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 PARNASSIAN 
 
 WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 BT 
 
 JOHN AUGUSTUS SHEA. 
 
 CITY OF WASHINGTON 
 
 W3W. OBEE5, PfclMTER, 
 
j5i* ot \ 
 
 Ss* 
 
 t3 
 
TO JOHN BOYLE, Esq. 
 
 5 Dear Sir, 
 
 In dedicating this little volume to you, 
 i enjoy a pleasure which I have, for a long time, 
 'anticipated; and be assured, Sir, that the enjoyment 
 has been rather increased than diminished by the 
 circumstances which have incidentally retarded its 
 publication. I must, however, observe that the 
 pleasure is not unmingled with the regret that my 
 abilities are not able to render this small tribute 
 of gratitude more worthy of your reputation and of 
 my feelings : but as the public are well acquainted 
 with the one, and your friendship deserves and now 
 receives this too humble testimony of the other, I 
 feel the less diffidence in thus briefly but sincerely 
 subscribing myself, 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 JOHN AUGUSTUS SHEA. 
 Washington, 12th March, 1836. 
 
rARNABBlA.1T WILD FLOWEF.S. 
 
 Written on visiting the Hall of Independence, Philadelphia. 
 
 When Juno bade the god of winds unchain 
 And hurl his triumph-tempests o'er the main; 
 From their remotest caverns, heav'd on high, 
 The Titan waters lash'd the frenzied sky : 
 Earth, to its' deep foundations trembling, sigh'd ; 
 The heavens shriek'd out, and list'ning hills replied 
 With such a power, but with more holy cause, 
 Freedom proclaimed her own vindictive laws 
 From out this room, and gave, with glad acclaim, 
 Freemen a home— America a name : 
 And, fill'd with glorious enterprize, began 
 "To vindicate the ways of God to man. 1 
 Call you yon paltry tax the fruitful cause 
 Of deeds, which, since, have won the worid'o u^- 
 plause? 
 
 1* 
 
PARNASSIAN 
 
 No! Heaven beheld its own appointed time, 
 Unfurl'd the flag, eternal and sublime; 
 Wnk'd i he bold spirits of tho gallant age, 
 And fir'd (heir souls with all a patriot's rage; 
 Marshall'd their willing ranks, and hurl'd the slave 
 D;>wn from his boast, on mountain, field and wave. 
 And 'twas from this plain temple! — what a shrine 
 For men to worship at, (almost divine.) 
 Prom out this simple room the judgment rose, 
 And saw in theirs the very Godhead's foes- 
 Men who this circling orbit would have sold, 
 If you but left to them Golconda's gold: 
 Creatures who knew no heritance in time, 
 But that of gold, and tyranny, and crime. 
 
 Let me repair, Time's sepulchre unseal, 
 And draw, with reverend soul, the historic veil; 
 Bahold the buried day, when here it rose, 
 In cloudless triumph o'er defeated foes: 
 Its moving ray directing Freedom's band, 
 Like Israel's column, to the promised land. 
 Whom do I see — by memory's wand recall'd, 
 By fear untouch'd, by vengeance unappall'd; 
 In plain and unpretending strength combin'd, 
 Mighty in purpose, mightier far in mind ? 
 There Jefferson, the giant spirit bears 
 The charter, for yet uncreated years; 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 Presents the sacred trust — the tyrant's ro6*j^ 
 Fresh from the hand of justice and of God — 
 Upon the parchment freedom's name to trace, 
 Red with the blood of yon Titanic race. 
 See Franklin, with his lightning-spirit there, 
 Chaining awhile the arrowy fire of air; 
 To fling it with redoubled power along — 
 At every dart more terrible and strono-. 
 Philosopher, patriot, statesman, scholar — all, 
 For which mankind may well endure the fall? 
 A glory to the day that nursed his powers; 
 A Peru to his children and to ours. 
 And Hancock, fearless as the mountain steep, 
 Around whose base the fruitless tempests sweep, 
 There, there he passes, living once again, 
 The chief, at once, of martyrs and of men. 
 Pass on, ye princes of the earth — more proud 
 Than monarchs heralded by clarion loud, 
 And arms, and banners, and the pomp of wars, 
 And crown and purple, jswell'd o'er with stars. 
 But who is he who closes that bright train, 
 With eye where youth resumes his sunlike reign, 
 And kindles up with all a patriot's love, 
 Unlessened by the snows that fall above; 
 Those snows of years, like those that ever glow, 
 On Hecla's brow, nor dim the fires below ? 
 
S PARNASSIAN 
 
 'Tis he fcf Carrollton, the fearless-soul'd, 
 
 Inspir'd by Heaven, tho' sprung from mortal mould. 
 
 Elijah-like, he, from the fields of space, 
 
 Flung Freedom's mantle down on Freedom's race. 
 
 And, as he mounted upward and afar, 
 
 Heard million blessings breath'd from star to star. 
 
 Alone, within these sacred walls I stand; 
 But are they gone — Columbia's Spartan band? 
 No, no, they live, they live in every scene, 
 Even to the flower that variegates the green: 
 They live in every principle that guides 
 Our lives' and fortunes' fluctuating tides. 
 And, oh! may they be still our guides to fame, 
 The same our freedom, and our path the same. 
 For they were born of Heaven: they arose 
 In single strength against a world of foes. 
 But, armed with mind, they burst the giant chain, 
 And Freedom triumph'd thro' their wide domain* 
 Long may their children emulate their sires, 
 And if Columbian liberty expires, 
 Be it by foreign foes: but, when we yield, 
 We'll, Spartain-like, expire upon our shield! 
 
WILD FLOWERS, 
 STANZAS. 
 
 On the bank, beneath the boughs, 
 Where the moonlight river rushes* 
 
 There to hear thy virgin vows, 
 There to see thy fitful blushes; 
 
 There thy honey-words to list, 
 
 Dark-eyed sentimentalist! 
 
 When, with fickleness or frown. 
 
 Fate would blast our youthful blisse» 3 
 
 Would we not, my beauty, drown 
 Both beneath a flood of kisses? 
 
 Aye! that magic smile from thee, 
 
 Sanctions such philosophy. 
 
 Leave the day to those who roam; 
 
 But for us the gentle hour, 
 When the moon, from yonder dom«, 
 
 Shines upon the lovers' bow'r: 
 Brightly joyful to perceive 
 Hearts that listen and believe. 
 
 the moonlight hour for us; 
 
 With thy words of passion stealing} 
 Sweetly, warmly tremulous^ 
 
 Every bosom* thought revealing; 
 'Till the envious planets weep, 
 O'er young love's ambrosial sleep; 
 
10 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Breathing fragrance in our dreams; 
 
 Then to wake to opening pleasure; 
 When the day-god's amorous beams 
 
 Ope the lilly's leafy treasure: 
 Kiss the dew-drop from the tree, 
 As I kiss that tear from thee. 
 
 In the bosom of the rose, 
 See the wanton bee is lying; 
 
 And the zephyr seeks repose 
 
 Where the tulip-throng is sighing: 
 
 Come, my lovei have streams and flow'rs 
 
 Hearts more sensitive than ours ? 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 11 
 
 TO THYRZA. 
 
 It was a lovely summer night, 
 The waves were hush'd, the stars were bright; 
 The flowers were deck'd with dewy pearls, 
 Bright as some harem's sleeping girls. 
 The breezes and the gushing springs 
 Appear' d the only breathing things; 
 And they spoke music, Nature's own, 
 In feeling, fervor, and in tone. 
 
 That night, beneath a willow tree, 
 
 Which round us weav'd a living bower, 
 
 I sat — what weeping spell to me! — 
 
 To speak with Thyrza one sweet hour — 
 
 One hour — the holiest and the last: 
 
 The burial-time of the bright past. 
 
 I looked upon the blessed moon, 
 
 Which was to see us part so soon — 
 
 Which should behold us, from above, 
 
 Break our delightful chain of love; 
 
 And fondly felt that it would be, 
 
 In future times, a friend to me. 
 
 Prophetic spirit of that hour ! 
 
 How true thy telescopic glance, 
 Piercing, from that secluded bower, 
 
 The weeping future's dim expanse. 
 At length thy sympathetic beam 
 Illumes this bosom's tearful stream. 
 
12 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Friend of the friendiess, homeless heart ! 
 
 Mother of deep, but pleasing pain} 
 Upon these tears that wildly start, 
 
 That hour comes floating back again; 
 With all its pleasure, all its pride, 
 And her, my lov'd one, by my side. 
 Oh, sweet illusion! happy dream ! 
 These moments like the past ones seem. 
 
