ON THE WAVE, 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 By BUEL con KLIN. 
 
 rJo. Slic 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, 
 
 AGENTS FOR THE TRADE. 
 1879. 
 
c 
 
 3SJ 
 
 73S- 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1879, by 
 
 BUEL CONKLIN, 
 
 In the OfEce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 Edward O. Jenkins' Print, 
 20 North William Street, New York. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 To say that we arc careless of the impression which 
 our labours may stamp upon the public mind, would 
 be both remote from our aim and inconsistent with a 
 generous purpose ; yet, with the certainty of displeas- 
 ing most, I have only to offer for the issue of the 
 present incomplete and in many ways defective work, 
 the hope which has given origin to it, that, in ena- 
 bling me to retain possession of that spot which the 
 memory of past generations and the recollections of 
 my youth have rendered dear to me, it may offer to 
 me that asylum of future leisure and retirement that 
 shall be crowned with the consummation of an effort 
 that, to use the expression of a greater, the public 
 shall not willingly let die. 
 
 Providence may deny us the fulfillment of the latter 
 
4 PREFACE. 
 
 expectation, as fortune may defeat ns of the former, 
 but to hope for less would be unworthy of the effort. 
 
 In conclusion, I would only remark that, should 
 this venture meet with the leniency and encourage- 
 ment which shall warrant a further publication, the 
 continuation of the main subject of the present 
 volume and of the versification of Ossian will be 
 speedily offered to the press. 
 
 Cold Spring, L. I., March \st. 
 
ON THE WAVE 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Chaste Contemplation come — now while the 
 hearth 
 Glows with the cheerful embers, and the wind 
 Howls pitiless along the snow-clad earth, 
 And icy chains the crystal waters bind, 
 Where silent streams through naked wood- 
 lands wind, 
 Fain would my Muse obedient to thy wand 
 
 Recall from the oblivion of the mind 
 The shadowy scenes, the romantic of a land 
 Fair in its stately palms, its streams, and moun- 
 tains grand. 
 
 But that the time to less ambitious themes 
 Directs us and the many cares of life, 
 
 (5) 
 
6 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 That ever mounting to alloy the dreams 
 
 Of that bright land and fill with inward strife, 
 
 Preclude the effort and the soul deprive 
 Of that blest calm, so needful to our task: 
 
 Oh, may that happiest hour to us arrive, 
 
 Of leisure, while remains the force, to unmask 
 The theme of labored thought ; 'tis all of time 
 I ask. 
 
 Meanwhile as fancy prompts, do thou portray, 
 O Muse, our fortune on the pathless main ; 
 
 With various thought, speed thou the time away 
 While storms endanger or while calms detain, 
 Until the lofty summits of the chain 
 
 Of cloud-clothed Andes, dawn upon our sense, 
 And the wild, wooded hills of Darien, 
 
 Nature's great pathway thro' the depths im- 
 mense. 
 
 Arise to reunite her sister continents. 
 
 There rest thy wing, till time thro' loftier flight 
 And brighter scenes again shall point the way ; 
 
 When Autumn pours around her checkered light 
 On faded fields and over woodlands gray, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 7 
 
 Then, if your judgment shall approve our lay, 
 Ye who first taught our infant Muse to sing, 
 
 And with increasing interest watched essay 
 To rise superior on the epic wing, 
 Again our hand may wake the harp's harmonious 
 string. 
 
 But thou, my Muse, ere yet thy task shall end, 
 One effort still I ask, to friendship due : 
 
 Oh, let not gratitude forget to lend 
 
 Its heartfelt tribute to our verse, but through 
 Each part let all her virtues blend anew : 
 
 She who e'en with parental hand and care 
 Us through the lovely round of nature drew, 
 
 And taught in every stream and floweret fair. 
 
 The hidden hand of Heaven to find imprinted 
 there. 
 
 Now had the year revolved and the slant sun, 
 'Mid circumambient mists and tempests born, 
 
 His journey through Aquarius had begun. 
 And northward beat the way from Capricorn: 
 Still brighter glowing each successive morn, 
 
 When with all sail spread to the favouring wind, 
 
8 ' ON THE WAVE. 
 
 And from its faithful hold the anchor torn, 
 We left the twin-born cities fast behind, 
 Whose shores the white-winged ships of com- 
 merce widely lined. 
 
 Far to the south our devious course we lay, 
 
 To climes remote from Winter's rule severe : 
 Where brighter suns diffuse a brighter day. 
 
 And Summer, sweet companion of the year, 
 
 Is constant ever, and is ever dear. 
 Along our side, the billows calmly blue, 
 
 In slow succession rise and disappear; 
 So fade the distant cities from our view. 
 Till lost in the remote horizon's azure hue. 
 
 Still on our right the shores of Jersey lay, 
 
 In all the bleakness of the wintry reign ; 
 No more her toiling sons devote the day 
 
 To the rude labors of the fallow plain ; 
 
 Content in ease, to spend the summer's gain ; 
 Or with the whirling flail and peasant might, 
 
 From Autumn's golden sheaves they beat the 
 grain : 
 In retrospective view, their chief delight, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 9 
 
 And by the social hearth to pass the hour at 
 night. 
 
 And thou, fair isle, shall I behold no more 
 
 Thy wooded summits and thy silvery streams, 
 Where childhood's bright- winged moments 
 glided o'er, 
 Half in reality and half in dreams? 
 Oh, this indeed is parting, all it seems — 
 A sudden weight of woe subdues my soul, 
 With the sad thought, that nevermore the 
 beams 
 Of day, for us o'er that bright spot may roll, 
 Toward which life's hopes all turn, as systems to 
 their pole. 
 
 It is as though the sun itself were torn 
 From earth away — and the reality 
 
 To come, burst sudden on the mind — forlorn. 
 In all its future prospect : Oh, to be 
 Thus snatched from all we love — whom not 
 to see. 
 
 Will sadden all our being, and from scenes 
 Endeared from childhood's earliest memorj'", 
 
lO ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Which from our thoughts nor time nor distance 
 
 weans, 
 Nor fancy can forget when slumber intervenes. 
 
 And ye, alas ! oh, who will smooth the way, 
 That toward the grave conducts your quick- 
 ening pace ? 
 Ye who first gave my being to the day. 
 
 And taught my faltering steps life's upright 
 
 race. 
 Gray with impending years and with the trace 
 Of weighty care and sorrow's blighting hand, 
 
 Deeply engraven on the time-worn face, 
 Lo ! now where wintry age, along the land, 
 Stern in its look descends ; stern, yet severely 
 grand. 
 
 Saa, yet to hard necessity resigned, 
 
 I see you gazing o'er the desolate scene 
 Of ice-bound waves and hills in snow enshrined ; 
 
 Gray in their naked woodlands, late so green ; 
 
 And over which, so recent fell the sheen 
 Of Autumn's many hues and softened light : 
 
 Yet hope still sits upon the brow serene ; 
 
ON THE WAVE. II 
 
 And with her sun-tipt wing wafts off the night, 
 That rushes on the soul at the overwhelming 
 sight. 
 
 She points you to a brighter year, when Spring 
 
 Shall come to enliven all the scene again ; 
 And joyful, from her flowing lap shall fling 
 
 The flowery mantle o'er the ravaged plain. 
 
 Then shall the morn awaken with the strain 
 Of many happy voices joined in one ; 
 
 Then fields grow green again with springing 
 grain 
 
 And Plenty from her horn, on toils begun, 
 The crowning promise pour of large reward 
 when done. 
 
 Then through familiar walks, through verdant 
 bowers. 
 Where the fair rose and fragrant woodbine 
 climb, 
 *Twill please again to wander ; amid flowers 
 And woodland melody to pass the time ; 
 And oft with voice subdued, to swell the 
 chime. 
 
12 ON THE V/AVE. 
 
 Of heartfelt gratitude, that, uncompelled, 
 
 Burst from all nature, to her God sublime ; 
 From bird and brute and insect close concealed, 
 O'er hill and lowly vale, through forest and 
 through field. 
 
 There, as along the winding paths ye tread, 
 With admiration mute, or pensive mind. 
 
 Oft shall the kind, parental tear be shed. 
 As from the way ye turn aside to find. 
 My name engraven deep in the smooth rind 
 
 Of weeping birch or tall aspiring fir ; 
 
 And sad recall, how oft in love conjoined 
 
 We wandered there in summers past, with her 
 
 Whom from the heavenward path, no trials 
 could deter. 
 
 Mild was the voice of her, that gentle friend 
 Of early years, the days that come no more : 
 
 Oft in my silent thoughts its tones ascend. 
 Responsive echoing to the shadowy shore : 
 They come familiar, as in days before ; 
 
 And dwell amid my grief, like beams of light, 
 That with the early morning wander o'er 
 
ON THE WAVE. 1 3 
 
 Veragua's thousand hills and mingle bright 
 With the gray mists that dwell still in the steps 
 of night. 
 
 Her shade yet wanders through familiar ways : 
 The still, the lonely paths of silent thought : 
 Her voice is in the sighing wind that strays 
 Through Autumn pines ; her falling steps are 
 
 caught 
 
 Amid the rustling leaves; her smile oft brought 
 
 To mind, by modest flowers that lonely bloom, 
 
 Near fading woodlands, once her loved resort, 
 
 When o'er the Autumnal fields the sunbeams 
 
 roam, 
 And the silence of the grove is heard amid its 
 gloom. 
 
 By moonlit banks, near which the cadence 
 soft. 
 Of Summer waves upon the pebbly shore, 
 Rose pleasant to the ear, repeating oft. 
 In dying whispers, ocean's solemn roar ; 
 By reddening groves, where youthful maids 
 explore 
 
14 ON THE WAVE. ' 
 
 The rustling leaves, In mild October days — 
 
 Brimful of mirth — for Autumn's nutty store. 
 By sheltered hillsides where the slanting rays 
 Of winter fell serene and tempted to the place ; 
 
 By sparkling streams, that bright in spring de- 
 scend. 
 From mossy hills rejoicing in their flow. 
 Thence thro' green fields, thro' flowery pastures 
 wend, 
 Where herds to bleating flocks responsive low ; 
 By all in nature lovely here below, 
 All that to higher thought conducts the mind. 
 
 Or fans in human breasts love's virtuous glow, 
 Or through mild melancholy's shades inclined, 
 To the pure fount conducts, of feeling, deep, re- 
 fined. 
 
 How was our wont to wander, how enjoy. 
 Ye banks, ye murmuring waters, ye can tell : 
 
 Ye woodland pastimes, free from the alloy 
 Of life's accumulating cares that dwell 
 Close partners of our thoughts: ye streams that 
 well 
 
ON I'HE WAVE. 15 
 
 Deep from the silent hills and sweetly stray 
 Among the rocks of the wild echoing dell, 
 Where light and shadows softly mingled play ; 
 And ye, mild, pleasing shades of melancholy say. 
 
 Oh, paths deserted, oh, neglected flowers ! 
 
 Soon shall her rustling step be heard no more ; 
 No more her prayers call down the gentle showers, 
 
 No more her hand the drooping stem restore. 
 
 Ne'er shall her form be seen by moonlit shore ; 
 Nor joyous laugh, the ear delighted fill : 
 
 Her shade no longer darken in the door; 
 No more her voice come from the silent hill : 
 Sad Echo repeats no more — no more — her voice 
 is still. 
 
 How well does Fancy picture every scene 
 
 Of that dear spot which childhood called its 
 own, 
 Each flowery bordered walk and sloping green ; 
 Each tree by some endearment early known. 
 My sire there planted them and they have 
 grown 
 
1 6 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 With me from childhood to their stately forms ; 
 How bright, alas ! how soon the years have 
 flown, 
 And from the shelter of parental arms, 
 Reared to the encounter stern, of life's relent- 
 less storms. 
 
 Soon as the year with renovated power 
 Shot forth the tender bulb from the dank ground, 
 
 And sweetest and the earliest to flower, 
 
 The modest violet shed its fragrance round, 
 Glad did I issue forth, within your bound, 
 
 Ye scenes, dear cradle of my Muse, to share 
 The bliss infectious, which in every sound, 
 
 In every object of the earth and air. 
 
 With sweet accord of aim, divulged its presence 
 there. 
 
 As the glad bee, with Spring's enlivening beam, 
 Forth issuing from the hive upon the wing. 
 
 With busy hum, by hillside and by stream. 
 Flies where the earliest blossoms of the Spring 
 Upon the softened winds their odours fling. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 1/ 
 
 So did I wander there in blithest mood, 
 
 Soon as the returning birds began to sing ; 
 Nor longer blighted by the tempest rude, 
 The tender leaflets fringed again the lofty wood. 
 
 Ye scenes dear to remembrance next to those 
 Who breathed the living spirit through your 
 shades. 
 
 When life at length is nearing to its close, 
 And the fond dream of childhood slowly fades, 
 Oh may kind fortune to your pleasant glades 
 
 Again my errant steps haply return : 
 
 There while the frosty damp of age invades, 
 
 To pass the remaining days in peace, and learn 
 
 To trim the lamp of faith till it shall brightly burn. 
 
 Though change should come to mar each well- 
 known scene. 
 
 And nature riot through thy once trim bowers, 
 Still should I not delighted roam between 
 
 Thy tangled copses and neglected flowers. 
 
 Thou Eden of my childhood's happiest hours ? 
 And still derive a melancholy joy. 
 
 In tracing, albeit with fancy's waning powers, 
 
1 8 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Each mazy round, well pleased with such employ, 
 As when I wandered there a careless, happy boy : 
 
 And climb again the heights from whence to 
 view 
 New England's sister hills, and all the scene 
 Of vale and curving shore and waters blue, 
 That in extension fair lay stretched between ? 
 Not oft more pleasing sight the eye hath seen 
 Than from thy mossy hills it hath surveyed 
 When Summer's setting sun looked down 
 serene 
 Upon the silent waters, and the shade 
 Of pensive twilight stole along the neighbouring 
 glade. 
 
 Those scenes may change to others, but to me 
 Time still untouched should leave some charni 
 behind ; 
 
 And what its hand defaced, in memory 
 Fancy the ready image still would find 
 To fill each part endeared to the mind : 
 
 Still should I pause beneath thy rustling trees 
 
 - To hear the wandering spirit of your wind : 
 
ON THE WAVE. I9 
 
 But lo ! grim Winter comes upon the breeze, 
 And with his frosty breath uplifts his whitening 
 seas. 
 
 Farewell, ye hills concealed in Arctic snow : 
 
 Ye frosty vales from whence a thousand streams 
 Of blue-wreathed smoke through the keen air 
 upflow, 
 From peaceful fireside hearths, around which 
 
 beams 
 The light of warm affection, and the dreams 
 Of life, in all its various changes dwell : 
 
 Ye scenes, adieu — adieu ye lakes and streams — 
 Bound in the icy chain of Winter's spell ; 
 And all ye naked woods and windy plains, 
 farewell. 
 
 How sad an echo falls upon the heart — 
 
 'Tis the response of loved ones from the shore, 
 
 Whose voices though the external ear hears not, 
 
 Whose forms though outward vision sees no 
 
 more. 
 Yet hath the soul the power, perhaps, to ex- 
 plore 
 
20 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Beyond the range of circumscribing- sense : 
 
 Nor earth a veil or shadow casts before 
 The spiritual eye ; nor medium hath so dense 
 The soul cannot transpierce : nor distance so im- 
 mense. 
 
 Consolatory thought, sublime if true : 
 Though false condolatory still unknown. 
 
 Man, the weak creature of contracted view, 
 Unhappy exile of a foreign zone, 
 To deeper guilt, profounder darkness prone, 
 
 Still with instinctive light, sighs to regain 
 
 The exalted sphere of consciousness his own, 
 
 Ere yet the sad inheritant of pain, 
 
 Ke wandered forth on earth from Eden's blest 
 domain. 
 
 Oh, as the starry realms that move above 
 In paths concentric v/ith their orb of light. 
 
 Or the mysterious comets that far rove 
 Through intersolar space obscure in night, 
 Yet to the sun again direct their flight ; 
 
 As to its fount, whence life and light evolve, 
 The errant soul seeks to return of right, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 21 
 
 As hope, as friendship, love, and faith revolve 
 Around their earth-born source, regenerate in 
 resolve, 
 
 So in communion may our spirit dwell 
 
 With those we leave behind us, while afar 
 
 We roam on earth and memory weaves her spell, 
 To bind us still to those that dearest are, 
 As binds the attractive force, the erratic star 
 
 Unto its orbit round the central sun : 
 And captive led to love's triumphal car, 
 
 Like heaven's lost meteor, whence its course 
 begun, 
 
 So may our wandering feet to childhood scenes 
 be won. 
 
 Farewell once more ; my native isle, farewell : 
 Oh, let us still defer the final pain 
 
 Of this sad parting ; sad as which befell 
 
 Our parents, when from Eden's blest domain 
 They wandered forth, ne'er to return again : 
 
 And such my fate, ne'er to return, may be : 
 Yet o'er the bosom of the pathless main. 
 
 Led by the instinctive light of love, in memory 
 
 Oft shall I wander back, dear native isle, to thee. 
 
22 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 The swift-winged hours pass on, the orb of h'ght 
 From the high zenith of his power descends 
 
 With milder radiance to meet the night — 
 She, the staid consort of his course, where ends 
 His daily triumph, from the hills extends 
 
 Her shadowy arms to welcome his embrace; 
 Thence, while eclipsed the luminary wends 
 
 Triumphant in her turn with lesser blaze, 
 
 Forth to conduct her suns from starry realms of 
 space. 
 
 The morn, how soon the noon, the night succeed ! 
 
 How soon are past, gone never to return. 
 Their round to-morrow's sun again shall lead ; 
 
 For us it may not, haply, what the urn 
 
 Of fate contains. Heaven leaves us not to learn ; 
 Till time reveals the glad or stern decree. 
 
 Our joy is in the past ; could we discern 
 The future of our lives, it would but be 
 To o'erwhelm us with the force of its vast misery. 
 
 The Day has past, majestic Night has come — 
 Still night, that brings to weary thought relief: 
 
 Mild solacer of anxious care to some ; 
 To some, the gentle confidant of grief. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 23 
 
 With her obHvion comes the welcome thief 
 That robs us of our tedious hours of pain, 
 And to the contrite brings Heaven's mild 
 reprieve, 
 With faith and resolution to sustain 
 The doubtful ray of hope, hope ever prone to 
 wane. 
 
 Oh, night, grave night, preferred to weary day ; 
 
 Blest period of repose, when the soul seems 
 To leave awhile the encumbrance of clay, 
 
 To wander by the silent flowing streams 
 
 With the immortal in the land of dreams: 
 The intermediate sphere of heaven and earth, 
 
 Where light celestial mingles with the beams 
 Of temporal worlds, and they of heavenly 
 
 birth. 
 In near communion stoop, to man of fallen 
 worth. 
 
 Welcome, thou kind restorer of our bliss — • 
 Come with thy sweet oblivion of our cares ; 
 
 Sleep with thy downy wing, do thou dismiss 
 The busy world with all its vain affairs. 
 
24 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Thou comest, not heedless of our urgent 
 prayers, 
 And with thy silent wing dost round us spread 
 
 The gentle influence of all balmy airs ; 
 Thou comest, and with thee from the silent 
 
 dead 
 In real or fancied form, the spectral world are led. 
 
 On luminous wings formed from the sunbearrhs 
 bright, 
 Fixed in eternal radiance they come ; 
 The ethereal medium rolling into light. 
 
 Compared with which, earth's brightness is 
 
 but gloom. 
 Behold, e'en now they advance ; ye clouds, 
 make room ; 
 Wave your fair palms, ye hills, in sign of joy ; 
 
 Mount, oh my soul, your wings of light assume; 
 Oh, bid farewell to earth and its alloy ; 
 Haste, thou immortal flame, thy heavenward 
 flight employ. 
 
 *Tis but a dream, or lost remote in space, 
 
 Heaven calls their onward flight another way. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 2$ 
 
 Lo ! nature takes again her wonted phase ; 
 Time still advances, earth resumes its sway : 
 That call the wandering spirit needs must 
 obey, 
 
 And to the shadowy vale of life again 
 
 Repair, to await the summons of the day, 
 
 The remand to toil, for moments passed in vain : 
 
 The kind extension given, probationary pain. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Behold, Aurora from the eastern wave 
 
 Ascends, where nightly ere the shades retire, 
 She stoops her in the limpid flood to lave. 
 
 Then turns to meet the genial god of fire. 
 
 Bright from the silent deep he comes, the sire, 
 Of venerating earth whom darkness dreads : 
 
 His advent, nature pauses to admire ; 
 From sphere to sphere the mild advertence 
 
 spreads, 
 Till heaven records the return of the blest light 
 it sheds. 
 
26 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Unending triumph — always hailed with joy 
 In act of rising by the sons of earth — 
 
 No veneration mingled with alloy, 
 
 No fulsome praise paid to unequal worth 
 Swells the full heart of man to hail thy birth. 
 
 The hills, the seas rejoice to meet thy rays, 
 All nature wakes to light, to life and mirth, 
 
 As the great billow of earth's ceaseless praise. 
 
 Like ocean's tidal wave, rolls onward round its 
 face. 
 
 The Day ascends, the wave of joy that flows 
 
 To greet his coming rolls on in advance; 
 Man, as the dazzling splendor brighter glows, 
 
 Turns to the sober earth unequal glance ; 
 
 Whence the reflected glories rise to entrance, 
 In many a varied form, the enraptured eye ; 
 
 Thus serving by comparison to enhance 
 The day's surpassing splendor as on high. 
 In its triumphal march, it rolls along the sky. 
 
 How lovely lies the deep, the calm blue sea ! 
 
 The full of majesty, the old of days. 
 Beneath the beam in mild tranquillity 
 
 It sleeps, yet all its slumbering might displays 
 
ON THE WAVE. 2^ 
 
 In the deep silence of its wide embrace. 
 So, the gorged Hon, conscious of his right 
 
 As king of wilds, the approach of man sur- 
 veys ; 
 Unmoved by anger, indisposed to flight, 
 Yet in his calm survey shows all his native 
 might. 
 
 Oh, thou of chaos sprung and night's broad sway, 
 
 First from the Eternal Spirit procreate ; 
 Thou from whose womb sprang to the embrace 
 of day. 
 Earth with all being in multifarious state ; 
 Thou who devouredst thine offspring in thy 
 hate, 
 Mankind too deep in guilt to be absolved, 
 Yet on thy bosom nursed the infant fate 
 Of a new world from thence again evolved, 
 As ere the birth of time was in high heaven 
 resolved, 
 
 Great ocean, hail ! all-present element ! 
 
 Thou who dost set the hmits unto earth — 
 To various man, the various extent 
 
 Of empire metest to his fallen worth. 
 
28 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Thou of whom Heaven alone recordest the 
 birth, 
 Of whom the spheres harmonious sing, whence 
 came 
 Thy flood mysterious — in prehistoric mirth, 
 On the high mountains thou hast writ thy 
 
 name — 
 In deserts and on rocks left record of thy fame. 
 
 Great instrument of Heaven's creative will — 
 Source of all life with which earth burdened 
 wings ; 
 Sublimity of thought, of power, of skill. 
 
 Type of the unknown, the Infinite whence 
 
 springs 
 The First, Great Cause of all essential things ; 
 While now thy power my Muse calls to preside. 
 
