r < or < 
 
 ire «:<soc 
 
 c" 4SC £^d«c: - 
 
 
 
 
 <r<f c 
 
 4C3^jC< 
 
 *C3£LC< 
 
 ^LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.' 
 
 <WLa PS 33 J 9 
 
 if UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. ?L 
 
 m 
 
 3QBMC3r 
 
 pccCCC 
 
 dgLs- 
 
 bxscr 
 
 
 cj 
 
 3 
 
 
 
c«*r«L 
 
 
 <:«—k:<lc 
 
 ■-' «CC 
 
 :<^<cx: 
 
 cr c< c < < 
 
 cc <a<^ 
 
 <x- cc 
 
 e<c c ; ; .<r_ 
 
 c ^a:: ca <^ ■ 
 
 CC7 <Kc 
 
 <5T cc < c 
 
 cc <2SCL 
 
 <j£ cc c c 
 
 :<Ld <3d 
 
 <X1 cc c « 
 
 c<*cc oc: 
 
 1 c^ cc 
 
 Cjc^jct v.o 
 
 *C «3L CS 
 
 HI«iCL<r -sir <; ■* 
 
 
 **cr «^ cc 
 
 ^jC<CH^1 *3 
 
 ad «c cc 
 
 C C«<~~<C < 
 
 ocr <c cc 
 
 rC<l 
 
 - dC C<S v?: 
 
 "z cc cr«:^ 
 
 3HHR33B1E 
 
 BeXfc 
 
 =2£r«^gs*> 
 
 f» 
 
 
ORIGINAL POEMS, 
 
 ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. 
 
 BY MRS. WILLIAMS. 
 
 " Oh ! lost (o virtue, lost to manly thought, 
 Lost to the noble sallies of the soul, 
 Who think it solitude to be alone." 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 " They com«— 
 The lost, the beautiful, th« dead." 
 
 Printed by H. H. Brown, Market Square 
 

 RHODE-ISLAND DISTRICT, sc. 
 [L. S.l Be it remembered, That on the 17th day of April, 1828, 
 and in the fifty-second year of the Independence of the United Slates of 
 America, Catharine R. Williams, of said District, deposited in this Office, 
 the title of a hook, whereof she claims as proprietor, in the following 
 nurds, vjz. " Original Poems, on various subjects. By C. R. William*." 
 " Oh lost to virtue, lost to manly thought, 
 Lost to the noble sallies of the soul, 
 Who think it solitude to be alone." 
 
 YOUNO. 
 " They come — 
 The lost, the beautiful, the dead." 
 
 In conformity to an act of Congress of the United States, entitled ■ An 
 Act for the encouragement of learning, by seem ing (he copies of maps, 
 charts and books to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the 
 time therein mentioned, and also to an Art entitled « An Act for the en- 
 
 em 
 
 cement of learning, bv securing the copies of maps, charts and books 
 to the authors and proprietors of such copies, dt 
 mentioned, and extending the benefit (hereof 
 graving aud etching historical or other prints." 
 
 entioned, and extending the benefit thereof to the art ol desiguing, eu 
 r other p 
 Witness 
 
 BENJAMIN COWELL, 
 Clerk of the Rfaode-I.laad District. 
 
 
17 
 
 *OX? THE DEATH 
 
 OF THE UNFORTUNATE MISS *****. 
 
 Rest, hapless Fair ! beneath the turf, 
 Which holds of thee what here remains; 
 A soul of such exalted worth, 
 The tyrant death can ne'er enchain. 
 
 When the last morning's glorious dawn, 
 Shall shed its orient beams on thee, 
 Then join the host of Heaven's first born, 
 And to thy Saviour's bosom flee. 
 
 Immortal pleasures wait thee there, 
 Unfading and without alloy, 
 To crown thy hope, thy fervent prayer, 
 And bless thee with eternal joy. 
 
 There in Jehovah's presence blest, 
 May thy repose be long and sweety 
 Till we are gathered to his rest, 
 And there, thy risen spirit greet. 
 
13 
 
 *ON HEARING A DISCOURSE PHOM 
 THB3E WORDS, 
 
 "Ye have asked and have not received, because ye asked amiss." 
 
 Ah then ! (let conscience speak) I've asked amiss, 
 
 The low vain pleasures of a world like this. 
 
 Its charms enticing, try their every art, 
 
 Its sordid cares have hung around my heart. 
 
 Alas how vain! the tort'nng busy fear, 
 
 The saddened heart and penitential tear ; 
 
 The mind that's fettered by the joys of earth, 
 
 Must struggle vainly for a heavenly birth. 
 
 The soul may aim to reach its native skies, 
 
 But clogged by earth, it fails, its ardour dies. 
 
 Thus long I've laboured in the path of truth, 
 
 And thus have pass'd the fleeting years of youth. 
 
 Heaven and the world by turns my thoughts employ, 
 
 Eternal pleasures, and life's transient joy. 
 
 Oh would this warfare in my breast subside, 
 
 Then might my days like thine as smoothly glide, 
 
 In duty's path ; Oh could I find the way, 
 
 And never more in error's footsteps stray, 
 
 Indulgent Parent ! fix my thoughts above, 
 
 And on my heart impress thy wond'rous love ! 
 
 May all my hopes, each thought and each desire 
 
 For lasting pleasures, and for thee aspire. 
 
 May earthly cares no more my soul enslave, 
 
 Enable me " the world's dread laugh to brave." 
 
 To ask what with thy glory may accord, 
 
 And in each act to make my guide thy word. 
 
19 
 
 ^MPROMFTTT, 
 
 WRITTEN AT SUNSET. 
 
 Faintly beaming from the West, 
 The God of Day retires ; 
 
 And scatt'ring glories as he sits, 
 Withdraws his cheering fires, 
 
 But soon with added lustre bright, 
 Behold him in the East, 
 
 All nature smiling at the sight, 
 All hail the welcome guest. 
 
 Oh Sun of Righteousness arise. 
 
 To cheer this darksome gloom ; 
 With charms superior bless mine eyes, 
 
 And light me to the tomb. 
 
 Shelter'd beneath thy healing wings, 
 
 I'll every ill defy ; 
 Shaie the pure bliss Religion brings, 
 
 And taste immortal joy, 
 8 
 
20 
 
 TO EMMA. 
 
 Source of each joy, of purest pleasure, 
 Which can glow in mortal breast ; 
 
 Brightest ! fairest ! valued treasure, 
 Friendship ! thou canst make us blest. 
 
 The sons of sorrow seek thy bosom, 
 There they hush each grief to rest, 
 
 No dark distrust, no foul suspicion, 
 On thy features are imprest. 
 
 Kind compassion e'er attends thee, 
 
 Virtue sure is on thy side ; 
 Heaven itself well pleas'd beholds thee, 
 
 And kind angels are thy guide. 
 
 To the broken heart of sadness, 
 Thou canst give the wish'd relief; 
 
 Thou canst make the smile of gladness, 
 Smooth the wrinkled brow of grief. 
 
 Still may all those soft sensations, 
 Tender, constant, and refin'd, 
 
 Friendships warm and chaste emotions, 
 Dwell within my Emma's mind. 
 
 And whene'er the sigh of anguish, 
 From my heart unbidden steals, 
 
 May that expressive look of kindness, 
 Tell what thy kindred bosom feels. 
 
21 
 
 *TO AN UNBSLISVIWG FHIEND, 
 
 VPON HER BEING TERRIFIED IN A THUNDER STORM. 
 
 While loud around the thunders roll, 
 And forked lightnings wing their way, 
 
 What terror strikes the guilty soul, 
 Affrighted girl, where is thy stay ? 
 
 Thou know'st the hand that bold directs 
 TV unening instrument of death, 
 
 With jealous eye each thought detects, 
 And holds within his hand thy breath. 
 
 Does not thy fearful heart suggest, 
 A sudden doom perhaps is thine? 
 
 The struggling tear, but ill suppiest, 
 Reveals the thoughts which war within. 
 
 The quick, short breath, the sudden start, 
 And change of place so often tried, 
 
 Whene'er the lightnings round thee dart, 
 And flash so fiercely by thy side. 
 
 The throbbing breast with anguish heav'd, 
 The fearful glance cast trembling round, 
 
 Denote a mind but ill at ease, 
 
 And show no refuge thou hast found. 
 1*2 
 
Rethinks dismay'd while round thy head, 
 Peal after peal tremendous rolls, 
 
 Thou view'st with envy yonder shed, 
 
 Beneath whose roof, the Christian dwells. 
 
 But let" me seize th' auspicious hour, 
 When every passion sunk to rest, 
 
 Bern's to that awful guardian Pow'r, 
 That ever warns thee to be blest. 
 
 Though terrors arm his dreadful nod, 
 
 And clouds and darkness round him waits, 
 
 Yet righteousness is his abode, 
 And justice at his portals sits. 
 
 Oh ! may this dread awak'ning hour 
 Call forth that spirit into life, 
 
 Impress thy mind with lasting awe, 
 And cause thee to prepare for death. 
 
 And if prepar'd, dread not the blow. 
 
 That lays thy beauteous form in dust, 
 Thy soul releos'd from every woe, 
 
 Shall soar among th' angelic host. 
 
*LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN ON CHRIST AS DAY, 1S08. 
 
 Hail, glorious day! auspicious morning, hail; 
 
 Which gave a Saviour to a guilty world ; 
 Oh may the voice of truth this day prevail, 
 
 And warm our hearts to hear with joy his word. 
 
 This day, Oh God, her annual tribute brings, 
 Of prayers and praises to th' eternal Three, 
 
 This day thy saints awake ten thousand strings, 
 And make their vows and offerings unto thee. 
 
 From every nation, every clime they come, 
 
 To drink the waters of eternal life ; 
 To earth's remotest verge thy name is known, 
 
 From farthest southward to the frozen north. 
 
 Oh wilt ihou smile upon each grateful heart, 
 That bows this day before thine awful throne ? 
 
 Cause thine enlivening Spirit to impart 
 A ray of light, and mark them for thine own. 
 
 Let the glad tidings of celestial joy, 
 
 Cheer every heart and every breast inspire ; 
 
 And may thy promises our thoughts employ, 
 And fill each worshipper with holy fire. 
 
 May thy exalted Son, who this day came, 
 To take our sins upon his guiltless head, 
 
 Redeem us from the penalty of sin, 
 And on our souls his saving grace be shed. 
 b3 
 
24 
 •SFfeXtfC? 
 
 APRIL, 1809. 
 
 Who is the Nymph that hither flies, 
 
 With step light bounding e'er the gr«en, 
 
 With rosy lip and downcast eyes. 
 And cheek that blushes to be seen. 
 
 Where'er the maid pursues her way, 
 
 The flowers spring up beneath her feet ; 
 
 All Nature cheer'd looks bright and gay, 
 And smiles her kind approach to greet. 
 
 Her fragrant breath the air perfumes, 
 Around the winged songsters rove ; 
 
 While flutt'ring all their little plumes, 
 They fill with melody the grove. 
 
 Stern Winter sickens at the sight, 
 And bids his forces straight retire J 
 
 Back to the dark abodes of night, 
 They quick return, led by their sire. 
 
 The cheek of beauty glows afresh, 
 
 The eye with added brightness beams; 
 
 While every lip her charms confess, 
 And every breast her influence feels. 
 
 We view thee from that liberal hand, 
 
 The source from whence all blessings flow : 
 Who at the word of His command, 
 Binds as in iey chains, or bids th« landscape glol*. 
 
25 
 *LINES, 
 
 WRITTEN AT A FAMILY TOMB, JULY 17, 
 
 Approach this sacred, hallow'd place, 
 With solemn, reverential fear ; 
 
 In silent rest, in death's embrace, 
 Here lie the friends in life most dear. 
 
 Here sleeps the statesman, wise and good, 
 His friend and partner by his side ; 
 
 And here too, rests a mother's love, 
 And here, a father's joy and pride. 
 
 Here in sweet peace and soft repose, 
 
 Releas'd from sorrow and from care , 
 Dismiss'd too from a world of woes, 
 From dangers and unnumber'd snares, 
 
 Lies my lov'd mother ! injur'd shade ! 
 
 What for thy sufferings can atone ? 
 When shall thy wrongs from memory fade, 
 
 When shall I cease thy fate to mourn i 
 
 Oft on thy bosom gently laid, 
 
 My infant cries were hushed to rest, 
 
 And when beside thee I have play'd, 
 I thought myself supremely blest. 
 
 b4 
 
26 
 
 Tis past ! And now beside the tomb, 
 Which holds thee in its sacred trust, 
 
 I pause to mourn thy early doom, 
 But own that God was wise and just. 
 