 And, gazing on that meek-eyed moon— 
 The same — the same that saw our bliss—- 
 
 That glorious pleasure, past so soon, 
 Seems brightly realized in this: 
 
 For love, which I cannot control, 
 
 Brings heart to heart, and soul to soul. 
 
 Oh, that eternal were thy reign! 
 
 That thou, bright moon, would'st never wane: 
 
 Then would I sink before thy sight, 
 
 In memory's visions of delight; 
 
 Nor wake to feel this burning tear, 
 
 And she so distant and so dear. 
 
 Hark ! how the cold wind raves above: 
 
 My dream — 'tis but a type of love; 
 
 Unlasting, evanescent, frail, 
 
 Yet colder far than Zembla's gale; 
 
 Wand'ring on pinions, unconfin'd 
 
 By strength of soul, or worth of mind. 
 
 Of soul ? ay, there's the anchor-power ! 
 Of mind? yon heaven's redeeming dower! 
 Yes! these are mankind's only friends, 
 And end but when existence ends! 
 
WELD FLOWERS. IS 
 
 TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 Likeness of heaven ! 
 
 Agent of power ! 
 Man is thy victim, 
 
 Shipwreck thy dower: 
 Spices and jewels 
 
 From valley and sea; 
 Armies and banners 
 
 Are buried in thee. 
 
 What are the riches 
 
 Of Mexico's mines 
 To the wealth that far down 
 
 In thy deep water shines ? 
 The navies that cover 
 
 The conquering west ? 
 Thou fling'st them to death 
 
 With one heave of thy breast! 
 
 From the high hills that vizor 
 
 The wreck-making shore; 
 When the bride of the mariner 
 
 Shrieks at thy roar, 
 When, like lambs on the mountain, 
 
 Or mews in the blast, 
 Oe'r thy ridge-broken billows 
 
 The canvas is cast; 
 
 2 
 
14 PARNASSIAN 
 
 How humbling to him, 
 
 With a heart and a soul, 
 To look on thy waters, 
 
 And list to thy roll — 
 To think how that heart 
 
 In cold ashes will be, 
 While the voice of eternity 
 
 Rises from thee. 
 
 Yes ! where are the cities 
 
 Of Thebes and of Tyre? 
 Swept from the nations 
 
 Like sparks from the fire ! 
 The glory of Athens — 
 
 The splendor of Rome ? 
 Dissolved — and forever 
 
 Like dew in thy foam. 
 
 But thou art almighty, 
 
 Eternal, sublime, 
 Unweakened, unwasted, 
 
 Twin-brother of Time 
 Fleets, tempests nor nations 
 
 Thy glory can bow, 
 As the stars first beheld thee 
 
 Still chainless art thou ! 
 
 But hold! when thy surges 
 
 No longer shall roll, 
 And the firmament's length 
 
 Be drawn back as a scroll, 
 Then, then shall the spirit 
 
 That looks on thee now, 
 Be more mighty — more lasting 
 
 More chainless than thou. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 15 
 
 The following lines were suggested by a resolution, 
 submitted, some months since, to the French Legis- 
 lature, for the removal of Napoleon's remains from 
 St. Helena. 
 
 Bright mother of heroes, we joyously hail 
 
 The sfgn in thy skies and the sound on thy gale; 
 
 Once more is enkindled the spirit of old 
 
 That marshali'd for battle the brave and the bold. 
 
 In yon island of tyrants where slumbers your brave, 
 The billow his mourner, the desert his grave, 
 Some voice has arisen; but is it the hour 
 To astonish the earth with your pride and your 
 
 power 
 
 Yes, France of Napoleon, whether array'd 
 In the burst of thy light or the depth of thy shade; 
 There's in thee a phoenix-like glory that dashes 
 To lustre and life thro' the spell of his ashes. 
 
 Yes, bring from Helena's wild bed in the sea, 
 The heart that, volcano-like, blazed but for thee; 
 A^id be it, for limitless ages, a shrine 
 Of glory and worship for thee and for thine. 
 
 <f 'Tis human to err" — but his faults are a fame, 
 Which, crowning his triumphs, ennobled thy name: 
 Oh, bring back those relics, thy spirit 's in them; 
 Can a barren rock nurse so prolific a stem? 
 
16 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Let no cloud of dishonor o'ershadow his story 
 Who made Jena and Austerlitz light you with o-iory; 
 Up — up, in the strength of thy chivalry wake ! 
 And lift up your banner for liberty's sake. 
 
 On — on with your pride and your chivalry, France, 
 Your helm, and your buckler, your shield and your 
 lance, 
 
 Let the billows upbraid, let the battle tide swell, 
 But bring back his ashes — they're Victory's spell. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 17 
 
 THE AMERICAN MATD TO HER LOVER. 
 
 Go warrior, go, where the trumpet awakes, 
 And the banner ofliberty floats in the air, 
 
 Where the lover the bower of the maiden forsakes, 
 With freedom to brighten the home of his fair. 
 
 Oh! what is the bower or the banquet to those 
 Who, in moments like these, with a patriot's fire, 
 
 Rush, lion-like, down on the lines of their foes, 
 Their bonds to unchain or in glory expire ? 
 
 Look round on those hills in their beauty array'd, 
 On those lakes and those vallies so fertile and 
 bright, 
 
 And say if a country so glorious was made 
 
 For her sons to betray or her tyrants to blight? 
 
 No! go in the strength of thy manhood, and wave 
 The brand of the freeman; and think that on thee — 
 
 Yea! thy own single arm, is the cause of the brave, 
 The pride of the young, and the hope of the free. 
 
 And if glory should leave but thy deeds and thy 
 name, 
 
 Fast, fast shall the tears of thy lover be shed; 
 Then, then she more warmly will cherish thy fame 
 
 In a bosom whose fondness no other has read. 
 
 But if fate to those arms shall return thee once more, 
 How happy shall life thro' its hours glide away; 
 
 2* 
 
IS PARNASSIAN 
 
 Each moment to come, like the moment before,- 
 Lit up by the heart's most unquenchable ray. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 Tell me gentle Zepher, tell, 
 
 Roamer of the hill and dell, 
 
 Tell me if you've met a maid, 
 
 Wandering thro' these bowers of shade; 
 
 She hath eyes like night in hue; 
 
 But with all its starlight too. 
 
 Cheeks where love and gladness bring 
 
 All the youth and bloom of spring. 
 
 And where summer's hand uncloses 
 
 Rays to ripen beauty's roses. 
 
 Ringlets that unloose their brigetness 
 
 O'er her shoulders dazzling whiteness, 
 
 Giving now and then a glance 
 
 Of their Pbidean expanse. 
 
 Lips so like a parted rose 
 
 Where the pearly dews repose, 
 
 And love may banquet as he wills 
 
 On the dew which heaven distils. 
 
 Such a small and velvet ear 
 
 T'vvere a bliss to whisper there; 
 
 Fondly, timidly revealing 
 
 Some soft tale of secret feeling; 
 
 And a bosom rich as June, 
 
 Round and modest as the moon 
 
 When she vainly would conceal 
 
 The moving magic with a. veil. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. IS 
 
 These are tokens true for thee 
 
 If thcu sees't as I can see. 
 
 And, sweet Zephyr if you knew 
 
 How I've search'd these woodlands thro*; 
 
 If you knew but half the pain 
 
 Firing soul and racking brain; 
 
 If you felt as lovers fee!, 
 
 Half the torture, half the zeal 
 
 Which the absent hours awake, 
 
 As bigots fire the martyr's stake. 
 
 Zephyr ! say is Mary here, 
 
 Mary's breath embalms the air. 
 
 Flown! the laughing Zephyr's flown; 
 And again 1 walk alone; 
 Like that Zephyr does the earth, 
 Hears and turns your grief to mirth. 
 Listens to your words of sorrow, 
 Keeps them for his laugh tomorrow. 
 Yes! for the world is false indeed, 
 Falser still is friendship's creed; 
 Heart of weakness, link of gold, 
 Are its haven arid its hold. 
 And beneath that arch above, 
 Nothing's sure but woman's love. 
 Give- me one of Mary's kisses, 
 Richer than all other blisses, 
 Wisdom's word or warrior's steel, 
 Poet's fire or patriot's zeal. 
 One life's safety lamp may hold, 
 But her path is dull and cold, 
 One may fill your land with spoil, 
 One may tune your mind from toil. 
 And the patriot's hand may cast, 
 Tyrant's bondage to the blast; 
 
20 PARNASSIAN 
 
 But how dead and dark they seem 
 In the light of beauty's beam, 
 They for mortal path were given, 
 That to light the path to Heaver 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Come mingle the tide of song 
 
 With the wine-cup's purple sea, 
 For few of the treasures it holds, ere long 
 
 Will sparkle or shine for thee. 
 And sweet are the words that flow 
 
 From beauty's witching mouth, 
 As winds that in the summer blow, 
 
 O'er a flower-bank, from the south. 
 