 And to thy shrine her votive offering brings, 
 Strong as thy billows, as thy swelling tide, 
 So may our theme enlarge, the verse majestic 
 glide. 
 
 Enduring; Flood — what does mankind not owe 
 To thy protective, omnipresent hand ? 
 
ON THE WAVE. 29 
 
 From whence innumerable blessings flow, 
 Like kindly fountains in a desert land. 
 Thy waves obedient to Divine command, 
 From Earth's rough hills have formed her fruit- 
 ful plains ; 
 Thy waters fertilize her thirsty sand — 
 Thine arm dividest her too broad domains, 
 And the aggressive foot of Pride and Power 
 restrains. 
 
 In the first ages of the world, mankind 
 
 Harmonious tilled earth's then continuous 
 plain, 
 
 Till pride and avarice with ambition joined 
 To blunt the edge of justice and maintain 
 Of wide dissension the unhappy reign. 
 
 Then vnirdcr bared his arm, and unrestrained, 
 Spread universal terror through the plain ; 
 
 Till Heaven, incensed, in its just ire ordained 
 
 An end to all man's race, save those the ark 
 contained. 
 
 Yet vice still dwelt fixed in the human breast ; 
 Not unforejudged of Heaven, but from the days 
 
30 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Of Adam and of Cain, the sad bequest 
 Of time to each succeeding age and race; 
 And still with man and earth's renewed phase, 
 
 Destined again to spread, as from its source. 
 Weak and unknown, some mighty river strays, 
 
 Augmenting, till with the o'erwhelming force 
 
 Of many mingled tides, it rolls along its course. 
 
 Had not the Allwise, what time the flood retraced 
 
 Its rise, earth's form remodeled, whereby land 
 From land was thence divided and effaced, 
 
 What stood superfluous to the Maker's hand ; 
 
 That thence forth on, man's late united band, 
 Should dwell in lands by seas remote disjoined, 
 
 And individual vices that expand 
 To national evils, thereby be confined ; 
 To nations a rebuke, not to blot ail mankind. 
 
 Through the new world, the savage and the race 
 From civilization fallen to the abyss 
 
 Of cannibalism, dwelt in various phase — 
 Whom Lucifer, prince of infernal skies, 
 Skilled in all arts of greatness or of vice ; 
 
 Through Asia, China, and the barbaric horde. 
 From India's mongrel source that takes its rise, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 3 1 
 
 By inland floods and deserts scarce explored, 
 From Christian lands withheld, till to new faith 
 restored. 
 
 Afric to the degenerate sons was given. 
 
 Of Canaan, thither from the chosen land. 
 Of persecuting kindred early driven — 
 
 Cursed with the sign of Heaven's first repri- 
 mand — 
 
 Where, by the deep and Ocean's desert sand, 
 Encompassed and secluded from mankind, 
 
 In the dark reign of sin's benighting hand, 
 They dwelt unhaply, but for man less blind. 
 Haply to desert wilds, remotely thus confined. 
 
 Exiled and wandering from the paths of grace, 
 Till Heaven relenting, man should cease to wage 
 
 The exterminating war of race with race. 
 That stained the annals of his earlier stage, 
 And mild humanity arise to assuage. 
 
 With the fair promise of a happier state. 
 The asperity with which, from age to age. 
 
 Their days were lengthened by the hand of fate, 
 
 Beneath the curse of Heaven, fulfilled in human 
 hate. 
 
32 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Nor less man to thine arm, thou mighty sea, 
 
 The preservation of art and science owes, 
 Than the fulfilment of the destiny 
 
 Of race distinctive to time's latest close. 
 
 Art in the earlier stages whence man rose, 
 Coy and unpolished roamed earth's wild domain ; 
 
 Or only seen where peaceful flocks repose, 
 In simple habit of the ungraceful swain, 
 Sporting with shepherds rude upon the aban- 
 doned plain. 
 
 But in the laps of ages man at length 
 
 Forsook the life nomadic of his race. 
 And seeking safety in united strength, 
 
 From growing strife and pride's imperious 
 ways, 
 
 The walls of mighty towns essayed to raise. 
 Then Art, emerging from her native shade, 
 
 Gave to the rising work the touch of grace. 
 And sought to impress, in column and arcade. 
 Whatever of sublime in nature is displayed. 
 
 And Science, from the clouds descending, came 
 To Art's assistance, whence, with wondrous 
 toil. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 33 
 
 They builded to themselves a lasting name 
 Where Nile enriches Egypt's fruitful soil ; 
 Then through the Hellenic fields, blest with 
 the spoil 
 Of peaceful flocks and flowing with the Muse, 
 
 When Discord had at length ceased to embroil, 
 Art with her handmaid Science sought to infuse 
 The touch o( perfect grace through all of man's 
 produce. 
 
 Thence rose those stately temples whose remains 
 The admiration won, justly bestowed. 
 
 Of all succeeding time, till Grecian plains 
 Became the field of classic Art's abode. 
 Yet later on the Latin soil. Art sowed 
 
 Her noblest gems of architectural grace, 
 And in the triumph of the conquerors rode 
 
 To the supinest honors of the race : 
 
 The glory of their time and of their vanished days. 
 
 But when from the vague regions of the north. 
 As from its hive a swarm of angry bees, 
 
 The horde of fierce Barbarians issuing forth, 
 Like a vast conflagration in the breeze. 
 
34 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Spread devastation to the unbending knees 
 Of Rome, the eternal city to whose head 
 
 Bowed kingly power and principalities, 
 To the devouring flames then Learning wed 
 Her treasures in despair, and Art and Science fled. 
 
 Heaven then, whose foresight no event eludes, 
 
 By Ocean's outstretched arm screened their 
 demise. 
 While wandering lone in desert solitudes, 
 
 They sought a safer field in which to rise. 
 
 Long in Arabian tents, in shepherd guise, 
 They dwelt obscure, whence to emerge at last, 
 
 As from their ark of safety, to the skies 
 Of the Alhambra, when, the tempest past. 
 The wrecked affairs of man Peace had again re- 
 cast. 
 
 Then the Dark Age o'er Christendom anew 
 Diffused the gloom of its oblivious reign, 
 
 And Learning for a period withdrew 
 
 To a remote corner of the earth's domain, 
 Where the Icelandic Muse the scanty plain 
 
 Tilled beyond range of man's ambitious mind, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 35 
 
 And Ocean on its bosom nursed again 
 The immortal genius of the past, consigned 
 In safety till the return of reason to mankind. 
 
 Not yet had Science taught earth's conquerors 
 The path to empire still beyond the sea, 
 
 Where the wise Ruler of the universe 
 
 Had builded the broad land of Liberty — 
 Home of the brave, the birthright of the free— 
 
 From the ambitious tyrants of our race, 
 Withheld till Freedom's cause in unity, 
 
 With truth and justice, should demand a place 
 
 W^hereon to build their reign upon a broader base. 
 
 Then to the New World, thou Ocean, held before 
 
 Impassable, safe conduct gave to one, 
 Whom heaven and vast adventure called to ex- 
 plore 
 The path of Progress toward the setting sun ; 
 Where Freedom, dawning with the night be- 
 gun 
 Of effete empire, waited to receive 
 
 With hand of welcome, denied erewhile to 
 none. 
 
36 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 The oppressed of every land who for relief 
 Fled the despotic arm of power and bigot belief. 
 
 Nor less thy later sons, Columbia, owe 
 To Ocean's wise division of our sphere, 
 
 The safety of their shores from foreign foe 
 Inflated by successful war's career, 
 Than they of old, our Saxon sires, appear 
 
 To have owed to their alliance with the sea, 
 That liberty to every Briton dear, 
 
 Who with less than parental equity, 
 
 Us would have forced unwise to bow the subject 
 knee. 
 
 Witness, ye lands, when Gaul's mad despot 
 merged 
 
 All Europe in one field of human gore. 
 And thrones and empires to destruction verged, 
 
 Witness how Ocean guarded then our shore 
 
 From the fierce rage of all-involving war : 
 Since, irrepressible held beyond the main, 
 
 Or slumbering only for a time to restore 
 Its spent resources, thence to rise again 
 With still increasing dread and ruin in its train. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 3/ 
 
 Conscience then ruled the transatlantic mind. 
 And jealous of the universal good, 
 
 The individual will its grasp resigned : 
 
 Nor may the hand of despots cross the flood 
 To fix injustice and the reign of blood 
 
 Upon thy shores, blest of all tongues that speak — 
 Nor let the sons of Liberty to stud 
 
 Her crown with glory, Heaven's displeasure seek 
 
 By joining in the old world oppression of the 
 weak. 
 
 Nor be the ambition to control the fates 
 Of kindred powers, the basis of our ties 
 
 Of mutual intercourse with neighbouring States. 
 Extended empire breeds extended vice, 
 And to imperious rule gives room to rise, 
 
 With the fair prospect of unpunished sway — • 
 Nor can the hand of justice e'en chastise 
 
 Always the offender ere the mind gives way. 
 
 And ripe Rebellion springs armed to the light 
 of day. 
 
 Within the spacious limits which the will 
 Of the Divine Creator through the laws 
 
38 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Of nature has established to fulfill 
 
 The sacred mission of fair Freedom's cause, 
 Contented let thy sons, Columbia, pause — 
 
 Nor look beyond their continental seas 
 
 For fields of future power or fame's applause : 
 
 In peaceful arts, in science and the increase 
 
 Of virtue and of truth, their greater glory these. 
 
 Nor if, in the contiguous continent, 
 
 The hand of Heaven may have abandoned man 
 To lasting discord in just punishment 
 
 Of vice inherent, be it ours to fan 
 
 The party strife : nor interference plan. 
 Save in behalf of wronged humanity, 
 
 Or if to encourage Freedom's wavering van, 
 And her probative field to guarantee 
 From the too meddling rule of lands beyond 
 the sea. 
 
 Where the Atlantic o'er their mutual strand, 
 Wooes the Pacific to its rough embrace. 
 
 And waits impatient of the tardy hand 
 Of Progress to confer the crowning grace, 
 There let Ambition stay her eager pace ; 
 
ON THE WAVE. 39 
 
 Nor Justice, blinded by the desire of gold, 
 
 To Avarice yield to accelerate the days 
 Of unripe cession to our peaceful fold, 
 Whence not with honour, wealth, or fame may 
 be enrolled. 
 
 Thou, Ocean, be our bound, thou boundless sea, 
 To whom our country, first of Heaven-blest 
 shores, 
 Ov/es the vast rise of its prosperity, 
 
 And all the wealth of nature's ample stores : 
 Thou whose broad bosom is the fruitful source 
 Of all earth's wandering floods, which like the 
 veins 
 That build the human system in their course, 
 Impart fertility to earth's domains. 
 And with the signs of life, clothe its else desert 
 plains. 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Still sleep the winds and silent as some lake, 
 Their might the slumbering waters still sub- 
 due ; 
 
40 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 And the proud ship scarce longer leaves a wake 
 In the smooth glass to note her progress thro'. 
 Against the cloudless welkin's depth of blue, 
 
 The drooping sails move idly to and fro ; 
 Reflected by the flood again to view : 
 
 White from its azure depths like clouds that 
 slow 
 
 Along the hazy sides of distant mountains flow. 
 
 Thy silence, Ocean, brings not solitude, 
 
 For solitude dwells not upon thy breast : 
 She flies the contest of thy billows rude, 
 Nor trusts the uncertain temper of thy rest. 
 When most thou seemest lone, then most we 
 invest 
 Thy presence with the emblems of thy might. 
 And thou dost shed o'er us an influence 
 blest, 
 Which lends the mariner's hours an easier flight, 
 And in the calm o^ thought imparts a pure 
 delight. 
 
 Thy lot, O seaman, were not one of toil, 
 Were nature always constant in her mood : 
 
ON THE WAVE. 4I 
 
 But sometimes on the waves she pours her oil, 
 Sometimes with tempest wakes the billows 
 
 rude. 
 Now slumbering like an infant calm and nude ; 
 Now rising with the madman's giant force ; 
 Now like a weeping maiden all subdued, 
 Dost thou not wrestle with her on thy course, 
 Distrustful most, when least her wrathful temper 
 soars ? 
 
 But thou art nature's child, and on the breast 
 Of pathless ocean art thou still at home : 
 
 And let the angry billow rear its crest — 
 Let the dark tempest of the midnight roam 
 Demoniac on the waters till the foam 
 
 Of ocean whelm thy labouring bark in spray, 
 And the forked lightning cleave the o'erarch- 
 ing dome 
 
 Of midnight shadow, till the blinding ray 
 
 Lights but the scene with deeper darkness to 
 dismay. 
 
 Undaunted thou dost meet her terrors grave. 
 And with the hand of death laid on thine arm, 
 
42 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Dost battle with the might of wind and wave. 
 And every force of nature raised to harm. 
 Thou dreadest her not ; or if she wake alarm, 
 'Tis but the sudden impulse of the child 
 
 That fears chastisement of the maternal 
 palm, 
 Yet clings unto the hand that drives it wild, 
 And with the threatened pain at length grows 
 half beguiled. 
 
 And cradled in the lap of ocean, thou 
 
 Dost watch on wave and sky her many signs. 
 Intelligent, as from its mother's brow. 
 With dawning intellect the babe divines 
 Her secret joy, or reads thereon the lines 
 Of pain or passion, of reproof or love : 
 
 Yet dost thou sport with fortune, whether 
 shines 
 The day, or hides itself in clouds above ; 
 Or if the night of storm succeed the day's re- 
 move. 
 
 1 
 
 Yon mist unto the sun radiant ascending, 
 Speaks it not to thine eye of tempest near ; 
 
ON THE WAVE. 43 
 
 Of the stern billow and the wild wind wending, 
 With death and ruin in its swift career? 
 But so it is, that nature's side severe. 
 Clothed in some form of beauty lures thy 
 thought 
 From toil and danger and from shipwreck 
 near, 
 The dread attendants of thy checkered lot. 
 As from the conjured things of fancy that are not. 
 
 And so it should be — let the hour advance 
 
 Oblivious of the future's gathering night ; 
 And be our lot cast on the wave of chance. 
 
 What reck we, so the present be but bright ? 
 
 Nature so mingles with our joy her spite. 
 That fain we would forget the evil time 
 
 For one short hour of unalloyed delight : 
 And we would seek through clime and unknown 
 
 clime. 
 Amid the wreck of worlds, one view of the 
 sublime. 
 
 Ocean, thou art silent — dost thou give no sign 
 Of kindred life and feeling — thou the strong ? 
 
44 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 And the dark winds that kiss thy waves supine, 
 Or lift their crests, where tarry they so long? 
 So vast the silence is, it seems half wrong 
 
 To wake the depths of nature from their sleep — 
 E'en with the feeble effort of our song : 
 
 Yet fancy wearied of the monotonous deep, 
 
 Our sense of time's slow space in thought's wide 
 realm would steep. 
 
 Oh thou, the solace of our hidden pain, 
 
 Waft thou the hour harmonious on its way : 
 
 Thou of the measured step and pensive train, 
 Whose calm delight is by the banks to stray, 
 Of Ocean's inland waves and grave or gay, 
 
 With various song the flight of time to speed, 
 Muse called — or inspiration, or the ray 
 
 Bestowed'of partial heaven — thou who canst read 
 
 The origin of things and knows whence they 
 lead, 
 
 Muse, say how nature in the endless round 
 Of transmutation that yet never knew 
 
 Rest or cessation, loss or force uncrown'd 
 With just result in Wisdom's equal view, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 45 
 
 Transforms the waters of the ocean blue 
 Into the viewless vapour, which again 
 
 On earth's green hills she leaves in sparkling 
 dew, 
 Or on her mountain sides in copious rain 
 Pours from the brooding cloud to fertilize the 
 plain. 
 
 Not with the magic power her clouds she builds, 
 
 Or rears her vapours from the billowy sea ; 
 Nor save with simple law of force distills 
 
 The dewdrop and the bounteous rain sets free. 
 
 But as in humbler toils of art we see 
 Some aqueous mass by heat evolved in steam, 
 
 Or in the denser vapour, thence to be 
 Anew condensed, so, with the sun's bright beam. 
 Her vapour and her clouds she builds from flood 
 and stream. 
 
 But tlje laboratory of her skill, 
 
 Where chiefly she the art creative plies 
 
 In all the wondrous workings of the will 
 
 Supreme, lies broad beneath the torrid skies : 
 Where much that once held part in Paradise, 
 
46 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 In which our parents dwelt supremely blest, 
 
 Elaborated still is seen to rise ; 
 Imperfect, but in contrast with the rest 
 Of earth's perverted growth, obnoxious, vice 
 impressed. 
 
 There the Simoon that blows on Indian seas, 
 And the swift Trades that o'er the broad ex- 
 panse 
 
 Of the Atlantic in the northeast breeze, 
 Or in the southeast near the line advance 
 With steady impulse, and all winds of chance 
 
 That flow to fill nature's vacuity. 
 
 The fierce Typhoon whirled in destructive 
 dance, 
 
 And dread Sirocco from the burning sea 
 
 Of Lybian sand that blows with hot asperity, 
 
 These in their course beneath the torrid sun, 
 
 Dispensing else insufferable day. 
 The grateful moisture from the waters won. 
 
 Absorb and to remotest climes convey ; 
 
 Where nightly, as the tranquil skies display 
 Their constellations with the evening shade, 
 
 And Hesperus from the west her mellow ray, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 4/ 
 
 In pleasing contrast through the night displayed, 
 Sheds on the silent face of lake or flood em- 
 bayed, 
 
 The dewy shower, the silent tears of grief, 
 
 For her sad fall, involved in man's lost race, 
 In pearly drops then brings a sweet relief 
 To nature, and restores her floral grace : 
 Shook from the wings of the swift hours that 
 chase 
 Each other like the Fairies of a dream, 
 
 They glow and sparkle on the night's still 
 face 
 In Dian's light, or in the starry beam, 
 Brighter than Indian gems, famed of Golconda's 
 stream. 
 
 Though simply dewdrops shining thro' the night. 
 
 Yet of such, Ocean, art thou mighty made — 
 And each may be a world in all its light ; 
 
 A world that hath its bright side and its 
 shade : 
 
 But the first beams of morning that invade 
 The paths of night, shall end its fair career ; 
 
 Its brightness and its glory all shall fade. 
 
48 ON THE V/AVE. 
 
 Its sunlight and its gloom, yet to appear 
 In some new form of light, some more exalted 
 sphere. 
 
 Lo ! where triumphant npw perhaps they adorn 
 
 Yon silvery folds that drape the evening sky ; 
 With ocean's mist uniting, which upborne 
 
 By yon bright sunbeams to the sphere on 
 high, 
 
 Are in the clouds condensed that gently fly 
 Along the heavens in endless forms of grace ; 
 
 Like some bright veil or shadowy canopy, 
 Suspended o'er the earth to screen its face 
 From the too ardent beam of the sun's torrid 
 rays. 
 
 And for the bliss of man who walks the sphere 
 With eye toward heaven uphTted to adorn, 
 
 The sky in its bright hues ; throughout the 
 year. 
 In ever varying grace and splendor born. 
 And truly were earth of its beauty shorn. 
 
 Without its clouds, that on the summer's eve, 
 Or with the pensive Autumn's rosy morn, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 49 
 
 Upon their flowing skirts the light receive, 
 In all the lovely tints which nature knows to 
 weave. 
 
 She to each season gives its thange of skies, 
 
 To render earth the fit abode of man : 
 Spring paints her scattered clouds in rainbow 
 dies, 
 And the green hills with Hope's bright bow 
 
 doth span : 
 The Summer, these dispersing with her fan 
 Inwrought of sunbeams, on the peaceful sky. 
 
 Weaves but the lightest tints in nature's plan, 
 Save when the nimbus, lightning charged, on 
 
 high. 
 Its thundering volumes piles, in awful majesty. 
 
 Yet loveliest. Autumn, are thy skies of all ; 
 
 For nature then imparts a graver light, 
 Unto the clouds whose fleeting shadows fall, 
 
 In pensive contrast with the sunbeams bright. 
 
 O'er hill and dale in ever restless flight, 
 Wand'ring away — now vanishing from view, 
 
 Now reappearing like some airy sprite — 
 4 
 
50 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Now with a darker, now a fainter hue, 
 Shading the face of earth or bright'ning it anew. 
 
 Till Winter, stern descending from the pole, 
 Leads forth his storm-embattled clouds that 
 slow 
 Upon the northern sky majestic roll. 
 
 Like mountains rising in their shrouds of 
 
 snow. 
 Thus nature from the ocean wave below, 
 Builds her fair clouds, that on the wind's swift 
 wing, 
 From clime to distant clime sublimely flow : 
 Whence through the various year, as seasons 
 
 bring. 
 Seedtime and harvest rise, and all earth's boun- 
 ties spring. 
 
 When through the summer solstice rolls the sun 
 
 In all the effulgence of the burning zone, 
 And streams late murmuring cease at length 
 to run, 
 And parched and sere the hills around have 
 grown, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 5 1 
 
 While ruin threatens then his fields unmown, 
 And the yet unripe harvest of the grain, 
 
 Thus far with care advanced and toilsome 
 sown, 
 With what anxiety his suffering plain 
 The husbandman surveys ; how gladly hails the 
 rain ? 
 
 Nor with less joy mute nature notes the event 
 
 Of the mild tempest, warned by instinct power; 
 Or moist or cool that heralds its descent, 
 
 Ere yet the rain commence or clouds yet lower. 
 
 Swift fly the birds to covert as the shower 
 Is heard still distant falling on some grove. 
 
 Or on the umbrageous mountain's tangled 
 bower: 
 There mute till past, again they praise in love 
 The Giver of all life, all blessings from above. 
 
 Nor thankful less the herds and fleecy flocks. 
 Panting erewhile beneath the grateful shade 
 
 Of hedge or grove, or where, amid gray rocks. 
 Some stream meanders shallow thro' the glade, 
 
52 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Immersed of foot and ruminant displayed — • 
 Now wander forth upon the hills again, 
 
 In kind deliverance from each winged invade^ 
 To crop the tender herbage of the plain, 
 And on their soiled robes receive the pelting rain. 
 
 Where the high Alps or loftier Andes soar 
 Heavenward — supreme of earthly grandeur 
 raised, 
 
 Crowned with eternal snows that evermore 
 Successive ages see anew replaced 
 In the just balance of their annual waste, 
 
 There Ocean mounts triumphant in the cloud, 
 High o'er exalted earth sublimely traced ; 
 
 Or pouring round the hills in vapoury shroud, 
 
 Hurls the electric bolt and rolls the thunders 
 loud, 
 
 *Tis the sea's olden play-ground where erewhile 
 The billows wandering in primeval time. 
 
 O'er hill and plain, through valley and defile, 
 Wrote on the rocks deep merged and hills 
 
 sublime, 
 To mournful cadence, or to solemn chime. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 53 
 
 The legend of their birth and of the age 
 
 Long lasping ere Earth reached her natal 
 prime, 
 When nature, turning o'er her finished page, 
 Emerged her continents in their perfected stage : 
 
 Earth newborn with her hills — around whose 
 sides 
 
 The cloud, attracted as by olden ties 
 Of once familiar places, gently glides ; 
 
 Or in the silence of the calm now lies 
 
 In solitary grandeur that defies 
 The skill of pen or pencil to portray : 
 
 Now mounting o'er the hills' successive rise, 
 Wanders with everchanging form away ; 
 Or like some white-winged bird^ soars to the eye 
 of day. 
 