 And close reclining by thy side, 
 Lies the companion of my youth J 
 
 Of temper modest, meek and mild, 
 The child of innocence and truth. 
 
 Yes, lovely boy ! yes, brother dear ! 
 
 Had but our rising hopes prov'dtrue, 
 Not now the unavailing tear 
 
 Had dropt to bid the last adieu. 
 
 Soft o'er thy grave the setting sun, 
 
 Sheds its last glimm'ring, parting light, 
 
 A silent warning to be gone, 
 
 Nor linger in the shades of night. 
 
 Farewell, dear friends ! a brief farewell, 
 On yonder not far distant shore, 
 
 We'll hope to meet and there to dwell, 
 Where sin and grief shall vex no more. 
 
27 
 
 'HTTZflCT. 
 
 ■SouL-reviving Spirit come, 
 
 Bear me to my heavenly home ; 
 
 Quick ! oh quickly let me fly ! 
 
 And dwell with Thee, my God on high. 
 
 Within this dry and barren place, 
 My famished soul implores thy grace; 
 Implores thy Sovereign power to bless 
 The hope, that on thy mercy rests. 
 
 Back, worldly joy and earthly care, 
 Thou shalt no more my soul ensnare ; 
 Jesus, my hope ! if thou art mine, 
 My soul shall ne'er with sorrow pin*. 
 
 No other object can impart 
 A ray of joy to this sad heart ; 
 No greater wish my bosom fires, 
 Thou art the sum of my desires. 
 
 Within this dry and barren place, 
 My famished soul implores thy grace; 
 Then quick, oh quickly let me come, 
 And seek with Th«e an happier home. 
 s5 
 
,28 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON A PASSAGE FROM N , TO 
 
 Gently now the waves are flowing, 
 Which conveys me from thy strand } 
 
 Precious joys in fancy glowing, 
 Still endear thee to my mind. 
 
 Once I fondly vainly fancied, 
 
 Thou hadst bliss for me reserved; 
 
 Though so long by hope deluded, 
 Still thy soil is dearly loved. 
 
 Still I prize the place once valued, 
 By the friends I held so dear ; 
 
 In my breast their names are treasured, 
 And calls forth full many a tear. 
 
 While I think on pleasures over, 
 Which for me thou once did hold ; 
 
 Where's the charms I then discovered, 
 Where, alas ! my heart is cold. 
 
 It beats not now with tender gladnes*, 
 When thy circling shores I view; 
 
 Now, alas ! depressing anguish 
 Pains the heart to memory true. 
 
 Now no mother's tender blessing, 
 Waits my ardent infant prayer ; 
 
 Now no soft and fond caresses, 
 Wait my wished arrival there. 
 
29 
 
 Cold the bosom which then met me, 
 With maternal rapture warm ; 
 
 And those arms which often prest me, 
 Cold that dear and lovely form. 
 
 And thy Sire, whose eyes soft beaming, 
 
 Ever met me with delight , 
 With transport prest the happy being, 
 
 Whom he said could " charm his sight."' 
 
 He has fled ! has fled forever ! 
 
 Left this earthly house of clay ; 
 Shall I ne'er behold him ? nevei — 
 
 Unless 'tis in eternal day. 
 
 For his spirit pure as ether, 
 
 Sanctified by heavenly love ; 
 Now has risen to its Maker, 
 
 There to dwell in joys above. 
 
 Then my friend, no longer wonder, 
 N gives no more delight ; 
 
 Since the friends I loved most tender. 
 Never there can bless my sight. 
 
 Still in fancy oft I wander, 
 
 Near the scenes to memory dear, 
 
 On lost pleasures pensive ponder ; 
 Fondly drop the parting tear. 
 
30 
 
 TO MR. , 
 
 Who under a vow of secresy confided to me the story of his life. 
 
 Yes ! I will ever sacred keep 
 
 The awful promise I have given ; 
 
 A word shall ne'er these lips escape ; 
 No — as I hope for bliss in heaven. 
 
 That heaven before whose awful throne, 
 The plighted vow was freely made ; 
 
 That heaven who registered thy doom, 
 And o'er it threw this darkening shade. 
 
 Though the sad tale must ne'e r be told, 
 Though ever in my breast concealed ; 
 
 The various scenes thou didst unfold, 
 Must never — never be revealed. 
 
 Yet oh permit my thoughts to rove, 
 Where thine in agony must dwell; 
 
 To pity what I can't relieve, 
 
 Aud mourn the woes I cannet heal. 
 
 Ofl kindle with ambitious fire, 
 
 To equal that heroic mind ; 
 That ne'er will give the contest o'er, 
 
 'Till victory's wreath thy brow shall bind. 
 
 'Tis hard indeed to banish thought, 
 
 That wills to lead our steps astray ; 
 To bid our fondest hopes depart, 
 Lest their indulgence should betray. 
 
31 
 
 With truest sympathy I heard 
 Those lips so eloquent, portray ; 
 
 What at this distant time appeared, 
 To harrass thee with wild dismay, 
 
 E heard — alas ! the story lives, 
 
 Deep in my breast a sigh sometime*, 
 
 The tribute which soft pity gives, 
 For thee, strange sufferer will rise. 
 
 Pleasing, accomplished as thou art, 
 By fortune bountifully blest; 
 
 Yet has misfortune hurled her dart, 
 And in thy heart the barb transfixt. 
 
 But He who still in wisdom guides, 
 Unerring shall thy faith regard ; 
 
 Yes, He who on the tempest rides, 
 Can that restrain and thee reward. 
 
32 
 
 Come Evening, come, serene and mild, 
 For social converse sweet designed, 
 
 For once thou hast the power 
 To soothe the tumults of my breast, 
 To hush each varied grief to rest, 
 
 And form the festive hour. 
 
 Thy shadows length'ning on the plain, 
 The stars that deck thy splendid train, 
 
 Employ my wandering gaze ; 
 The glittering canopy of heaven, 
 Thus for delight and comfort given, 
 
 Speaks loud a Maker's praise. 
 
 Nor less around the cheerful fire, 
 Shall joy sincere our hearts inspire, 
 
 Or innocence preside ; 
 Th' enlivening chat, the merry song, 
 Unconscious still the hour prolong, 
 
 Through the long eventide. 
 
 And when the tempest howls around, 
 And snow descending to the ground, 
 
 Conceals the face of earth ; 
 With books and frieuds we'll seek delight, 
 And happy faces all unite, 
 
 Around a winter's hearth. 
 
33 
 'INVOCATION. 
 
 0nce more, once more ! delusive dream return, 
 Give ne what waking I can ne'er enjoy ; 
 From the dark confines of the mouldering urn, 
 Bring back the form my fondest thoughts employ. 
 
 Oh mother! mother ! still the smile benign, 
 Which so oft played about that lovely face ; 
 Beam on my midnight hours, I dream thee mine, 
 And once more hold thee in my fond embrace. 
 
 Last night I felt thy heart beat close to mine, 
 And on thy lips imprest a glowing kiss ; 
 Ah, bitter disappointment soon to find 
 Twas but a dream, how vanished all my bliss. 
 
 Thine eyes with melting tenderness ran o'er, 
 The glow of health was on that lovely cheek ; 
 My heart alive to nature's sweetest power, 
 With rapture listened to those accents sweet. 
 
 But soon officious reason checked my joy, 
 And recollection told me thou wert dead ; 
 Yes, death inexorable, thou didst destroy 
 This lovely form, 'tis now forever fled. 
 
 Then dear delusive dream, once more return} 
 Give me what waking I can ne'er enjoy ; 
 From the dark confines of the mouldering urn, 
 Restore the form my fondest thoughts employ. 
 
34 
 
 AT THE REQUEST OF THE LATE CHARLES JS. TIBBITTS; ESQ,. 
 Written in 1814. 
 
 I like the face where innocence resides,, 
 Where honest candour and good-nature meets, 
 The face that glows with nature's varied dies, 
 Where every passion eloquently speaks, 
 Where jocund pleasure is expressed by smiles, 
 And anger by the frown of just disdain ; 
 Who innocent, is unsuspecting guile, 
 And when he's happy, cannot talk of pain. 
 
 But shun the man beneath whose lowering eye, 
 Retiring thought avoids the test of day ; 
 Though playful humour with imposing grace, 
 Deigns with a subtle smile his face to dress ; 
 Yet care in thousand forms still haunts that breast, 
 Contending passions rob his soul of rest. 
 
 A politic regard to human laws, 
 
 Joined with the view to force the world's applause, 
 
 May make him talk of order and so forth, 
 
 And foremost in the praise of public worth. 
 
 .His boast of morals may be more sincere, 
 
 Like his abstemiousness, th' effect of fear ; 
 
 A selfish wish for health, long-life, and ease, 
 
 May well preserve him from gome sins that please. 
 
 Love ! generous love ! ho would proclaim his guest, 
 
 A reluctant tenant in his sordid breast. 
 
35 
 
 Mark when he smiles ! a thought disturbs his mind, 
 And when he frowns — some profit is at hand. 
 A battery's masked beneath that sullen brow, 
 There envy rankles, malice bends her bow, 
 With dexterous hand her keenest arrow draws, 
 And on the destined wretch her vengeance pours, 
 
 Ah what avails the rose upon his cheek, 
 The well-turned features, or the smiling lip ? 
 Stiil shun the man beneath whose gloomy eye, 
 Cunning and dark design in secret ambush lie. 
 
36 
 
 The following appeared in the R. I. American in 1811, requesting a Ver- 
 sification. 
 
 "I enquired of Time. To whom 
 
 said I was erected this building, which you have levelled 
 with the ground ? Time made no answer, but spread his 
 quick wings and hastened his flight. I then spoke to 
 Fame; Oh thou ! the parent of all that survives. Thou 
 who — She cast her troubled and sorrow-swelled eyes on 
 the ground, in the attitude of one whose heart is too full 
 for utterance. 
 
 Wondering and confused at what I had seen, I was 
 turning aside from the Monument, when I saw Oblivion 
 stepping trom stone to stone. Thou, exclaimed I, thou 
 must be acquainted with it. Ah, shew me ! He inter- 
 rupted me with a voice like deep thunder at a distance. 
 I care not what it has been — it is now mine." 
 
 VERSIFICATION 1 . 
 
 Of Time I demanded for whom were these walls 
 Erected ? For what were they raised ? 
 
 He answer'd me not, but spread his swift wings, 
 And darted abrupt from my gaze. 
 
 I then turn'd to Fame, and I ask'd with a sigh, 
 
 Thou parent of all that survives, 
 Thou who ! but her heart was too full to reply, 
 
 On the earth bent her sorrow-swelled eyes. 
 
37 
 
 Confused, amazed, and with wonder entranced^ 
 
 I was turning aside from the scene, 
 When the form of Oblivion recalled my glance, 
 
 Whose shade slowly moved o'er each stone. 
 
 Ah thou, I exclaimed ! Thou surely must know, 
 
 And tell me for whom ? I had said ; 
 With a voice like to thunder, deep, distant, and low ; 
 
 These words slowly uttered the shade : 
 
 " For whom this proud structure once reared its head, 
 
 *' Sure now of no moment can be ; 
 " 'Tis a ruin ; its beauty and splendour have fled, 
 
 " And now 'tis devoted te me." 
 
3S 
 *TO TKB VILLAGE <tfF 
 
 Is there on earth a place so bright, 
 That ever charmed the gazer's sight, 
 
 Ueneath the circling sun ? 
 Oh spot so dearly Uved by me, 
 To thee shall Satan bend the knee, 
 
 And own himself outdone. 
 
 Say, is there in the world so good, 
 Or has there ever since the flood, 
 
 A spot like thee been blest, 
 With able heads, and ready hands, 
 And choice, select, well-ordered bands, 
 
 As here have pitched their tents? 
 
 3>id envy ever breathe a wish ? 
 Did evei malice name a curse 
 
 Which they unheeding p<ist? 
 Vv hie!) they've not grasped at, wrested, sifted, 
 Mangled, altered, tortured, twisted, 
 
 To purposes the worst ? 
 
 Oe v.iot the youthful heart enjoy 
 A moment's glee, its hours employ 
 
 In recreation sweet ? 
 U ned b> 'ensure, undisturbed 
 
 B- landers slyly doubtful words, 
 
 ©r w«rse — by low-lived wit? 
 
39 
 
 Still there's a few, a valued few, 
 Who claim the praise to merit due, 
 
 For whom my heart is warm , 
 But then the gang who rule the roast, 
 Far worse than those who haunt our coast; 
 
 The beauteous soil deform. 
 