 As they who dwell by the shore 
 
 Which the Green Sea waters lave, 
 Must dive through its depths, the pearly store 
 
 To win from the yielding wave; 
 So he, who wishes to lay 
 
 Life's glittering treasures up, 
 Must boldly cleave his luminous way 
 
 To the depth of the vintage cup. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 21 
 
 TO THYRZA. 
 
 Minstrels have sung 
 
 Of the magic that lies 
 O'er the face, when the spirit 
 
 Enkindles the eyes: 
 But tho' glorious their song, 
 
 Still how much more divine 
 Would it be, could they bask 
 
 In the glory of thine. 
 
 Black, brilliant, and beautiful, 
 
 Beaming with soul, 
 Which even thy modesty 
 
 Cannot control; 
 Silent expression, 
 
 Speaking in light; 
 Beauteously tender, 
 
 And tenderly bright. 
 
 O'er that beautiful forehead 
 
 So broad and so white, 
 Where Beauty and Thought 
 
 Oh its empire unite; — 
 Thy dark hair is wreathed 
 
 In many a fold, 
 Undulating like waves 
 
 In the summer-light's gold. 
 
 Like the apple-tree blossom 
 From the dew-fountain fed, 
 
 Is the bloom of thy cheek, 
 With its white and its red: 
 
 Thy neck's like a moon beam 
 Of shadowless lia-ht, 
 
22 PARNASSIAN 
 
 And the smile of thy lips 
 Is a throne of delight. 
 
 The dreamings of fancy 
 
 Fade off at thy form, 
 So perfectly Sylph like 
 
 And gloriously warm; 
 And calmly each heave 
 
 Of thy deep bosom tells 
 Of the peace that within, 
 
 In its purity dwells. 
 
 Oh, long may that feeling 
 
 Inhabit that breast, 
 Its balsam when troubled, 
 
 Its joy when at rest; 
 And if sorrow should come, 
 
 May it be as the light 
 Of the stars, which are made 
 
 But to gladden the night. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 23 
 
 JEPHTHAH'S VOW. 
 
 And Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and said, 
 If thou shall without fail deliver the children of 
 Amnion into my hands, 
 
 Then it shall be that whatsoever cometh forth of the 
 doors of my house, to meet me, when I return in peace 
 from the children of Ammon, shall surely he the 
 Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt-offering. 
 JUDGES, chap. xi., v. 30-33. 
 
 Oh! who are yon maidens, so lovely and pale, 
 The voice of whose sorrow is loud on the gale ? 
 For whom does the tear quench the fire of those eyes? 
 For whom are their bosoms heaved upwards by sighs? 
 
 Oh! they are the daughters of Israel's pride, 
 
 And they weep for the maid who has shone by their 
 
 side, 
 Who came with the timbrel, the song, and the dance, 
 And was glad in the triumph of Israel's lance. 
 
 For the children of Ammon were scattered in fight, 
 As the leaves of the wood by the hurricane's might- 
 For the cities were shaken and filled with their dead, 
 And the plain of the vine with the carnage was red. 
 
 Now, Jephthah to Heaven had uttered a vow, 
 That if Israel's triumph should laurel his brow, 
 The first he should meet at his door he would yield 
 As an offering to him who had sruided the field. 
 
21 PARANSSIAN 
 
 He came in his triumph, with transport, and they 
 Who once loath'd him, now joined in his brilliant 
 
 array; 
 To Mizpeh he came, and the timbrel and dance 
 Awoke when his people beheld him advance. 
 
 But whom met he first of the many that smiled ? 
 'Twas his daughter — his only — his beautiful child; 
 And his garments he rent, and his bosom he gor'd, 
 For the victim he promised was she he ador'd. 
 
 But the promise was made to the Father of Truth; 
 
 And his daughter, though yet in her beauty and 
 
 youth, 
 In gladness the path of her suffering trod, 
 An offering laid on the altar of God. 
 
 Oh! thus may no fetter, though flow'ry it be, 
 Thou tearful existence, attach me to thee ! 
 Be the courage of Jephthah the guide of our mind, 
 And our feelings forgot for the good of our kind ! 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 TO AGNES. 
 
 Foot like the dew fall at night, 
 Presence refreshing and bright- 
 Step like a being of air — 
 Freedom and majesty there; — 
 Lips which the coral hath dy'd, 
 And zephyr has kissed in his pride; 
 Cheek, in the leaves of whose rose 
 Innocent Cupids repose! — 
 
 Blest — blest must he he 
 
 Whose worship is favor'd by thee. 
 
 Eye where each slumbering glanck 
 Is as a peace-rested lance, 
 Roused by the friend or the slave, 
 Ready to wound or to save. 
 Tresses, that gloriously shine 
 Over that forehead divine-*- 
 Voice like the notes that arise, 
 When purity closes our eyes! 
 
 Blest — blest must he be, 
 
 Whose worship is favor'd by thee. 
 
 Better no feeling were there, 
 
 To see, or to love, or to hear — 
 
 Better he never had met 
 
 One he can never forget, 
 
 Than at thy altar to kneel, 
 
 Thy spirit refusing to feel; 
 
 But did'st thou once favor his prayer, 
 
 He'd expire in his worshipping there. 
 
 Blest — blest must he be 
 
 Whose worship is favored by thee. 
 
 3 
 
26 PARNASSIAN 
 
 TO MYRRHA. 
 
 When the maiden's eye discloses, 
 
 To the youth's enraptur'd eye, 
 Lilies blent with budding roses, 
 
 Fann'd by many a gentle sigh: — 
 When the brow's expanded glory 
 
 Sheds around its moon-like rays, 
 Fit to light a minstrel's story, 
 
 Fit to win a minstrel's praise, 
 Who could from them part 
 With unwounded heart ? 
 
 When those ringlets dark, reclining 
 
 O'er that forehead's Alpine gleam, 
 Make that brow a lake reclining 
 
 In the spring-leaf-broken beam, 
 And the eyes 1 electric splendor, 
 
 Render'd by their lustrous jet, 
 Yet more bright, and still more tender, 
 
 Dares the gazer to forget — 
 
 Who could from them part 
 With unwounded heart? 
 
 When that bosom's rounded feeling 
 
 Heaves with its intensest thought, 
 In its every heave revealing 
 
 All that minstrel sung or sought; 
 And that sculptur'd figure glowing, 
 
 Fills, with its enraptur'd spell, 
 Bosoms with an overflowing, 
 
 All may feel, but few can tell: — 
 Who could from them part 
 With unwounded heart? 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 27 
 
 Not a charm of these but dwelleth 
 V In thy figure and thy face, 
 Not a single glance but telleth 
 
 Of some new and shining grace. 
 But these outward charms are only 
 
 Mirrors of the worth that lies 
 In thy bosom, deep>nd lonely, 
 Like one star in summer skies. 
 Oh, / cannot part 
 With unwounded heart? 
 
 SACRED MELODT. 
 
 TO THE REV. MR. SMITH, OF ALEXANDRIA, 
 
 "Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles.';" 
 
 What care I how frequent or dim, 
 
 The frown of the proud one may be; 
 My pride and my hope are in him 
 . Who from bondage set Israel free, 
 And buried her foes in the sea. 
 
 And if, in contentment, I tread, 
 
 Mid the splendor and pomp of this sphere, 
 'Tis not that ambition is dead, 
 
 It is that my spirit is there — 
 Far, far o'er the wide fields of air. 
 
 Give palace and sceptre to Kings, 
 
 But the glen and the mountain for me, 
 
 Where nature's wild melody rings, 
 
 And the green leaves are dancing with glee 
 
 In the arms of the old forest tree. 
 
28 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Where the cataract leaps in its pride, 
 
 And the rivulet gushes along, , 
 
 Some wild flowers kissing its tide; 
 Some warbler admiring its song, — 
 To such scenes do such pleasures belong. 
 
 But, oh! how sublimer to look, 
 
 When no wave of the ocean is curl'd, 
 
 To see nature unfolding her book, 
 
 And the banner of morning's unfurl'd; 
 And light is awaking the world. 
 
 When in all we perceive or Lehold, 
 Sun, firmament, ocean, or flower, 
 
 Or forest, or mountain, is told 
 
 The Godhead's omnipotent power; 
 And his love-! to us worms of an hour. 
 