 Or massing into ranks on ranks up-piled, 
 And through unending convolutions rolled, 
 
 Rain-charged and threatening, windy, dark, and 
 wild, 
 Now by the hills half hid, now issuing bold 
 From every mountain gorge with manifold 
 
54 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Enlargement of its gloom and gathering nighty 
 And fiery tongues that curdle the blood cold, 
 By turns inspiring awe, fear, and deb'ght, 
 Such from the hills descends the nimbus in its 
 might. 
 
 Then on some vale converging from all sides, 
 As to a common field of contest borne, 
 
 Cloud piles on cloud, on tempest tempest rides. 
 Lightning to lightning leaps adversely drawn, 
 And thunder back to thunder rolls its scorn; 
 
 Till Echo, deemed erewhile of gentlest voice. 
 Whispering the early matins to the morn. 
 
 Disturbed, now all her vocal might employs. 
 
 And from her hundred hills hurls back the deaf- 
 ening noise. 
 
 Such scenes and sounds, first witnessed here on 
 earth. 
 Struck consternation to the rebellious hearts 
 Of Titans glorying in gigantic birth. 
 
 And heaven attempting with presumptuous 
 
 arts. 
 Such yet erewhile on high, the envious darts 
 
ON THE WAVE. 55 
 
 O'ercame of those misguided by the thrall 
 Of him who since in fallen glory smarts : 
 Whom Lucifer in heaven, on earth, they call 
 Satan, of rebels first, and mightiest in his fall. 
 
 Tempestuous thus, the peasant of the vale 
 
 Sees the descending clouds not without fear; 
 For oft the nimbus hurls destructive hail, 
 
 On the spent labours of the toilsome year; 
 
 Or with concentric force, pours down severe 
 On all the adjoining hills, till every stream 
 
 Rolls headlong, furrowing in its mad career 
 The ancestral field with many an unsightly 
 
 seam : 
 Destroying in one night, mayhap, his life-long 
 dream. 
 
 But not for single nature shapes her rule ; 
 
 But for the many equal in her eye : 
 And that perhaps which ruins one poor fool, 
 
 Enriches thousands born alike to die. 
 
 Fortune we may upbraid, but not deny, 
 How hard soe'er, the justness of our fate : 
 
 Blest rather if He, who orders thus our sky. 
 
56 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 From one man's ruin builds the happier state, 
 Than born to fortune's smile, if vainly, vainlier 
 great. 
 
 He who has witnessed not the tropic storm 
 Thus raging 'mid the mountains, has not 
 known 
 The glory of the clouds in all its form 
 Of wild sublimity there seen alone. 
 From the high hills, as from earth's loftiest 
 throne. 
 To look down on the embattled storm below, 
 
 Mustering from vale to vale to the deep tone 
 Of muttering thunders and the dazzling glow 
 Of the winged lightning sped in instantaneous 
 flow, 
 
 This is to view sublimity and feel, 
 
 That life hath still to win a broader zone, 
 Than through the shadowed vale unseen to steal ; 
 
 Unseeing and unknowing and unknown. 
 
 Yet thus to see and feel, is but to own 
 The insignificance of human thought 
 
 With nature's God who walks the hills alone 
 
ON THE WAVE. 57 
 
 In majesty, which, if the eye may have caught, 
 Man to describe to man, hath ever vainly sought. 
 
 Mine hath it been to feel, while wandering lone 
 Upon the palm-clothed hills of a far land. 
 
 Remote from man and saddened by the tone 
 Of nature's cadence, varying from the bland. 
 Low voice of winds and streams to the more 
 grand, 
 
 The roar of floods descending to the plain. 
 Then falling, fainting on some far-off strand. 
 
 Where ocean's wandering billows in the chain 
 
 Of nature's harmony, beat the undying refrain. 
 
 Mine it has been to feel, that earth hath still 
 
 Some remnant of the glory of that time. 
 When man, submissive to the Higher will. 
 
 Knew not the form or penalty of crime. 
 
 And if I deemed I saw of the sublime 
 More than to common lot of mortals lies. 
 
 More than the ambition that inspires to climb, 
 Urged on the fitful light of Fancy's eyes, 
 Time, only thou canst tell, if vainly or if wise. 
 
58 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 Dawn now awakening from the orient sky, 
 
 With locks disheveled on the verge doth stand, 
 And looks upon the world with troubled eye, 
 
 And waves the seaman's warning from her 
 hand : 
 
 Her flowing robe girt with the rubric band, 
 The mariner marks — nor often notes in vain : 
 
 Sad omen of the future, ere the sand 
 Of Time's inverted glass is on the wane, 
 The dreaded storm may wake in wrath the 
 slumbering main. 
 
 ■fc> 
 
 Lo ! yonder petrel hovering o'er the deep, 
 The storm precursor, dwells upon our path ; 
 
 Yet clear the skies are, and the winds they sleep, 
 And Ocean seems Incapable of wrath. 
 
 Hast thou foreseen the tempest, has its breath 
 Ruffled thy wing and sent thee on before 
 
 To warn of warring winds laden with death 
 To some, or dire distress and travail sore, 
 And shipwreck on some lone, inhospitable 
 shore 7 
 
ON THE WAVE. 59 
 
 Or dost thou follow in the track of man, 
 
 Dependent, conscious of thy feeble dower ; 
 Thy wing, unequal to the battling van 
 
 Of the fierce tempest and the midnight shower? 
 
 Or fearest thou the dark and lonely hour 
 Of nature's travail, and by instinct led, 
 
 Fly to the shelter of man's present power 
 For reassurance, and with timorous dread 
 Seek of his bounteous hand, unconscious to be 
 fed? 
 
 Lone wanderer of the deep, in solitude 
 
 Of the wide waters wast thou early bred, 
 And taught to gather from the flood thy food, 
 
 And on the wandering billow make thy bed ; 
 
 Hast thou no home whither, when day has fled, 
 To fly for refuge from the darksome hour ? 
 
 No shelter to protect thy weary head 
 From winds tempestuous and the beating shower 
 That baffle thy swift wing and weary of its power ? 
 
 Thy lot, is it not mine ? has not the past 
 
 Been borne on troubled waters, and the way 
 We see not, can it be aught but the recast 
 
6o ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Of what preceded ? hath hope still a ray 
 Brighter than that which shone but to decay ? 
 Is it not ours to wander on the wave 
 
 Of ever baffling fortune, till the day 
 Draws to its close and time has bowed its slave, 
 Our home, life's restless deep, our dearest bourn 
 the grave ? 
 
 But thou dost dance upon the stormy billow. 
 
 As though it were thy cradle and thy home : 
 And dost thou not rest gently on the pillow 
 Which Ocean spreads thee, wreathed about 
 
 with foam. 
 Reckless alike of time past or to come ? 
 So that the present joyful speed away. 
 
 What carest thou whither on the deep thou 
 roam. 
 Or in what clime thy wing dip the salt spray, 
 Or if the night of storm succeed the peaceful 
 day ! 
 
 So that thy wing outstrip the tempest's wrath. 
 What reckest thou — the deep, is it not wide ? 
 And knowest not thou the compass of its path, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 6l 
 
 And canst avoid with instinct for thy guide ? 
 
 Not thus with man — while on the uncertain 
 tide, 
 Discretion is the mariner's better part : 
 
 Whatever fortune bring is his to abide ; 
 Or wind or calm, and with the seaman's art 
 To battle with the storm, to sink or gain his mart. 
 
 And nature's omens shown on cloud or sea, 
 
 Fall not unheeded on his wary eye : 
 Experienced to discern of storms to be, 
 
 When calmest is the deep, fairest the sky. 
 
 Lo ! make they not now ready to defy 
 Some change of weather for the worse to come ; 
 
 And stay and standing shroud and brace and 
 guy, 
 Restrengthen and the yards are sheeted home : 
 And yet not e'en a breath upon the deep doth 
 roam. 
 
 Nature, art thou so fickle that not man 
 
 May trust thy tem.per — least when in thy sleep 
 
 All peacefully thou dost heaven o'er us span, 
 And silence rests upon the mighty deep ? 
 
62 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Thou, Ocean, can it be, that thou shalt sweep 
 Our decks, it may be ere the sun hath set ? 
 
 So soon thy depths from peace to anger leap, 
 And on thy distant shores thy billows fret 
 Till nature hath grown tired, and man hath paid 
 her debt ? 
 
 Calm be thy slumbers still, thou mighty deep ; 
 
 Well canst thou hide the passions of thy breast : 
 Calm as the young maid's bosom when in sleep, 
 None but the pleasing dream disturbs its rest. 
 Not e'en the omens of the morn invest 
 Thy presence to the seaman's thought with 
 dread. 
 The storm may brood o'er thy expanse, but 
 blest 
 With broad good nature and by hope still led. 
 The hour of wrath descends, with half its terrors 
 fled. 
 
 Oh, could thy restless waves relate the story 
 Of their long wandering o'er the pathless 
 sphere. 
 What would they not tell of the ancient glory 
 
ON THE WAVE. 63 
 
 Of earth and of more recent man's career I 
 Have they not washed the shores of ages here 
 
 Since the Almighty from thy still abyss 
 
 First bade the coasts of hoary time to appear? 
 
 Are they not witness of the world that is? 
 
 Have not thy billows swept o'er other worlds 
 than this? 
 
 Hast thou not smoothed thy temper at the feet 
 Of Greek and Roman, and in earlier day, 
 
 Of they to whom came the rich laden fleet 
 Of Ophire old, of Tarsus and Cathay, 
 Till thou wert deemed subjected to their 
 sway — 
 
 And didst thou not there in thy might arise, 
 As now, and turn their boasting to dismay ; 
 
 And on thy billows lifting to the skies. 
 
 Dash them upon the rocks, deaf to their feeble 
 cries ? 
 
 Thou art the same flood still as wast thou then, 
 When on the deep the Spirit of God dwelt 
 lone ; 
 Or yet thy wandering billows in the refrain 
 
64 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Of nature joined with ever restless moan. 
 And isle and continent have silent grown 
 From thy dark depths ; yet still dost thou not 
 change. 
 And State and empire hast thou seen o'er 
 thrown, 
 And where proud cities rose, the leopard range. 
 And where the desert dwelt, the hospitable 
 grange. 
 
 And metamorphosed in the cloud dost thou 
 O'erarch the mountains, and with hope's bright 
 bow 
 
 Remindest man of the Almighty's vow. 
 Which in the early days He bade us know, 
 That nevermore shouldst thou the land o'er- 
 flow, 
 
 As was of eld, destructive to our race : 
 But in the gentle shower, on earth below, 
 
 Descend to add new glory to the face 
 
 Of nature, thenceforth kind, unto the end of days. 
 
 And lovely hast thou formicd earth with thy 
 streams ; 
 
ON THE WAVE. 65 
 
 And many a realm, else barren, fertile made. 
 There is no land so beautiful in dreams. 
 
 But nature somewhere working with thy aid, 
 
 Hath in reality as fair displayed. 
 Oh Muse ! what hinders, that thou speed the time 
 
 Of nature's calm, where Ocean bright arrayed, 
 Wanders in stream and flood from clime to clime, 
 Whence Fancy beckons us from fragrant banks 
 of thyme. 
 
 Prompt to her call, where earth's enduring hills 
 
 Majestic rise, fain would I guide the flight 
 Of still untiring thought ; thence while distills 
 
 The cloud upon some mountain's neighbour- 
 ing hight. 
 
 And mingles its dark shadows with the light 
 In the green dales below, enraptured trace 
 
 The gathering waters wandering onward bright, 
 Through many a vale and plain in endless maze, 
 To beautify the earth and join the sea's embrace. 
 
 Fair flow thy waters, Ocean, when thus filled 
 From the discharging clouds, thy bright 
 streams wend 
 
 5 
 
66 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 The wooded steeps of the high hills, self-willed 
 And joyous hastening onward to their end. 
 Or when from precipice headlong they descend 
 
 Into the abyss deep worn in rocks below 
 By time's corroding wave ; there to expend 
 
 Their force, while Iris spans her lovely bow 
 
 Upon the dim gray mists that from the depth 
 upflow. 
 
 Then like thy voice upon thy distant shores, 
 Unto the plain remote descends the sound 
 
 Of many waters, murmuring in their course. 
 And whitening o'er the rocks with rapid bound : 
 Torrent with torrent joining in the round 
 
 Of the steep hills, till through the vale below, 
 The mingled floods o'er the less rugged ground, 
 
 Pursue their way with less tumultuous flow : 
 
 Now wandering white through rocks, now darkly 
 calm and slow — 
 
 By hills and lesser hills, the recent born 
 
 Of the enduring mountains, on whose sides 
 
 Perchance the shepherds feed their flocks at morn, 
 And when the cool of evening hour betides : 
 
ON THE WAVE. 6/ 
 
 Or whence, as with effulgence the sun rides 
 The midday course, to the wood-bordered stream 
 
 That through the pleasant vale meandering 
 glides, 
 Conduct them following from the ardent beam, 
 To while the hour away as idless may beseem. 
 
 And where the deepening tide flows dark and still. 
 To enjoy the bath screened by some friendly 
 shade : 
 Or innocent of guilt and thought of ill, 
 Less studious to be hid, not they evade 
 To breast the torrent with the sportive maid 
 In nature's plain attire, as ere their pain 
 
 Used They in Eden's blissful glade, 
 And custom still doth license through New 
 
 Spain, 
 Where simple virtue views, unblushing, nature's 
 reign. 
 
 So pass their hours — or on some bank retired 
 Beneath the shade of oak or waving palm, 
 
 They teach the rustic pipes the air inspired 
 To breathe in harmony with nature's calm. 
 
6S ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Simple, but best befitting so the psalm 
 Of those of old led by the starry ray : 
 
 Thus till the evening zephyrs breathing balm 
 Or voice of herds to hills wand'ring away, 
 Recall them to their folds, impatient of their stay. 
 
 So flowed the streams Arcadian o'er their rocks, 
 
 By hill and dale, and to the mellow sound 
 Of lowing herds and voice of bleating flocks. 
 
 And pastoral strains of shepherds resting 
 round. 
 
 So of late time the Guadalquiver wound ; 
 Not to the Thespian reed or Doric flute, 
 
 Nor with the hymn of Eastern shepherds 
 crown'd. 
 But to the light guitar and Paphian lute, 
 As best befit the Andalusian's gay pursuit. 
 
 See, how thro' vale meandering the stream. 
 Joined with a sister stream, majestic flows 
 
 To swell the river's course ; no more to dream 
 Of rock or bank whereon the violet blows. 
 Nor of the pastoral strain, nor hill whence lows 
 
 The sober herd, but of the boundless sea 
 
ON THE WAVE. * 69 
 
 Of the dim future whitherto it goes : 
 To nobler purpose drawn, broad, deep and free 
 As life's majestic flood rolls to eternity. 
 
 For pastoral scenes and frolic youth behold 
 Exchanged the vale, wide sloping to each side, 
 
 In pleasant fields on fields receding rolled ; 
 Pregnant with large fertility, and wide 
 With varied husbandry diversified. 
 
 Clothed with the promise of the blooming year. 
 Now fruitful groves conspicuous preside : 
 
 Now interspersed green fields of grain appear, 
 
 And alternating woods and pastures fill the rear. 
 
 Where fields late fallow to the W^inter*s storm, 
 Reclaim the husbandman's laborious care. 
 
 There with his steeds, ambitious to perform 
 And earn, with meted task, their simple fare. 
 Or patient oxen toiling with the air 
 
 Of those whom fate to labour hath resigned, 
 The industrious swain now with the shining 
 share, 
 
 Inverts the soil, by frost and sun combined. 
 
 Made mellower to receive the germs of crops 
 assigned. 
 
70 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Or hardiest rye, or wheat first sown of Spring, 
 While Winter yet flies on the evening blast. 
 Their toil the later oats and barley bring, 
 
 With liberal faith sown to the field broad- 
 cast : 
 The bounteous maze, gift of the savage, last 
 Claims the attention of the toiling swain. 
 
 Some turn the furrow, some with labour vast, 
 The obstructing rock remove, while some the 
 
 plain 
 With the toothed harrow smooth or sow the 
 pregnant grain. 
 
 Then with the seedtime ended, and his toil 
 Remitting for a season, moves the breast 
 
 Of the proud owner of the fruitful soil 
 
 With greatly enlarged faith, that in true rest 
 Waits all things of Heaven's bounty for the 
 best : 
 
 Not with due observation of each sign 
 
 Of times and seasons counting toil as blest 
 
 Nor the sown field to nature doth resign, 
 
 Till Heaven hath been invoked propitious to 
 incline. 
 
ON THE WAVE. J I 
 
 Rightly besought, Heaven hears the simple 
 prayers 
 Of humblest swains, and on the new-sown 
 plain, 
 To crown with just reward their provident cares, 
 From partial clouds remits the gentle rain 
 To regenerate anew the buried grain : 
 Sunlight and shower commingling in due share ; 
 
 This to impregnate, that the life sustain ; 
 Then to crown all the sower's patient care, 
 Spans the bright bow of Hope upon the eastern 
 air. 
 
 Where more advanced the season with the beam 
 Of the maturing sun roU'd at its hight. 
 
 Crowns the fair banks of the enlarging stream, 
 With ripening harvests waving in the light, 
 Like some bright water slumbering in its 
 might. 
 
 How nobly flows the river through the plain, 
 Burdened beyond the eyes' enraptured sight, 
 
 With bounteous return of golden grain, 
 
 The joy and honest pride of the industrious 
 swain. 
 
72 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 There sturdy peasants through the waving fields, 
 
 Fell the ripe harvest ranged in lengthen'd row : 
 One hand the sheaf collects, the other wields 
 
 The crooked sickle sped with skillful blow ; 
 
 Each step and movement timing as they go, 
 To the sweet cadence of the reapers' song: 
 
 Now scarcely heard so far off and so low ; 
 Now on the summer winds arising strong, 
 From many a grateful heart harmonious borne 
 along. 
 
 In other fields see other workmen joined, 
 Who to the cradle the curved scythe unite ; 
 
 Then in succession with the form inclined. 
 And the left step advancing from the right, 
 With well-timed blow and double-handed 
 might, 
 
 Strike down the full-eared harvest to the plain : 
 Each as he swings his blade with dexterous 
 sleight 
 
 Of practiced hands, the gently falling grain, 
 
 Depositing behind in one continuous train. 
 
 To them the rakers next succeeding near. 
 In equal piles the smooth-laid swaths collect 
 
ON THE WAVE. 73 
 
 For the swift binders following in their rear, 
 Who from the heaps with liberal hand select 
 The golden band, and with swift turn connect 
 The bristling heads, in equal lot disjoined ; 
 
 Then bending to the posture less erect, 
 Tie round the gathered sheaf, which thus con- 
 fined. 
 Is left unto the care of those who come be- 
 hind. 
 
 They, youngest of the farmer's numerous flock. 
 Convey the rustling sheaves with tugging 
 hand 
 To some place central to the reckoned shock, 
 And round their sire in harvest wreath up- 
 
 stand ; 
 Who, thus thrice crowned, smiles proudly on 
 his band 
 Of youthful w^orkmen sporting through the plain : 
 
 Or if reproving, with mild reprimand 
 Checks the too rude, the while he weaves the 
 
 grain 
 Into the sloping stack to shield from dew or rain. 
 
74 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Thus moves the toil through the long summer's 
 day; 
 Arduous, yet willingly and cheerful borne : 
 Nor wants there sport or pastime to make gay 
 The busy season and the scene adorn : 
 But while the sun shines fair, from early 
 morn 
 Till evening gathers in the hazy west, 
 
 Save when called to repast by noonday horn, 
 The harvest year admits of but short rest. 
 Till night to their relief comes with its slumbers 
 blest. 
 
 Warmed with their employer's interest, each his 
 part 
 With cheerful speech performs and willing 
 hand : 
 Some fell the grain, long practiced in the art 
 With easy grace the cradle to command : 
 Some rake in heaps, some skillful twist the 
 band ; 
 The youngest, least experienced, bears the 
 sheaves 
 To him who teaches the tall stack to stand : 
 
ON THE WAVE. 75 
 
 Others with forks upload the wain, this heaves 
 The weighty bundles — this on the groaning wain 
 receives. 
 
 To them of olr" succeeded other band, 
 
 Gleaners of the past harvests scant remains : 
 The widow and the orphans of the land, 
 
 Whom kind remembering charity maintains. 
 
 They unreproved, gleaned from the stubble 
 plains 
 What fell by accident from the binders' hand, 
 
 Or what was added to their slender gains, 
 By the kind owner's generous command, 
 To gather not too close the harvest of his land. 
 
 So, Ocean, flowed thy streams in olden time, 
 
 Through spacious plains made fertile by their 
 flow. 
 To the sweet cadence of the reaper's hymn, 
 
 And many a rural task and pleasing show ; 
 
 Now but recalled as scenes of long ago ; 
 Or witnessed only on remotest shore. 
 
 Soon will the reaper's hymn forget to flow. 
 
"J^ ON THE WAVE. 
 
 And the familiar sound that pleased of yore, 
 The mower whetting his scythe be heard to 
 ring no more. 
 
 Yet on thy banks, Ohio, and on thine, 
 
 Fair Susquehanna, and many a noble stream 
 
 Too numerous for the Muse, to the grave line 
 And measured step prescribed as best beseem. 
 When Autumn sheds around her mellow beam, 
 
 Columbia's sons, they of the nobly free. 
 
 Thrice blessed of Heaven, fulfillment of the 
 dream. 
 
 Once lost, once realized of Liberty, 
 
 Reap still the annual crown of honored industry : 
 
 In the maze harvest, yellowing in the sun 
 
 Of mild October's calm and peaceful days; 
 Through spacious fields erst from the savage won 
 
 By pious valour of the Pilgrim race ; 
 
 From Briton once, once nobly from disgrace. 
 Now honoured Peace converts war's panoply 
 
 Into the humbler share that tills the maze; 
 And 'tis a sight, Fair Ceres, worthy thee, 
 This last and noblest gift of thine to Liberty. 
 
ON TJIE WAVE. • yj 
 
 Where now breme Winter through the northern 
 sky, 
 Of Eastern dimes, lands verging to the sun, 
 Surveys the bounteous year with envious eye. 
 And sears the woodlands and the fields turns 
 
 dun, 
 See, Muse, how floods from smallest streams 
 begun. 
 In earth's remotest regions wandering lone. 
 There burdened with the wealth of nations 
 run ; 
 Majestic winding on from zone to zone, 
 Through lands obscure to fame and empire yet 
 unknown. 
 
 There China's hoarded people ply the arts 
 Industrious, with persevering zeal 
 
 And close economy of frugal hearts. 
 Subservient to the necessitous appeal 
 Of myriads bowed to fortune's crushing wheel : 
 
 To whom returning still with fresh recoil, 
 The problem of supply and future weal. 
 
 Compels to reap from every rood of soil 
 
 More bounteous return with still enlarged toil. 
 
78 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Mark how kind nature with the sun's ripe glow 
 
 Upon her cheek, builds there her fruitful 
 reign 
 On many a flood's enriching overflow, 
 
 And art formed irrigation of the plain ; 
 
 Whose generous tides fair tribute claim again 
 Of surplus wealth embarked upon their breast : 
 
 Theirs to bestow on some less kind domain, 
 Or speed upon its way to climes more blest, 
 Lands from which fame returns but vague re- 
 port at best. 
 