 Then say, is there a place so sweet, 
 That ever charmed the gazer's sight, 
 
 Sustained so deep a wrong ? 
 For, dear lamented spot, to thee 
 Must Satan bend the votive knee, 
 
 And own himself outdone. 
 
 t3 
 
40 
 
 *TO A CiLGED BIRD. 
 
 l,N vain you try to baffle fate, 
 
 Poor bird, and struggle to be gone ; 
 
 And beat and peck tbe wiry grate, 
 Tbat boids that little captive form. 
 
 For thee does nature smile in vain, 
 
 From day to day with charms renewed ; 
 
 No breath of spring, no balmy gale, 
 Can cheer an irksome solitude. 
 
 Yet, lovely bird, within thy breast, 
 There dwells one pleasure ever new ; 
 
 Which ne'er tby tyrant master blest, 
 A heart affectionate and true. 
 
 For thou dost still in sorrow mourn, 
 
 At morning's dawn and evening's close ; 
 
 Thy little mate now from thee torn, 
 And thou hast too a prisoner's woes. 
 
 Still, still sad bird ! tby woes rehearse, 
 To sorrow's song tby voice attune j 
 
 A sigh responsive from my breast, 
 Shall answer every note of thine. 
 
4t 
 ABDB.ESSED TO 
 
 On i who of earthly hopes bereft, 
 Forbids the t§ar of grief to flow ? 
 
 Or who that sorrow's pang e'er felt. 
 Can chide the mourner in his woe ? 
 
 Say, when within the struggling breast, 
 Conflicting passions wildly rage) 
 
 When all our hopes have sunk to rest, 
 And nothing can our grief assuage. 
 
 Shall not the sigh of anguish rise, 
 
 As often we retrace the past , 
 And back despairing fancy flies, 
 
 And views the dawn of life o'ercast ? 
 
 If pity ever touched thy heart, 
 Or human feeling there has place, 
 
 Forbear to point misfortune's dart 
 With all that can my woes increase. 
 
 Short triumph of a little mind ! 
 
 For I shall soon escape thy sight ; 
 Relenting Heaven will prove more kind, 
 
 And calm my soul with peace and light. 
 
 Light of a day that knows no end, 
 Light of a morn that knows no even ; 
 
 Dawn on my soul, my steps attend, 
 And lead me to the joys of heaven. 
 
42 
 
 "LINUS, 
 
 AT THE GRAVE OF MISS A. \V. 
 
 Methinks I hear thee now, my once gay friend, 
 With voice angelic, "call me to attend, 
 To words of truth, while bending o'er thy dust, 
 My spirit soars with thine among the just. 
 
 Yes, beauteous spirit, I attend thy words, 
 
 And every impulse of my soul accords ; 
 
 Thou seem'st to say — " This valued spot contains 
 
 Only of earthly beauty what remains. 
 
 Oh mourn me not ! though vanished from my sight, 
 
 My soul to endless joy has winged its flight. 
 
 Mourn not the hour that set my spirit free, 
 
 And bore me to eternal joys on high. 
 
 The pangs of death are past, the scene is closed, 
 
 The world has fled and with it all its woes, 
 
 Its joys have vanished like a dream away, 
 
 Its promised pleasures could not tempt my stay. 
 
 But oh, my friend ! while youth and health remains, 
 
 While glowing fancy every scene retains, 
 
 While pleasure courts you with enticing smiles, 
 
 And spreads around you all her subtle wiles, 
 
 And pride of life with all her dazzling charms, 
 
 And syren voice invites you to her arms. 
 
 Oh yet while tempting joys around you glow, 
 
 Before you try them, heed the bitter woe, 
 
 That lurks beneath the roses which they spread, 
 
 And brings destruction on her votaries' head. 
 
43- 
 
 Be warned by me, so early snatch'd away : 
 
 Prepare to meet the terrors jof that day, 
 
 When heait and flesh shall fail, and nought can stay 
 
 The trembling soul, m presence of its God, 
 
 But humble hope, relying on his word. 
 
 Prepare to see your God, while yet you may ! 
 
 To see his face in peace, make no delay." 
 
 The voice has ceased, but still in mental sight, 
 Thy form appears bedeck'd with robes of light, 
 Still in my ears thy words seraphic ring, 
 My fluttering spirit seems almost on wing. 
 Thou to my languid hopes hast impulse given, 
 And all my wishes raised from earth to hea\ en 
 c4 
 
44 
 
 To praise thee all shall join who tread Columbia's groun* 
 Hail Patriot, Statesman, with due honours crowned, 
 On every grateful tongue thy praise shall dwell, 
 May every future age thy virtues tell, 
 And latest time thy firmness shall record, 
 Serene in every storm, and ne'er by faction awed. 
 
 Just to all ranks, thou hast not shared thy part, 
 E'en in the midst of foes thy steadfast heart, 
 Fixed in its aim, no dangers e'er could see, 
 Firm as the hills, from terror too, as free. 
 Envy in vain shall strive to blot thy fame; 
 Rivals shall fall and miss their deadly dim. 
 Severely just and nobly great thou art, 
 On history's page thou still shalt act a part, 
 New and uncommon, graved on every heart. 
 
45 
 
 TO IL STZIJLETCEB., 
 
 Who used lo walk after dark in the North Burial-Giuund, Newport, 1C15 
 
 Say, pensive Stranger ! why to this lone spot, 
 Do thy sad steps thus mournfully incline? 
 The lonely tenants of the grave cannot 
 Return one sigh, or drop one tear for thine. 
 
 Oft have I mark'd thee, at this dreary hour, 
 With arms enfolded, and with head rcclin'd, 
 Steal from the croud, from pleasure's rosy bower, 
 And court the sacred silence of this shade. 
 
 But why thus resolutely turn thine eyes 
 From all the gay companions of thy youth? 
 Why shun the place where giddy pleasure smiles, 
 And lures the thoughtless from the paths ol truth ? 
 
 Not thirty summers can have seen thee now; 
 Not thirty annual suns roiPd round thy head ; 
 And still upon that youthful, thoughtful, hrovv, 
 The hand of care has some deep furrows made. 
 
 Perhaps this place holds some heloved form, 
 On which thine eves were wont with joy to gaze, 
 One who, a. one, could that cold bosom charm, 
 Whose toss has sadden'd all thy fntnre days. 
 c5 
 
46 
 
 Docs then this earth entomb some lovely clay, 
 Enshroud some angel form, forever fled! 
 That here you seek, and nightly visits pay, 
 To the still mansions of the silent dead ? 
 
 With thee, strange mourner, I could weep for this, 
 Could bid the fountains of mine eyes o'erflow, 
 And bending o'er the scene of buried bliss, 
 With thine could mingle tears of bitterest woe. 
 
 But He who takes our blessings at his will, 
 Does not require such offerings at our hands. 
 He bids the ravings of despair be still, 
 And the sweet song of gratitude demands. 
 
 Whate'er the cause that calls thee here to mourn 
 Oh be this truth upon thy heart imprest, 
 That all is vanity below the sun, 
 That, this frail world is not to be our rest. 
 
 Beyond this wreck, which sin and death display, 
 Oh ! lift to heaven the piercing eye of faith ; 
 Think of the hour when this imprison'd clay 
 Shall burst the tomb, and triumph over death! 
 
47 
 
 LUTES, 
 
 On the recovery of a Friend, irom a dangerous illness. 
 
 " The prayer of faith shall save the sick," 
 
 And I the blessing crave, 
 Thou who art ever loth t' afflict, 
 
 Oh interfere to save. 
 
 From heaven bend down Thy list'ning ear, 
 
 And loose the bands of death, 
 And wipe away the sorrowing tear, 
 
 Restore the fleeting breath. 
 
 'Tis done! the breath of heaven revives, 
 
 The grateful sutfrer lives ; 
 Again hope sparkles in her „eyes, 
 
 And health new rapture gives, 
 
 To her who watched each varying look, 
 
 And held thine aching head, 
 And every other care forsook, 
 
 To weep beside thy bed ; — 
 
 To her what transport to behold 
 
 The rose of health re-bloom, 
 And see the sun again unfold, 
 
 She feared would sit at noon. 
 
 But greater, higher joys were hers, 
 
 To know thy sins foi given : 
 And see thee live, like one redeem 'd, 
 
 An heir of bliss and heaven. 
 
4S 
 
 TO A BEPAHTING FRIjEND. 
 
 And must I speak the word farewell? 
 
 And must I bid thee now depart ? 
 Of thy deep grief thou need'st not tell, 
 
 I know, for thou hast us'd no art. 
 
 Yet think not, I would bid thee stay ; 
 
 1 feel the wisdom of thy words, 
 And for thy welfare while I pray, 
 
 With thy resolve my heart accords. 
 
 Oh! may the strength that arms thy soul, 
 Uphold thee still, where'er thou art, 
 
 May every passion find controul, 
 And bid temptation still depart. 
 
 Better to fly where danger lures, 
 
 Than risk the chance long t' resist j 
 
 Prevention's greater skill than cure, 
 The latter is too great to risk. 
 
 Yet oft my thoughts will follow thee ; 
 
 The lonely hours which friendship cheer'd 
 Will still return, but not to me, 
 
 The friend, who onee those hours endearad. 
 
49 
 
 And surely thou wilt often dwell 
 
 On her whose grateful heart repaid 
 Thy kindest wishes — none can tell 
 Huw oft for thee that heart lias bled, 
 
 " Should want or sorrow be thy lot," 
 Or sickness lay thee helpless there, 
 
 Then think on me — " forget me not," 
 In misery thou shouldst be my care. 
 
 But need I say, should fortune smile, 
 Think not on me? Oh never! never! 
 
 But turn, and in her bosons dwell, 
 
 Who lov'd thee once — and will forever. 
 
59 
 
 Occasioned by the death cf Caj>t. Charles T. Longhead, of Warren, (R. 1/ 
 
 who died in Dartmouth (En?.) March 26th, 1319. Published 
 
 in the American. 
 
 Though lock'd in death's embrace on foreign shores, 
 And favour'd strangers elos'd thy dying eyes, 
 To mourn thy sad and early loss is ours, 
 As fair in memory's page thy virtues rise. 
 
 Still shall thy friends recall the parting scene, 
 When their fond wishes for thy safety breatb'd, 
 Met thy warm glance, bright, happy and serene, 
 Though then prophetic fears thy bosom heav'd. 
 
 The barque that bore thee from thy native land, 
 When thy undaunted spirit bttde thee go, 
 Slowly returns without thy guiding hand, 
 Th' unwelcome bearer of thy last adieu. 
 
 That manly form sleeps in the silent dust, 
 Still is the tongue, untutor'd to deceive, 
 Yet shall thy graces rare, since lost to us, 
 Plead for our tears, whene'er for thee we grieve. 
 
 Few knew th' exalted virtues cf thy soul, 
 And fewer still the kindness of thy heart ; 
 Mild, though unchanging, resolute, yet cool, 
 Disp assionate and just, disdaining art* 
 
51 
 
 Whether, transplanted to a happier clime, 
 Those virtues now expand with growth divine; 
 Whether that voice attun'd to themes sublime, 
 Swells in celestial choir around thy throne — 
 
 We know not till the veil of flesh withdraw ; 
 But Oh, eternal God ! one hope is given ; 
 If to the " pure in heart," thy gates unbar, 
 Loughead has seen thee in the courts of heaven, 
 
REFLECTIONS, 
 
 On vi-iting the room that contained the remains of Mrs. A. H. 
 Addressed to the bereaved Husband. 
 
 Thy pangs are o'er, my sainted friend ! 
 
 Thy sorrows never more can rise, 
 Here did commission'd angels bend, 
 
 To waft thy spirit to the skies. 
 
 Those eyes are clos'd in sweetest sleep, 
 To us that voice is heard no more, 
 
 Till heaven's enrapturing chorus greet 
 Our ears on Canaan's blissful shore. 
 
 Sweet is the place where God has been, 
 His holy footsteps here have trod ; 
 
 To eyes of faith unveil'd the scene, 
 
 Where now the mourner walks with God. 
 
 And sweet and sanctified their rest, 
 Who on thy sacred breast recline, 
 
 Saviour of men! of Thee possest, 
 And yield their souls to love divine. 
 
 A mourner in this " vale of tears," 
 
 Through clouds and doubts she travelled on; 
 
 Nor losr. amidst distressing fears, 
 The view of an immortal crown. 
 