 Or, when in her silvery car, 
 
 Ascending yon heavenly height, 
 
 The Queen — moon calls out every star, 
 To illumine the march of the night, 
 From their dwellings of shadowless light. 
 
 Alone, on the humble can those 
 A joy and a promise bestow, 
 
 Fill the soul with a christian repose; 
 And the heart with a holier glow, 
 And make us a heaven below. 
 
 Then what care I how frequent or dim 
 The frown of the proud one might be; 
 
 For my pride and my hope are in him, 
 Who from bondage set Israel free, 
 And buried her foes in the sea. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 A SIMILE. 
 
 Yonder silver moon appears, 
 Daughter of unnumbered years. 
 See how beautiful and bright 
 She moves amid those isles of light, 
 Heavn'ly planet shining through 
 That glorious firmament of blue. 
 
 But, alas! across thy way 
 Clouds in envious darkness stray, 
 But they lessen not thy light, 
 Ever young and ever bright; 
 Still as beautifully fair 
 As no cloud had wandered there. 
 
 Thus the mind, to virtue given, 
 Ranges thro' its native heaven; 
 Careless of the world, and proud 
 In native light o'er storm or cloud. 
 
 3* 
 
30 PARNASSIAN 
 
 TO LESBIA. 
 
 Maiden of the nut-brown hair, 
 Richer than the jewels there, 
 Forehead high, and broad and white, 
 Eyes of most enchanting light, 
 Cheeks as pure as budding roses 
 Where in blushes love reposes, 
 Parted lips of coral hue; 
 Dazzling pearls appearing through, 
 Figure sculptur'd to subdue — 
 "Si je te perd, je suis perdu." 
 
 Voice of music, such as thrills 
 
 From summer boughs o'er lawns and rills; 
 
 Mind by richer thoughts controll'd 
 
 Than Jemschid's pearl or Ophir's gold: 
 
 Soul as pure and heart as free 
 
 As mortal's soul and heart can be: 
 
 Education's holiest power 
 
 Gave to thee a deathless dower ! 
 
 Form of beauty — feeling true — 
 
 <<c Si je te perd, je suis perdu." 
 
WILD FLOWERS. »1 
 
 THE DYING PENITENT. 
 
 Confitebor tibi Domine toto corde meo. 
 If deep repentance can atone 
 
 For sins committed here; 
 Mine pleads before the godhead's throne 
 
 Confidingly sincere: 
 While here I shed, unwept, unknown, 
 
 The penitential tear. 
 
 I know our mouldering relics sleep 
 
 Within the stormless clay; 
 But, ah! by what mysterious deep 
 
 Does the lone spirit stray; 
 No beacon-light on mount or steep 
 
 To guide its wandering way? 
 
 Bark of alternate hope and fear 
 
 On unknown waters cast, 
 No sail to speed, no hand to steer, 
 
 No signal at thy mast: 
 Darkness around and breakers near, 
 
 Eternal, wild and vast. 
 
 Stay, sinner! stay thy impious thought; 
 
 When dust and dust unite, 
 The spirit, by God's wisdom taught, 
 
 Springs into day from night; 
 And leaves the earth, with follies fraught, 
 
 For lands of golden light: — 
 
 Light never dimm'd by storm or shade, 
 
 Nor chequer' d from below, 
 In which eternity has play'd 
 
 And life's bright fountains flow: 
 Thither the sheep that, erring, stray 'd, 
 
 Rejoicingly shall go. 
 
42 PARNASSIAN 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Calm the skies and bright the moon, 
 Sweet the balmy breath of June, 
 And the streamlet, as it gushes, 
 Greets the rose's modest blushes. 
 Now's the hour when lovers tell 
 Sacred thoughts by hill and dell; 
 And the star-light loves to shine 
 For hearts as pure and fond as thine. 
 
 Come we then! no brighter hour 
 Ever gladden'd lake or bower; 
 Fitter time was never born 
 To bring in love's rosy morn; 
 Let the cold in slumber be, 
 Moonlight wakes for you and me; 
 All around, below, above 
 Whisper "now's the hour for love." 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 33 
 
 TO THE WIND, 
 
 (A fragment ftom an unpublished Poem.) 
 Invisible giant! whose terrific stride 
 Makes vallies in the ocean wild and wide, 
 Whose voice from the obedient trees calls down 
 The forest's foliage and the autumn's crown, 
 How limitless thy power ! Yon orb of Heaven 
 Favillion'd in the gorgeous clouds of even — 
 Mantles of purple — diadem of gold, 
 Too pure to paint — too dazzling to behold, 
 Enthron'd in light — his banner never furl'd — 
 His source Omnipotence — his child this world — 
 However winters ope, or summers fade, 
 His smile can gladden and his frown can shade. 
 And yet thou giant uncontrolled — thou 
 Wilt fling thy veil unbidden o'er his brow. 
 Shut out his bright-ey'd face — annul his birth — 
 Call up thy clouds and curtain heaven from earth; 
 -And ocean — mighty ocean! broad and strong, 
 Now chain'd in calm, now rolled in power along; 
 A mirror now where Heaven its beauty sees, 
 Now playing with the undulating breeze, 
 Now heaving from the hills their wild replies— 
 Now lashing, Titan-like, the starry skies — 
 Upon its frenzied breast bearing the bark, 
 No light but lightning for its guiding mark — 
 Thi* too is thine, imperishable power: 
 
34 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Thou shak'stthe works of ages in an hour.* 
 
 Cities, and ships, and shores, and forests old, 
 
 By age unhurt, by mortal uncontroll'd, 
 
 Vanish before thy breath: but what thou art, 
 
 What mind can picture, or what tongue impart? 
 
 Thou art a mystery of Nature's mind, 
 
 Not by philosophy itself defin'd! 
 
 A. portion of the Universe — a spell — 
 
 On which 'twere vain for human thought to dwell: 
 
 A power which all can feel but none can tell. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 35 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 'Tis sweet to sit in some fragrant bower, 
 In love dreams passing the moon-light hour, 
 And hear the stream as it glides along 
 Blessing those dreams with its woodland song; 
 Or listen, romantically far 
 To love-notes wak'd '.'from the light guitar;" 
 And fondly think that future bliss 
 Will be as uncloudedly bright as this! 
 
 But oh! at that moon-light hour, for me 
 
 The deep toned voice of the mighty sea. 
 
 When our ship's like the war steed's strong career, 
 
 And the waves are glad of the pride they bear, 
 
 And sparkles are filling the foam with light 
 
 Like gems on a bridemaid's robe of white; 
 
 And the broken moon-light seems to be 
 
 A silver net thrown over the sea. 
 
 Borne on — borne on by her mighty wings 
 Before her the strength of the foam she flings, 
 And she plays with the billows as harmless things. 
 Now gleaming aloft on their Alpine sjiows, 
 Now down to their depth, in her joy, she goes: 
 O the sea: the glorious sea, 
 Wondrously strong and eternally free !. 
 
 The monarch who sighed for a novel pleasure, 
 In thee might have found an exhaustless treasure, 
 Changing, tho' changeless. In thy sleep 
 Sublime as when hurricanes round thee sweep:. 
 A slumbering giant then art thou, 
 Peaceful power gilding thy brow': 
 Fields and mountains and forests deep 
 Kissing thy face in that fairy sleep. 
 
36 PARNASSIAN 
 
 In his hours of existence man is as thou, 
 A breath or a frown will ruffle his brow. 
 
 But what is man to thy anger cast ? 
 
 A child of an hour — a bud in a, blast. 
 
 For thy waking voice is that of the Power 
 
 That gave to creation its natal hour. 
 
 And 0! it is glorious to see thy strength 
 
 Rolling its multitudinous length: 
 
 Now the stars like beacons along thy mountains, 
 
 Now hall' revealing thy secret fountains — 
 
 Thy chrystal halls — thy coral boners — 
 
 Thy glorious fields of immortal flowers — 
 
 The buried mariners' rolling cells, 
 
 And thy palaces where the Mermaid dwells! 
 
 The sea — wondrous sea for me, 
 
 Eternal, mystic, strong and free ! 
 
WILD FL0WER3. 37 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Yonder cottage where the rose 
 Round the curtain'd lattice grows, 
 And the woodbine's blossom weaves 
 'Mid the vines o'ershadowing leaves;— 
 There, in that lone cot, beside 
 Blooming flower and limpid tide, 
 First I felt love's beacon fire — 
 First awoke this humble lyre. 
 