 Where the broad Croceus rolls its safron waves. 
 
 Or where Chiam with more majestic tide, 
 Its banks crowned with an hundred cities laves. 
 Thronged with skilled industry on every side ; 
 Or Tay, whose less ennobled waters glide 
 By Babylonish Canton's noisy door, 
 
 See Commerce spread her white wings far and 
 wide ; 
 On stream and confluent stream her precious 
 
 store, 
 Discharging from far lands or lading by their 
 shore. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 79 
 
 From every province, every distant clime, 
 
 Ships of all ancient and all modern make, 
 From junks that plowed the stream of early 
 time, 
 To the swift clipper graceful in her rake 
 As the wild swan that cleaves the woodland 
 lake ; 
 Or giant steamer from the Antipode, 
 
 Breasting the tempest in her foaming wake, 
 There throng the face of nature's watery road. 
 And many a spacious stream by ancient art 
 bestowed. 
 
 For Art with the united strength erewhile 
 Of countless hosts such as of old were 
 joined. 
 
 To build the less useful pyramids by Nile, 
 Stupendous toil, with nature there combined, 
 Strives to enlarge the blessings to mankind 
 
 Of commerce and on lands remote bestow, 
 Through spacious channels skillfully designed, 
 
 Which swarming with their populations flow, 
 
 In numbers scarcely less than lands adjacent 
 show. 
 
8o ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Amid less busy scenes, the Indian flood, 
 
 Ganges, crowned with barbaric pomp, see 
 glide ; 
 Ganges, whose hundred mouths, long red with 
 blood. 
 Engulf in Spring the Ocean's mounting tide, 
 And inland hurl the Bore with giant stride. 
 Thence tht proud 'Qritons reap their wealth, nor 
 deem 
 The age removed from prudent forethought 
 wide, 
 When threatening powers and want of room 
 
 would seem 
 To drive to fix their throne by India's famous 
 stream. 
 
 More glorious Nile ! thou of the olden story — 
 
 Nile, sacred to Tsis and to lasting fame, 
 The sad, but silent witness of the glory 
 
 Of Egypt's past, and of her present shame ; 
 
 Nile, thou dost still pour forth thy wealth the 
 same 
 As when the Pharaohs dwelt beside thy wave, 
 
 And the mysterious Ibis' dying flame 
 
ON THE WAVE. 8 1 
 
 Sprang yearly from the ashes of its grave, 
 And hundred gated Thebes rose o'er the abject 
 slave. 
 
 *Mid desert scenes to which the foot erewhile 
 
 Of savage only hath explored its course, 
 There Isis and Serapis, gods of Nile, 
 
 Guard the mysterious fountain of its source ; 
 
 Till some adventurer from distant shores, 
 Shall come with sacrilegious zeal to invade 
 
 The sacred precincts of its ancient force. 
 And the last worship of the stream shall fade, 
 With mysteries of eld, in. time's oblivious shade. 
 
 Thus roll the waters of the Orient clime, 
 
 Crowned with the glorious halo memory 
 throws 
 Around the sacred rivers of old time, 
 Till veneration into worship grows: 
 So not less great, though less revered than 
 those, 
 Through spacious plains blest by fair Freedom's 
 hands. 
 The Mississippi, Father of Waters, flows : 
 6 
 
82 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 So the great Amazonian flood expands ; 
 Monarch of inland seas and builder of new lands. 
 
 The sea — all hail again the boundless sea — 
 
 Ye hills of earth, hark to its sounding voice — ■ 
 Ye waves of time born to eternity, 
 
 Ye long lost streams, ye wandering floods, re- 
 joice. 
 Wander no more, ye waves, with babbling noise 
 Of idle mirth, on mountain side or plain ; 
 
 Wander no more, thou flood, where earth 
 alloys 
 Thy purer purpose with its lust of gain, 
 And vice from temporal bliss reaps but unend- 
 ing pain. 
 
 Ocean, thy kindred streams, long lost, receive 
 
 Triumphant to thy embrace ; upon thy shore, 
 Let all thy wandering billow^s rising heave 
 
 The solemn cadence of their ceaseless roar. 
 
 Thine are the clouds, the vapours thine that 
 soar 
 Upon the wings of evening's gentle breeze : 
 
 Thine are the dewy shower, the rains that pour 
 
ON THE WAVE. 83 
 
 Fertility on earth and ripe increase : 
 Thine all its streams and floods, its lakes and 
 inland seas. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 What sound is that which o'er the slumbering 
 deep, 
 Comes low and mournful to the startled ear ? 
 As when the traveller wakened from his sleep, 
 Hears the low, muffled hum of midnight prayer 
 From some Mohammedan town : by fits the air 
 Breathes in a sudden gust, then dies away. 
 The unconscious sea now wrinkles here, now 
 there ; 
 The sportive tribes of Ocean cease their play. 
 And seek the gloomy depths, beyond the reach 
 of day. 
 
 What sudden light gleams in the uplifted eye 
 Of the stayed mariner, flashed forth from the 
 soul ! 
 
84 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 As gravely pausing he surveys the sky 
 From the horizon upward to its pole — 
 Then rests upon the sea's uncertain roll, 
 
 Doubtful, as if some warning to beware 
 Recalled him sudden from relaxed control, 
 
 While the uneasy hand of watchful care 
 
 Draws deeper on his brow the lines time furrows 
 there. 
 
 Low down the western verge the sun descends, 
 All bathed in clouds of every glorious hue : 
 
 There gold with safron, red with purple blends, 
 And richest amber fades in softest blue : 
 Each moment changing, varying ever new. 
 
 As only nature knows her shades to change: 
 As only she, to please the unwearied view. 
 
 Can alter outline still through all the range 
 
 Of the sublime, the wild, the beautiful, the 
 strange. 
 
 How lovely is the sunset on the deep. 
 
 When nature thus her skill divine displays ! 
 When winds are hushed and waves are stilled in 
 sleep, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 8$ 
 
 And evening's balmy softness takes the place 
 Of the dim ardour of the noonday rays! 
 
 What artist's brush coiild imitate those hues? 
 What pencil draw those outlines with such 
 grace ; 
 
 Or poet's fancy, aided by the Muse, 
 
 Such splendor to describe, could language find to 
 
 How often have I sat as day retired, 
 
 And watched the sunset glory from my home ! 
 
 Saw in the clouds as Fancy's light inspired. 
 The outlines vague of castles go and come, 
 With tower and glittering spire and rising 
 dome 
 
 In prospect fair, or caught the wild desire 
 From mystic mountains in the sky, to roam 
 
 In lands remote, where nature's hills aspire 
 
 With all the impress grand, sublime of heaven's 
 wrapt fire. 
 
 Lone by the silent shore I see the form 
 
 Of one who still at sunset watches there : 
 Youth's rosy hue upon her cheek glows warm ; 
 
S6 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 The golden sunlight wanders through her hair : 
 Thought, on her brow has stamped its im- 
 press fair ; 
 The lustrous tears of silent grief adorn 
 
 Her eyes yet lovelier for their dewy care : 
 Less fair Aurora through the east is borne, 
 Bright in the sparkling tears of mildly vveep- 
 
 The sun has set, the lingering light declines ; 
 
 The golden clouds and twilight gloom have 
 fled. 
 Day to the embrace of night the world resigns : 
 
 Triumphal night ! in stellar glory led, 
 
 With all her planets circling round her head. 
 Oh thou who dwellest in exalted might, 
 
 Beyond the beams those distant bodies shed, 
 Why thus to earth abridge the spirit's flight, 
 And all beyond it leave in impenetrable night ? 
 
 Oh, that we might ascend from star to star ; 
 
 From earth debased to heaven's exalted pole : 
 Thus to contemplate all things as they are. 
 
 And learn the wisdom of each part and whole, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 87 
 
 Wherever life exists or systems roll. 
 Alas! in vain on Heaven itself we call, 
 
 Dust to endow with attributes of soul : 
 Less vain to ask why man was formed at all, 
 Or why created pure, through vice at last to fall. 
 
 It is enough to know that here on earth, 
 
 All things are suited to their day and sphere. 
 
 As time rolls on and sciences take birth, 
 What once was mystery may then be clear, 
 And worlds unknown grow to the vision near. 
 
 But time is all too short to teach the whole, 
 And Heaven willed not, that all things should 
 appear : 
 
 Still in mysterious cycle life must roll. 
 
 Incentive to all aim, the inherent law of soul. 
 
 To more immediate welfare of mankind. 
 
 The mind owes its reflections ; chief the arts 
 
 Of happiness, indissolubly joined 
 
 With the magnanimous of human hearts. 
 How vast man's work, how various are the 
 parts 
 
 By Heaven assigned us to fulfill below ! 
 
88 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 How fair we promise when our journey starts 
 On the bright stream of Hfe, whose silent flow 
 Misleads to fatal trust through its deceptive 
 show ! 
 
 Alas ! how few their parts in life perform, 
 
 When on the swelling flood advanced they 
 meet 
 
 The rush of waters, the descending storm. 
 The wreck of kindred and the stern retreat 
 Of thousands more advanced ; in their defeat 
 
 O'erwhelming other thousands in their rear; 
 And last, to render hopelessness complete, 
 
 When dangers thicken, when new toils appear, 
 
 The turning back of those whom friendship held 
 most dear. 
 
 Too much we hope, too much we base our joy 
 Upon the friendship of the outer world : 
 
 Too often led by Pleasure's false decoy, 
 
 Are on destruction with the breakers hurled, 
 Or through unending eddies vainly whirled. 
 
 Too oft ambition and the love of fame 
 
 Urge to advance when canvas should be furled, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 89 
 
 Till lost in reckoning, cheated in our aim, 
 Gladly we would return by the same path we 
 came. 
 
 For every rational pleasure we enjoy, 
 
 How many in the attempt we dissipate ! 
 Each scene of nature charmed us when a boy, 
 
 And all was then mysterious and great. 
 
 How changed the scene appears at man's 
 estate ! 
 Tossed on the sea of mingled joy and pain, 
 
 The mind confounds the impressions of its 
 fate, 
 Till life itself grows an unsightly stain 
 Amid less perfect works of nature's fair domain. 
 
 How fair, how perfect in each part, could man 
 But pierce the veil of sin that dims his sight ! 
 
 Though nature vary from her primitive plan. 
 From endless chaos lead forth order bright, 
 And call the day from universal night, 
 
 Or all her glorious work annihilate. 
 
 She changes not to improve that which is 
 right, 
 
90 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Nor in reversion of the law of fate, 
 
 But with adaptive art to balance every state. 
 
 And every state with man ; man, the last act 
 
 Of Heaven's creative will : instinct with light, 
 With immortality of soul, with tact 
 
 Of reasoning to discern the wrong from right ; 
 
 Lord of creation by prescriptive might, 
 The free-will agent, judge of all that is — 
 
 Formed in Heaven's likeness, called good in 
 its sight. 
 What higher call to virtue could be his? 
 Than man's, what prior claim to an unending 
 bliss? 
 
 That call, how little heeded ! and the bliss 
 
 Of earth, what is it ! who can tell where found ? 
 Who the more fortunate that do not miss. 
 
 Amid the universal failure crowned ? 
 
 The few who keep within the narrow bound 
 Of Wisdom's path, yet through life's quiet way, 
 
 Fail not to shed upon the world around. 
 The attractive warmth of love's benignant ray. 
 That brightens all in hope and turns our night 
 to day. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 9I 
 
 Oh, whither wouldst thou have us, Muse, repair, 
 To find that bHss enjoyed erewhile of none? 
 
 To what fair cUme, land of congenial air. 
 
 What shore unknown yet of the glorious sun, 
 Where life's unsullied currents smoothly run 
 
 Down the decline of nature to their sea ? 
 
 To the calm end of age that comes when won, 
 
 Not with the pangs of weak humanity. 
 
 Nor where death hath its sting and sin its 
 victory. 
 
 Vain shalt thou seek, alas ! on earth to find 
 That land of unalloyed happiness. 
 
 Go, search the annals of thy fellow kind, 
 And find no age of all the past possess 
 More of true bliss or greater cause to bless : 
 
 No land than thine more favoured of the past ; 
 No race of heaven ; then willingly confess, 
 
 The only fount of happiness at last, 
 
 Is with thy lot to dwell content wherever cast. 
 
 Some bond we find of union with the soil 
 
 In every clime and land beneath the sun ; 
 However humble be our lot, our toil, 
 
92 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 However vast it be and arduous done. 
 
 Our native hills, our fields paternal won 
 From nature's grasp with unremitting pains, 
 
 The offspring of our shelter in whom run 
 The kindred currents of our manlier veins. 
 These form the links whence love doth forge 
 our blissful chains. 
 
 True bliss belongs to no peculiar state ; 
 
 Heaven with an equal hand bestows on all : 
 Alike the poor, the rich, the unknown, the 
 great ; 
 All climes, all countries, be they vast or small. 
 But what Heaven willed in bliss, man in his 
 fall 
 From the fair walks of blameless Paradise, 
 Has found unequal to the enlarging call. 
 The importuning, all-engrossing cries 
 Of second nature's wants ; the child new-born 
 of vice. 
 
 Man is the author of his own deserts. 
 
 Heaven the rewarder of his better deeds. 
 In just proportion as his will subverts 
 
ON THE WAVE. 93 
 
 The equal law of nature's simple needs, 
 So far the bounds of reason he exceeds. 
 Thus, Adam, Eve, first knew in Paradise, 
 
 When for the tree of life they sowed the seeds 
 Of death, and saw but thorns and brambles rise, 
 Retributive in pain, the just reward of vice. 
 
 Ye balmy airs that from the tempering stream 
 
 Catch the soft influence of a milder clime. 
 And steal the soul away in that sweet dream 
 
 Of Eden's bliss, which down through shadowy 
 time 
 
 Comes ever wafted on, like the faint chime 
 Of distant Sabbath bells at summer eve. 
 
 Heard floating over hill and vale sublime 
 To call the elect of Heaven to retrieve 
 The erring past, and the lost boon of life receive, 
 
 To some spot formed on Eden's blissful plan, 
 Such if there be, waft us, ye tempests fair. 
 
 Where few and simple are the wants of man. 
 And bounteous seasons banish anxious care. 
 Some land whose still Arcadian scenes prepare 
 
 The soul to contemplation, and refined, 
 
94 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 wife draws its simple bliss from nature there, 
 Unmingled with the follies of mankind, 
 The erring wisdom born of the world-wisely blind. 
 
 The eve has past, night rolls majestic on ; 
 
 And Cynthia, pausing in her bright career. 
 Bends from the western sky to gaze upon 
 
 Her crescent form that silentlydraws near 
 
 To meet her on the verge of the still mere. 
 Nor mist rests on the sea, nor cloud the while 
 
 Dims the fair lustre of the starlit sphere. 
 Bright arching o'er us, save yon shadowy pile, 
 That on the austral bound uplooms like some 
 dim isle. 
 
 How solemn rests the night upon the deep ! 
 
 Silent and ominous of brewing storms. 
 The rage of tempests gathering in its sleep. 
 
 Waits but the signal to assume its forms 
 
 Of concentrated fury : e'en while warms 
 The imagination with the quiet scene. 
 
 And felt security our soul disarms, 
 Nature but sleeps to rouse with altered mien ; 
 With reinvigorated force and added spleen. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 95 
 
 Lulled in her lap we trust her peaceful smiles, 
 
 And dream of safety till her sleep is past. 
 The sounder her repose, the close coils 
 
 Fallacious hope to bind suspicion fast. 
 
 Hope, like a serpent stings us at the last : 
 We dream again, again the dream deceives ; 
 
 Till time, advancing, scatters to the blast 
 Our bright anticipations, like the leaves 
 Of Autumn's woods dispersed when fancy fair- 
 est weaves. 
 
 But why of earth-born hope, of time why dream ? 
 Hope flies when called, and time our speed 
 defies. 
 To thee, for guidance on life's various stream, 
 Immortal Trust, fair daughter of the skies. 
 Still let us look whatever fates arise : 
 Through weal or woe, through sunshine or 
 through storm, 
 Though Hope expires, though time forever 
 flies, 
 Still may thy smiles our faltering bosom warm ; 
 Ne'er absent from our thoughts be thine inspir- 
 ing form. 
 
96 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Assured by thee, hark how the seamen cheer 
 The night with song, or to the simple tale 
 Of some companion lend attentive ear : 
 
 Some elder shipmate, who, through many a 
 
 gale, 
 In every clime where Commerce spreads her 
 sail, 
 Has plowed, from boyhood up, the billowy deep. 
 His comrades now applaud, and now are pale 
 At some escape from death, some perilous leap ; 
 Or with his sad mishaps in sympathy deign to 
 weep. 
 
 With them awhile let us discard our cares, 
 And pass the night in bliss, the quiet bliss 
 
 Of unsophisticated life ; like theirs 
 
 Be ours the simple joys, the still abyss 
 
 Of vacant thought, the thought that simply is. 
 
 The calm of blest content not to aspire 
 
 To pleasures which they neither know nor 
 miss : 
 
 The useless joys of wealth that only fire 
 
 The evermounting wings of still uncrowned de- 
 sire. 
 
ON THE WAVE. 97 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 The midnight hour has come — silent — and sleep 
 
 Falls on the weary lids of all profound ; 
 Save those who now the lonely night-watch keep : 
 
 To them sleep comes not on its azure round. 
 
 Hark ! hear ye not above unwonted sound 
 Of voices, and the master's stern command, 
 
 The hurried tramp of feet, the wheeling round 
 Of cumbrous spars, and creaking of each band? 
 They shorten in all sail to meet the storm at 
 hand. 
 
 The stillness of Impending wrath succeeds; 
 Dreadful in silence, ominous in thought ; 
 Thought swifter than the course of lightning 
 speeds, 
 At once a thousand different journeys, fraught 
 With various Death, who comes too soon un- 
 sought. 
 Uncalled, unwelcome; in whatever form, 
 
 Whatever dress, he comes to make his court, 
 A thousand fears precede to raise alarm, 
 A thousand warring minds the trembling soul 
 disarm. 
 7 
 
98 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Thus in his cell the wretch, from whom the fates 
 
 Have turned the inexorable judge's face, 
 In all the dread suspense of mind awaits 
 The hour appointed, soon to close his race. 
 Hope, fear, anguish and love, his childhood 
 days, 
 Remorse for life misspent, for heaven unsought. 
 His manhood's pride, ambition crushed, dis- 
 grace, 
 O'erwhelm him, till the hangman's footsteps 
 
 caught, 
 Burst on his trembling soul 'mid all the rush of 
 thought. 
 
 So, fearful, bursts the tempest on our heads, 
 
 And all its voices in wild discord blends. 
 As from the loftier hills the blast invades 
 
 The warring wood which down their flank 
 
 extends, 
 Then on the groves below its force expends, 
 Wide echoing through their shades along the 
 plain. 
 So from the clouds the spirit of storms de- 
 scends 
 
ON THE WAVE. 99 
 
 Upon the darkened bosom of the main, 
 Loud roaring from its depths and rising in 
 disdain. 
 
 Shrill shrieks the wind along the rattling shrouds, 
 
 And the mad waters heave the ship in air; 
 Night grows invisible in all her clouds, 
 
 And tumult hideous borders on despair. 
 
 Loud at the trembling crew the masters swear. 
 And curse the elements ; e'en on the brink 
 
 Of endless ruin, hardened man will dare, 
 Heaven's vengeance to provoke, nor pause to 
 
 think, 
 How small an act of thought may save him, or 
 may sink. 
 
 Ye lonely wanderers of the uncertain waves, 
 How hard a lot is yours ! let those who long 
 
 To spend their lives so closely to their graves. 
 Pass but one night upon the deep when throng 
 The enraged winds and waves to hurl along 
 
 The fragile bark that bears their destinies : 
 Contentious still which most shall do her 
 wrong ; 
 
lOO ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Deaf to their prayers, to their heartrending 
 
 cries, 
 That mount the air and pierce the unrelenting 
 
 skies. 
 
 Ye lonely mariners, God grant that ne'er, 
 
 While through my veins life's purple current 
 rolls, 
 
 May I be doomed to follow your career. 
 
 Though I revere your trade and honest souls: 
 Sooner may Fortune to the frigid poles 
 
 Exile us, where in unrelaxing sleep, 
 
 Nature piles up her seas into vast moles, 
 
 That threaten ruin wide o'er all the deep 
 
 To those who would invade the secrets of her 
 keep. 
 
 Yes, hard your fate indeed ; but why complain ? 
 It is your choice, and when upon the shore, 
 
 Your sole desire is to be back again. 
 And hurled about by ocean as before : 
 The toils, the dangers which ye late passed 
 o'er, 
 
 Are soon forgotten, and e'en life's dearest ties, 
 
ON THE WAVE. lOI 
 
 Your wives and children, scarce are thought 
 of more, 
 Until the angry billows round you rise, 
 And fancy brings again their widowed, father- 
 less cries. 
 
 Such thoughts may touch your rugged breasts 
 with pain, 
 And worlds would then scarce tempt you 
 from deciding, 
 Ne'er to depart from those dear ones again,. 
 If Heaven but grant the option of abiding. 
 How vain the resolve ! while yet the day is 
 gliding. 
 Perhaps forgotten with the passing gale : 
 
 Still the returning seasons find you riding 
 The boisterous waves and trusting to that sail 
 Which the next wind that blows may prove of 
 least avail. 
 
 Ye captains, be not too severe upon 
 
 The faithful sailors ; they who meekly bear 
 
 The toils and dangers of the sea, with none 
 To smile upon them, and their trials share. 
 
102 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 For you they leave their little ones to dare 
 The unknown perils of the deep — for you, 
 They mount the giddy masts when tempests 
 tear 
 The canvas from the spars, and to their view. 
 Death on all sides impends, while winter chills 
 them through. 
 
 Then be not too severe ; but let your hearts 
 Give heed unto compassion's pleading voice, 
 
 And strive by kindness and by various arts, 
 To lighten all their trials, and rejoice 
 When they obey you, not from fear, but choice. 
 
 Yours to command it is, and to forgive ; 
 Theirs are the ills of life without the joys : 
 
 The storms, without the golden clouds that 
 weave 
 
 The slender threads of hope through all our 
 hours of grief. 
 
 Oh ye, who on the bosom of fixed earth. 
 Beneath the ancestral shelter safely rest. 
 
 And nightly gather round the cheerful hearth 
 In happy concord, and the enjoyment blest 
 
ON THE WAVE. I03 
 
 Of wants supplied, mild mirth and health 
 possest, 
 Heedless of winter, while without in vain 
 It moans, like the lone spirit of unrest, 
 Or drives the whirling snow and sleety rain 
 Inconstant on the roof and 'gainst the rattling 
 pane, 
 
 Grudge not the thoughts that sympathetic lead 
 The mind from present joys to contemplate 
 
 The unenvied toil, the experience hard indeed, 
 Of those who on the deep, the insatiate 
 Of life, pursue the arduous path of fate: 
 
 Nor let the charitable light be seen no more, 
 When the shipwrecked of sea or land await 
 
 Kind refuge from the tempest at your door, 
 
 And of their sad distress alleviance mild implore. 
 
 On such reflections, such alleviance due 
 To the unfortunate, a just reward 
 
 Attendant follows in the enlarged view 
 Of human failings, and the bond restored 
 Of mutual interest and affection broad ; 
 
 And that mild spirit by which the human breast, 
 
I04 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 In sympathy with other hearts is thawed : 
 Chief barrier to discord, and the zest 
 Of every good of those whose portion here is 
 blest. 
 