S3 
 
 TJiat crown' is hers, the bourn is past; 
 
 Where dying nature yields her breath ; 
 Those agonizing pangs, the last, 
 
 And only pangs she found in death. 
 
 Think'st thou she'd leave the realms above, 
 To grace thy side on earth again ? 
 
 Gr from the bosom of her God, 
 Descend, e'en thy loved arms to fill ? 
 
 Oh no — before that throne of light, 
 
 Where all his ransomed children meet.; 
 
 She joins with ever new delight, 
 In the sweet song the just repeat. 
 
 Then, widowed mourner, cease thy tears, 
 The God you serve wiped her's away; 
 
 On thy Redeemer cast thy cares, 
 Make him thy refuge and thy stay. 
 
 Recal the memory of his grace, 
 
 His love once to thy soul revealed ; 
 
 When all was hope and joy and peace. 
 And He alone thy bosom filled. 
 
54 
 
 0/ all the bounties He has given, 
 One only gift the Lord recalls ; 
 
 And though 'tis from thy bosom riven, 
 Has He no right, who thus remands ? 
 
 Oh ! think of blessings yet in store, 
 For those who on his truth rely ; 
 
 And seek by life of faith and prayer, 
 To make their treasures in the sky. 
 
 Hear his kind accents speak to thee, 
 " My son resigned sustain this blow ; 
 
 What I now do thou canst not see, 
 But wait, thou shalt hereafter know." 
 
55 
 
 ON ENTERING ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, 
 
 On the morning f the 25th of December, 1820, while the Psallonian Soci- 
 ety were singing " The Star of Bethlehem." 
 Published in the Ameiican. 
 
 What strain is this salutes my wondering ears, 
 That rises, swells, then softly dies away ; 
 
 And seems on its melodious tide to bear 
 Some parting spirit to the realms of day ? 
 
 And why, in all her festal garments clad, 
 Like some fair bride upon her nuptial day, 
 
 Shines forth the Church ! the city of our God, 
 The mount of Zion, and the King's highway • 
 
 Above, beneath, around, enchantments reign, 
 Perennial Spring seems opening on the view; 
 
 The box. the myrtle and the laurel twine. 
 
 To wreathe a garland for a Conqueror's brow. 
 
 And who the Conqueror, on whose natal morn, 
 Such honours wait ? To whom the willing kne« 
 
 Is humbly bent— to whom the raptur'd tongue 
 Ascribes all praise in heaven ? It is He 
 
 The Prince of Peace! Son of the Highest, hail! 
 
 May every heart confess thy gentle sway, 
 No warrior, Thou, whose ruthless bands compel 
 
 Reluctant nations sullen to obey. 
 
 But ah ! a crimson banner is unfurl'd, 
 
 The blood-stain'd tide upon that cross has now'd ■ 
 'But 'twas thine own, shed for a guilty world, 
 When in the wine-press of the wrath of Cod, 
 D 
 
5G 
 
 Awake, Oh Zion ! and put on thy strength; 
 
 Jerusalem, in beauteous garb array 'd, 
 Shout loud hosannas ! for from now henceforth, 
 
 The vile shall cease thy sacred courts to treafl. 
 
 Well might seraphic choirs the news proclaim, 
 And hail the Virgin mother of our God ; 
 
 Though clad in lowliest garb the Saviour came, 
 The straw his bed — the manger his abode. 
 
 Thrice happy Shepherds ! who on Bethl'hem's plains, 
 First heard the tidings of good will to man . 
 
 Thrice favour'd Magi! whom no fears detain'd 
 From offering incense at his lowly shrine. 
 
 Redeemer of the world! haste — haste the time, 
 When all opposers at thy cross shall fall; 
 
 And in thy second advent grateful join, 
 
 To crown Thee Salem's King, and Lord of all ! 
 
 The Crown of earth* awaits that holy brow, 
 Sin, death and hell resign th' unequal strife ; 
 
 Haste then, and prove to all Thy saints below, 
 Thyself the " Resurrection and the Life." 
 
 *■ " Come, then, and added to thy many crowns, receive yet one, 
 ,Xhe ciowu of all the eaith."— C(/»:/>o\ 
 
57 
 
 " Alii. IS NOT XiOST, FOB. PROVIDENCE 
 SimVIVSIS." 
 
 Published ia the Telescope of 1816. 
 
 Who franvd and form'd it. Still, still He exists.— \ 
 
 Beneath the shadow of His wings I'll rest, 
 
 Till these calamities be overpast. 
 
 P All is not lost" — though friends and fortune fail** 
 
 The glittering silver and the gold are His, 
 
 And His the cattle on a thousand hills. 
 
 His too the heart, to form it at his will. 
 
 At His command unnumbered worlds were made. 
 
 At His command they fall, and at His word, 
 
 <l The empvreal arch shall vanish as a scroll, 
 
 Or as a vesture change." 
 
 Thrice happy he who shrinks not at the thought} 
 Whose hope ascends beyond the heaven ofheavens ; 
 Whose mind, whose treasure, and whose heart are there. 
 Amid the dread convulsions of the world, 
 He is unmov'd: For all the ills of life, 
 Clad in celestial armour, stands prepared. 
 Too true it is, his heart is often wrung 
 By the world's baseness: — that ingratitude 
 And undeserved scorn cut like a dagger; 
 
 But then he lifts his eyes; 
 And. in his meek and lowly Saviour, sees 
 The perfect pattern of forbearing love. 
 b2 
 
5S 
 
 There stretch'd upon the tree where man's ingratitude 
 
 Had nailed Him, he sees the man of sorrows 
 
 Now hunted through the world, 
 
 He, tho' the Lord of all, had not a place 
 
 To rest his head in safety ; He was scorned, 
 
 Deserted, slandered, hunted and pursued 
 
 By all the world. And yet this man of sorrows 
 
 In meekness stretched his limbs upon a cross, 
 
 Nailed by the sinful men he came to save — 
 
 His life for theirs. Oh, when that blameless life 
 
 Is had in view, if self is still remembered, 
 
 'Tis with such thoughts as these : — Shall I repine, 
 
 My Saviour and my King ! at the high honour 
 
 Thus vouchsafed me ? Shall I mourn that all 
 
 Unworthy as I am, I thus conform to thee ? 
 
 Oh I if from depths of heathen lands, where yet 
 Thy Gospel hath not found its way, impelled 
 By inspiration, or by reason's laws, 
 Some bold enquirer for the truth should come ; 
 Unshackled by man's teaching, unbewildered 
 By man's opposing doctrines ; — 
 If such should ope the volume of Thy word, 
 And trace throughout the history of Thy chosen,— 
 Would he believe the quiet, cold professor, 
 Who smoothly glides the stream of life along, 
 And, unconcerned, jogs through the bustling world ; 
 Who wears, indeed, the name of Christ, but herds alternate 
 With friends or foes, just as occasion suits — 
 Say, would he here discern the self-denying 
 
59 
 
 Disciple of Immanuel? If not here, 
 
 Where should he look? for such, alas ! are many 
 
 That now profess Thy name, abused Saviour ! 
 
 Oh rather would he turn him to the few, 
 
 Wit > think to wear his name, and do his will; 
 
 Who struggle on amidst a sea of sorrows, 
 
 Scorned by the world, and by pretended friends; 
 
 Still doomed, though labouring in a Saviour's cause, • 
 
 To suffer as the foe. And keener still, 
 
 The Christian feels, from those where least deserved ; — 
 
 I'i : those for whom he oft has watched and wept; 
 
 From those whose wounds his hand has often bound, 
 
 And fondly tried to heal with words of peace. 
 
 But, let us view him on the bed of death, 
 Despised, rejected, hated and contemned, 
 Almost discouraged, yet still pressing on, 
 Till worn at length with trials too severe, 
 The outward man decays. And, oh ! 'tis then 
 The Christian triumphs ! Heaven is in his view, 
 The great reward is near. li Oh who," he cries, 
 " Would shun my life, to taste the joys I feel ?" 
 He dies, indeed, but not as others die — 
 For from his eye a beam of glory darts, 
 And Oh, that placid, most celestial smile, 
 It tells of heaven — what none who look can doubt. 
 
 And now, behold the Saviour's words fulfilled/ 
 " You they will hate, because they hated me? 
 
 d3 
 
m 
 
 u My words they kept, and yours they now shall keep. 
 
 Yes, the mild reasonings, and the just rebukes, 
 
 The tender warnings, and the fervent prayers, 
 
 Are deeply treasured in each contrite heart. 
 
 The Saint has pass'd, and all his failings too; 
 
 The odour of his virtues only lives. 
 
 Is this the Portrait of the man of God f 
 Then be it mine to suffer what He wills ;— 
 With bleeding feet the thorny path to tread, 
 And drain the bitter chalice to its dregs. 
 Though agonizing nature turn away, 
 I will not shrink, so 1 resemble Thee, 
 Thou rnartyr'd Saviour of a guilty world ! 
 
61 
 
 Z.X27E3, 
 
 After reading the Story of an Indian slain in Battle, 
 by hL Fiiend. 
 
 \The wounded Indian to the covert flies, 
 To pluck the poisoned arrow ere he dies ; 
 With desperate effort draws it from the wound, 
 And as life's current oozes on the ground, 
 While dissolution's pang his soul assails, 
 And nature's darkness o'er his mind prevails, 
 Curses the hand the fatal shaft that sped. — 
 tl Oh that for me, he says, my foe had bled. 
 " That foe in happier days was called my friend, 
 " Oft did my watchful care his steps attend. 
 " When sorrows o'er his mind her shadows hung, 
 u With guardian care my untired spirit clung ; 
 u And sought by every art his grief t* assuage, 
 " To turn misfortune's dart — disarm its rage ; 
 " How well rewarded, let this arrow tell, 
 " Would I could send it with my last farewell. 
 " My daring soul that never knew a fear, 
 " Heeded an infant's wail, or mother's tear, 
 li Feels but one pang, it lights my languid eye, 
 " One bitter pang ! that unievenged I die." 
 
 Poor child of nature, o'er thy fate I mourn, 
 That thy great spirit with re' enge should burn. 
 The gospel's peaceful sound ne'er reached thin* ear, 
 Untaught the heavenly lesson to forbear. 
 
 d4 
 
62 
 
 Like thee from treachciy I wounded fly, 
 
 And seek some covert to repose or die. 
 
 Like thee, with dauntless hand the barb withdraw, 
 
 Though At my feet I see the life-blood pour ; 
 
 Like thine, my heart unwonted fire retains, 
 
 'Twas tipt with poison and the sting remains. 
 
 Oh ! that for me, some gentle hand were found, 
 To pour in Gilead's balm and heal the wound. 
 Nor vain the wish — then hear my earnest prayer, 
 Thou " Great Physician !" for 1 feel Thee near. 
 Forgive the cause of all the woes I feel, 
 And guard his breast from feelings that rebell ; 
 Should bitter malice e'er his fame assail, 
 And friends, conjoined with enemies, prevail, 
 Till sorrows multiplied press down a heart, 
 Unskilled in simple truth to strive with art, 
 Some pious friend, the hapless mourner raise, 
 And point his view to truth's refulgent blaze ; 
 Display in living characters that hoi:ie; 
 Where envy, rage, and hale shall never come. 
 
 And when pale sickness o'er his form shall spread 
 May some kind breast support his aching head, 
 Some gentle hand his throbbing temples bind, 
 And teach the ait to love a kindred mind, 
 With softest voice to soothe his anxious fears, 
 And with assiduous love, take more than half his cares. 
 
 And when reclining on the bed of death, 
 With fluttering pulse and half suspended breath. 
 
w 
 
 T^ioae dying eyes shall anxiously implore 
 The look consoling, and the fervent prayer, 
 With faith triumphant may she mark the road^ 
 And guide unwavering to the rest of God, 
 Nor feel her pangs who, ere that time shall corns, 
 Escaped before him — has arrived at home. 
 d5 
 
64 
 
 On Ihe departure of the Rev. Joseph R. Andms, for AfHc*. 
 
 Farewell ! in heaven we meet again, 
 Asserter of the rights of men ; 
 Auspicious now with favouring gales, 
 Yon ship appears, whose swelling sail* 
 The self-devoted martyr hails. 
 
 Thou'st heard the wretched captive's prayer^-' 
 
 The witness of forlorn despair, 
 
 Indignant has essayed to break 
 
 The yoke of bondage from his neck. 
 
 And lead in peace the wanderer back. 
 
 And now thy task, through wilds to rova,. 
 The herald of redeeming love ; 
 Where tropic suns, with burning ray, 
 Scorch the faint traveller on his way, 
 And the fierce tiger prowls for prey. 
 