 Who, mid such a glorious scene — 
 Streams and flowers and mountains 1 green, 
 Where Nature ever seems divine, 
 Could resist th' inspiring Nine? 
 Every cloud that passes by, 
 Rose's blush and breeze's sigh, 
 Are a picture and a page 
 For the poet and the sage. 
 
 Let the heartless and the cold 
 Slumber by their gather' d gold. 
 I can find more real bliss 
 In e woodland scene like this ; 
 4 
 
26 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Brightened thus by living love, 
 While hope, with anchor fix'd above, 
 Unites the spirit to that place 
 Of endless joy and cloudless grace. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 SACRED MELODY. 
 
 And God shall bring every work into judgment, with every 
 ecret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil. 
 
 Ecclesiastes, chap. xii. v. 14, 
 
 Oh thou who raad'st yon starry skies, 
 To whom unknown no secret lies, 
 
 Who read'st the sinner's heart; 
 With whom is mercy's saving pow'r, 
 Whose love is man's abiding tower; 
 
 Thou who Almighty art: — 
 
 Teach me to fear thee with that fear 
 Which telleih of thy judgment near, 
 
 And of that coming day, 
 When the archangel's trump will sound, 
 And the earth's million dead, unbound, 
 
 Shall meet thy glory's ray. 
 
 For thou hast call'd thy erring child, 
 In accents merciful and mild; 
 
 But ah ! without thy grace 
 How weak and worthless were my strength 
 Worn by my error's weary length, 
 
 Thy mandate to embrace. 
 
4<J PARNASSIAN 
 
 Thus, G-cd of mercy, shall I be 
 ''Sought out"; — forsaken not by thee, 
 
 And. pass from' earth away; 
 Thy promise my sustaining pride, 
 And o'er eternity's dark tide 
 
 Thy love my guiding ray. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 41 
 
 THE PIRATE's SONG. 
 
 Up — up my brave fellows, 
 
 Put off and away, 
 Yon prize must be ours 
 
 'Ere the close of the day; 
 Remember your triumphs, 
 
 Be true to your brands, 
 Coo] courage, keen eve, 
 
 And invincible hands! 
 
 My ship is my kingdom, 
 
 My subjects her crew, 
 They are valiant and fearless, 
 
 And ready and true; 
 My flag is a beacon 
 
 Of wonder and woe, 
 And the nations pay tribute 
 
 Wherever we go. 
 
 Yon galley that sails 
 
 In her glory along, 
 Has heart's that are gallant, 
 
 And hands that are strong. 
 4* 
 
It PARNASSIAN 
 
 But each heart and each cheek 
 Will be pulseless and pale, 
 
 When the war of our thunder 
 Goes forth on the gale. 
 
 She is laden with spices 
 
 Brought out of the east, 
 She has gold for the coffers, 
 
 And wine for the feast ; 
 But ere yonder sun-beam 
 
 Shall set or decline, 
 That ship shall go down, 
 
 And her treasure be mine. 
 
 What matter to us 
 
 To what kingdoms or powen 
 These prizes belong, 
 
 For the ocean is ours ; 
 From the north to the south, 
 
 From the east to the west, 
 Our flag is the proudest, 
 
 Our ship is the best. 
 
 For death or for conquest 
 
 We always prepare, 
 For they seek not for mercy, 
 
 Who know not to spare ; 
 No footstep of scorn 
 
 O'er our ashes shall tread ; 
 For the ocean we sweep 
 
 Will encircle our dead. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 43 
 
 Then up, my brave fellows, 
 
 No time for delay, 
 Yon prize must be Ours 
 
 'Ere the close of the day. 
 Remember your triumphs, 
 
 Be true to your brands, 
 Cool courage, keen eye, 
 
 And invincible hands. 
 
PARNASSIAN 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Fill th' inspiring bowl again, 
 Fill high with sparkling wine, 
 
 For 'tis in that ambrosial rain 
 The soul's best blossoms shine. 
 
 The gods themselves to the goblet stood, 
 
 And fill'd and filled again; 
 Then sure if wine for the gods were good, 
 
 It must be good for men. 
 
 Another flask of Chian bring, 
 And while with Love we play, 
 
 We'll wet with wine his radiant wing, 
 That he must not fly away. 
 
 'Twas thro' the vine-leaves round his lyre, 
 
 The Teian's kindling song, 
 Pour'd out the love-awaking fire, 
 
 So mellow — vet so strong. 
 
 The soldier, mariner, poet, all 
 Have felt the Teian's pow'r; 
 
 Even age's snows, whene'er they fall, 
 Melt in the goblet's show'r. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 45 
 
 So fill th' inspiring bowl again, 
 Fill high with sparkling wine, 
 
 For 'tis in that ambrosial rain 
 The soul's bast blossoms shine. 
 
46 PARNASSIAN 
 
 SONG. 
 
 written for the recent celebration op 
 st. Patrick's day. 
 
 Air— Erin Go Bragh. 
 
 Come lift up your banner of green, for its splendor 
 
 Now, wizard-like, beacons my heart and my soul, 
 
 Go, where hearts are undaunted and bosoms are 
 tender, 
 
 And the headlands seem proud of Atlantic's white 
 
 roll. 
 
 For this is the day, "of all days in creation," 
 
 To send back our thoughts to that emerald nation, 
 
 To patriot and lover and friend and relation, 
 
 And, home of my heart and my boyhood, to 
 thee ! 
 
 Yes! lift up your banner of green, for its glory 
 Breaks forth as unclouded as ever it shone, 
 It wakes us to many a chivalrous story, 
 
 Tho' the days of the deeds which it tells of are 
 gone. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 47 
 
 And while, with a voice loud and strong as the 
 
 ocean, 
 The emerald island demands our devotion, 
 Let Irishmen feel all that sacred emotion 
 
 Which so truly belongs to that " gem of the 
 
 sea !" 
 
48 PARANSSIAN 
 
 TO Mr. J. E. McHenry, of Baltimore. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER. 
 
 Can this be death? 
 
 The yielding up a transitory breath — 
 
 Seeking a tranquil for a stormy clime — 
 
 Pleasure for pain — eternity for time — 
 
 The kingdom where creation' birth began; 
 
 And heaven's sweet harps for earth, and God for man? 
 
 No! 'tis not death. 
 
 And what is death ? 
 
 Ah ! dark despair to yield th' unwilling breath — 
 To see with bursting eye the charnel ope — 
 The past a curse: the future without hope — 
 Beside the bed the ghost of murdered lime, 
 Leading, with gory hand, accusing crime? 
 Ah! that is death. 
 
 Then 'tis not death 
 
 My friend, that closed thy pious mother's breath, 
 'Twas Heaven, its meed of glory to bestow, 
 That call'd her soul above from ills below. 
 Death is sin's wages: thus the Saviour said; 
 And she was sinless: can she then be dead? 
 No! 'tis not death. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 49 
 
 EXTRACT 
 
 From an unpublished Poem. 
 
 The sun appear' d high o'er the burnish'd dome 
 Of nature's temple reaching to the sky, 
 
 And, to the organ-voice of ocean's foam, 
 Each listening echo woke in glad reply, 
 
 And coming from their flowery mountain home 
 The fragrant breezes went in gladness by: 
 
 To nature's face so pure a spell was given 
 
 That angels might have chosen earth for heaven, 
 
 0, 'twas a glorious sight! the circling hills 
 And mountain-pillars springing to the sky, 
 
 Painted with growing trees and gushing rills, 
 
 And flowers that woo'd the summer breeze's sigh: 
 
 And nature wore that loveliness that fills 
 Our bosoms with regret that we must die, 
 
 And leave her glorious region for a land 
 
 No mind can contemplate and understand. 
 
 We 're but the reptile's banquet! — yes, those cheeks 
 
 That in their beauty emulate the rose; 
 Those, when Death withers them, that reptile seeks 
 
 And then nor heart nor eye its idol knows, 
 The link that held us to existence breaks, 
 And we 're forgotten — pains and joys and wees: 
 Then why repine ? — yon heaven invites us there — 
 Its portals open to the voice of prayer. 
 
 Lo! through earth's vast cathedral millions mov'd 
 And knelt in worship's humblest attitude, 
 
 Each as his individual faith approv'd, 
 At christian altar, or to idol rude: 
 5 
 
fiO PARNASSIAN 
 
 And tho' by form was each from each remov'd 
 All were sincere and therefore all were good; 
 Pure hearts, pure feelings and pure aspirations 
 To him who rules the earth's unnumbered nations. 
 