 Sad is the seaman's life when the winds sweep, 
 Cold from the shores where Arctic snow ex- 
 tends : 
 When the Spirit of Storms roams on the rest- 
 less deep. 
 And darkness terrible in clouds descends. 
 Sad when the icy breath of winter blends 
 Its dreadful horrors with the sleety storm, 
 
 And from the grasp the encasing frost defends 
 Each part, and the drenched garments that 
 
 should warm, 
 Are stiffened and congealed around the shiver- 
 ing form. 
 
 How dreadful, then, to mount the icy ropes 
 Amid the fearful darkness of the night ! 
 
 To feel all effort vain, yet know the hopes 
 Of all dependent on his single might : 
 Aloft to grope about with useless sight, 
 
ON THE WAVE. I05 
 
 And limbs benumbed, scarce clinging to the 
 
 mast, 
 
 In dread expectance, from the dizzy hight, 
 
 Each moment to be whirled by the fierce blast, 
 
 Or from the swaying spars, headlong in ocean 
 
 cast. 
 
 Oh ye who plow the deep through polar seas. 
 Where Winter sits enthroned on hills of ice, 
 
 That slowly rise, by annual increase, 
 
 Into vast mountains glittering to the skies. 
 What time the retiring sun neglects to rise 
 
 Above the Arctic world and frigid night. 
 
 Consummate gloom, the night septentrion lies 
 
 In vague, appalling silence, and the sight 
 
 Starts in amaze at the strancre Alis' lurid light, 
 
 Ye who, inured to danger and to toil, 
 
 Through the vast fields of drifting ice ascend 
 
 Far to the north for the balcenial oil, 
 
 Or where Spitzbergen's frozen shores extend 
 In desolate solitude, for the same end, 
 
 The unwieldy walrus on the ice pursue. 
 
I06 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Amphibious monster, in whose structure 
 blend 
 The forms diverse, incongruous to the view, 
 Of quadruped and fish met in conjunction true. 
 
 What toils, what dangers round your pathway- 
 rise ? 
 
 And ye, who follow the more hazardous role, 
 Of those who embark in perilous emprise 
 
 To seek the engulfing vortex of the pole : 
 
 Led by adventurous love or the control 
 Of vanity to be known ; or yet more vain. 
 
 By curiosity incited sole. 
 Like dazzled moths, which powerless to refrain. 
 Whirl round the warning light and court a death 
 of pain. 
 
 What hardships — hardships, if the term applies 
 To sufferings such as yours — beset your path ? 
 
 Ye who with Franklin toiled through storms 
 and ice. 
 To sacrifice your lives unto the wrath 
 Of cruel Winter, and to hideous Death : 
 
 Led by a nobler aim, to unclose the doors 
 
ON THE WAVE. 10/ 
 
 Of Eastern darkness to the light of Faith, 
 And turn through Commerce's stream the 
 
 golden course 
 Of India's hoarded wealth to European shores. 
 
 To dreadful Winter, hideous Death consigned — • 
 Their bleaching skeletons on Arctic coast, 
 
 Left naked by the shrill, tempestuous wind. 
 Make known the sad adventures of the lost, 
 In more expressive terms than tongues can 
 boast : 
 
 More eloquently sad than words could flow ; 
 By hunger, by fatigue, disease, or frost 
 
 O'ercome, they sank in the untrodden snow ; 
 
 How, when, or where, we may conjecture, never 
 know. 
 
 Nor be forgot their names who earlier sought 
 The path to India through the icy sea : 
 
 Who, scarcely less unfortunate, were brought 
 Oft to endure unto the last degree, 
 Every excruciating form of misery. 
 
 Through dark successive years amid the ice. 
 Shut by precipitate Winter — scarce set free, 
 
I08 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Ere yet again closed in its giant vise, 
 Which their retreat alike and their advance 
 defies. 
 
 Fain would my Muse, Barentz, recall the tale 
 
 Of thy disasters, and in verse relate. 
 Which neither pride nor envy should assail, 
 
 Nor time oblivious, yield to common fate; 
 
 But fame, immortal fame perpetuate. 
 If perseverance in a noble aim. 
 
 If courage can deserve the name of Great, 
 Thine to the honour were a juster claim 
 Than half of theirs on whom mankind bestow 
 the name. 
 
 What multifarious risks beset the path 
 
 Of the lone toilers of the faithless sea ! 
 On them alone Heaven seems to pour its wrath, 
 
 As though regardless of humanity. 
 
 Sport of the wind and waves, perpetually 
 At variance with each other and with man. 
 
 To combat nature seems their destiny : 
 So various are the ills that fill their span, 
 Life seems but born to end in storms as it began. 
 
ON THE WAVE. IO9 
 
 Strange sights are theirs to behold and contests 
 fierce, 
 Of dread sea monsters, which along their 
 course, 
 Lurk, ravenous to devour whate'er appears 
 Upon the waters, and with giant force, 
 Oft on each other, blinded to remorse. 
 Rush in their disappointed wrath, until 
 
 Receding Ocean bellows round its shores, 
 And the red streams their gaping wounds distill, 
 The whole adjacent flood with sanguine horror 
 fill. 
 
 The insatiate sharks scent the unhappy wretch, 
 Whom slow disease dooms to a watery grave; 
 And with instinctive light, from stretch to 
 stretch, 
 Follow the tacking ship along the wave. 
 Expectant, till the bloated corpse they crave, 
 Is passed into the bosom of the deep : 
 
 Launched forth — but scarce the oblivious 
 waters lave, 
 The hapless clay entrusted to their keep, 
 Than through the waves to devour, the cruel 
 monsters leap. 
 
no ON THE WAVE. 
 
 Nor wait less ravenous they, with gnashing 
 teeth 
 To rend the living, whom mishap hurls 
 prone 
 From high aloft into the deep beneath ; 
 Or whom the ardour of the burning zone, 
 Through Indian seas, unhaply, tempts alone 
 To explore, in the refreshing bath, the myste- 
 rious gloom 
 Of the deep waters, silent and unknown : 
 Whose clearness leads on safety to presume, 
 And the unhappy wretch, lures to his dreadful 
 doom. 
 
 Fallacious depths ! unwary confidence ! 
 
 Mark how the flood, late peaceful and so fair, 
 Now tempest tost, forth from its womb immense, 
 
 Belches its monsters as it were in air. 
 
 Prolific depths I prolific in all rare. 
 Strange forms of death and danger ; scarce can 
 find 
 
 Its denizens refuge whither to repair. 
 Within its vastness from pursuit unkind. 
 Of foes that roam its waves and haunt its cav- 
 erns blind. 
 
ON THE WAVE. Ill 
 
 Dim lurking in the ocean's weedy caves, 
 
 The unsightly cuttle-fish its breadth extends; 
 
 Until the savage wanderer of the waves, 
 Or the less hostile whale, unwary, wends 
 Within its giant grasp, when straight ascends 
 
 Each slimy arm, in hideous gesture rolled : 
 Contractile limbs, that by a thousand ends, 
 
 The enormous mass grasp with adhesive hold. 
 
 And slowly crush to death within their dreadful 
 fold. 
 
 Not kinder oft, the seaman's fate — 'tis said. 
 By those who seek the whale through Arctic 
 seas, 
 
 And the vast fields of drifting ice invade, 
 
 And brave the extremes of cold and of disease, 
 That oft the many-handed monsters seize, 
 
 The lofty masts and cordage of the ship : 
 The slimy arms ascending by degrees, 
 
 On every part, fix their adhesive grip, 
 
 And threaten to o'erturn or sink her in the deep. 
 
 Nor the sole terror of the waters this: 
 
 An equal fame the Pithon's ancient boast : 
 
112 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 The mighty, monster serpent of the abyss, 
 Still seen, at times, on Norway's boisterous 
 
 coast. 
 Man's dread, the tyrant of the watery host : 
 Tremendous coil, that spans the billows there. 
 With neck high arched, in glittering scales 
 embossed ; 
 Its orbs far gleaming with unearthly glare, 
 And the Satanic hiss launched from its tongue 
 i-n air. 
 
 Type of the primitive races which appeared. 
 
 When first earth from chaotic darkness 
 brought. 
 Assumed proportion and became ensphered 
 
 In light and harmony of heavenly thought. 
 
 Then earth, in its excess of ardour, caught 
 From force centripetal, upon its face. 
 
 To monsters only yielded mete support. 
 And to the gigantic verdure that gave place 
 To the less massive growth, at length, of later 
 days. 
 
 Man then existed only in idea ; 
 
 While through the lapse of ages earth became 
 
ON THE WAVE. II3 
 
 Solidified in form, fixed in career, 
 
 And purified by Heaven with flood and flame 
 For his reception, until void of blame. 
 Held in coelestial judgment — wisely even — 
 Then through the world, went forth the won- 
 drous fame, 
 Of a new race upon the earth arriven ; 
 Lord of creation styled, by the command of 
 Heaven. 
 
 Meanwhile on earth huge saurians held the seas 
 
 In dread subjection, while upon the shores, 
 The mighty mastodon uprooted trees 
 
 And heaved the mountains with his giant force: 
 Earth belched her fires, floods with tremen- 
 dous course, 
 Bore down the hills and leveled with the plains ; 
 The deep with vast convulsion bellowed 
 hoarse, 
 Heaven deluged all earth with terrific rains ; 
 Thus through contentious strife, her power nat- 
 ure maintains. 
 
 'Twas then the Pithon, mightiest of the deep, 
 Degenerate since in fierceness and in size, 
 8 
 
114 <^N THE WAVE. 
 
 Scaled the vast billows with tremendous leap, 
 Bright as the lightning streaming through the 
 
 skies — ■ 
 All Hell reflected in its glaring eyes : 
 Or far extended on the silent flood, 
 
 Shot back the sunbeams in a thousand dies : 
 Enormous length, unmeasured magnitude — 
 Its fangs and horrid jaws red dyed in dripping 
 blood. 
 
 Less startled from the clouds the seamen mark 
 The mysterious spout descending through the 
 air 
 
 To meet the column from the waters dark ; 
 Then with contorted outline seen to repair, 
 Uncertain o'er the waste ; now here, now there ; 
 
 Now silent seeming to uphold the skies — 
 
 Then, swifter than terrestrial winds may bear, 
 
 Obedient to the cloud that gave it rise. 
 
 Along the foaming deep, like some vast serpent 
 flies. 
 
 Woe to the ship whose lot it is to wend 
 
 Within its pathway — death and ruin wait, 
 In overwhelming horror to descend 
 
ON THE WAVE. II5 
 
 Upon them, powerless to avoid the fate, 
 Should the discharge of firearms or less great 
 Concussion of some swift-descending force, 
 Aimed from aloft upon the deck, too late, 
 Fail to arrest it in its headlong course, 
 And parting in the deep, sink 'mid the billows 
 hoarse. 
 
 Who has not heard of Scylla, famed of old ? 
 
 Whose Syrens, dim amid the twilight gloom 
 Of Cyclopean rocks, sang, as is told. 
 
 To entice the unwary mariner to his doom. 
 
 Who of the Maalstrom not ! voracious womb 
 Of Ocean, thirsting ever to devour : 
 
 Far o'er the deep, the seaman hears it boom, 
 And shudders at their fate, whom night's dread 
 
 hour, 
 Or tempest, or mishap, have left within its power. 
 
 Caught by the whirling current, round and round, 
 In ever-narrowing course, the ship is sent ; 
 
 Each time still closer to the vortex wound. 
 Till, with a sudden lurch and headlong bent, 
 She plunges in the whirlpool's dreadful vent 
 
Il6 ON THE WAVE. 
 
 That hurls her downward to the lowest bound 
 
 Of Ocean, in a thousand fragments rent : 
 Amid promiscuous monsters whirled around, 
 Whose bellowing mounts to heaven and wakes 
 the depths profound. 
 
 Disgorged by the waters to the day, 
 Remote, the debris rises to warn those, 
 
 Whose dangerous avocation leads that way. 
 Such are the perils seamen have to oppose : 
 Such terrors ocean's unknown depths disclose : 
 
 But e'en these vanish before the kindled wrath 
 Of Heaven, who wakes the billow's giant 
 throes. 
 
 And mingles air and ocean with its breath 
 
 In wild tumultuous strife, and wreck and hid- 
 eous death. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! hear how the raging storm. 
 In unabated fury thunders round : 
 
 How now it darkens as the clouds re-form. 
 And dawn's dim, struggling light in night is 
 
 drowned : 
 Yon waves advancing with resistless bound, 
 
ON THE WAVE. 11/ 
 
 Our sure destruction quickly must fulfill, 
 
 If Heaven uplift us not from the profound: 
 Omniscient Heaven, omnipotent of will. 
 Whose word can raise the storm, whose fiat bid 
 be still. 
 
 Tired nature sinks submissive to Its fate. 
 
 And sleep oppressive on the lids descends : 
 Not dangers self can rouse us from the weight. 
 
 Though duty urge, though death itself im- 
 pends. 
 
 Haste, haste, propitious day; Day who be- 
 friends 
 The rest denied toilers of the sea : 
 
 That to the fainting heart new courage lends, 
 New faith to trust the dark uncertainty 
 Of all-involving doubt, the obscure of destiny. 
 
The versitication of Ossian here given, was written in 
 1862 or 1863; under the impression, that many persons 
 who have found the remoteness and obscurity of the origi- 
 nal text, a barrier to their just appreciation of that great 
 poet, might, perhaps, under the simple dress of a measured 
 versification, be brought to a closer acquaintance and 
 study of his works. In the accentuation of the names, I have 
 followed that course which was most consonant with har- 
 mony and the rules of our language. 
 
 (119) 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Cathulin sat by Tura's windy wall, 
 
 When Autumn leaves were rustling in their fall : 
 
 His spear leaned on a rock, in bright display, 
 
 His shield upon the grass beside him lay. 
 
 Of Carbar were his thoughts, whom on the plain, 
 
 His arm had numbered with the mighty slain, 
 
 When ocean's scout, with trembling accents 
 
 came, 
 The son of Fithil, Moran known to fame. 
 
 Arise, Cathulin, said the youth, arise : 
 The northern ships lay dark before mine eyes, 
 And many a hero mingles with the force 
 That follows in the sea-born Swaran's course. 
 
 Moran, the bluc-cyed chief, replied severe, 
 Thou art ever trembling with unmanly fear; 
 Thy terror magnifies the approaching foe. 
 And prompts you to relate more than you know. 
 
 (121) 
 
122 FIPST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 The ships are those of Fingal, he who reigns 
 O'er Caledonia's desert hills and plains : 
 In Erin's aid, the King is hither bound : 
 Erin for streams and verdant fields renowned. 
 Thus spoke the hero, Moran thus replies ; 
 I saw their chief himself superior rise : 
 Tall as a glittering rock, the spear he held, 
 A blasted pine, the rising moon his shield. 
 Upon the shore he sat, composed and still 
 As a white mist upon the silent hill. 
 Great chief, distinguished among men, I said, 
 Strong is the force combined in Erin's aid : 
 Fame justly thee, the Mighty Swaran calls ; 
 But many valiant men are seen from Tura's walls. 
 Thus I ; and thus, the monarcli answered, grave, 
 As some high rock resounding to the wave : 
 
 Who in this isle may be compared with me ? 
 Feared on the land, renowned upon the sea: 
 Not even heroes in my presence stand ; 
 They fall to earth before my conquering hand. 
 Who but great Fingal, stormy Selma's lord, 
 In single combat dares to match my sword ! 
 In wrestling contest, once our strength we tried, 
 In years long past, on Malmor's woody side : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 1 23 
 
 The trees, uprooted, to our feet gave way ; 
 The rocks were moved in all their mosses grey, 
 And streams disturbed, fled murmuring from 
 
 our side, 
 Dam'd in their courses and with altered tide. 
 Three days the equal contest was renewed. 
 And heroes, trembling, at a distance stood : 
 The fourth beheld the King of Ocean low : 
 So Fingal says, but Swaran says not so. 
 Let dark Cathulin yield to his command. 
 Whose arm is like the storms that rule his land. 
 " No,^' spoke the blue-eyed chief, '' let it not 
 
 be said. 
 That I from any mortal ever fled : 
 The dark Cathulin shall be great or dead. 
 Go, son of Fithil, take my beamy spear 
 And strike the shield of Semo sounding clear: 
 High at old Tura's rustling gate it swings ; 
 The voice of peace, is not the note it rings : 
 My chiefs shall hear its echoes with delight. 
 And clothe themselves in armour for the fight." 
 He went and struck the bossy shield, the 
 
 sound. 
 The hills and rocks reverberate around : 
 
124 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Along the wood the dismal clangor spread ; 
 The startled deer by woodland waters fled : 
 From the high rock impetuous Curach bends, 
 And Connel of the bloody spear attends: 
 Fair Crugal's breast with generous ardour burns, 
 And from the chase the son of Favi turns. 
 *' I hear the shield of battle," Ronar cried ; 
 And Lugar, '' 'Tis Cathulin's spear," replied: 
 Son of the sea, thy shining arms assume ; 
 In all thy sounding steel brave Calma come : 
 Thou, Puno, dreadful man in war arise : 
 Bring to our aid thy valour and advice. 
 From Cromla's reddening woods let Cairbar 
 
 wend, 
 And thou, oh Eth, from Lena's streams descend : 
 Nor thou, Caolt, delay to stretch thy side, 
 As over Moran's whistling heath you glide: 
 Thy side, whose whiteness rivals Ocean's foam^ 
 When on Cuthon's high rocks its windy billows 
 
 boom. 
 . Now I behold the chiefs in all the pride 
 Of former acts of valour round me stride. 
 Their souls ambitious of the hero's praise, 
 Are kindled at the deeds of other days. 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I25 
 
 Like fiery balls their eyes conspicuous glow, 
 Red rolling to behold the hated foe : 
 Unto the sword the hand unconscious glides, 
 And lightning beams from all their steel-clad 
 
 sides. 
 They come, as streams down from the moun- 
 tains flow, 
 Each rushing, roaring from its hill of snow. 
 Bright in ancestral arms the chiefs appear ; 
 Their heroes, dark and gloomy, follow near, 
 As clouds that roll tempestuous on the sky, 
 When the red meteors before them fly. 
 The sound of clashing arms mounts from the 
 
 plain ; 
 The grey dogs howl between in mournful strain : 
 Unequal bursts the song of battle round, 
 And rocking Cromla echoes every sound. 
 On Lena's dusky heath they stand arrayed. 
 Like mist that wreathes the Autumn hill in 
 
 shade. 
 When broken and obscure, it pauses high, 
 And lifts its curling summit to the sky. 
 ** Hail," said Cathulin, " sons of the narrow vale, 
 Who chase the flying deer through Inisfail ! 
 
126 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Another sport draws near, a mighty host, 
 Dark as the wave that rolls on yonder coast : 
 Ye sons of war, shall we in battle join, 
 Or shall we yield green Erin to Lochlin ? 
 Oh, Connel, speak, thou first of mortal men ; 
 To shields destructive on the battle plain ; 
 Oft hast thou met the heroes of Lochlin : 
 In arms paternal wilt thou shine again ? " 
 *' Cathulin," the chief replied with breast serene, 
 ** The ancestral spear of Connel still is keen ; 
 'Tis its delight to shine upon the plain. 
 And mingle with the blood of thousands slain. 
 But though my hand for battle gives assent, 
 My heart, for Erin's sake, on peace is bent. 
 Behold thou first, in youthful Cormac's war, 
 The sable ships of Swaran on our shore. 
 Along our coast their masts a forest make, 
 Thick as the reeds that wave on Lego's lake : 
 Their snowy sails spread to the winds on high. 
 Seem like some mist-clothed forest to the eye. 
 Whose trees successive bend as squally winds 
 
 move by. 
 Unnumbered are the heroes of Lochlin : 
 The hopes of Connel yet to peace incline. 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 12/ 
 
 Fingal himself, the first of mortal men, 
 
 To Swaran's conquering arm would leave the 
 
 plain : 
 Fingal, whose hand, before it scatters death, 
 As stormy winds disperse the withered heath, 
 When echoing Cona roars through all her rills, 
 And with her clouds, night settles on the hills." 
 
 Thus Connel, brave in war, in counsel first : 
 And thus, the scornful speech of Calmar burst : 
 " Fly to thy silent hills, thou man of peace. 
 Where rusts the sword in ignominious ease : 
 On Cromla's side chase thou the dark brown 
 
 deer. 
 And stop the roes of Lena with thy spear. 
 But, blue-eyed son of Semo, you who hold 
 The chief command of Erin's warriors bold. 
 Let Scandinavia's sons be put to flight : 
 Roar through their ranks of pride in all thy 
 
 might : 
 Let no ship from Lochlin's snow-covered shore, 
 Bound on the dark blue waves of Inistore. 
 Dark winds of Erin, in your strength arise : 
 Ye whirling winds of Lara, roar through the 
 
 skies : 
 
128 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 In the tempestuous clouds let Calmar then 
 Be torn in -pieces, by the ghosts of men, 
 If ever chase afforded such delight 
 As on the field to mingle in the fight." 
 
 " Calmar," the Prince of Tongoram slowly said, 
 '* Young son of Matha, Connel never fled : 
 Swift with my friends I followed to the field ; 
 But small the fame that beams upon my shield. 
 In Connel's presence was the battle gained : 
 The valiant conquered where my arm sustained. 
 But son of Semo, hear my voice ; regard 
 The ancient throne of Cormac, now thy ward. 
 Let wealth and half the land itself be lost 
 For peace, till Fingal comes upon our coast. 
 Yet if for war, Cathulin, be thy voice. 
 War and the gleam of arms shall be my 
 
 choice : 
 My joy shall be where mingled thousands fight ; 
 My soul amid the gloom of war grow bright." 
 
 ' To me," replied Cathulin, " the sound of arms, 
 In the red clash of thousands has its charms : 
 As when in Spring the thunder rolls through 
 
 heaven. 
 And the light sunny showers behind are driven. 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL, 1 29 
 
 Assemble now the shining- tribes of war, 
 And here conduct, that I may view them o'er: 
 Along the heath in order let them form. 
 Bright as the sunshine that precedes a storm, 
 When the west wind collects the scattered 
 
 clouds, 
 And Morven echoes over all her woods. 
 But where are ye, my friends, ye who sustain 
 My arm amid the dangers of the plain? 
 Thou generous Cathba, dost thou come no more ? 
 And thou, Duchomar, dreadful cloud in war ; 
 And where art thou, oh Furgus, hast thou fled, 
 When the dark storm is gathering o'er my head? 
 Thou son of Rosa, of our feasts the life, 
 And dreadful arm of death in battle strife : 
 Down from thy echoing hills why dost thou glide, 
 Like some scared roe from Malmor's woody side? 
 Son of distinguished Rossa, hail ! what shade 
 Saddens the soul of war," Cathulin said. 
 