 But glowing suns that parch the earth, 
 
 Or chilling night's pestiferous breath, 
 
 In vain impede thy pious search; 
 
 The cloud descends from heaven's high arch, 
 
 That once protected Israel's march. 
 
 Alone, through deserts dark and deep, 
 Where savage tribes their vigils keep, 
 Thou undismay"d shalt wend thy way 
 Illum'd by inspiration's ray, 
 Aftd blest with beams of heavenly day. 
 
65 
 
 Though rough the path, perplex'd the road, 
 The way loads upward to thy God; 
 His cheering voice shall reach thine ear, 
 " Faint not, nor shun the cross to bear, 
 " In heaviest hour, for I am near I" 
 
 If prayers can make thy labours blest, 
 Heaven shall reward, with high behest.- 
 In the lone desert thou shalt reo- 
 A vine whose fruit shall soon appear 
 Abundant to reward thy care. 
 
 Ethiopia soon shall come with haste, 
 Thirsting the streams of life to taste. 
 There while Jehovah's altars blaze, 
 Shall her dark daughters tune their lays, 
 To swell the choral hymn of praise. 
 
 On yon dark mountain's awful brow, 
 And in the smiling vale below, 
 See the Redeemer's cross unfurl'd, 
 While lowly bends a ransom'd world, 
 To worship Him — the long foretold. 
 
 Then, Herald of the Gospel, speed, . 
 Fearless in duty's path proceed ; 
 Degraded tribns, in guilt o'ergrown, 
 Who now may at thy message frown, 
 Hereafter shall adorn thy crown. 
 
66 
 
 " Self-devoted Martyr." This expression might, witli per- 
 fect propriety, be applied to the Rev. Mr. Andrus. He 
 knew that a short life awaited every white person who at- 
 tempted to reside in Africa. Yet, nothing daunted by the 
 dangers of the undertaking, he resolved to go. It was not 
 a long life, but a useful one that he coveted. Yet life, we 
 would have supposed, must have possessed uncommon charms 
 for him. He was the only surviving one of a numerous fam- 
 ily of children, and as such, doubly endeared to the hearts 
 of his parents. Friends, fortune, every thing conspired te 
 make a residence in hi? own country desirable. But to car- 
 ry the Gospel to the benighted regions of the earth had 
 long been the prevailing desire of his heart. 
 
 The subject of slavery, too, had been one of deep con- 
 sideration and regret. With these views in conjunction, he 
 entered into the service of the Colonization Society, and 
 sailed with a company of coloured persons from Norfolk, 
 (Vir.) in the brig Nautilus, January 21st, 1821. 
 
 Had Mr. Andrus been the person mentioned in the Gospel, 
 to whom our Saviour addressed the word " Sell what thou 
 hast, and give to the ])oor, and come and follow me," he 
 could not have more literally obeyed the divine command> 
 since he gave all his property, of every name and nature, to 
 pious and charitable purposes, before his departure. As a 
 preacher, Mr. Andrus was excelled by many in brilliance of 
 imagination, and powers of oratory. Yet his manner, partak- 
 'ng of almost infantile simplicity, never failed to find its way 
 to the heart. He was peculiarly qualified for the arduous 
 undertaking he was engaged in. The serenity of his temper 
 was imperturbable ; and his consideration for the unhappy 
 beings he was endeavouring to rescue, to civilize, and Christ- 
 ianize, so great, that nothing could offend. Often has the 
 writer of this, seen his patience and forbearance severely tried 
 
67 
 
 by the distrust, and even rudeness with which his humane 
 offers were frequently treated. On those occasions he would 
 say, while the pitying tears stood in his eyes — " Poor degraded 
 beings ! who can wonder at it 1" 
 
 Although he did not live to see the company settled, yet the 
 prophecy in the seventh stanza of the foregoing lines, may be 
 considered as accomplished, in the now flourishing Colony at 
 Liberia, since he selected and contracted for it. Like Moses, 
 he was permitted to lead them to the promised land, and like 
 him permitted but a glimpse ef ft? 
 
68 
 
 FOB CKBISTESAS 23A3T, 1820- 
 
 PUBLISHLD IN THE RELIGIOUS INTELLIGENCER. 
 
 Oh pure was the light on the plains cf Bethlehem, 
 Where the shepherds of Israel awaited their King, 
 And hallowed the tongues that resounded the paean, 
 With which the high arches of heaven did ring. 
 
 And hushed was the voice of the world's mad commotion, 
 And even the passions of men were at rest ; 
 AH, all had subsided, now calm as the ocean, 
 Which rocks itself still, when the tempest had past. 
 
 It had past, for the nations of earth were reposing, 
 And breathing awhile from the horrors of war ; 
 At midnight alone the sages were rising, 
 To follow the leadings of Bethlehem's Star. 
 
 Thou Son of the Highest ! how glorious the morning, 
 That dawned on the world, and revealed thy glory ; 
 How blest were the followers, thy triumphs adorning, 
 That hailed with Hosannas the Just and the Holy. 
 
 In the heart was the kingdom thou cam'st to establish, 
 To embellish with graces that fade not away •, 
 Tho' liie place from the map ot creation were banished, 
 Thy kingdom is founded and knows no decay. 
 
Though centuries have past, since the land of Judea, 
 Beheld thee on earth as the '* ancient of days," 
 And (he dwellings of Jacob no longer appear, 
 Yet here shall the gates of thy Zion be raised. 
 
 In the darkness of midnight the nations were shrouded, 
 Which now the bright beams of thy glory have blest, 
 And the forest, where silence perpetual had brooded, 
 Shall now bring its offering Thy temple to grace. 
 
 E'en here shall the glory of Lebanon greet Thee, 
 The box and the myrtle, the fir-tree and pine, 
 Though that glory unhappy Judea has left thee, 
 Yet here, in new splendour, arrayed, shall it shine. 
 
 Oh pure may it shine ! as the light in Bethlehem, 
 When the Shepherds of Israel awaited their King; 
 And hallowed the tongues which on this day adore Him, 
 As theirs who of old, met His praises to sing. 
 
n 
 
 TO m.£kTSZ, OIT HER WX3DDI2TCJ- DAY. 
 
 Lo ! in yon valley where the willow laves 
 Its bows umbrageous in the passing waves, 
 Whose shade impervious to the noontide sun, 
 Scarce light admits, my harp forlorn has hung. 
 
 Its strings relax'd, just breathed a pensive waij, 
 In dying numbers on the passing gale ; 
 Fit is the place, though sad the scene, for oh ! 
 J~t seldom answered but to notes ot woe. 
 
 But now I'll bring it to a cheerful scene, 
 Where love invites, and pleasure smiles serene ; 
 Its tones, the gladsome, blithsome hour shall sway, 
 And every chord harmoniously obey. 
 
 With gentle touch its trembling strings I'll try, 
 And change its wailing to the notes of joy , 
 Come then, and make thy first, though rude essay. 
 To sing of love, on Mary's wedding-day. 
 
 Display aloft the glittering, dazzling chain, 
 Which poets dream of, and which Lovers gain; 
 Come sing of pleasure, rapiure, earthly bliss, 
 Of love's first sigh ! or of its earliest kiss. 
 
 Disclose, in blazing pomp, where Hymen stands, 
 Ami smiling, waits to join the willing hands ; 
 With looks complacent, view* the lovely prize, 
 And lights his torch at William's sparkling eyeii 
 
71 
 
 Rehearse the vows of everlasting love, 
 Oft made, invoking all the powers above ; 
 No ! gentle harp, this strain suits not her eaiy 
 To whom I would a modest ofFring bear. 
 
 To her far dearer the domestic hour, 
 When sobered rapture yields to friendship's poweV. 
 Calm as her breast, those hours shall softly pass, 
 And each bright morn seem brighter than the last. 
 
 Each day when through its tranquil course has run. 
 Sees peace depart not with the setting sun. 
 The hour around the social party brings, 
 And William listens, while his Mary sings. 
 
 Nor this alone — at the still hour of even, 
 
 They join the notes of praise, and talk of heaven"; 
 
 And hers the task, with every opening day, 
 
 To " lure to brighter worlds, and lead the way." 
 
 Her heart shall never feel the chilling pains 
 Of love departed, or of friendship changed ; 
 Ne'er shall her peace be wrecked, her bosom riven 
 By looks estranged, or by compulsion given. 
 
 But every smile, with answering smile repaid, 
 And every tear with tenderest, gentlest aid ; 
 Tranquil on earth may they their days thus spend, 
 Grant Power Supreme ! until their life shall end. 
 Then in Thy kingdom rest, with Mary's friend. 
 
72 
 
 HAPFIT IffEW-lTSAS, 1824* 
 
 How sweet when surrounded by all we hold dear, 
 The warm gratulations on a happy new year, 
 Auspicious its opening t' a people so blest, 
 Reclining in peace upon liberty's breast. 
 Far, far from the horrors of bloodshed and strife, 
 Where descendants of heroes are struggling for life ; 
 Where captives forlorn, in deep dungeons are lying, 
 W^hile the shrieks of the wounded, and groans of the 
 
 dying, 
 Are borne on the blast, through the universe flying ; 
 Where oppression stalks forth, in her terrible garb, 
 And the pleadings of innocence cannot be heard. — 
 Where the Cross and the Crescent for vict'ry are striving. 
 While friends are far off, and foes closely pursuing. 
 Remote from the scenes of carnage and woe, 
 Yet may sympathy's tears for the wretched still flow. 
 And has Greece, once again, from her ashes now risen, 
 Awoke from her slumbers, and burst from her prison ? 
 Come forth to new splendours, her heroes so brave, 
 Have now bared an arm their sad country to save. 
 Great God ! from the throne of thy glory look down, 
 Oh sloop from Thy heaven '. their efforts to crown ; 
 Omnipotence aid them, the Cross to sustain, 
 And hurl the proud Crescent to darkness' domain. 
 For thee, my dear Country, far other scenes rise, 
 And blessings unnumbered salute thy glad eyes. 
 The tyrants of Europe, still contend for their power, 
 But no duik clouds of war in our hemisphere lower. 
 
No Sovereign of France, nor turbaned Despot, 
 Shall here the De Luce,* or the Crescent exalt 
 " Our sons are so brave, and our daughters so fair, 
 " Our fields are so verdant, so pure is our air." 
 What nation so blest, wit!) us can compare? 
 While the throbbings of joy and of gratitude rise, 
 May the song of thanksgiving ascend to the skies, 
 And still draw down blessings my country, on thee, 
 The world's last asylum, the land of thcfrte ! 
 
 *See Hist, of Spain, 1824. 
 
n 
 
 THE DTTTCH WEDX*!!***, 
 
 A TRUE STORY. 
 
 A farmer who lived in the State of New- York, 
 
 That made his own cider, and raised his own pork, 
 
 Whose family once from the Netherlands came, 
 
 Grew so proud all at once, he scarce knew his own name; 
 
 Kis son, a rare youth, courted Jenny Van-Dyke, 
 
 And young bonny Charlie was called Van-Slyke. 
 
 His high-minded father had bred him a tinker, 
 
 And much it grieved him, that his son lov^da toeaver t 
 
 His blood he declared should ne'er be debased, 
 
 So (iegradingly low, as with weavers to mix ; 
 
 He tried all his wits the match to break off, 
 
 Love bailied his arts, and he found them so loth, 
 
 That he gave up the contest, and suffered the wedding 
 
 To take its own course, so the guests were ail bidden, 
 
 The floor nicely sanded, and then a good fire, 
 
 For to draw in the log did three oxen require. 
 
 Now a fine jolly company met at the parly, 
 They were not quite all young, but all stout and hearty. 
 There was far;ner Van-Beson with wife and with daughter, 
 A king among jesters, who never gave quarter; 
 There was Betsey Van-Winkle and her sturdy beau, 
 
 i a!l thegirle envied, she made such a shew ; 
 And Peter Van-Horn, close beside his gude vrow, 
 Though which way he got there, he scarcely knew how, 
 For the night being coll, and his horses unsteady, 
 He lined bis cflat well with hot *rhiskey toddy. 
 
75 
 
 But to name all the guests, would take me till night, 
 They talked, and they feasted, and danced till 'twas light, 
 The cider and apples and whiskey went round, 
 And the nuts, and the bride's cake and sour-crout abound. 
 And then they had turkies and beef-steaks a plenty, 
 Now none were found there but the best of the gentry. 
 But when the time came they no longer could stay, 
 The Mynheers were afraid they'd forgotten the way. 
 The sleighs were drawn up, and the ladies prepared, 
 With horse-whips their masters to drive and to guard. 
 The hay was well spread, and the seats taken out, 
 And they fumbled in, who could scarce have got out. 
 