 I heard th' Muezzin's evening call for pray'r, 
 And saw the turbans reverend bend around, 
 
 The Mosque's ascending worship filPd the air 
 And the pure eastern sky receiv'd the sound: 
 
 "If," I exclaim'd, " if there be error there 
 It is not to the will's profaneness bound, 
 
 And if for weakness mercy dwells in heaven 
 
 These rites and worshippers will be forgiven !" 
 
 Look where the Indian, nature's savage child, 
 Calls, where the tempest sweeps his forest dwelling, 
 
 Upon his Manitou, with gesture wild, 
 While faith of some eternity is telling! 
 
 Is not his God the men iful, the mild, 
 
 Who knows the erring from the bold rebelling: 
 
 And while he tells you "seek and you shall find — " 
 
 Measures his justice by the mortal's mind. 
 
 Ah ! that this lovely earth ever was made 
 Ground for religious tournaments! the strife 
 
 Degenerates to a hypocritic trade, 
 
 In which for breath is sold the life of life! 
 
 What is our pilgrimage? a vile parade 
 
 Where passions mingle in undying strife— 
 
 Where vice is mirth — humility a shame— 
 
 Honor a breath--philosophy a name. 
 
 * # # #** * # • 
 
 'Tii morn, tbo' starlight sentinels the =ky ! 
 
 And ye: before yon Convent's altar lire 
 The pious send their orisons on high 
 
 Ere yet the solemn shades of night retire; 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 61 
 
 Breathe the warm prayer or penitential sigh: 
 
 Shut from the bosom each impure desire: 
 Witness the lifted host — the organ's swell 
 And the clear tinkling of the silver bell. 
 
 And while before that altar hundreds kneel, 
 The voice of persecution roars around; 
 
 The parsons' thunder and the soldiers' steel 
 
 Shake the poor peasant's hut with crashing sound; 
 
 But nor the bayonet nor the bloody zeal 
 
 Of mitred Shylocks, or of monarchs crown'd 
 
 Can make that peasant fear the tyrant's rod, 
 
 Or turn that warm adorer from his God. 
 
 And this is mid yon highlands bleak and bold 
 Th.it frown o'er wild Atlantic's white despair; 
 
 Where her bright Sunburst Erin spread of old; 
 And, spiriting heralds on her mountain air, 
 
 Confirm'd the fearless and inspir'd the cold, 
 
 And, like a household god, kept Freedom there: 
 
 Aye! in those days, ere History led, as now, 
 
 The despots burning ploughshare o'er each brow. 
 
 Eut Memory 50! and come angelic Hope 
 And with thy splendor dissipate yon cloud, 
 
 That freedom's smile on Erin's fields might ope, 
 And angel tongues bar freedom speak aloud. 
 
 It will be so! for heaven's horoscope 
 
 Thus legislates — and from her centuries' shroud 
 
 Ireland will rise — her Sunburst be unfurld 
 
 And blaze triumphant to a wondring world. 
 
PARNASSIAN 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 All farewells should be sudden, when forever; 
 Else they make an eternity of moments, 
 And clog the last sad sands of life with tears. 
 
 Sardixapalus. 
 
 We parted — but one farewell word was spoken : 
 We wept — it was a momentary tear; 
 
 We interchanged no frail memorial token, 
 To prove the faithful mind — the heart sincere. 
 
 No ! rapid as the daylight sinks in ocean, 
 Or as the star departing from its sphere, 
 
 Was our farewell — but ah! the mad emotion, 
 E'vn tho' the storm is silent, will appear. 
 
 Yet why thus feel, she never could be mine! 
 
 A land's affiliation is not ours: 
 We kneel not — knelt not at one sacred shrine, 
 
 Nor met me in the same ambrosial bower. 
 
 It was a glance — a moment's light that led, 
 To this dark labyrinth of the Cretan mind; 
 
 The source is gome by which the lamp was fed; 
 No guiding Ariadne waits behind. 
 
 But it is past — be still my throbbing heart, 
 
 Some day will bring more joyous hours than these, 
 When the wild stream of sorrow will not start, 
 And death's dark winter will thy fountain freeze. 
 
 Then earth and earthly cares will pass away, 
 And love and hope and sorrow cease to be: 
 
 Eternity will happier lands display, 
 
 But even then would I remember thee. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 She's gone who shared my diadem. 
 
 Byron- 
 
 Oh! had she died in earlier youth, 
 Ere beauty in its fullness came, 
 Or love, with its inspiring truth, 
 
 Fed in her breast the sacred flame- 
 Had she then died, my heart were not 
 
 A living tomb as it is now — 
 Where hope can find no dwelling spot- 
 Arid furrowing sorrow dims the brow. 
 
 Ah, vainly does the wise man say 
 
 That grief cannot restore the dead, 
 For nature will enforce its way 
 
 As torrents wear their mountain bed, 
 The summer air may dry the stream, 
 
 Yet still its channel will appear; 
 But this fond heart ! — no summer beam 
 
 Can bring concealing verdure there. 
 
54 VARNASSlAn 
 
 THE STARS. 
 
 Oh! thou beautiful and unimaginable ether I and ye multiply- 
 ing masses of increased and still increasing lights ! what are 
 ye? what is in this blue wilderness of interminable air. 
 
 caijs. 
 
 Faith ! thou'rt a dangerous doctrine ! as I turn 
 Tow'rds yonder stars, that in bright mystery burn, 
 How can I think yon firmament was made 
 For calm and storm, for sunshine and for shade, 
 For light and darkness, in mad conflict rang'd, 
 And think myself, both changeless and unchanged. 
 No ! thou, blind faith ! whom reason never sought,. 
 Who laugh'st at all that wisdom ever taught; 
 Who blottest all that mind can contemplate, 
 And buildest quicker than it can create, 
 Say, are not yonder planets made to be 
 The intermediate heavens of life's dark sea? 
 
 Are they the heaven inherited by those 
 Whose souls have sought eternity's repose; 
 If so, the sacred writer, truly said 
 That the glorious mind of man has never read, 
 The glories gathered in those starry isles 
 Where storms are mute and Mercy ever smiles. 
 
 Or are they places where the evil stay 
 
 The burning Caravanseras of air ? 
 But hold ! inquiry finds no friendly way, 
 
 Hope only guides thy glorious pathway there. 
 Behold, confidingly, Religion's way, 
 
 And lift to God's high heav'n thy sacred prayer, 
 Nor e'er conjecture where that heaven may be, 
 For he will ope its golden-gates to thee. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Oh ! if there be an object dear 
 To manhood's pride, to manhood's feeling, 
 
 'Tis she who never sheds a tear, 
 That manhood's vow, like magic stealing 
 Thro' her fond heart, inflicted there 
 
 A wound beyond the art of healing. 
 
 To what can injured woman look 
 If not to knightly honor plighted, 
 
 By many a witness-speaking brook; 
 
 But, ah! when sacred oaths are slighted, 
 
 She turns to Him whose mercy took 
 To joy and peace, the long benighted. 
 
 When warriors tread the tented field, 
 The bow to bend, the blade to wield, 
 Does memory never wake the sigh, 
 For moments passed like pleasures by ? 
 
 Have they no aged sire whose pride 
 Struggles the starting tear to hide. 
 To teach the partner of his years 
 The Stoicism of hidden tears ? 
 
 Have they no mother whose fond breast 
 Cradled their infancy to rest, 
 Who kept them, lamb-like, by her side, 
 Her future hope — her present pride ? 
 
 Have they no sister whose glad face 
 Was bright with heav'n's unclouded grace. 
 Who lov'd her brother sweetly well, 
 And saw in him her citadel ? 
 
56 PARNASSIAN 
 
 Have they no brother of whose heart 
 
 Their happiness has been a part, 
 
 With whom they've climb' d the mountain's height, 
 
 In boyhood's warm tho' mild delight? 
 
 Have they no wife — no wedded dove, 
 Worshipp'd and worshipping in love; 
 No child that wife's fond kiss to take, 
 For its dear father's distant sake? 
 
 No country ? Eden of the earth! 
 
 Our pride, our prayer, our love, our birth? 
 
 If ever country claims control, 
 
 Tis of the gallant soldier's soul! 
 
 No friend ? to whom they could confide 
 Their love, ambition, hope, and pride; 
 No Pythias, who, unchanged for years, 
 Would sacrifice his life for theirs? 
 
 And, oh, is there no faithful maid 
 Who's but beloved to be betray'd, 
 Yet, to the faithless faithful still; 
 Forgives the wrong and bears the ill ? 
 
 Oh, if there be, to nature true, 
 Think still on those who think on you; 
 But most on her, the friendless maid, 
 Who loves him still who has betray'd ! 
 
WJLD FLOWERS. 57 
 
 SACRED MELODY. 
 