 '' Four stones," replied the chief, " rise on the 
 
 grave 
 Of Torman's youthful son, Cathba the brave. 
 These hands have laid in earth Duchomar's form :; 
 That dreadful cloud amid the battle's storm. 
 9 
 
I30 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Oh Cathba, thou wert like a wandering beam, 
 When the sun looks on Erin's glancing stream : 
 And thou, Duchomar, valiant son of war, 
 Wert like a mist from Lena's marshy shore, 
 That moves in Autumn silent o'er the land, 
 While thousands fall before its unseen hand. 
 Morna, thou fairest of the maids that shone. 
 Calm is thy slumber in the hollow stone. 
 In darkness hast thou fallen, like some bright 
 
 star 
 That shoots across the desert, swift and far ; 
 When lone and tired the traveller winds his way. 
 And sees with sorrow the departing ray." 
 *' Relate," said Semo's blue-eyed son, ''relate 
 When, in what way, the heroes met their fate. 
 Fell they before the warriors of Lochlin, 
 Bravely contending on the battle plain ? 
 Or who, unto the dark and narrow tomb, 
 Has sent the strong in arms to meet their 
 
 doom?" 
 " Cathba," the chief replied, " beneath the beam 
 Of dark Duchomar fell by Brano's stream : 
 To Tura's rocky cave Duchomar came. 
 And thus to lovely Morna breathed his flame : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 13I 
 
 Oh Morna, fairest of the maids of earth, 
 Thou who from strong-armed Cormac drew thy 
 
 birth, 
 Why here within these walls of circling stone ? 
 What brings thee, Morna, to the cave alone ? 
 The stream, loud murmuring, rolls along its 
 
 course, 
 The aged oak groans in the tempest's force. 
 Rough lies the troubled lake beneath thine eye, 
 And darkly drift the clouds along the sky : 
 But thou art like the snow upon the heath; 
 Thy hair the mists that round high Cromla 
 
 wreathe, 
 When from the west, the sun's departing beam, 
 Gives to those curling mists a golden gleam. 
 Like two smooth rocks, thy snowy breasts appear, 
 Which near fair Brano's stream their summits 
 
 rear: 
 Thine arms seem two white columns to mine 
 
 eyes. 
 Like those that in Great Fingal's halls arise. 
 *' From whence," the fair-haired maid replied 
 
 with pain, 
 ** Whence art thou come ! oh, gloomiest of men ? 
 
132 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Dark are thy brows, and terrible thine eye ; 
 Red as the star of the Autumnal sky : 
 Comes sea-born Swaran from the land of snow ? 
 Duchomar, say what knowest thou of the foe ? " 
 
 '^ Oh, Morna, from the hill Duchomar comes, 
 From echoing Cromla, where the red deer roams ; 
 Three of my flying arrows felt the pain : 
 Three with my bounding hunters have I slain. 
 Lovely thine eyes, oh daughter of Cormac, roll 1 
 To me thou art dearer, Morna, than my soul : 
 This day, for thee, I pierced a stately hind ; 
 High were his antlers, fleet his feet of wind." 
 
 *^ Duchomar," calmly thus the maid began, 
 " I love thee not, thou cold and gloomy man ; 
 Hard is thy heart of stone, unmoved by tears, 
 And dark and terrible thy brow appears. 
 But son of Torman, it is thou for whom 
 I pine, thou sunbeam in the day of gloom. 
 The daughter of Cormac waits for Cathba here : 
 Sawest thou the youth on his hills pursue the 
 deer?" 
 
 *' Long shall fair Morna wait," Duchomar 
 said, 
 ** And many a day, e'er his return, be fled : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 1 33 
 
 Behold this blade unsheathed, here view the 
 
 fate 
 Of him for whom in vain shall Morna wait. 
 He fell where Brano rolls its stream in foam : 
 On Cromla I will raise his stately tomb. 
 Thou of blue-shielded Cormac, turn thy face, 
 Fair Morna, turn to meet thy lover's gaze ; 
 Let thy bright eyes rest on Duchomar's form, 
 Whose arm is mighty as the bursting storm." 
 
 "And is the son of Torman fallen," the maid, 
 With wildly bursting voice of anguish, said 1 
 " Upon his echoing hills, lies Cathba low, 
 Whose generous soul dwelt purer than the snow ; 
 First in the chase to stop the bounding roes. 
 And first the sons of Ocean to oppose ? 
 Oh, thou art dark to- me, thou dreadful chief; 
 Thy cruel arm has filled my soul with grief; 
 Give me that sword, thou man, thou foe severe; 
 To Morna, Cathba's wandering blood is dear.'* 
 
 He yielded to the tearful maid's request : 
 She took, and with the weapon, pierced his 
 
 breast. 
 Upon the rocky floor, the hero sank ; 
 As falls some torrent's undermined bank; 
 
134 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 And thus, with outstretched hand, the maid 
 
 addressed : 
 *^ Oh, Morna, thou in youth hast pierced my 
 
 breast. 
 Cold is the steel — death binds me in his chains — 
 Oh, give to loving Moina my remains : 
 The mild, the gentle Moina ; her light 
 Duchomar was by day, hei dream by night. 
 She on my native hills, my tomb will raise ; 
 My name live in the hunter's song of praise. 
 But take, oh, take the weapon from my breast ! 
 Cold is the steel that sends me to my rest." 
 
 She came, in all her tears she came, and drew 
 The sword that laid the ghastly wound to view. 
 He pierced the maid, her locks spread o'er the 
 
 ground ; 
 The blood flowed from her side with oozing 
 
 sound ; 
 Her snowy arms, the sanguine current dies: 
 Rolling in death she lay, the cave repeats her 
 
 sighs." 
 *' Peace," said Cathulin, " to the heroes' souls : 
 Great were their deeds — when battle round me 
 
 rolls, 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 1 35 
 
 Let them above me move upon the clouds 
 And show their warUke features from their 
 
 shrouds. 
 Then shall new strength unto my soul be 
 
 given, 
 My arm sweep like the thunderbolt of heaven. 
 But thou, oh Morna, on a moonbeam come 
 And dwell around the window of my home, 
 When peaceful thoughts, again my bosom sway 
 And the loud din of arms has past away. 
 
 Now let the strength of Erin's tribes of war, 
 Advance to battle on the field before: 
 Your valiant ranks my rolling car sustain, 
 Rejoicing in its noise along the plain. 
 Let three bright spears be placed close to my 
 
 side, 
 Then follow where my bounding coursers glide, 
 That so my soul, strong in its friends may feel, 
 When battle darkens round my shining steel." 
 As the white, foaming torrent, down the side 
 Of shadowy Cromla rolls its swollen tide. 
 When loud through heaven the jarring thunders 
 
 peal 
 And dark brown night, sits upon half the hill, 
 
136 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Where the breached storm reveals the sky serene, 
 The shadowy features of the dead are seen : 
 So fierce, so vast, and terrible to view, 
 The sons of Erin to the battle drew. 
 Like the leviathan of ocean, whom, 
 His billows follow, lashed to perfect foam. 
 So does their chief, a stream of valour pour, 
 As in his might, he rolls along the shore. 
 
 The Scandinavians heard the approaching 
 
 sound, 
 As when a wintry tempest rises round. 
 Their chief arose and struck his bossy shield, 
 Then called the son of Arno from the field. 
 ** What murmur rolls along the hills," he said, 
 " Like sound of flies that rise with evening's 
 
 shade ! 
 Or Erin's sons descend in warlike mood ; 
 Or rustling winds roar through the distant wood. 
 Such sounds from Gormal fall upon the ear, 
 Ere the white summits of my waves appear : 
 Go, son of Arno, from the hills survey 
 The dark face of the heath along yon way.'* 
 
 He went, but soon returned with rapid stride: 
 Wild were his eyes, in terror rolling wide : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 1 3/ 
 
 Against his side, his heart convulsive beat. 
 His speech was faltering, slow, and incomplete. 
 " Rise, son of ocean, chief of dark brown shields, 
 The tide of battle rolls along the fields : 
 I see the moving strength of Erin's war ; 
 The sounding car of battle rolls before : 
 The rapid car of Semo's son of fame. 
 That moves along like a devouring flame. 
 As a white wave, ere yet its course is spent 
 Against the rocks, the car behind is bent : 
 Or like the mist, that settles on the heath, 
 When the bright sunbeams with the vapour 
 
 wreathe. 
 Its sides with gems adorned, sparkled bright, 
 As the still sea around the boat at night ; 
 Of polished yew, its beam resplendent shone : 
 Its seat is builded of the smoothest bone : 
 Of spears, its sides contain an ample store, 
 And none but heroes stand upon its floor. 
 Before the right side of the car is seen, 
 The neighing horse, with high and bushy mane: 
 The strong steed of the hills ; his chest i^ 
 
 broad, 
 His stride enormous and his carriage proud ; 
 
138 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 His hoofs resound, his mane spreads out above, 
 
 As smoke along the rocks is seen to move ; 
 
 His polished flanks bright in the sunlight flame — 
 
 Sulinsifada is the courser's name. 
 
 Before the left of the revolving wheels, 
 
 The snorting steed, the swift son of the hills, 
 
 With head erect and thinly flowing mane, 
 
 And hoof of strength, bounds o'er the trem- 
 bling plain. 
 
 The name Dusronal, the swift courser bore, 
 
 Among the stormy sons of Erin's war. 
 
 A thousand thongs, the car above confine; 
 
 In wreaths of foam their bits resplendent shine ; 
 
 Thin thongs adorned with gems, with graceful 
 bend, 
 
 Along the coursers' stately necks descend ; 
 
 The steeds that sweep along the streamy vale 
 
 As mists that fly before the Autumn gale. 
 
 Wild as the deer, they rush along their way : 
 
 Strong as the eagle darting on its prey. 
 
 Their sound is like the wintry blast that 
 sweeps 
 
 Along the snow-crowned Gormal's wooded 
 steeps. 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 1 39 
 
 High standing in the bright revolving car, 
 The chief appears, the strong-armed son of war : 
 The blue-eyed, dark Cathulin, known to fame : 
 From Semo, King of Shells, the hero came. 
 His glowing cheek is like my polished yew ; 
 His eye wide rolling in its depth of blue. 
 Beneath the dark arch of his brow — his hair 
 Flies from his head, like flame upon the air. 
 As bending forward in his rapid course, 
 He wields the spear with more than mortal force. 
 Fly, King of Ocean — I'ike a resistless gale, 
 The hero moves along the streamy vale." 
 "When did I fly ? " the incensed monarch said ; 
 " When from the strife of spears has Swaran fled ? 
 Or when, through fear, deprived of self-control. 
 From danger shrank, chief of the little soul ? 
 I met the storms of Gormal, 'mid the boom 
 Of all my raving billows white with foam : 
 I met the tempest raging through the sky ; 
 Shall Swaran from a mortal hero fly ? 
 If Fingal's self should rise before me here. 
 The soul of Swaran should not yield to fear. 
 Arise, my thousands, on the battle plain — 
 Pour round me like the deep, resounding main : 
 
I40 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Around the bright steel of your monarch stand, 
 Firm as the rock-bound mountains of my land 
 That meet with joy the storms around them 
 
 driven, 
 And stretch their dark pines to the winds of 
 
 heaven." 
 As from two echoing hills Autumnal storms 
 Roll adverse forth, approached the heroes* 
 
 forms ; 
 As from the rocks, two torrents swollen by rain, 
 Meet, mix, and roar headlong upon the plain, 
 So loud, so rough and dark in battle join. 
 The ranks of Inisfail and of Lochlin. 
 
 Chief mingles blow^s with chief, and man with 
 
 man : 
 Steel rings on steel, and helms are cleft in 
 
 twain ; 
 Blood bursts and smokes on the ensanguined 
 
 ground : 
 Loud on the bended bows the strings resound ; 
 Darts rush through air, spears fall like arcs of 
 
 light 
 That move through heaven, and gild the face 
 
 of night. 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I41 
 
 As the loud roar of ocean when it heaves 
 To the storm-breathing clouds its troubled waves; 
 As the last peal of thunder rolls on high, 
 So mounts the sound of battle to the sky. 
 
 Though Cormac's hundred bards in epic strain, 
 Had sung the mighty valour of that plain, 
 To future times, their voice had failed to relate 
 The names of all who there encountered fate : 
 For many a hero pressed the ensanguined ground, 
 And of the brave the blood poured wide around. 
 
 Ye sons of song, mourn in elegiac strain 
 The fate of brave Sithallen, early slain. 
 Let the fair maid, the chaste Fiona's sighs. 
 On the lone plains of her loved Arden rise. 
 As in the desert fall two stately roes, 
 So fell the chiefs by Swaran's mighty blows. 
 When 'mid the thousands of his ocean horde. 
 Like the shrill spirit of a storm he roared, 
 Which dim upon the northern clouds doth come, 
 Rejoicing in the mariner's sad doom. 
 Nor slept thy sword ignobly by thy side, 
 Chief of the isle, where the blue mists preside: 
 For many a hero vanquished by thy hand, 
 Cathulin, son of Semo, pressed the land. 
 
142 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 His svv'ord smote like the sunbeam which assails, 
 With pestilential heat, the silent vales, 
 When man is blasted by the baleful beam, 
 And all the hills lay parching in the flame. 
 
 On fallen chiefs Dusronal snorting strode : 
 Sifada bathed his sounding hoofs in blood : 
 The battle lay behind them smoking wide, 
 As groves o'erturned on Cromla's desert side, 
 When o'er the heath, the tempest in its might, 
 Has wandered, laden with the ghosts of night. 
 
 Let thy grief rise, oh, maid of Inistore, 
 Upon the windy rocks that gird thy shore : 
 Bend o'er the waves thy head while grief 
 
 distills. 
 Thou, lovelier than the spirit of the hills. 
 When in a golden beam of light it moves 
 At midday over Morven's silent groves. 
 Pale on the battle-field thy youth is laid : 
 He fell, pierced by the dark Cathulin's blade. 
 No more shall valour and the love of praise. 
 To match the blood of kings, thy hero raise : 
 The graceful Trenmore, ended there his days. 
 Oh, maid of Inistore — his dogs at home. 
 Howl as they see their master's spirit come : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I43 
 
 His bow Is in the hall unstrung — no sound 
 Of chase is heard upon the hills around. 
 
 As roll a thousand headlong waves upon 
 The rock-bound coast, so Swaran's host came on : 
 As meet the rocks a thousand billows so, 
 The ranks of Erin met the approaching foe. 
 Death mounts in all his voices from the field 
 And mingles with the sound of sword and shield. 
 Like two dim, distant columns, the heroes stand ; 
 Each with a brand bright flashing in his hand. 
 From wing to wing, the field re-echoes round, 
 As when a hundred v/ielded sledges pound 
 On the red anvil's face — but who are they, 
 Which there on Lena's heath dispute the day ? 
 Dark and obscure, like two black clouds they 
 
 seem : 
 Their swords flash like the lightning's sudden 
 
 gleam : 
 The little hills to their foundations quake : 
 Enduring rocks in their grey mosses shake. 
 None thus, but sea-born Swaran, king of storms, 
 And Erin's car-born chief dispute in arms. 
 With anxious eyes and with suspended breath, 
 Their friends behold them dimly on the heath ; 
 
144 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 But night upon the heroes now descends 
 
 In all her clouds, and the dread content ends. 
 
 On Cromla's shaggy side, the nightly feast, 
 Dorglas prepared, when now the strife had ceased: 
 The slaughtered deer, the fortune of the bow. 
 Ere from the hill, they marched to meet the foe. 
 A hundred youths collect the odorous heath : 
 Ten warriors light the crackling flames beneath : 
 The polished stones three hundred others found ; 
 The savoury repast smoked wide around. 
 
 Cathulin thus, he, whose supreme control, 
 The assembled chiefs obey, resumes his soul. 
 His beamy spear, the hero made his rest. 
 And to the grey-haired bard his words addrest : 
 To Carril of other days, Kinfina's son : 
 
 " Is this feast spread for Erin's chief alone, 
 While on our shores the king of ocean dwells. 
 Far from his hills and sounding hall of shells? 
 Rise, aged Carril, and my words convey 
 To Swaran, whom the boisterous seas obey : 
 Tell him that here, far from the roaring waves, 
 His feast, Cathulin, chief of Erin gives : 
 Here let him listen to our murmuring woods, 
 While night envelopes us about in clouds; 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I45 
 
 For cold and bleak descends th' Autumnal breeze 
 Along the white foam of his native seas. 
 Here let him give the trembling harp its praise, 
 And listen to the songs of other days." 
 
 Old Carril went, and thus in words expressed, 
 With mildest voice the king of shields ad- 
 dressed : 
 "Arise, great monarch of the wood-clothed land, 
 Rise from thy skins, the trophies of thy hand ; 
 Cathulin gives the joy of shells alone, 
 And bids thee share the feast of Erin's blue- 
 eyed son." 
 Like the sullen sound from Cromla's wooded 
 side. 
 Ere yet the storm descends, the chief replied : 
 *' Though all thy fairest daughters, Inisfail, 
 With pleading arms, my purpose should assail, 
 Their heaving bosoms pour in melting sighs, 
 And mildly turn on me their loving eyes; 
 Fixed as the thousand rocks that gird Lochlin, 
 With breast unmoved, here Swaran should re- 
 main, 
 Till the red beams of early morn shall come, 
 To liorht me to Cathulin's certain doom. 
 
146 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Soft to the ear of Swaran is the breeze, 
 
 That from LochHn comes rushing o'er my 
 
 seas: 
 It speaks aloft in all my whistling shrouds, 
 And to my soul brings back my native woods ; 
 The leafy groves that wave on Gormal's side ; 
 Which oft to roaring winds have echoed wide, 
 As through their depths I chased the savage 
 
 boar. 
 And dyed my spear red in his streaming gore. 
 Let dark Cathulin's hand this day resign 
 To me the right of Cormac's royal line, 
 Or from their hills his streams shall roll their 
 
 tide, 
 Red foaming, in the blood of Erin's pride." 
 The monarch's words, the bard of other 
 
 days, 
 With feeble step to Semo's son conveys : 
 " Sad is the voice of Swaran," Carril sighed ; 
 " Sad to himself alone," Cathulin replied. 
 
 " Oh, Carril, raise thy voice in song and tell, 
 What deeds of worth in other days befel : 
 With song the tedious hours of night relieve, 
 And move again the silent joy of grief : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I47 
 
 For many a chief in Erin, many a maid, 
 In scenes of love and war their parts have played 
 And lovely to the ear, the songs of woe, 
 That from the rocks of Albion frequent flow. 
 When sounds of chase are o'er and to the voice, 
 Of Ossian, Cona's many streams rejoice." 
 
 *' In other days," said Carril, " came the host 
 Of Ocean's warlike sons to Erin's coast : 
 A thousand ships to Ullin's lovely plain 
 Came bounding o'er the white waves of the main. 
 The sons of Inisfail, in arms to oppose 
 The race of dark-brown shields, united rose ; 
 His buckler Cairbar, first of heroes, bare. 
 And Grudar in his stately youth was there. 
 Long for the spotted bull, that lowing throve 
 On Golbun's echoing heath, the heroes strove ; 
 With equal warmth each claims the doubtful 
 
 prize. 
 And death, oft threat'ning, at their swords' 
 
 point lies : 
 But side by side the heroes trod the field 
 When war arising called to sword and shield ; 
 In emulation of his rival's slain, 
 Each fought till fled the strangers o'er the main. 
 
148 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 Whose name upon our hills among the known, 
 Than Cairbar's or than Gruclar's fairer shone ? 
 Alas ! that e'er on Golbun's echoing heath, 
 To inflame desire, the rampant bull should 
 
 breathe ; 
 White as the snow they saw him course the 
 
 plain, 
 And all their former wrath arose again. 
 
 On the green banks of Lubar's noisy flood 
 They met, and Grudar fell red in his blood. 
 Fierce Cairbar, to the vale returning, came 
 Where lovely Brassolis nursed her hidden flame : 
 She, who late fairest of his sisters shone, 
 Now poured the flowing song of grief alone. 
 She sang the youthful Grudar's generous deeds, 
 For whom with secret pain her bosom bleeds. 
 Upon the field the youth she mourned, yet still 
 Hoped his return safe to his native hill. 
 White from her robe her snowy bosom rose, 
 As from the cloud at night the pale moon shows. 
 When just its edge looks from their skirts anew. 
 And darkness still obscures the rest from view. 
 Her voice was softer than the harp to raise 
 The song of grief that oft bedewed her face : 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. I49 
 
 Her soul was fixed on Grudar, he alone 
 Claimed every thought, and from her look out- 
 shone. 
 
 * When shalt thou come, my love, bright in 
 
 thine arms, 
 Thou, mighty 'mid the battle's loud alarms?* 
 
 * Take, Brassolis,' fierce Cairbar came and said, 
 
 ^ Take, Brassolis, this shield in blood dyed red ; 
 Fix it on high within my hall that so 
 I may behold the armour of my foe.' 
 
 Her tender heart rushed to the maiden's side ; 
 Distracted, pale she sought him far and wide : 
 The youth she found, co.M in the arms of 
 
 death — 
 She found him, but to die on CromaFs heath. 
 Here rests their dust, Cathulin ; yon yew's lone 
 
 form 
 Springs from their tomb and shelters from the 
 
 storm. 
 Fair moved the lovely Brassolis on the plain, 
 Nor Grudar stately trod his hill in vain. 
 The bard in song shall still preserve each name. 
 And to succeeding times hand down their 
 
 fame." 
 
150 FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 
 
 " Pleasant is thy voice, O Carril," said the chief 
 Of Erin's slumbering host — ''.well canst thou 
 
 weave 
 The words of other times, that softer flow 
 Than April's gentle showers on fields below. 
 When thro' the mist the sun looks on the vale, 
 And clouds fly lightly over hill and dale. 
 
 Oh, strike the harp in praise of her, my love, 
 Who in Dunseaith doth like a sunbeam move : 
 Bragela, she the spouse of Semo's son, 
 Whom in the isle of mist I left alone. 
 Dost thou raise thy fair face from the rocks, oh 
 
 love. 
 To watch Cathulin's sails on ocean move? 
 Far o'er the deep the windy billow swells — 
 'Tis the w^hite foam deceives thee for my sails. 
 Retire, my love, night lowers her sable shroud, 
 And the dark winds sing thro' my hair aloud. 
 Go to my halls, there let thy thoughts be cast 
 Upon the joyful scenes of days now past. 
 I'll not return until the storm of war 
 Has ceased, and peace in Erin dwells once more. 
 Oh, Connel, speak of arms, of battles tell, 
 And from my mind the thoughts of her dispel ; 
 
FIRST BOOK OF FINGAL. 15I 
 
 Stately the daughter of Sorglan moves, and fair 
 With her white bosom and her flowing hair," 
 
 He said, and Connel, grave of speech, repHed : 
 *' Guard well thy force, Cathulin, on every side ; 
 Send forth thy spies beneath the shade of night 
 And learn the strength of Erin's gathered might. 
 I am for peace until the embarked force 
 Of warlike Selma lands upon our shores ; 
 Till Fingal, like the sunlight, on our plain 
 Shall shed the glory of his arms again." 
 
 The hero struck the shield of war's alarms, 
 And sent the night-watch forth arrayed in arms : 
 The rest along the desert heath reclined, 
 Slept on their shields beneath the dusky wind. 
 Dim on the dismal clouds, that rolled o'erhead, 
 Were seen the shrouded ghosts of recent dead, 
 And through the night from Lena's silent heath, 
 Came the far, feeble voice of spectral Death. 
 
 END OF BOOK I. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 Lo ! where smiling Spring approaches, 
 Over hill and vale and plain ; 
 
 And with cheerful step encroaches 
 On the scene of Winter's reign. 
 
 To the land of storms, the regions 
 Round the dark and dreary pole, 
 
 See ! the monarch's warring legions. 
 On the clouds tempestuous roll. 
 