 Now Peter Van-horn, and two or three others, 
 Who at every carousal had still been sworn brothers, 
 Demanded more whiskey, and found the door closed, 
 But a ladder stood near them, so up it he goes ; 
 And vowing that there he would come through the roof^ 
 They hired him with whiskey to go and drive off. 
 *I\vas in vain his good wife hegged he'd give her the reins, 
 Nought but oaths in high-Dutch could she gel for her pain*, 
 So in tumbled Peter, and the horses they flew, 
 The gate beina: open, like lightning went through. 
 Poor Peter fell prone, but lay snug in the hay, 
 While the steeds kept on level four miles of the way, 
 Till the surface began to be somewhat uneven, 
 'Twas here that poor Peter was fain to have striven.^ 
 He was bang'd and well bruised from one side to tother 
 Now one end was up and sometimes the other. 
 And often the sleigh on its beam-ends was carried, 
 And then by a tack, it would once more get righted. 
 *3 
 
76 
 
 lie railed at the horses, and vowed ho would tix 'em, 
 And while he could speak, shouted " dunder and bli\um.' ! 
 At length they got home, how the angle they turned, 
 And not capsized Peter I never have learned. 
 The-, stopped short at the door, and out burst the women, 
 Wh'ue within was c< nfusion, and children a screaming. 
 And Petei was taken they -ill thought for dead, 
 Hi> temples were chafed, md then he was bled. 
 'Twas day-light on the monow before he could speakj 
 His \i ife hid arrived her companion to seek. 
 * Now Peter, she said. > pray take this warning, 
 " A d begin reformation from this veiy morning, 
 "And nol get high', dearest, you've suffered enough," 
 " That 1 will not, said Peter, so high as ihe, roof!'" 
 
77 
 
 to Eisrvsr. 
 
 On htaring a ptrsun ilauder another, after her death. 
 
 Thou bein^ of distorted form, 
 Whose accents, louder than the storm, 
 
 Arrest the startled ear, 
 Now rise in fary, now decrease, 
 And now in mockery whisper peace, 
 
 To soothe excited fear ; — 
 
 I know thee by the look askance, 
 I know thee ! by that guileful glance. 
 
 Off, demon ! touch me not. 
 For treachery, mischief, at thy birth, 
 Below presided — not on earth 
 
 Was thy pale race begot. 
 
 Thy darts have deadlier venom, far, 
 And kill more than the sword of war, 
 
 Though in the dark they sped. 
 The sickness that at noon-day rages, 
 Or j.es.ilence, in all its stages, 
 
 Is not such cause of dread. 
 
 For death, with thee, is no protection, 
 Thou dost not wait a resurrection, 
 
 To triumph o'er the tomb; 
 Tlnne immortality commences, 
 When steeped in death, thy victim's senses 
 
 Are slirouded in its gloom 
 
78 
 
 Being unlorcly and unloved ! 
 
 Who hast the sweets of malice proved, 
 
 Within thy tortured hreast ; 
 For, self-tormentor, still within, 
 Exists the punishment of sin, 
 
 In fruitless wishes curst. 
 
 For vain dost th-ou pursue to death ; 
 The prey escapes ; thy poison'd breath 
 
 Shall thy own vitals burn. 
 See angels round thy victims hover, 
 And spread their snowy wings to cover 
 
 The consecrated um. 
 
79 
 
 Awake, my harp ! to notes of gladness^ 
 That harp which three long years has shunberM 
 Awake to joy unmix'd with sadness, 
 Though only grief those years have number'd. 
 
 Yes, 1*11 rejoice, though clouds of sorrow 
 O'er my sad destiny may hover ; 
 I will rejoice, child of to-morrow, 
 Though fortune's sun has set forever. 
 
 T will be glad, though friends forsakin*, 
 Turn eyes of pride and coldness on me, 
 And reckless stab the heart that's breaking; 
 Still I will rejoice this morn to see. 
 
 All hail ! the day that brought salvation 
 To fallen man, his sins forgiving; 
 To rich and poor proclaimed redemption, 
 And made of him an heir of heaven. 
 
 Lookup! thou traveller in Zion, 
 Thy day of sorrow swifl is passing ; 
 Look up, and join the general paean, 
 For see, his second advent's hasting. 
 
 Rejoice! once more thy Saviour comes; 
 Jn clouds of glory faith beholds him; 
 Welcome to his expanded arms, 
 His suffering friends, who still adore him. 
 
 F.i 
 
m 
 
 Supposed to have been written by Patrick O'Conner, who fled, to this- 
 Country soon after the Irish rebellion, and died sooa 
 after, in the Slate of Ohio. 
 
 Ye woods and wilds and lofty hills, 
 And streams that softly murmur by ; — 
 
 Groves that the air of freedom fills, 
 And freedom's children all enjoy: — 
 
 Oh ! could you cool this feverish breast, 
 Or ease this wildly throbbing bruin, 
 
 Or bring one hour of mental rest, 
 I had not cross'd the seas in vain. 
 
 ..But alt ! fair Erin, still I turn, 
 
 With beating heart, to thee, my home ; 
 Thy wrongs ssiil cause my brain to burn, 
 
 They haunt me siill^ where'er I roam. 
 
 Once I was blest ; a father's smile 
 Lighted our homely, happy hearth, 
 
 A mother would our cares beguile, 
 
 And five fair sons were all their wealth 
 
 But terror to or.r dwelling came, 
 
 when pale famine stalked around: 
 Distraction took tebellioni's name, 
 And in her ranks my kindred found. 
 
SI 
 
 Por near our thatch 'd and humble shedj 
 Where peasant hinds expiring lay, 
 
 A palace rear'd its lofty head, 
 
 And daily rung with shouts of joy. 
 
 There plenty spread the festal beard, 
 And jovial souls were feasted hii,h ; 
 
 And song and dance and joy were heard, 
 And starving penury left to die. 
 
 Petitions, prayers and tears were vain. 
 To win the hearts of those within, 
 
 With blows repuls'd, could they complaha, 
 Or wonder it should end in sin ? 
 
 The madd'ning crowd the barrier bursty 
 And rushed tumultuous to the strife; 
 
 Hunger each tender feeling hushed, 
 Blood flowed for blood, and life for life., 
 
 Ah, happy those who sunk to rest, 
 
 Whose pangs were eas'd in death's embrace.; 
 Two of my brethren thus escaped,. 
 
 And I alone survive disgrace. 
 
 >fy aged father, pris'ner made, 
 
 While his two sons fought by his sid,^ 
 
 The gibbet has their ransom paid, 
 My mother on the meneow disd; 
 
1 fled to Liberty's last home, 
 
 To lay my bones beneath this sod, 
 
 Thus far the wearied wanderer come, 
 Bless now the effort, Oh! my God. 
 
 I fool the woes of life are o'er, 
 
 From my glazed eye the light has fled ! 
 
 Erin, thou bust my last, faint prayer, 
 And I am number' d with the dead. 
 
S3 
 
 LINES, 
 
 Written in a Ladj's Album, who differed from the writer in 
 religious opinion. 
 
 Memorial frail, of friendship and esteem, 
 I leave a name upon thy pages fair, 
 Unknown to greatness; yet if right I deem., 
 'Tis not an object of the owner's prayer. 
 
 In holy friendship, once our hearts were joined, 
 Once, did I say ? I hope they are so now ; 
 Shall names a barrier prove 'tween mind and minJ, 
 JVIust we to fashion thus obsequious bow? 
 
 "Shall man presume to judge his fellow-man, 
 Or wrest the lightning from his father's hand ? 
 Or hold his brother up to bigot scorn, 
 In proud conceit, he knows th' Almighty mind ? 
 
 He may — but I so ignorant and blind, 
 Bend in submission low before his throne J 
 If wrong, oh God, restore thy ening child, 
 If right, at all events " thy will be done." 
 
 May that atoning blood that flowed for us, 
 As well as all mankind, cleanse from our sins ; 
 And in his mercy humbly may we trust, 
 Whose perfect sacrifice from death redeems. 
 
X3OTBS, 
 
 On passing tile spot that contained the remaiusof the late 
 
 COL. SETH WBEATON, 
 
 Tks, honour, patriotism, slumber here, 
 And tears of general mourning wet his bier. 
 And he lies here, whose searching, mighty mine!, 
 The universe itself could not confine. 
 But who shall say where now the spirit, soars, 
 What worlds unnumbered on his vision pours? 
 His son! now freed from flesh, may haply scan 
 The wonders of creation's boundless plan. 
 
 Friend of the poor ! friend of the wretch forlorn, 
 T»'ho met from fellow-beings, nought but scorn, 
 t never saw the tear of pity ilow, 
 Wr found an e.ir attentive to their woe, 
 
 rity unasked, unsought but thine. 
 Forbade by thee in penury to pine. 
 Friend of the poor! Ihe desolate, th' opprest, 
 Kot only humane to the good disirest, 
 
 ind to ail ; thine but the wish to know 
 Their sorrows — no£ the source from whence they flew, 
 Thjne but the gracious task to give r< I 
 And not to chide thorn for the cause of grief. 
 Ac< ept my tears — for well thy worth I knew, 
 Thy private virtues were but known to few, 
 Thy public ones \ Loo. 
 
 Sea, tl irtuea of thai ind, 
 
 Which scarce nould brook the bas< at :sof mankind, 
 
 know n. a d some w he cowered beneath thy glance, 
 Would s< ! rce have feared before the Warrior's knee; 
 
 And v 
 
 And join with us to saj thy Tomb should bear 
 
 | h — INTEGRITY RE6T6 . 
 
15 
 
 THE PIRATE CHIEF. 
 
 Ah ! what is that yonder, at distance appenfing, 
 So silent 'twould seem that her crew are asleep j* 
 
 'Ti8 a sail I descry, on the billow careering, 
 
 She nears us, and see how her keel cuts the deep. 
 
 Tis morn — and on the deep green wave, 
 The rising sun is softly glancing ; 
 
 Ere even we may find a grave, 
 Upon the ocean's bed reposing. 
 
 Gur crew are brave, and trusty hands, 
 
 Our ship well mann'd, and used to danger; 
 
 And we've encountered desperate bands, ^~~ 
 Fought face to face, and braved all weathtr. 
 
 And well I ween is this the case, 
 
 Or many a heart would now be sinking ; 
 
 And pale and sad full many a face, 
 For see the ruffian pirate's veering. 
 
 She wears, to intercept our course, 
 And dexterous does her pilot manage 
 
 And see, her guns prepare to force 
 Our Captain to the dreadful carnage, 
 
86 
 
 Her blood-stain'd decks are nenr in sight, 
 Her darken'd side leans to the billow y 
 
 While o'er her mast, at fearful height, 
 The flag of black is waved in terror. 
 
 But where is he, the Piiate Chief, 
 So lamed for every deed of horror, 
 
 Thar they almost surpass belief — 
 
 Whose very name is clothed in terror? 
 
 Yonder upon the deck he stands, 
 
 \nd inly dwelling on his pluudei ; 
 He starts! — but ere his sign commands, 
 Our guns have spoke in words of thunder, 
 
 "Twas rather by a sudden stroke, 
 
 We managed them in this manoeuvre ; 
 
 An<! see, their ranks are fairly bioke, 
 They'll find it hard to fetch together. 
 
 Fight on, brave souls ! the moment seize, 
 When all is terror and confusion ; 
 
 On ■ on ! and catch the favouring breezej 
 The battle draws to a conclusion. 
 
 Ila! how her dreadful broadside roars, 
 For all her forces now have rallied, 
 
 And o'er our deck like tempest pours, 
 
 ,*Find not— her blows we well have parried. 
 
§7 
 
 Tliey grapple — hand to hand they fight, 
 
 Strang ■ that the roar does not astound them, 
 
 Well may the scene now shun the light, 
 And smoke envelope all around them. 
 
 Ah ! many a maid shall mourn this day, 
 And many a proud, exulting brother, 
 
 The sword that hews our ranks away, 
 Must stab the heart of many a mother. 
 
 For ripened age, and blooming youth, 
 Are in the dreadful combat snuggling, 
 
 And death has sefded the lip of truth, 
 From many a wound the liie-biood gushing 
 
 But hark! what dreadful crash was that? 
 
 A fearful cry ascends to Heaven! 
 A powder magazine blown up, 
 
 And in the shock her sides are riven. 
 