 Ian that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble, 
 
 Job. xiv. 
 
 Man's life, of woman born, is brief, 
 
 His only 'heritance is grief, 
 
 He cometh from the earth a ilow'r 
 
 That blooms and withers in an hour. 
 
 He fieeth as a shadow by, 
 
 But sent to weep ; but born to die. 
 
 Determin'd are his days; the line 
 He cnnnot pass, oh God! is thine : 
 Oh ! turn from him that he may rest, 
 Till he fulfil high heaven's behest; 
 For earth renews the injured tree, 
 But man expires, and where is he ? 
 
 Th" immeasur'd waters fail the sea, 
 The mighty flood decays and dries, 
 
 And nature's self shall cease to be: 
 So manhood lives awhile and dies. 
 
 Till th' heavens shall pass from yon blue deep, 
 
 Thou wilt not break his breathless sleep. 
 
«8 PARNASSIAN 
 
 PALM SUNDAY. 
 
 RESPECTFULLY ADDRESSED TO MISS B****. 
 
 Alors des gens en grand nombre etendoient leur9 vetemens 
 par le chemin : et de autres conpoient des branches d'arDres, 
 et les etendoient par le chemin. 
 
 Matthew, ch. 21 and 8. 
 
 Jerusalem ! bestrew his path with palm, 
 
 The timbrel wake and sing" the grateful psalm; 
 
 Pour out thy strength upon the crowded ways, 
 
 And lift the voice of gladness and of praise. 
 
 He comes — the prophet's promise — not on barb 
 
 With gilded housings, nor in princely garb 
 
 No silken banners gleam, no garments glare, 
 
 No nodding plumes invite the amorous air, 
 
 No scutcheon'd pageant of heraldic fame, 
 
 No armour'd knights, no cannon's thundering flame : 
 
 But on an humble beast, in humblest guise 
 
 Comes the Redeemer — mission'd of the skies; 
 
 To yield upon the cross his sacred breath, 
 
 And die himself to rescue us from death. 
 
 Mark the pale forehead and the tranquil eye, 
 
 Beaming with beauty mirror'd from on high; 
 
 And love, and power, and meekness you may trace 
 
 In every feature of His heavenly face. 
 
 Oh ! can it be, Jerusalem ! that thou 
 
 Loudest to welcome him within thy walls, 
 
 With piercing thorns wilt crown his bleeding brow, 
 Throne him in mockery 'mid thy jeering halls ; 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 69 
 
 In his right hand a reed for sceptre place- 
 Insultingly proclaim Him Israel's King, 
 
 And, fiendish daring ! spit upon his face, 
 Till Zion with thy blasphemy shall ring. 
 
 And can it be? 'tis written so on high ! 
 
 And quick as falling leaves thy love shall die. 
 
 Oh humbling thought ! not mortal's loftiest pride 
 Nor holiest brow can in itself confide ; 
 Weak, wond'ring. fickle, restless, unresign'd, 
 True to no point — the slave of every mind ; 
 Like those who rais'd the calf where Moses trod, 
 While thunders spoke th' omnipotence of God! 
 ' r hus have we stray'd and thus will ever stray ; 
 Directed by our will's unaided sway. 
 
 As well to think that some abandoned bark, 
 The waves all phrenzied and the skies all dark, 
 The lightning's victim and the tempest's sport, 
 May ride in safety to her destin'd port, 
 As that frail man his heav'n-ward way direct, 
 No helm to steer — no Saviour to direct. 
 
 Then let us not, like Israel's blind, depend 
 
 Upon our knowledge of the way we wend: 
 
 But pray to Him for that religious light 
 
 That turns to cloudless day the darkest night. 
 
 And that He be, until our lives expire, 
 
 Our cloud by day—by night our leading fire. 
 
60 PARNASSIAN # 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Air— The Exile of Erin. 
 
 Far — far from the land of my love and my childhood, 
 From Erin's bright waters and mountains of green; 
 From the sweet-scented hawthorn that grows in the 
 wild-wood — 
 And the cottage of roses with woodbine between ; 
 Yes, far from that island of beauty I wander, 
 And as o'er its scenes of enjoyment I ponder, 
 Each thought and each moment but make me much 
 
 fonder, 
 Green Erin, my country, of thine, and of thee ! 
 
 Yes! land of historic and chivalrous glory, 
 
 'Tis here I can love thee, for thou art afar! 
 A holier brightness illumines thy story, 
 
 A holier promise encircles thy star: 
 The genius of freedom has bless'd thy endeavor, 
 Each link of thy thraldom O'Connell will sever, 
 And freedom return to her Island forever, 
 Green Erin ! my country, to thine and to thee. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 61 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Air— St. Patrick's Day. 
 
 Come fill up this annual bumper, its ocean 
 
 Now favors the sail of an Irishman's heart; 
 And this moment electric with freedom's emotion 
 Illumes every line on festivity's chart; 
 With patriot pride 
 We welcome the tide 
 Where our memories mingle too deeply to part; 
 And oh ! may this hour 
 Give a shadowless pow'r 
 To the love that should link us when far from that 
 island, 
 Where virtue first taught our existence to stray, 
 And ne'er be its valley, its wood, or its highland, 
 Forgot by her sons on St. Patrick's day. 
 
 And oh ! while we pledge, in this cup of our nation, 
 
 Our minds to her memory — our hearts to her cause, 
 Let us feel, to our bosoms, inspiring repletion, 
 
 That a sentinel stands by her rights and her laws. 
 And while the green leaf, 
 Of our bard and our chief 
 Finds such a triumphant asserter of freedom — 
 
 The dauntless who cares not for Tory array, 
 Must Hibernia fear? no ! O'Connell will lead 'em 
 
 Thro' victory's path on Saint Patrick's day. 
 
W PARNASSIAN 
 
 THE CITIZEN SOLDIER. 
 
 Up, up with the banner of freedom once more, 
 Let its folds on the breezes triumphantly soar; 
 The Indian is up on his murderous track. 
 And the torrent we've brav'd rolls rebellingly back. 
 
 The blood of our brothers is fresh on the turf, 
 But it bears not the glory of Erie's surf; 
 The blood of our brother's is savagely shed; 
 For the boast of that savage the iorest is red ! 
 
 Oh! they were the brave and the young of our land, 
 The gallant in heart and the fearless in hand: 
 Go! citizen soldiers! your musketry's flame 
 Is already a sun on the record of Fame ! 
 
 Then hurrah for the citizen soldier! hurrah ! 
 Old England shrunk bark from that musketry's play; 
 F«»r she felt that high heav'n was fighting for thee, 
 And her strength was as rain in the rush of the sea. 
 
 Yes, they who thro' Europe like thunderbolts swept, 
 Till the blood of her heart was the teat-drops she 
 
 wept; 
 To the citizen's strength, in defence of his home, 
 Were as sea-weeds cast forth in the strength of the 
 
 foam. 
 
 And still as the citizen was, may he be, 
 The shield of his home, and the pride of the free. 
 For while citizen-chivalry strengthens our land 
 America feels not a conqueror's brand t 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 SACRED MELODY. 
 
 And there came a leper to him, &c. 
 
 And Jesus, moved with conpas*ion, put forth his hand and 
 touched hiui, and saith uuto him, I will, be thou clean, &c. 
 St. Mark, c. I. v. 39 to 41. 
 
 To Jesus they brought him, the sinful and weak, 
 And the death-hue o'ershadowed his brow and his 
 
 cheek ; 
 And the multitude gathered to hear and to see 
 The hope of the prophets, in fair Galilee. 
 
 And the Leper approaching the Son of the Word, 
 Knelt down and besought, and, beseeching, ador'd, 
 And said, in the faith of his confident soul, 
 "Oh Lord! if thou wilt, thou can'st render me 
 whole." 
 
 And the faith of the Leper was favor'd by Him, 
 In the light of whose shadow the sunbeam is dim ; 
 He put forth his hand and the God was reveal'd, 
 He spoke but a word, and the Leper was heal'd. 
 
 Oh! thus may my faith undiminished remain, 
 To rescue my soul from impurity's stain ; 
 That I may deserve thy redemption, and feel 
 That thy blood can baptize, as thy mercy can heal, 
 
64 PARNASSIAN. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 What gars ye look sae sair, lassie! 
 
 What gars ye look sae sair? 
 The tear-draps frae your violet een 
 
 Are on your bosom bare. 
 
 Your hair a' govvden bright, lassie ! 
 
 Your hair a' govvden bright, 
 Is wild as broken billows in 
 
 The winter gloamin's flight. 
 
 Your shroud-like cheek is sad, lassie ! 
 