 Through the scattered mists, Apollo, 
 Smiles upon the ravaged land ; 
 
 And the balmy south winds follow, 
 And the dormant germs expand. 
 
 (153) 
 
154 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Sounds of streams melodious flowing, 
 
 Rise upon the gentle gale : 
 And the voice of cattle lowing, 
 
 Echoes through the lowly vale. 
 
 Bright through fields the grass is springing; 
 
 Woods their green resume again ; 
 Through their shades the birds are singing, 
 
 Sweetly warbling their refrain. 
 
 But though Spring displays each treasure, 
 That to bliss should win the heart. 
 
 She scarce brings to me a pleasure, 
 And I only bid her part. 
 
 Through the new-leaved groves I wander, 
 
 Melancholy oft and lone : 
 Oft by stream in silence ponder, 
 
 On the happier periods gone. 
 
 Thus it is, each season present. 
 
 For the next we sigh again, 
 Which may even prove less pleasant ; 
 
 Prove our hopes arc but in vain. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 155 
 
 TO FLORENCE. 
 
 Why is it that I contemplate, 
 
 Without emotion, ''^ * 's form, 
 While thy sweet smiles my soul elate 
 
 And bid my breast with rapture warm ! 
 Is it because philosophy, 
 Indifferent has rendered me 
 
 To outward charms. 
 And fortified my breast with steel 
 Against the woes which others feel, 
 
 From Cupid's arms? 
 
 It may be, for though I admire. 
 
 The heavenly form of beauty, still, 
 Not as an object of desire. 
 
 But as a mark of Nature's skill. 
 To virtue sole does she impart 
 The key of access to my heart : 
 
 Hence though I rest, 
 Undazzled by fair * - 's rays. 
 The slightest beam that lights thy face. 
 
 Inflames my breast. 
 
156 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO F. «85a 
 
 When from our sky the sun retires, 
 And dimly burn the solar fires, 
 How fondly memory turns again 
 To the mild Summer's brighter reign ; 
 And lost amid her flowery maze, 
 Unconscious of the present strays ; 
 Nor hears the dreary winds without, 
 Though loud the tempest howls about. 
 
 So, Florence, when afar from thee, 
 My soul inclines alternately 
 'Twixt hope and fear, and every day 
 That still to absence adds delay, 
 Seems a long month, each month a year, 
 Till hope is almost lost in fear. 
 
 Then, Fancy paints again thy face. 
 In all its varied lines of grace, 
 Till the fair likeness grows to me 
 More real than reality: 
 And hope renews again its fire, 
 And doubt and fear at once retire. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 1 57 
 
 TO F. ,85a 
 
 SOLILOQUY. 
 
 Bleak blows the wind from Labrador, 
 And dark the tempest looming ; 
 
 But the clouds will soon pass o'er, 
 And brighter days be blooming. 
 
 Soon will Spring, with mantle green, 
 
 Deck the earth around us ; 
 And the hand of May serene, 
 
 Break the chains that bound us. 
 
 How unfortunate, if then. 
 
 In the flush of freedom, 
 Winter should return again, 
 
 Nakeder than Edom ! 
 
 Could her spotless robe retain 
 
 Her from violation. 
 Whom the world has served with pain, 
 
 Since its first creation? 
 
158 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO S. 
 
 Like thee, unto some quiet vale 
 Where Peace and Virtue love to dwell, 
 
 How pleased would I retire ! 
 Surrounded there by nature's works, 
 My time divide 'twixt fields and books, 
 
 And Phoebus' tuneful choir. 
 
 He who pursues a business life, 
 Is ever plunged in care and strife 
 
 As in the vast abyss. 
 Where every strav/ a hope creates, 
 And every grasp that hope defeats, 
 
 And sinks the fancied bliss. 
 
 His credit with the stocks doth rise ; 
 With these it fluctuates and dies ; 
 
 His numerous friends desert ; 
 Ruin with awful front draws near. 
 While Pride still thunders in his ear, 
 
 And Want tugs at his skirt. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I 59 
 
 He most enjoys the sweets of life, 
 Who, like the bee that leaves the hive 
 
 To roam the flowery plains, 
 Forsakes the turmoil of the town, 
 The courts of justice, desk, and gown 
 
 For nature's blest domains. 
 
 TO ITALY. ,855 
 
 How long shall Superstition sway, 
 
 With iron rule the minds of men? 
 How long shall Truth and Virtue lay 
 
 Bound captive in her galling chain ? 
 Oh, ye degenerate sons of Rome, 
 Is there no period yet to come, 
 
 When ye will dare to raise the head 
 And grasp the sword your fathers wore, 
 Shake off the heathen dust of yore, 
 
 And lay the tyrant dead ? 
 
 Behold the spot where Brutus stood. 
 When he to Rome her freedom gave ! 
 
l6o OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Behold where Pompey shed his blood, 
 His country and his friends to save ! 
 
 Here Cato in the face of power, 
 
 Checked mad Ambitions coming hour: 
 Here Cicero opposed the tide 
 
 Of horrid faction — Will ye yet 
 
 To a worse slavery submit, 
 Than to avoid, they died ? 
 
 Ah long shall Liberty in vain 
 
 Call upon Rome's degenerate son ; 
 Long weep o'er her neglected fane, 
 
 And point to the fields her arms have won 
 Ere yet a Cato shall arise 
 To bid his countrymen be wise : 
 
 Ere yet a Brutus dare proclaim 
 Against the tyrant and the throne, 
 And show the world that there is one 
 
 Yet worthy of the Roman name. 
 
 THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Bright star of evening, when thy ray 
 Crowns the last lingering light of day, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. l6l 
 
 To thee I turn my pensive eye, 
 And grief and pain and passion fly: 
 Passion, if love's ethereal flame 
 Be not included in that name ; 
 For oh thy rays, fair Venus, then 
 Kindle my soul with love again. 
 
 I think while thus I camly gaze 
 Upon thy soft far-beaming rays. 
 My own dear Florence's eye may be. 
 At the same moment turned to thee : 
 Perchance the same thoughts from her lyre 
 Give vent to love's impassioned fire ; 
 She thinks how now I gaze on thee. 
 And feels the same sweet sympathy. 
 
 And why, if it may not be so. 
 Why feels my heart this sudden glow, 
 And trembling in my bosom seems 
 The confirmation of my dreams ? 
 
 Has not the immortal soul the power, 
 In the short compass of an hour, 
 Nay, in an instant, to behold 
 What ages laboured to unfold ? 
 And may it not have power to pry 
 Beyond the vision of the eye, 
 II 
 
l62 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And witness oft that which takes place 
 
 E'en in the distant realms of space ? 
 
 Oh tell me not it has not — no, 
 
 Still let me feel that it is so, 
 
 And still believe those signs betray 
 
 What the soul knows, but can not say. 
 
 MAN AND NATURE. 
 
 The works of nature are but types of man ; 
 When first in Paradise our race began, 
 Man, blest with youth perpetual, knew not 
 The cares and sorrows of his present lot. 
 
 Then Spring, the only season of the year, 
 Produced at once the germ and golden ear : 
 The, bow that bore Pomona's ripened fruit, 
 Likewise displayed the flower and springing 
 
 shoot. 
 Our youthful pleasures, manhood's strength of 
 
 mind. 
 And age's wisdom were at once combined : 
 Old age, disease, and death were then unknown, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 163 
 
 And Summer, Autumn, Winter, all were one. 
 No Leo frowned upon him from the sky ; 
 No Syrius gazed with pestilential eye. 
 
 But when our race increased and grew in sin, 
 Then did our present troubles all begin : 
 Slow at the first, and by degrees they came, 
 As God with man found greater cause of blame : 
 Then youth soon fled, and manhood came with 
 
 cares, 
 And old age followed with its silvery hairs ; 
 Death from the elemental strife arose. 
 And to the life of man first put a close : 
 Then, too, the solar system changed its plan, 
 And all the varied seasons then began : 
 The change at first though slight and scarcely seen, 
 At length grew what it is and long has been : 
 Then first mankind beheld with curious eye, 
 The zodiacal signs along the sky, 
 And felt the influence which each shed in turn. 
 The fiery Leo and the watery Urn : 
 The moon, the bright companion of the earth, 
 Like woman, lost somewhat her lustrous worth ; 
 At greater distance rolled her giddy race. 
 And spread a pallid coldness o'er her face. 
 
164 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO THE SOUTH. 
 
 People, to your homes return, 
 Till in peace your native soils. 
 
 Why with martial ardour burn ? 
 Why so vainly hope for spoils? 
 
 Peace alone can quiet bring, 
 And a happier state restore ; 
 
 From her laws new rights may spring, 
 None will be obtained by war. 
 
 War produces only strife, 
 
 And the land with terror fills : 
 
 All its fruits are ills of life, 
 And how numerous those ills! 
 
 Who shall keep your slaves subdued ? 
 
 Who your villages from fire ? 
 Who provide your families food. 
 
 And your naked troops attire? 
 
 Soon our arms your lawless chief 
 To allegiance shall lead, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 165 
 
 And though with fraternal grief, 
 Make your rebel armies bleed. 
 
 Wisely then, your schemes resign : 
 Turn while peace may still be had : 
 
 Gladly turn from a design 
 
 Which the world considers mad. 
 
 TO THE NORTH. 
 
 People of a race who fought 
 For the freedom of your name, 
 
 Men who by their valour bought 
 An undying right to fame. 
 
 Shall the Muse be doomed to record. 
 How that liberty which cost 
 
 Many a conflict with the sword. 
 By your apathy was lost ? 
 
 Rather born to Arctic climes, 
 Let her unremembered grieve : 
 
l66 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Rather these disastrous times, 
 Wholly to oblivion leave. 
 
 But not such the task assigned 
 To the historic Muse's lyre, 
 
 For there lingers still behind 
 Some remains of ancient fire. 
 
 An uncertain sound of tongues, 
 Breaks the stillness of the air ; 
 
 And from adamantine lungs, 
 Comes the message to prepare. 
 
 Lo ! our youth now rush to arms, 
 Emulous of fame in store : 
 
 Ready to leave pleasure's charms, 
 To encounter toils of war. 
 
 Scott shall lead them to the plain 
 Where unfading laurels blow: 
 
 Scott, who curbed with iron rein, 
 The vain pride of Mexico. 
 
 Hero of an hundred fields, 
 
 Still new glory waits thy name : 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 167 
 
 Lo ! Columbia's Guardian yields 
 To thy hand the soldier's fame. 
 
 Fourscore years have only shed 
 On thy locks their honoured hues: 
 
 And that age when most have fled, 
 Adds but wisdom to thy views. 
 
 With what honours shall we crown 
 
 Thy new claims to gratitude, 
 Not unworthy of the renown 
 
 Thou shalt reap in this sad feud? 
 
 Thou already hadst obtained, 
 
 By thy deeds in Mexico, 
 Every wreath that yet remained 
 
 For thy country to bestow. 
 
 TO FLORENCE. 
 
 Had I unhappy Tasso's lyre, thy fame. 
 
 Though less than what thy worth may really 
 merit, 
 
l68 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Should cause succeeding times to blush with 
 shame, 
 That they no equal virtue should inherit. 
 While earth pursued the course the fates de- 
 clare it, 
 So long thy reputation should endure, 
 
 And only brighter grow as time should bear it, 
 For bright examples in an age obscure. 
 Still fairer seem with time and as the world 
 grows pure. 
 
 But ah ! this lyre of mine discordant grown. 
 
 With graver themes long wandering among, 
 Can ill assume the mild, the dulcet tone, 
 
 With which thy worth and beauty should be 
 
 sung. 
 Yet practice may perfect us, and if young, 
 The Muse is courted, she rewards the pains 
 Of him whose lyre in her sweet service 
 strung, 
 No labour deems severe so that it gains, 
 In time, the dear reward which for the few re- 
 mains. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 1 69 
 
 This is the poet's solace, this the light 
 
 Which guides him on when least he feels se- 
 cure ; 
 And from his breast dispels the gathering night, 
 And brightens where before all seemed ob- 
 scure : 
 'Tis this alone that leads him to endure 
 Uncompensated years of midnight toil, 
 
 And lights within his breast a flame too pure 
 To be confined within the grovelling coil 
 That binds the souls of most, amid earth's cares 
 to moil. 
 
 Such may it be to me ; such has it been, 
 As on aspiring wing I sought my way 
 
 Through the dim shades of vague, historic scene, 
 Or through imagination's brighter day: 
 And oh ! what toils shall daunt me if the pay 
 
 Of unrequited time thy approval be? 
 
 For well I know that reason's heaven-born 
 ray. 
 
 And thy heart's natural sincerity, 
 
 Will weigh each part aright and temper thy 
 decree. 
 
170 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 But since my lyre is all unfit to sing 
 
 The praise which to thy generous worth is due, 
 To my sad flame let me attune each string, 
 
 And whisper how that flamewas caused by you. 
 
 And oh ! be not offended if too true 
 I paint the glowing feelings of my soul ; 
 
 For love acknowledges no bounds, and few 
 Have felt so well the force of its control. 
 As those whom thy sweet face and sympathies 
 enroll. 
 
 Oh, that the world were like thee, then indeed 
 
 I could be happy, happy in my love : 
 Nor long for other Paradise instead ; 
 
 Too blest in this to aspire to aught above. 
 
 But all can not be perfect and to prove, 
 The biased judgment of that world is mine : 
 
 Its kind applause I dare not hope to move: 
 To me a dearer far reward were thine, 
 And all were valueless, if that could not be mine. 
 
 E'en the world's enmity to me were naught, ' 
 If thy bright smiles might always beam on me, 
 And kindle all my soul into chaste thought, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 171 
 
 Thou, the sweet burden of its minstrelsy : 
 For oh ! to roam the flowery fields with thee, 
 Where blandest nature all her skill displays, 
 
 And drink the bliss of love and liberty, 
 And teach the groves to whisper thy just praise. 
 Were dearer far to me than fame's unfading bays. 
 
 For what were fame without thee, could my soul 
 
 Enjoy those beams which no kind ardour shed, 
 To drive away the clouds that round life roll 
 
 And cast their shadows o'er the path we tread ? 
 
 Time was, when I could willingly have fled 
 To the deep solitude of some lone isle : 
 
 In nature's lap, to rest my weary head, 
 And bask beneath the sunshine of her smile : 
 Of pleasure and of fame, alike careless the while. 
 
 But man needs some companion of his way ; 
 
 Some gentle friend in whom he may confide. 
 To soothe the griefs that in his bosom lay, 
 
 And share the pleasures of life's sunnier side. 
 
 In solitude the heart can not abide ; 
 For love, the only charm of life expires, 
 
 In the recluse, if it be not supplied 
 
172 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 With the supporting breath hope lends its 
 
 fires; 
 And e'en hope dies amid the ash of its desires. 
 
 There are who tell me that my countenance 
 Grows older in appearance every day; 
 
 No longer ardour kindles in my glance ; 
 The buoyancy of youth has passed away : 
 They need not tell me that my hair grows 
 grey, 
 
 Or wonder that my once gay spirits sink : 
 I know, I feel too well the sure decay ; 
 
 But ah, they know not whence this change, nor 
 think. 
 
 Their interest is but gall unto the cup I drink, 
 
 They know not, that it is thy loveliness. 
 Thy virtue, noble spirit, that have fired 
 
 My breast with feelings that were never less 
 Than love in Tasso's wounded soul inspired, 
 When he to Leonora sang and she admired, 
 
 And wished the period might not be so near, 
 When they should part, she as the event 
 transpired, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 173 
 
 Soon to forsake the trials of this sphere, 
 He to return to weep their fate in dungeons 
 drear. 
 
 Oh, Tasso, when those prison doors were closed 
 
 Upon thy back, how felt thy aching heart ? 
 Didst thou not seem by all the world opposed, 
 And in an agony of tears start 
 To think that it should take such active part 
 In thy distress ; that world which thou hadst 
 thought, 
 Through all thy life to please by thy sweet 
 art ; 
 That art which the Muse taught thee, seldom 
 
 taught ; 
 Yet oft, without her aid, too often vainly sought ? 
 
 But ah, those feelings are no longer thine : 
 The grave has swallowed up thy troubles, and 
 
 Thy spirit dwells with Leonor's shade divine. 
 By the still waters of some heavenly strand. 
 Oh, that thy fate were mine, that* in that land 
 
 In endless bliss with Florence I might stray : 
 
174 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 The same sweet Florence still, for why de- 
 mand, 
 The heavens aught of change in that which they 
 Have formed so near divine and not of common 
 clay ? 
 
 And Is it wrong to wish that we might be 
 
 Borne up to be united in that land. 
 This moment born, if such divinity, 
 
 Could rescue thee from Death's relentless 
 hand? 
 
 Death were to me but as a grain of sand, 
 'Gainst an eternity of pleasure weighed, 
 
 And gladly would I rend myself the band 
 That binds me here to wander in the shade 
 Of life's uncertain joys, if by such bliss repaid. 
 
 TO THE NYMPHS. 
 
 How oft, ye Nymphs, I've told my tale 
 Unto your sympathizing ears ; 
 
 How oft, alas ! without avail 
 
 Have moved you with my burning tears. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 1/5 
 
 Ye took compassion on my pain, 
 
 And gathering round me while I stood, 
 
 Your lyres took up the mournful strain, 
 And breathed it through the leafy wood. 
 
 And said ye not, that when my love 
 
 Should wander through your shades again, 
 
 Her cold reserve ye would reprove, 
 Till she compassionate my pain ? 
 
 But ah, scarce does her gentle foot 
 
 Press the brown leaves that strew the grove, 
 
 When ye with admiration mute, 
 Forget me and neglect my love. 
 
 Yet how can I reprove you, when, 
 
 If but my lady cometh nigh, 
 Myself, bound by some secret chain, 
 
 Can only gaze, can only sigh. 
 
 TO F. 
 
 Farewell, my Florence, couldst tlrou feel 
 How deep a pang those words impart, 
 
176 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Thy modesty would scarce conceal 
 The feelings of thy heart. 
 
 I know that heart responsive beats, 
 To the same touch that thrills my own 
 
 I know that every chord repeats 
 The echo of love's tone. 
 
 But oh, I can not, would not ask, 
 Thy future to be linked with mine, 
 
 While doomed to the ungrateful task 
 Of seeking fortune's shrine. 
 
 Yet say, fair maid, if fate should guide 
 My bark to this loved isle again. 
 
 With every modest want supplied, 
 Which reason would obtain, 
 
 Say, wilt thou wait to share with me 
 The sunlight and the shade of life, 
 
 In some spot sheltered from the sea 
 Of the world's ceaseless strife ? 
 
 Oh, gently, if thou dost consent,-. 
 
 As well I know thy heart would yield) 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. XJJ 
 
 How bright a ray of hope were lent 
 To guide me o'er life's field. 
 
 What toil should weary then the arm 
 That rose to effort for thy sake ? 
 
 What danger fill me with alarm, 
 If thine the cause at stake .^ 
 
 TO NEPTUNE. 
 
 Oh, Neptune, to thy care consigned, 
 
 While we our devious path. 
 Along thy watery realm wind 
 
 Subject to all its wrath. 
 
 Grant that thy billows may not rise, 
 
 Our progress to oppose ; 
 But locked in slumber's calm embrace, 
 
 May guard their anger close. 
 
 And ye, ye winds, with gentle breath, 
 
 Waft us upon our way. 
 From these dark, cloudy realms of death, 
 
 To fields of brighter day ; 
 
178 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 To that fair isle whose bracing wind 
 
 And genial sun inspire, 
 Sweet health and buoyancy of mind 
 
 And loftier desire. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The brightest season of the year, 
 Is when the forest leaves grow sere : 
 When Autumn comes with varied hue 
 To paint the landscape all anew. 
 
 In Iris' many coloured bow 
 She dips her pencil to and fro, 
 Till all the parts blend with each other 
 And harmonize one with another. 
 
 How beautiful the landscape seems, 
 The fields, the woodlands, hills, and streams, 
 All glowing in their russet hue, 
 Beneath a sky so calm and blue. 
 
 When Spring puts forth her tender buds, 
 And the young leaflets fringe the woods, 
 I think, how bright would life appear 
 Could Spring be with us all the year : 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I79 
 
 And when the Summer in its prime 
 Brings back the golden havest-time, 
 And every wheel of action glows 
 With nature's great, pulsating throes, 
 Then, too, life, like a golden beam, 
 Glides swiftly down on pleasure's stream : 
 
 But Autumn sheds a softened light 
 That warns us of the approaching night : 
 It is the twilight hour of life 
 That soothes and quiets all our strife: 
 That hour when least we love to part 
 With the dear objects of the heart. 
 A softened sadness seems to invade 
 Each see. _ A mingled light and shade ; 
 As though it were expressly given 
 To lead our quiet thoughts to heaven. 
 
 TO THE ZEPHYRS. 
 
 Oh ye winds, have I in vain 
 Breathed my passion and my pain 
 Unreservedly to your ear, 
 And, alas ! ye would not hear ? 
 
l8o OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 When that passion swift and strong 
 Bore my yielding soul along, 
 Then my words ye seemed to say, 
 Ye to Florence would convey. 
 
 Why, when sorrow dim'd my eyes, 
 Why did ye repeat my sighs, 
 And remove the starting tear. 
 If, alas! ye did not hear? 
 
 Ah ! it is the fault of love 
 To imagine every grove, 
 Every wind must sympathize 
 With the grief that fills its eyes. 
 
 TO THE NAIDES. 
 
 Fly, oh sea-green sisters, fly. 
 Swiftly to that emerald isle 
 
 Where the light of Florence's eye, 
 Sheds the radiance of its smile. 
 
 There upon your silver lyres, 
 
 Bright with ocean's fairest pearls, 
 
 Of my soul's consuming fires. 
 Breathe amid her auburn curls. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 18.I 
 
 Tell her all that I now feel ; 
 
 That the wound which I endure, 
 Never could another deal, 
 
 Never can another cure. 
 
 Bid, oh bid her gentle ears 
 
 Heed the zephyrs' whisperings, 
 
 For they bear my burning tears. 
 And my sighs upon their wings. 
 
 TO MOTHER. 
 Though dulcet zephyrs every day 
 Around these emerald islands play 
 
 Through all the year, 
 And the green foliage of the grove, 
 And the sweet cushet's notes of love. 
 
 Are always here ; 
 
 Though luscious fruits may tempt the eye, 
 And nature all man's wants supply 
 
 Through every stage. 
 And time no change of seasons know 
 But 'neath the sun of Summer glow. 
 
 From age to age ; 
 
J 82 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 What charms have these can compensate 
 For thy dear presence, left of late 
 
 Through some ill star ! 
 To me these, wealth and fame appear 
 As trifles now no longer dear 
 
 Since thou art far. 
 
 Alas ! what folly bid me leave 
 Thee, dearest parent, when so brief 
 
 A time remained, 
 In which I could enjoy thy light, 
 And cares, in some degree, requite, 
 
 For me sustained ! 
 
 TO A SWALLOW. 
 
 Hail ! gentle swallow, kindly come 
 
 To greet us on our way, 
 From whence fair Cuba's mountains loom 
 
 And fields of azure lay: 
 
 But tell me, in thy lofty flight. 
 Hast thou beheld the wrath 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 183 
 
 Of tempests gathering in their might 
 Along our future path? 
 