 The fight is o'er — the black-flag lowers, 
 Her Chief is bound, her decks are boarded, 
 
 Within our ship the treasure pours, 
 
 Which rapine gained, and murder hoarded". 
 
 jp **»**»** 
 
 Turn we — for on Bahama's Isle, 
 A sad procession now is moving ; 
 
 The muffled drum, the solemn knell, 
 Announce a sinner is departing 
 
But who is he, with port erect, 
 
 And face without one shade of feeling ? 
 Something there is, commands respect, 
 
 Although his deeds are foul and daring. 
 
 A man he was of middle age, 
 
 And had a black and piercing eye ; 
 
 And in its glance of sullen rage, 
 A soul still darker you might spy. 
 
 And fast he's hurried to the shades, 
 And hears no voice of mercy near; 
 
 His last, mad war with heaven to wage ! 
 Angels look down ! and drop a tear. 
 
 Eighteen poor wretches shared the rope, 
 And blest the prayers their master scorned ; 
 
 And may we not indulge the hope, 
 An eye of nieicy on them turned ? 
 
 "With step unfaltering still he moves, 
 The holy monk close by his side ; 
 
 The Pirate Chief! no monk he loves, 
 But death can only now divide. 
 
 For soon the scaffold they ascend — 
 " My son '." the reverend father cries , 
 
 " Forbear !" the prisoner said — " attend, 
 u I have no time to talk of lies. 
 
SD 
 
 " My soul, undaunted, seeks a Port — 
 " I know not, and I care not whither ; 
 
 e< My name shall never be the sport 
 " Of priests, or fools, no never ! never ! 
 
 " On Britain's Isle, I drew my breath, 
 
 u Of noble stock, 'tis true, I came ; 
 " My deeds of rapine, and of death 
 
 u You know — the cause I will not name. 
 
 " The secret dies with me, he said, 
 
 " For never yet, in hour accurst, 
 " Have I the dreadful tale betrayed, 
 
 " Now Law and Justice do your worst." 
 
 The story detailed in the foregoing lines, is founded 
 on fact. In the year 1819, the person whose character 
 and tragical fate is here spoken of, appeared in the town 
 of Providence, (R. I.) nnd being, to appearance, a iren- 
 tleman, was received as a boarder into one of the most 
 respectable houses in town. lie continued here some 
 months, being employed, as he said, in purchasing vessels 
 for a company at the southward. There wns evidently 
 a mystery about him, but that reluctance which all well- 
 bred persons feel, to pry into the affairs of others, pre- 
 vented his being watched or interrogated. It was, 
 however, thought to be solved, by observing that some 
 of his clothes were trimmed with the Patriot uniform 
 of South America. The countenance of the man wai 
 certainly against him, for though not ugly, it had (if we 
 *iay be allowed the expression) a most Satanic cast. He 
 was acquainted with several languages, civil in his man- 
 
90 
 
 ners to all, and towards the female sex, he observed that 
 respect and punctilious politeness, that would have done 
 honour to die days of chivalry. 
 
 He often voluntarily spoke of his family, who, he said, 
 were of French extract, and residents in Virginia ; rela- 
 ted many anecdotes of them, and incidents of his early 
 life, which, undoubtedly, were all fabrications The 
 romantic name he went by, he declared at his death 
 to be assumed ; and it is a singular fact, that notwith- 
 standing the many persons he saw in this country, the 
 many he encountered fighting on the high seas, and the 
 thousands who witnessed his execution, he should 
 never have met with one who recognized him, or at 
 least, with none who acknowledged the recognition, so 
 that his origin to this day, remains unknown. Although 
 he declared at his death, that he came of a noble family 
 in England, it is by no means certain that he did, as he 
 died the same hardened being that he lived. 
 
 Soon after he left this town, it was known he was a 
 Finite ; and various accounts of his ferocity and brutal 
 eourage were published He and his deluded follower* 
 were rit length taken and carried into New-Providence, 
 where they suffered the penalty of the law. .The paper 
 that gave an account of his last moments, mentioned his 
 declaration respecting his origin, and determination never 
 to reveal his true name, and also that he preserved the 
 most unfeeling and imperious manners to the last. 
 
 Sue'i was the end of a man, who evidently possessed 
 talents of a high order, and who was induced, either by 
 misfortunes of a very uncommon nature, or by a peculiar 
 love of wickedness and a naturally ferocious temper, 
 (probably the latter) to engage in a course of life which 
 terminated at an early period in an ignominious death. 
 
 
91 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF 
 
 XMkHX.'Sr S'RX.etfZtfXXIP. 
 
 It will easily be seen, by the friends of the writer, that the person 
 hare referred to was the late excellent and lamented Mrs. Harriet 
 F. Chace. 
 
 Oh, for a friend ! when other friends have fled, 
 On whose kind breast to lay this aching head ; 
 The look which friendship only can impart, 
 That never fails to cheer the drooping heari, 
 Which says, in language plainer than of words, 
 Accept the sympathy that love affords. 
 Though all the world forsake, yet will I never, 
 The tie that binds us, coldness shall not sever ; 
 We shall not join the sycophantic throng, 
 Who think that friendship to the great belong j 
 And find adversity still cool their zeal, 
 For every friend for whom they once could feel. 
 No : ours from lapse of time shall ne'er decrease, 
 But each revolving year its strength increase. 
 
 Such were the words her feeling looks once spoke, 
 Who for my guardian Angel, once I took. 
 And Oh : when earth clos'd o'er that tender heart, 
 And I was doomed from all those joys to part, 
 A tender and confiding friend had given, 
 Ah, none can tell how deep my heart was riven. 
 She, who for years had known my inmost soul, 
 Whose voice in sorrow ever would console, 
 And whose mild reasoning passion could controul. 
 P 
 
m 
 
 Herself exempt from that vexatious strife, 
 
 Which seems to some their destiny for life ; 
 
 She seemed all pure, all passionless within, 
 
 And yet discerned the very depths of sin. 
 
 She had a heart — and could not fail to know 
 
 The fruitful source, from whence proceeds our woe, 
 
 But had herself no darling sins to cover, 
 
 From which she felt it would be pain to sever. 
 
 Yet often saw the fault in those beloved, 
 
 And >pread their case before the God she served. 
 
 And mourned in secret o'er their dangerous state, 
 
 Not rashly judged them with tyrannic hate; 
 
 Nor held them up to sanctimonious scorn. 
 
 Or hatred of that world, who from the wretched turn; 
 
 She never sought to break the bruised reed, 
 
 Or cause the wounded heart afresh to bleed. 
 
 Oh ! if Immortals could a te?r bestow, 
 
 Or Angel-bosoms feel a moment's woe, 
 
 Shade of my friend ! I now should know thee near, 
 
 And find the blest could drop one human' tear. 
 
 But reason, piety, such wishes chide; 
 
 For thou art gone where every tear is dried. 
 
 In vain I search, in vain I look aiound, 
 
 For, one like thee I never yet have found. 
 
 And never to my view will such be given, 
 
 Till I can join thee with the blest in heaven. 
 
98 
 
 THE 'WAITUEB.SR'S LAST HOME. 
 
 A Ship from Northward o'er th' Atlantic driven, 
 By favouring winds approach'd her destin'd haven, 
 Her sails were filled and streamers fluttered gay, 
 And lightly bounding on pursued her way, 
 And each one seemed as gaj and void of care, 
 As the blithe bird, that hails the morning air, 
 And strains its tuneful throat, and sweetly sing*, 
 And careless flutters round with wanton wings. 
 One, only one, amid that thoughtless band, 
 With look of care, was often seen to stand 
 Close to the dizzy edge, or on the prow, 
 With look intern would eye the waves below; 
 Bro -en in heart and alien in Ins mind. 
 And far, far distant from his native land. 
 And when the billows dashed and wind blew high, 
 Along the slippery deck would bend his way; 
 Reckless of danger, slill at midnight hour, 
 Seen on the vessel's side and bending o'er, 
 A:s 1 looking oft, as though he longed to go, 
 And lay him in the ocean-bed below. 
 And when the blackened sky was overcast, 
 And death seen coming in the howling blast, 
 And thunders rolled, and lightnings glared around, 
 And opening waves disclosed the deep profound, 
 The stranger passenger with folded arms, 
 Seen by the lightning's flash, then clasped his hands, 
 Upraised to heaven, and murmuring li No not now, 
 " My spirit in ibis uproai cannot go ; 
 • I will not seek my heavenly Father's throne, 
 u When nature in convulsions feels his frown. 
 " Oh no ! 'tis peace I seek, : nray, 
 
 " And in these roaring waters cannot lay ; 
 
91 
 
 " I wait a still, small voice, 'twill noiseless come, 
 " And bid me welcome to my long, long home." 
 
 'Twas strange, indeed, to view that manly form, 
 That step so firm, that stdl defied the storm ; 
 Although the ship, now bending to its force, 
 Now pitching onward, often changed her course, 
 Reeled like a drunkard, tumbling to and fro, 
 Now high upraised, then bedded deep below. 
 Brave of the bravest — he ne'er thought of danger, 
 Though urged below, still on the deck would linger. 
 
 At length the storm is o'er, and morn's first ray, 
 Sees the tall ship pursue her destined way, 
 With double joy they view the morning light 
 Succeed the horrors of a stormy night. 
 The winds had lulled; the waves were gently curled, 
 And peace seemed spreading o'er the wat'ry world. 
 A gentle breeze impelled the barque along, 
 And Charleston smiled before the rising sun. 
 Amid the greetings of the little baud, 
 Of faces cheerful at the sight of land, 
 The stranger silent stood — his looks were bent, 
 Then upward an imploring look he sent ; 
 And softly whispered, " what a peaceful hour, 
 Spirit that rules the deep ! I feel thy power." 
 Then springing, plunged far o'er the vessel's side, 
 And sunk forever in the whelming tide. 
 The breeze still bears the fated barque along, 
 And Charleston spreads befoie the rising sun, 
 The waves still wash the peaceful shores around, 
 Where the poor wanderer a grave has found : 
 The billows still move on. with ceaseless roar; 
 But Conway ! hapless Conway ! is no more. 
 
95 
 
 THE ORPHAN. 
 
 "Her modest looks tbe cottage might adorn, 
 
 Sweet aj the primrose peeps beneath the thorn, 
 
 Now lost to all." GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Beneath that arched and polished brow, 
 And forehead of the purest snow, 
 And eves that speak, and cheek that glows, 
 And emulates the opening rose, 
 And form that might with Venus vie, 
 When once she formed Arcadia's joy ; 
 A serpent twines whose sting is death, 
 That rose is not the rose of health ; 
 That eye so bright, of mildest hue, 
 Colour of heaven's own azure hlue ; 
 Speaks not of joy 3 'tis withered there, 
 And all without is false as fair. 
 Corroding grief that bosom wrings, 
 Where the meek Dove might rest his wings, 
 So soft its undulations rise, 
 Like slumbering infant's gentle sighs. 
 Yet there are sighs which none may hear, 
 In anguish drawn, when none are near, 
 Those eyes with tears oft overflow, 
 But none must hear this tale of woe, 
 Condemned to smile with broken heart, 
 In revels still to bear a part, 
 While e'en her inmost soul was torn, 
 As oft she thought on life's fair morn. 
 That morning dawned without a cloud, 
 A mother of her darling proud; 
 
 f3 
 
96 
 
 Folded her fostering arms around, 
 
 And "fortune all their wishes crowned. 
 
 A brother, too, with tender care. 
 
 Protected her so loved, and fair. 
 
 But death has laid that brother low, 
 
 And in one grave the mothei too. 
 
 Biches have taken wings and flown, 
 
 And all her comforts now are gone. 
 
 In vain from friend to friend she turned ; 
 
 Cold-hearted friends the orphan shunned. 
 
 She would with poverty have striven, 
 
 Though scarce could bear the winds of heaven, 
 
 She would have earned her daily bread, 
 
 Content to dwell in some low shed ; 
 
 But houseless, homeless, friendless too, 
 
 And helpless, ah ! what can she do ? 
 
 One only roof a shelter spread, 
 
 Where she could rest her wearied head. 
 
 One, only friend, appeared to save 
 
 The sufferer from a cruel grave. 
 
 That friend — alas ! I cannot tell 
 
 The steps by which the outcast fell. 
 
 But fallen she is, and oh, how low ! 
 
 And 'twas that friend who gave the blow^*: 
 
 Who spread the net with fiend-like art, 
 
 And trampled o'er a grateful heart. 
 
 But she, his victim, soon shall lose 
 
 The recollection of her woes. 
 
