bridegroom now and bride : 
 And often when the votarist sad, 
 Sighs for the joys she might have had; 
 Scorns the^ calm bliss seclusion brings, 
 Longs for the void of earthly things — 
 If memory point her tearful eye, 
 Where these crushed hearts together lie. 
 In this she sees, ah, mournful thought ! 
 How little good hath passion wrought: 
 She sees that love indeed is vain, 
 And gratefully turns back again. 
 But feeling in their pain a share, 
 She drops a tear of pity there. 
 
 When in the course of rolling years 
 Returns that night of blood and tears. 
 Through the dark hours the organ rolls 
 
THE CONVENT. 135 
 
 Its glorious anthems swelling high, 
 And the veiled sisters bending nigh, 
 Pray humbly for those ruined souls. 
 Nor iS; for sad and dark his lot, 
 The gray-haired wanderer forgot. 
 Where'er he roams, whate'er his fate, 
 Whatever tortures on him wait; 
 Whether beneath Italia's sun 12 
 His short remaining course was run; 
 Where all that 's beautiful and bright, 
 Warmly as youth and love unite. 
 The tortured mind to soothe and charm. 
 And every bitter care disarm; 
 Whether remorse compelled him forth 
 To roam the distant frozen north; 
 Whether within the mountain cave. 
 He found a secret, unblest grave; 
 Whether beneath a convent's stones 
 Repose unwept his mouldering bones. 
 Or if a life of penitence atones ; 
 
136 POEMS. 
 
 None ever knew ! His resting place 
 
 No mortal eye shall ever trace. 
 
 His life was — misery ; such Ms death 
 
 must be : 
 Leave him with God and to eternity! 
 
 THE MORAL. 
 
 Here lies the moral, useless and in vain, 
 As morals have been, are, and still 
 must be J 
 
 Ever yoitr passions by your reason chain, 
 And never grant them a supremacy. 
 
 One certain safety from successive pain — 
 But who, alas I can seize the remedy ? 
 
 Some there may be, perchance, but very true 
 
 It is that I 'm not one : Reader, are you ? 
 
137 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 I. 
 
 The red moon is hidden 
 
 Mid clouds in the west, 
 
 And the storm-king hath ridden 
 
 Across the calm breast 
 
 Of the placid; blue sea. 
 
 And its waters so white. 
 
 Solemnly murmur 
 
 Good night! Good night! 
 
 M * 
 
138 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 In the winds as they shriek; 
 In the clouds as they roll; 
 There are voices that speak 
 To the innermost soul. 
 Reproachfully speak 
 The angels of light; 
 In that solemn murmur. 
 
 Good night ! Good night ! 
 
 III. 
 
 In the heart there 's a tone 
 
 That is sometimes heard. 
 
 But despairingly lone 
 
 Is each bitter word; 
 
 And when peace is crushed 
 
 By misery's might; 
 
 It solemnly murmurs. 
 
 Good night ! Good night ! 
 
GOOD NIGHT. 139 
 
 IV. 
 
 'T is witMn us, around us, 
 
 Above us, below! 
 
 'Tis a curse that liath crowned us 
 
 With lingering woe : 
 
 We can summon to shun it 
 
 No earthly might — 
 
 That wailing murmur. 
 
 Good nidit! Good night! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1. " I was the bosom friend of Plato and other illus- 
 trious sages of antiquity, and was then often known by 
 the name of Philosophy." — H. K. White's Melancholy 
 Hours ; No. iii. 
 
 2. The allusion is to Byron's youthful love. For the 
 fact that Mary Chaworth was accustomed, later in life, 
 to visit the church at Hucknell, and pray at the poet's 
 grave, I am indebted to an article on " Nottingham 
 and Newstead Abbey," published some time since in 
 Graham's Magazine. 
 
 3. " Eeason is said to be one faculty and imagination 
 another — but there cannot be a greater mistake. They 
 are one and indivisible." — Wilson. 
 
 4. Cromwell is meant. — See Hume's History, vol. v., 
 ch. Ixi., p. 484. 
 
 5. In discoursing of " Nature," Dr. Spurzheim says : 
 " It is used to signify the first cause personified, and 
 may then be considered as synonymous with God or 
 Creator. — See Natural Laws of Man." 
 
142 NOTES. 
 
 6. Mine is a free translation ; the original is thus : 
 
 " II donne aiix fleurs leurs aimable peinture ; 
 II fait naitre et murir les fruits ; 
 II leur dispense avec mesure 
 Et la chaleur des jours et la fi-aicheur des nuits ; 
 Le champ qui les recut les rend avec usure." 
 
 Act I., Scene iv. " Le Clioeur." 
 
 7. Robert Rantoul, Jr. was born at Beverly, in 
 August, 1805, and died at Washington, in the evening 
 of Saturday, August 7th, 1852. He was a man of 
 powerful intellect and exemplary character. A gen- 
 erous heart, noble principles, and a mild, genial dispo- 
 sition, gained him more and warmer friends than it is 
 commonly the lot of public men to possess. 
 
 NOTES ON THE CONVENT. 
 
 8. The " Sorrows of Werter." It is somewhat sin- 
 gular that Goethe should have produced a book like 
 this. Madame De Stael says : " Goethe n'a plus cette 
 ardeur entrainante qui lui inspira Werter ; (which im- 
 plies that he had it once) mais la chaleur de ses pensees 
 suffit encore pour tout animer." This, however, was 
 when he was something more than fifty years of age. 
 It seems peculiar that a man so nearly resembling a 
 block of ice should ever have possessed sympathy with 
 such emotions as constitute Werter. 
 
NOTES. 143 
 
 9. Christian was an emperor of Denmark, and no 
 very worthy individual, if we credit Schiller's account 
 of his concern in the " Thirty Years War." 
 
 10. " For a man never slept in a different bed, 
 
 And to sleep you must slumber in just such a bed." 
 
 POE. 
 
 11. Deianira, wife of Hercules, wrought upon by 
 
 jealousy, sent him a poisoned robe, which being put 
 
 on, ate into his flesh with a torture, which induced him 
 
 to terminate at once his misery and his life. He burned 
 
 himself. INIilton has : 
 
 " As when Alcides from .Echalia crowned 
 
 With conquest felt tli' envenomed robe " 
 
 Paradise Lost, Book ii., 543-44. 
 
 12, " Thou paradise of exiles, Italy ! " 
 
 Shelley's Julian and Maddalo. 
 
 CEO. C. aASD. PBl.NTEB, COB.VHILL, BOSTON. 
 
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