 Ah ! no, thy gentle tale portrays 
 
 No dangers brooding nigh : 
 But only breathes of halcyon days 
 
 And winds that sweetly sigh. 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Fair Spring with all her balmy breezes comes • 
 The hills in all their moss grow green around : 
 Through field and bower the bee industrious 
 hums : . 
 The vales with herds and bleating flocks re- 
 sound. 
 Again the flowers enamel o'er the ground ; 
 The streams flow sparkling to their native sea : 
 Through every grove the sylvan choir abound, 
 And pour their notes of love and melody : 
 All nature wakes to life ; to light and joy 
 save me. 
 
1 84 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Such scenes, such sounds could once impart de- 
 Hght, 
 
 And still it pleases to recall again: 
 The visions of the past are always bright ; 
 
 To me the present is a death of pain. 
 
 Oh who would wish to live this life again ! 
 To buy its pleasures with such misery ! 
 
 Some there may be, some who with less disdain 
 Can turn its trifles to a source of glee : 
 I can not envy them their mind's felicity. 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 Oh for the blest, the joyful day, 
 When I may leave these walls of clay, 
 Where all that's low and sordid join 
 To banish every thought divine. 
 
 Through shadowy groves, through fields of 
 green. 
 Where Heaven in every leaf is seen, 
 Where every blade of grass displays 
 At once its wondrous skill and praise, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I85 
 
 My chief delight it was to stray 
 At morn, or at the close - >i" day, 
 And with the mute creation raise 
 My thoughts to Heaven in silent praise. 
 
 There I could spend hour upon hour 
 In admiration of God's power: 
 Nor past one moment such in vain, 
 Since to the mind each brought its gain. 
 
 I loved to wander by the stream, 
 When Autumn's mild, ethereal beam 
 Shed a soft sadness o'er tlie scene. 
 And drew us from the things had been ; 
 Drew us to higher, holier thought ; 
 To things that here on earth are not. 
 And when the end approached at last, 
 And the fair seasons all had past, 
 A brighter vision rose before. 
 Where change and death should be no more, 
 But Spring, unclouded, rule sublime 
 Through an eternity of time. 
 
l86 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO J. 
 
 They ask me to forget my home, 
 And praise this sunny land ; 
 
 That spot where memory loves to roam 
 With childhood hand in hand. 
 
 And though it wrings a pang from life 
 To think of home elsewhere ; 
 
 Where fortune lays our fields of strife, 
 Our interest should be there. 
 
 And I for thee, will love this land, 
 
 Nor long for other spot ; 
 'Tis bliss to me where thou art, and 
 
 'Tis pain where thou art not. 
 
 Yes, lovely does this land appear 
 Where constant summer reigns ; 
 
 Where birds sing sweetly all the year, 
 And wild flowers deck the plains. 
 
 Oh, who would change it for that clime 
 Where blighting winds prevail, 
 
 To blast the harvests ere their prime 
 And every floweret frail ! 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 18/ 
 
 That land whose forest-clothed hills, 
 
 Through half the circling year, 
 Are shrouded deep in snow, that chills 
 
 Each bud into despair; 
 
 Whose streams their silvery murmurs cease. 
 
 In icy chains confined, 
 Till Spring again comes to release 
 
 Them with its balmy wind. 
 
 There, blighted by the wintry breath, 
 
 Each pulse of life grows still : 
 Till nature seems entombed in death 
 
 And every object chill. 
 
 The gentle songsters of the grove, 
 From woodlands brown and sere, 
 
 In milder climes to breathe of love, 
 Fly with the fading year. 
 
 Hither the swallows annual roam 
 
 To pass the sv/ift-winged hours ; 
 Here Philomelia makes her home, 
 'Mid blooming Winter bowers. 
 
I88 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Upon its restless wing the bee 
 
 Pursues its swift career ; 
 And fragrant honey from each tree, 
 
 Doth gather all the year. 
 
 How lovely are the soft blue skies 
 
 Of this fair land of ours ! 
 How bright the rainbows that arise, 
 
 With the departing showers ! 
 
 Oh, softly sighs the wind that breathes 
 From Flora's fragrant groves ; 
 
 Or through the jasmin's tangled wreaths. 
 And broad-leaved plantain roves. 
 
 Though poor the fields we till may seem. 
 
 Compared with other lands, 
 The gentle shower, the tropic beam, 
 
 Change them to fertile sands. 
 
 What if no rugged mountains rise. 
 
 Or hills the scene to vary. 
 Or sweetly babbling brooks surprise 
 
 The traveller, parched and weary ? 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 1 89 
 
 We miss all these, 'tis true, yet find 
 
 On these scarce-wooded plains, 
 A balmy softness in each wind, 
 
 Unknown where Winter reigns. 
 
 You bid me seek for fame elsewhere, 
 
 And leave this land of flowers : 
 Its bright blue skies and balmy air ; 
 
 Its fragrant orange bowers. 
 
 But do you not know that I come 
 
 To lead the Muses here ; 
 Here to erect their winter home, 
 
 Their genial shades to rear? 
 
 *Tis in the sunny clime that best 
 
 They love to pass the hours : 
 In Araby's spicy groves to rest, 
 
 And stray through fields of flowers. 
 
 They fly from storms and wintry wind ; 
 
 From fields and forests bare : 
 From gulfs in icy chains confined, 
 
 And snow-fields' dazzling glare. 
 
■go OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 I know a brighter clime than this; 
 
 A land of mountains blue : 
 Of verdant fields and streams we miss, 
 
 And skies of lovelier hue. 
 
 There the majestic palms uplift 
 Their radiant heads on high ; 
 
 And every fruit and flower, the gift 
 Of nature, meets the eye. 
 
 But ah ! where Liberty lies enchained, 
 
 The Muses languish there : 
 They fly from groves by strife profaned, 
 
 And Bigotry's baneful air. 
 
 Here let us hope the tuneful Choir, 
 
 Contented will remain : 
 Their humble votary here inspire. 
 
 To raise the undying strain : 
 
 Till fortune shall reverse the doom 
 
 Of that fair Paradise : 
 And bid the tuneful Muses come. 
 
 And Liberty arise. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I9I 
 
 TO J. 
 
 Again the rosy-footed Dawn 
 
 Walks radiant through the east ; 
 The dew-drop trembles from each thorn, 
 And sparkles in the light of morn, 
 Upon the rose's breast. 
 
 She comes with sound of lowing herds, 
 
 And from each nodding grove, 
 The voices of the happy birds, 
 In language sweeter far than words. 
 
 Pour forth their tender love. 
 
 And fairer than the rosy dawn. 
 
 Thy smiles, dear lady, are : 
 And though of keenest sorrow born. 
 Than dew-drops on the rose or thorn, 
 
 Thy tears are brighter far. 
 
 But oh ! when like the lucid brook. 
 
 Thy soul in music flours, 
 The unwritten language of love's book. 
 The heart, in every tone and look, 
 
 In every action glows. 
 
192 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And dear to me it is indeed, 
 
 To feel that I, alone, 
 May claim, oh love's delightful meed. 
 That volume's secret thoughts to read, 
 
 In gesture, look, and tone. 
 
 TO J. 
 Oh for wings to fly with thee 
 To that land beyond the sea, 
 Where the Sprin^-s perpetual reign, 
 Fair as Eden clo^-es the plain. 
 
 Here we live in discontent ; 
 Every aspiration pent, 
 Close and closer with each year. 
 In the mind's contracting sphere. 
 
 What is there that we should love 
 These wild, desert scenes above 
 Verdant fields and mountains blue. 
 Streams and skies of lovelier hue ! 
 
 Scarce a warbler of the grove 
 Whispers here its tender love : 
 Here no fruits and flowers are found 
 As in that fair land abound : 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I93 
 
 Nature, with a sparing hand, 
 Deals her blessings to this land, 
 And in vain our cares are spent 
 To induce her to relent: 
 Every effort proves in vain, 
 All our labours without gain : 
 Haste, oh hasten then with me 
 To that land beyond the sea. 
 
 TO J. 
 
 One day when from misfortune flying, 
 I wandered on an unknown coast. 
 
 And hope's fair beacon light was dying, 
 And friends and all to me seemed lost, 
 
 A tender maiden bright in childhood. 
 With all its simple, winning w^ays, 
 
 Came t6 me from the neighbouring wild-wood, 
 With joy and sunshine on her face. 
 
 She tried to lighten all my trials 
 And kindle hope's fair flame again ; 
 '3 
 
194 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And a sweet balm from Christian vials, 
 Poured to relieve my aching pain. 
 
 And soon, oh soon, her wiles succeeded 
 
 In driving all my cares away ; 
 And but one wished-for bliss was needed 
 
 To seal that sweet recovery. 
 
 One little word, one kind assurance, 
 That never from me would she part ; 
 
 But stay to lighten still life's durance 
 With her sweet, Heaven-bestowed art. 
 
 But ah, the Heavens, my prayers unheeding, 
 For her had other cares in store ; 
 
 And soon her sunlight form receding, 
 Left me pleading on the shore. 
 
 She left me pleading, but when going, 
 
 Gave to me her playful coon, 
 With the assurance in bestowing, 
 
 That she would reclaim it soon. 
 
 Ah, how little I surmised. 
 
 That the bright-eyed little thing, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I95 
 
 Was but Cupid's self-disguised, 
 And would soon be on the wine. 
 
 fc>* 
 
 To my bosom close I drew it, 
 To defend from outward harm, 
 
 And ere yet I scarcely knew it. 
 
 Love had breathed in me his charm. 
 
 When the little urchin left me, 
 And I felt love's glowing heat^ 
 
 Then I knew all peace bereft me ; 
 Laughing, saw the whole deceit. 
 
 But return, oh I beseech thee. 
 Gentle maid, to ease my pain ; 
 
 Or with kindly words to teach me 
 Liberty of heart again. 
 
 TO FLORIDA. 
 
 Ye desert scenes, ye thriftless sands 
 
 Of Florida, farewell : 
 When fortune points to fairer lands, 
 
 Why should we longer dwell? 
 
ig6 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Farewell, and if some passing hours 
 Of pleasure here were found, 
 
 We only think of them as flowers, 
 Whose thorns have left a wound. 
 
 Let here the orange and the lime 
 In sweetest fragrance blow. 
 
 For those who find thy balmy clime 
 A refuge from their woe. 
 
 To them indeed thou mayst become 
 
 An earthly Paradise ; 
 And all thy desert wastes yet bloom 
 
 Through toiling man's device. 
 
 Yet labour adds not here of pain 
 
 Unto his sum of toil. 
 It pours a balm through every vein, 
 
 And in his wounds an oil. 
 
 Then let him come and here enjoy 
 That blessing which when gone, 
 
 Of all our pleasures leaves alloy. 
 And life itself undone. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. I97 
 
 May other lands to us extend 
 
 A welcome as sincere, 
 Who while we leave thy shores, a friend, 
 
 Can shed no parting tear. 
 
 TO IDA. 
 
 Those little foot-prints in the sand, 
 
 How much they told to me ; 
 As sad and lonely in that land, 
 I traced them on the wave-worn strand 
 And thought of thee. 
 
 Of thee, whose gentle voice alone. 
 
 Could bid me then be gay : 
 And in whose childlike features shone 
 The expression radiant of one 
 Then far away. 
 
 I thought of thee, and as I past, 
 The midday sun rolled on : 
 The gathering shadows lengthened fast. 
 Till from the western verge at last. 
 The orb its farewell shone. 
 
198 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Then homeward bent, I traced my way 
 
 Along the winding shore : 
 The rocks were there, the sands, the bay, 
 But those dear foot-prints, where were they ! 
 
 The waves had wandered o'er. 
 
 Ah, thus it is, I thought, in life ; 
 
 The attachments which we form. 
 Are flowers too delicate to thrive 
 Amid this world's incessant strife 
 
 They perish in the storm. 
 
 TO FATHER. 
 
 What strange fortuity is this 
 That seems to urge me on, 
 Always in sad misfortune's train. 
 In search of visionary bliss, 
 
 To follow still through grief and pain, 
 From land to land, from zone to zone ! 
 
 Happier thy lot, my aged sire, 
 Though 'mid ingratitude 
 
• OCCASIONAL PIECES. I99 
 
 Prolonged and many a year of toil, 
 Not to have known the strange desire, 
 That drives me from my native soil, 
 And all that's dear, in search of good. 
 
 Happier thy lot, whose love can find 
 One spot to call its own : 
 Where every grove has known thy grief 
 And whispers to the sighing wind, 
 Of aspiration's blighted leaf, 
 Of flowers that have not blown. 
 
 Ye desert sands, have ye not drank 
 Often the tears that fell 
 For disappointments not my own r 
 Ye streams that by the palm-clothed bank, 
 Wander through solitudes unknown, 
 My grief can ye not tell ? 
 
 And ye are w^itness, too, how oft 
 I would have drowned in tears 
 The fever of an anxious brain ; 
 Did but that solace, sweet as soft. 
 To my own sorrows still remain. 
 
 From the wrecked hopes of other years. 
 
200 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO MOTHER. 
 
 This land is but a vale of tears, 
 
 In which we roam from stage to stage, 
 
 Scarce dreaming of the flight of years 
 Until bowed down with age. 
 
 In life's young morn we only see 
 The golden sunlight of our way : 
 
 The shadows are vacuity 
 Where little sunbeams play. 
 
 Then hope grows with the budding flower, 
 And with the year's maturing fruit, 
 
 Reaps the rich harvest every hour 
 Of satisfied pursuit. 
 
 But when the days of Autumn come, 
 
 And the bright sunbeams grow more rare, 
 
 The shadows seem to fill their room 
 With substance as it were. 
 
 The place which hope within us held, 
 As hope wanes with the passing flowers. 
 
 By resignation then is filled, 
 Born of the fading bowers. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 201 
 
 That spirit which shall keep life green, 
 When leaf and bloom alike are gone, 
 
 And we survey in its gay scene, 
 The reality alone. 
 
 And why should childhood not behold 
 This world in all its brightness shining ; 
 
 And as the clouds of life unfold, 
 See but the silver lining? 
 
 But as our boat floats down the stream, 
 And leaves behind the flowery meadow, 
 
 Then on our pathway let the beam 
 Be intermixed with shadow : 
 
 And let the growing silence bring 
 
 A sadness to the inner spirit, 
 To wean us from each earthly thing, 
 
 To heaven which we inherit. 
 
 Soon will the stream grow broad and deep ; 
 
 The dangerous rapids soon be gone : 
 And though amid the gloom we sleep, 
 
 The flood shall bear us on. 
 
202 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And why should the aged helmsman turn 
 Dismayed to gaze on shades around ? 
 
 Why in the heaven-born spirit yearn 
 For that that's past to sound? 
 
 Should life not be gladdened by the glow- 
 That lies upon the stream before ; 
 
 That light from the land to which we go, 
 Where sorrows are no more ? 
 
 Oh, yes, soon will the river meet 
 
 The gulf that laves that heavenly strand, 
 
 Where a fair bridge for trusting feet, 
 Its waters dark hath spann'd. 
 
 Those who have found the stream of life, 
 And washed the stain of sin away ; 
 
 Those who have not, amid the strife 
 Of waters, shall sink from day. 
 
 But, Mother, I know, when the time is at hand, 
 I know that you will pass safely o'er 
 
 That bridge of Faith, to that beautiful land. 
 That waits you on that shore. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 203 
 
 And my soul flows forth in burning tears, 
 When I think that I may not be there, 
 
 To watch when your boat in the river appears, 
 And fly to meet you through air. 
 
 Yet I know there are two, at least, who will wait. 
 When the sign of your coming is now at hand, 
 
 To lead you safe through the golden gate 
 That enters that blissful land. 
 
 Dear Mother, you are farther down the stream. 
 And our boats, they are wandering wide apart ; 
 
 But my spirit flies to you in its dream. 
 And your image is in my heart. 
 
 I am still in the rapids, striving still 
 
 To guide aright the frail canoe ; 
 And the waves seem at times about to fill, 
 
 Or the rocks to dash it through. 
 
 But what is that ! Is it a beam 
 
 Of hope that shines from yonder shore ? 
 
 Mother, you are farther down the stream, 
 Oh, tell me, can you see the light before? 
 
204. OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. ,87a 
 
 When Autumn, with her pensive train, 
 Returns to rule the sadden'd year, 
 
 And silence holds extended reign 
 O'er field and forest sere ; 
 
 If, then, through lonely woodland ways, 
 Where modest flowers retiring bloom, 
 
 Chance should conduct thy thoughtful pace, 
 Till sadden'd with the gloom ; 
 
 Then wilt thou pause, perchance, to recall 
 The cherished friendships of the past. 
 
 Which, like the fading flowers of Fall, 
 Were born too fair to last. 
 
 But time, which hallows e'en our woes. 
 Shall hallow friendship's sacred spell, 
 
 Like fragrance of the withered rose. 
 Fond memory round it dwell. 
 
 Oh, then, if when thy thoughts return 
 To dwell with the departed hours, 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 20$ 
 
 And memory gathers in her urn, 
 Affection's scattered flowers, 
 
 If then, one thought shall rise to impart 
 
 A halo to these sadden'd days, 
 One wish be mine, within thy heart. 
 
 To find one vacant place. 
 
 IN THE SAME. ,87a 
 
 We meet on earth to part, a little while, 
 
 To know each other, than to know no more : 
 
 To cherish friendship only to exile, 
 And find an aching void unfelt before : 
 A void time may not fill, till on the shore 
 
 Of Far eternity. Heaven shall again. 
 The parted reunite, the lost restore : 
 
 If this is all of solace left our pain. 
 
 Though this be all, hope hath no higher end to 
 attain. 
 
206 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 TO A FRIEND. Feb. 15, 1878 
 
 Oh, for the days of youth again, 
 
 That I might win thy heart : 
 That I might love without the pain 
 
 Of feehng we must part. 
 
 Alas ! how often fate ordains, 
 
 Their lives disjoined to run ; 
 In whom a kindred spirit reigns ; 
 
 Whose sympathies are one. 
 
 Our sunlight and our shadows blend, 
 
 But on our path to sever : 
 Our mutual joys and loves soon end ; 
 
 Our hopes go out forever. 
 
 And must it still be mine to dash 
 
 The sunlight from my way, 
 Lest hope should build too idly rash, 
 
 Build but to see decay? 
 
 I will not ask to win thy heart, 
 
 I only ask to love : 
 Mine be the pain if thus we part, 
 
 Thine joys anew to prove. 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 20/ 
 
 TO THE SAME. May^oth 
 
 Beauty, thou hast adorned with grace, 
 
 The gift of nature not of art : 
 And thought's fair gems glow on thy face, 
 
 Born of a kindly heart. 
 
 But Heaven bestowed not on thy form 
 Thy varied charms so soon to be 
 
 Lost in wild fashion's ceaseless storm, 
 Or life's monotony. 
 
 Thou art young, and life is full of hope. 
 
 Yet time flies ever onward fast ; 
 And while we seem to mount the slope, 
 
 The summit may be past. 
 
 Then waste not thou thy precious years 
 In worthless pleasure's vague pursuits ; 
 
 Or wandering through the vale of tears. 
 In search of bitter fruits. 
 
 Yet let not wild ambition lead 
 
 Thine impulse to excel astray, 
 Lest thou too broadly scatter seed, 
 
 Or reap the barren way. 
 
208 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 To know our chiefest forte should be, 
 To anticipate the reward of toil : 
 
 To reap from vague uncertainty, 
 Our future's richest spoil. 
 
 [written in a copy of tasso. 1878.] 
 
 Companion of my wandering years, 
 Thou treasure of the laureled dead, 
 
 From thee I part not without tears, 
 Which manhood well may shed. 
 
 Through many a land and distant clime, 
 When wandering, often lone and sad. 
 
 How didst thou speed the flight of time, 
 And make my bosom glad ? 
 
 So may thy page beguile the hours 
 
 Through life, of this fair maid to whom, 
 
 I give thee with the budding flowers 
 Of friendship's future bloom. 
 
 Oh may her mind find that delight 
 Which I in thee have ever found; 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 209 
 
 And with the poet lift its flight 
 Above life's trivial round. 
 
 Farewell, thou justly cherished page ; 
 
 Thou that didst have the magic power, 
 In grief my bosom to assuage, 
 
 And brighten joy's glad hour. 
 
 Dear wouldst thou be to me indeed, 
 Shouldst thou direct her generous aim: 
 
 To the Pyerian fountain lead ; 
 To laurel wreaths of fame. 
 
 [from the stray leaves of m. j. c] 
 EMOTION. 
 
 Deep in the human bosom lie 
 The springs of feeling that supply 
 Emotion's strangely checkered stream : 
 And though so small and weak they seem, 
 Like the small pebbles in the lake, 
 The sea of life each helps to make. 
 14 
 
2IO OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 Yet who would think so small a stone 
 Cast in the waters, one by one, 
 Would cause the lake to overflow, 
 Did not experience prove it so ? 
 And thus it is with life's full cup : 
 Little emotions fill it up. 
 
 The mention of a friend or foe, 
 The bird's sweet song of joy or woe, 
 Or fragrance of some well-known flower, 
 Or wild bee humming through the bower, 
 Often create emotions strong 
 That sweep the yielding soul along : 
 Sensations which the heart may feel. 
 But can not unto others tell : 
 And joy and pain in turn supplies 
 The origin from whence they rise. 
 But often anger, often hate. 
 Or dark revenge predominate. 
 
 TWILIGHT. M. J. c. 
 
 Behold ! the sun sinks in the west 
 Behind the golden clouds that rest 
 
OCCASIONAL PIECES. 211 
 
 Upon the verdant hills, yet ere 
 He terminates his bright career, 
 A moment lingers on the bound, 
 And pours a mellow warmth around. 
 
 Calm twilight with her softened shades, 
 The fading landscape now invades : 
 No more the herd lows on the hill ; 
 And sounds of bleating flocks grow still : 
 Through all her voices nature sleeps. 
 Save the low note the cricket keeps. 
 
 Now, while the peaceful twilight lasts, 
 And midday's sun no longer casts 
 Its fiery beams, nor evening dews 
 The poison through our veins infuse. 
 With nature let us walk alone, 
 And learn her many ways unknown ; 
 While all is still, ask heaven to bless 
 Our dream of future happiness. 
 
 How kind an act it was of Heaven 
 That this sweet hour of rest is given 
 To all of nature's works, behold ! 
 The flowers their fragrant petals fold : 
 How lovely in their sleep they seem, 
 Like fairy objects of a dream ; 
 
213 OCCASIONAL PIECES. 
 
 And see ! the bee re-seeks its hive, 
 And the industrious ant its cave. 
 
 Upon the labours of the past, 
 Our serious thoughts now let us cast ; 
 Resolve our many faults to mend, 
 And ask that Heaven the light may lend, 
 Through all the paths that lead astray, 
 To guide us still in virtue's way. 
 
 Now, to some friend we may impart 
 The joy or sorrow of our heart ; 
 And undisturbed by worldly strife, 
 Plan bright the warp and woof of life. 
 
 The hour is lovely, but behold ! 
 While round the scene our glance is rolled, 
 The softened hues of twilight fade, 
 And yield to evening's deeper shade. 
 Night comes and darkness gathers round : 
 Let the harp cease its pleasant sound. 
 
 [END.] 
 
S^; 
 
 ^^^--^'...v 
 
 
 ■m^^ .f^^^o ^!s5||s>:> ,^"'\ ^!^ 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 IliliiillililB 
 
 016 115 979 7