 So fast she fades, ah ! once so fair, 
 The canker of remorse is 1 here; 
 The iiectic flush is on her cheek ; — 
 T^hat fwjl? Uiat «n« se bland and sweef. 
 
97 
 
 Charmed the beholder, is no more J 
 And teais of penitence deplore 
 The guilt, which sad necessity 
 Appeared to make her destiny. 
 The anguish of her soul shall cease — 
 The voice of mercy whisper peace. 
 
 And that false friend, he lives at ease, 
 And pleasure has not ceased to please. 
 Fortune on him her gifts has showered, 
 And in his lap her treasure poured. 
 And those who turn an eye of scorn 
 On her — at him they do not frown. 
 No, still the lovely and the fair, 
 Who make prosperity their care, 
 Flutter around with mind intent, 
 And every thought on conquest bent ; 
 Ambitious to unite with one, 
 Who well deserves the public scorn, 
 With one whom heaven avenging brands 
 As villain ! such confessed he stands. 
 And in that day when crumbling worlds 
 Shall sink, and long slept vengeance hurls 
 The sinner to the gulph below, 
 To bear interminable woe, 
 He shall the rocks ond mountains call, 
 On his devoted head to fall. 
 While she — but stop, to you, ye fair, 
 Who would be thought bright virtue's care ; 
 To you 1 would one word address, 
 The dictate of true tenderness. 
 f1 
 
93 
 
 You are the cause ; yes, hear the truth, 
 Of ruin ; and it is not youth, 
 In shocking levity, that smiles 
 On him who innocence beguiles ; 
 But those of every age and station 
 Join in this most degrading fashion, 
 Of scorning the poor fallen wretch, 
 And flattering him who made her such. 
 Has fortune on the monster smiled — 
 No matter whom he has beguiled, 
 He's followed, courted, feasted, flattered, 
 And, though with reputation shattered, 
 His presence causes no alarms; 
 And beauty woos him to her arms. 
 They cannot surely hope t' reform, 
 By homage paid to the vile worm ; 
 They cannot, and we cease to wonder, 
 Virtue and man are still asunder. 
 
 But Oh ! would strict propriety 
 Exclude him from society — 
 Would virtue, modesty and sense, 
 Avoid him, like a pestilence; 
 They'd find 'twould go towards reforming 
 A vice, that fills the world with mourning — 
 That breaks the hearts of many mothers, 
 Crimsons the cheek of many brothers, 
 And robs the wretched fair and fallen 
 Of all below, perhaps of heaven. 
 
99 
 
 Oh mothers ! who profess to guide 
 Your daughters, now your joy and pride; 
 Set an example, blest of heaven ; 
 So shall your own sins be forgiven ;— 
 Succour the lost — to you they call : 
 Then you and yours shall never fall. 
 But shun the wretch whom God has curst, 
 For crimes the greatest and the worst ; 
 Done to obey the Power that says 
 " Be separate," and shun his ways ; 
 Hold no communion with the wretch, 
 Who hunts the fairest and the best, 
 Intruder at each social hour, 
 Like lion seeking to devour; 
 Shun him and He who heareth prayer ; 
 Shall make your offspring still his care ; 
 Shall guard them from the snares of sin, 
 And their reward shall here begin ; 
 And when you here have nobly striven, 
 Transplant y©u te the joys of heaven. 
 
 f5 
 
100 
 
 CONSUMPTION". 
 
 Thou dreaded foe of man — deceitful foe ! 
 
 Decking thy victims in unearthly beauty, 
 
 And flattering still, while still thy slow advance, 
 
 Thy silent progress, is unseen, though sure. 
 
 Thou miner — busy at destruction's work, 
 
 Baffling all human skill, and sapping life. 
 
 No age, no sex, secures us from thy grasp — 
 
 Thy grasp how deadly. Vain the healing art, 
 
 Vainly is Nature searched, for antidotes. — 
 
 No remedy is found ; the hapless victim xorithcs* 
 
 Within thy fearful grasp ; but writhes in vain. 
 
 He flies his country, seeks a foreign sky, 
 
 Or, buried deep within some forest shade, 
 
 Inhales the breezes of a purer air 
 
 Thy fangs, alas! have fastened on his heart. 
 
 No effort tears him from thy diead embrace. 
 
 Yet, still, the brightness of those failing eyes — 
 
 The bloom that visits still the sunken cheek, 
 
 Deceive the dying and the living too. 
 
 Believing what we wish, how can we doubt, 
 
 The friend beloved may once more be restored ? 
 
 Thai, voice, though weak, has not yet lost its sweetness, 
 
 And all the mind still triumphs unimpaired. 
 
 Th' enquiring glance is often to us turned ; 
 
 The hand, with gentle pressure, meets our own, 
 
 And looks of love ropay our tender cares. 
 
 How can we think that soon the yawning grave 
 
 Will hold the loved one in its cold embrace ? 
 
101 
 
 Shall not our tears detain him ? Cannot, then, 
 Our cares restore him to the joys of life ? 
 Ah! can he die, while we his couch surround, 
 And watch each motion of his lips and eye j 
 And daily, hourly, on our bended knees, 
 Invoke the God of heaven in his behalf, 
 For one short year, one month, one day, one hour? 
 He c:mnot die, for tieaven will hear our prayer, 
 And cause the shadows to go back in answer.* 
 Short-sighted mortals ! — can no proof be given, 
 That we are heard", but granting our petitions ? 
 Must God reverse the order of his laws, 
 Or we remain thus sceptical? Perhaps 
 The dreaded visitor is his commissioned Angel, 
 With mandate irrevocable. 
 
 Oh ! I have seen the young, the beautiful, 
 The tender parent, and sweet blooming maid, 
 The faithful husband and confiding friend, 
 The wise, the virtuous, learned, and the brave — 
 All, all cut down. Like grass before the scythe 
 They fell. And. once — tho' years have since gone by- 
 Their memory is fixed upon my mind — 
 I knew two brothers, promising and fair. 
 But one they were in love : their gentle hearts 
 So tenderly united. From the world apart, 
 They lived, but yet, alas ! they lived not long. 
 A thirst for knowledge burned within their breasts, 
 Nor burned in vain ; the midnight lamp beheld 
 The ardour of their search — the morn rewarded-*- 
 
 *'King Hejsekiah. 
 
102 
 
 For Science to their sight her stores unveiled, 
 
 Rich in the 'cumulated wealth of ages. 
 
 But vain the meed that ciovv-ied their anxious toil : 
 
 Vain Academic honours ; vain all praise. 
 
 Little did it avail that the fond parents 
 
 Drank in their praises, with delighted ear, 
 
 Or strained, in their behalf, their slender means, — 
 
 Giving the produce of laborious years, 
 
 To" aid their offspring onward to the goal. 
 
 Alas ! the promise of their future years 
 
 Has fled, e'en in the morning of their days. 
 
 For death, stern death ! with a relentless hand, 
 
 Has crushed their rising honours in the bud, 
 
 And 1 lid them both within the narrow tomb. 
 
 Russell, methinks I see thy mild blue eyes - , 
 Where all the kindness of the heart shone forth r 
 And then thy wasted form, and thy sad looks, 
 When the conviction came, that death was nigh. 
 Thy love of life was strong. Thy hopes were high* 
 Of future greatness and of future use. 
 And were they doomed to perish at a blow ? 
 They were ! The books of science were thrown by> 
 And heaven's own volume occupied their place. 
 
 How hard to him who makes the chiefest good 
 His latest study ; O, how hard to him, 
 Who measures scripture by scholastic rules, 
 And sits bewildered in the labyrinths 
 Of human learning! Science, here, is lumber. — 
 The simplest child of .Nature may, at once, 
 
103 
 
 Seize all the promises the Gospel offers ; 
 Yet to the wise how hard ! 
 
 His struggle for the precious bread of life 
 Was long and doubtful ; but he sought in earnest ; 
 And unto such the blest Redeemer saith, 
 *' Ye shall not seek in vain." 
 
 The sad survivor, with fast falling tears, 
 Bent o'er his brother's corpse, himself how near 
 That dreaded bourne, from whence there's no return. 
 Already had the fell Destroyer seized, 
 (Relentless, he, to this devoted race, 
 Sweeping, as with the besom of destruction, 
 Its fairest promise from the earth away) 
 Upon the vitals of this latest hope 
 Of the fond parents ; — at the seat of life 
 Insatiate gnawed the Vulture. — He who, thus, 
 Bent o'er the dead, himself too soon was mourntd 
 With tears of bitter desolation! 
 
 O valued friend, thus early snatched away ! 
 I see thee, still, as on the bed of death. — 
 Thy dark eye sparkling with unearthly lustre, 
 Directs its falling glance on those beloved 
 I feel the chilling pressure of that hand. 
 And hear thy last kind words, " Weep not for me, 
 
 And must the wit of man still seek, in vain, 
 For antidotes against this fatal seoarge ? 
 
104 
 
 Among the healing plants, with which his earth 
 
 Abounds, medicaments which still are unexplored ? 
 
 Instinct has led our forest sons to find 
 
 An antidote to the fell serpent's bite, 
 
 Once deemed incurable ? And cannot men, 
 
 Who hold the keys of Nature, and explore, 
 
 By Science guided onward, all the wealth 
 
 Of her mysterious caverns — cannot they 
 
 Bring to the light of day some healing balm, 
 
 lo stay tliis dreaded plague? I will believe, 
 
 And hope! The march of Mind goes on — each day, 
 
 Her path seems blighter, plainer — something new 
 
 Astonishes and cheers us. And, though still 
 
 Mortality, and " dust to dust," remain. 
 
 The fixed decree of the Eternal One; 
 
 Yet, generations now unborn shall smile, 
 
 In time to come, at this, our ignorance. 
 
 [The persons alluded to in these lines, were Russeix 
 Alloton, Esq. and Dr. Good wii on; and the 
 
 last paragraph, expressing a belief that some 
 would hereafter be J;.- this disease, is nearly 
 
 the words of Dr. Allenxojs, a few days previous to his 
 death.] 
 
105 
 
 FOR GOOD-FRID-AIT. ^ 
 
 Why, Oh uiy soul ! this scene displayed, 
 A world iu shade and gloom ; 
 
 Ah ! why in fun'ral garb arrayed, 
 For Him who seeks the tomb ? 
 
 Martyrs have yielded up their lives, 
 
 To their tormenting foes : 
 The great, the good, the lov'd, the wise, 
 
 Have suffered bitterest woes. 
 
 Yet still tli' unclouded sun looked out, 
 And smiled on all around ; 
 
 No ghostly shadows stalked about, 
 Nor earthquakes shook the ground. 
 
 Then why does labouring, panting Earth, 
 
 With agonizing throes ; 
 Struggle, as though 'twas nature's birth, 
 
 Or her last fearful close ? 
 
 What can it mean ? Could nature's God 
 
 E'er feel a mortal pang ? 
 The world still governed by his nod, 
 
 And on that cross to hang ? 
 
106 
 
 My soul, retire : — Forbear to ask 
 Thy great Redeemer's name ; 
 
 The subject is for words too vast, 
 Thine answer is within.* 
 
 Enough for thee to know, his love 
 
 Surpasses mortal thought ; 
 This off'ting, registered in heaven, 
 
 Has thy salvation bought. 
 
 *The secret of the Lord is with thorn that fear Him. 
 
107 
 
 irsracKr for eastes. 
 
 ©hrist our Redeemer in triumph has risen, 
 Jesus the Saviour, has risen to-day ; 
 He has now burst the bars of His prison, 
 He has ascended to regions of day. 
 
 Christ our Redeemer's ascended to heaven, 
 Oh where is the terror of Sinai now ? 
 Our Intercessor triumphant has risen, 
 The halo of glory encircles his brow. 
 
 The daughters of music shall tune the glad lyre, 
 As time in succession stiil brings round the day ; 
 Oh ! for David's sweet harp, and the strain of Isaiah, 
 To sing of the mercies we ne'er can repay. 
 
 When the last trumpet shall wake from their slumbers, 
 The saiots who now sleep in their beds damp and cold, 
 Released from the flesh which the spirit encumbers^ 
 We shall behold Him ; in glory behold. 
 
 Let us rejoice, for the Lord has arisen, 
 
 Jesus our Saviour has burst from the clay ; 
 
 He has come forth, from the grave's gloomy prison, 
 
 He has ascended to regions of day, 
 

a 
 

 
 
 
 ii>siite 
 
 
 ■.-■J53L> ~Z3*fii 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^s^r > 
 

 
 ^^^^>^ 
 
 S 3 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 >a^> JOfi^