 Your shroud-like cheek is sad ; 
 And while sic signs o' wae be thine, 
 
 Can this poor heart be glad ? 
 
 Na, na ! it maunna be, lassie ! 
 
 It canna, winna be ; 
 Let this low warld be bright or dark 
 
 I'll share it a' wi' thee. 
 
 Come dree the tears that fa', lassie ! 
 
 Dree up the tears that fa' ! 
 And think nae mair in sorrow's gate, 
 
 For luve can calm it a'. 
 
 Then fauld your sunny hair, lassie ! 
 
 Fauld back your sunny hair; 
 And be your cheek like morning's streak, 
 
 And weep nae any mair, lassie ! 
 
 And weep nae any mair. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. CI 
 
 Extract from an unpublished Tale. 
 THE MINSTREL'S VISION. 
 
 " The bearing of Roderigo, as he stood before the 
 assembled chiefs, was as noble as though his veins 
 throbbed with the proudest blood of Spanish royalty; 
 his face was bronzed with manly beauty, and his eye 
 unshrinkingly bright as that of the eagle, when, proud 
 of his hereditary privilege, he soars aloft to illumi- 
 nate his pinions at the altar of the sun. He swept the 
 preluding string. 1 ? with all the confidence of experi- 
 ence, and to one of the old and stirring airs of Spain's 
 Moorish dominion, with a powerful and expressive 
 voice, sung the following words : 
 
 Dreaming amid Cantabria's hills, 
 
 I saw the clouds expand, 
 And the red thunders downward hurl'd 
 
 From God's unerring hand ; 
 The mountains trembled, and the seas 
 
 Were palsied as it roll'd, 
 And the fur ace-heav'ns were blazing 
 
 With the lightning's fiery gold. 
 
 Pale, thro' a tempest-shatter'd cloud 
 
 The sick moon stood on high, 
 Not full, but like a nerveless bow, 
 
 Half-bended in the sky: 
 Then spoke a voice — a mighty voice— 
 
 A voice which fill'd the earth, 
 Like that Omnipotent fiat 
 
 Which commanded light to birth. 
 6* 
 
G6 PARNASSIAN 
 
 " Behold !" — I saw Jerusalem 
 
 Mid her polluted tovv'rs. 
 "Behold !" — exclaimed that voice again — 
 
 "The sepulchre is ours!" 
 The towers were crumbled where they stood- 
 
 The banners where they shone; . 
 I look'd to heaven — the sun was there, 
 
 And crescent moon was gone. 
 
 Floating on Zion's holy hills, 
 
 The banner cross appears; 
 And round the Sepulchre is drawn 
 
 A zone of Christian spears : 
 Knelt the Crusader host to hear 
 
 The joyous anthem pour'd, 
 In glory to Jehovah 
 
 For the Sepulchre restor'd. 
 
 The earth rejoiced in Zion's joy, 
 
 And gladness fill'd the sky, 
 As the iron-hearted warriors 
 
 Of the strong crusade went by : 
 And spoke again that wond'rous voice, 
 
 "Behold !" and now along 
 They mov'd with slow and measur'd pace, 
 
 And sanctity, and song. 
 
 Godfrey, for whom in his own land 
 
 A bard shall wake the lyre ; (a) 
 Tancred, in peace a sunny ray — 
 
 In war a shaft of lire ; 
 Baldwin de Bourgh — St. Julien young, 
 
 Luthold and Eustace bold — 
 Repentant Raimond, and that chief 
 
 From Norman's fearless mould: (b) 
 
 a Tasso. b Robert of Normandy. 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 67 
 
 And they, the martyr-host, who left 
 
 Their own delightful lands, 
 To slake with their abundant blood 
 
 Those hot and thirsty sands : 
 They, too, were there — the breathless brave — 
 
 The bravest of the host, 
 And good Adhemar spar'd the least, 
 
 But oh! belov'd the most, (c) 
 
 And as that bright procession pass'd 
 
 So gloriously on, 
 With cross and sabre, lance and shield, 
 
 And glittering gonfalon ; 
 Fresh voices from the heavens came down, 
 
 The sun grew brighter still, 
 And like a diadem reposed 
 
 OnZion's holy hill. 
 
 "'Tis finish'd!" said that voice: — 
 
 Again I saw the clouds expand; 
 The choirs of heaven on golden harps 
 
 Sang triumph to the land ; 
 The mountains answered, and the seas 
 
 In choral concert roll'd, 
 The dream is broke — the vision's o'er— 
 
 The prophecy is told. 
 
 Now, deathless Knights ! of daring deed, 
 
 The bright unblasted flow'rs ! 
 Transplant ye to Jerusalem, 
 
 The Sepulchre is ours! 
 Fleet foot, strong hand, chivalrous heart. 
 
 Which nothing can appal, 
 Press on, and like your vision bard, 
 
 Behold the crescent fall ! 
 
 c Bishon of Puv. 
 
PARNASSIAN 
 AVE MARIA. 
 
 &E5FECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO MISS B 
 
 "Ave Maria! 1 
 
 Thus did Gabriel speak to thee 
 When upon thy bended knee 
 At the shrine of holiest pray'r, 
 Light and music fill'd the air;— 
 One the glory of the Lord, 
 The other the angelic word. 
 
 'Ave Maria!" 
 
 "Ave Maria!" 
 
 Vessel of redeeming Life! 
 Virgin mother! virgin wife! 
 By God's omnipotent behest 
 Call'd by all the nations "bless'd:" 
 Who beheld the blood that stream'd 
 For a sinful world redeem'd. 
 
 "Ave Maria!" 
 
 "Ave Mara!" 
 
 Seated by the Godhead's place, 
 Full of glory and of grace, 
 Pray that Calvary's red rain 
 Was not shed for me in vain: 
 But that, earthly bondage riven, 
 I may see His face in heaven ! 
 
 "Ave Maria!" 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 69 
 
 TO MY HARP, 
 
 My gentle harp, when first I woke^ 
 
 Thy echoes on the mountain side, 
 Ere care my spirit's calmness broke, 
 
 And every spring of pleasure dried; 
 
 How pleasant 'twas at eventide 
 To sit by some romantic spring, 
 
 And, while the wandering breeze replied, 
 To wake thy inexperienced string. 
 
70 PARNASSIAN 
 
 The daisy, with its silver rim 
 And golden centre, was a theme ; 
 
 The passion flow'r that tells of Him 
 Who for us, mankind, man became— 
 The hawthorn, in the twilight's gleam 
 
 Glittering with dew-gems, and afar 
 
 Flinging o'er meadow, vale and stream, 
 
 Sweet incense to the evening star: 
 
 These were our themes — for they had pow'r 
 
 To make simplicity sublime, 
 They were to me the holiest dow'r 
 
 Eternity could give to time; 
 
 Untouch'd by care, undimm'd by crime; 
 And oh ! it. was a pride to weave 
 
 Their beauty with my artless rhyme, 
 And from thy aid new bliss receive. 
 
 But ah! how chang'd the moments now 
 
 To thy sad strings and this sad heart; 
 Thy frame is darken'd as my brow, 
 
 Thy strings few joyous themes impart; 
 
 Upon them now ihe tear-drops start 
 Instead of summer's gladsome dews; 
 
 And when the shadows ivould depart, 
 The world and the world's ills refuse. 
 
 3477-61 
 Let-19 
 
WILD FLOWERS. 
 
 And if perchance a joy-beam flee 
 
 Across my brow, that world prates loud 
 That I wear not that mystery 
 
 CalPd wisdom by the empty proud; 
 
 Whose body to the mind's a shroud 
 Around the pulseless, worthless dead. 
 
 Rather than be of such a crowd 
 Be my last supplication said, 
 And nature's verdaut pall above my relics 
 spread. 
 
 My gentle harp ! thou'st met some fame : 
 But the fair flow'r is so beset 
 
 With thorns, for some unworthy aim, 
 (Which 1 would willingly forget,) 
 That I could weep we e'er had met; 
 
 And leave thee by our olden tree, 
 Remembered with a fond regret, 
 
 Green as that was, or e'er can be, 
 
 But there are hands which then would 
 break thy strings and thee. 
 
 And now, awhile, my harp, farewell ! 
 
 Haply some brighter days will smile; 
 Such as those days when rose thy swell 
 
 Upon the winds of Erin's isle ; 
 
 71 
 
PARNASSIAN 
 
 And thro' some old monastic pile, 
 Where the renowned departed dwell 
 
 Mid pomp no slavery can defile, 
 Didst of thy country's glories tell : 
 Such be thy theme once more ! my 
 mountain harp farewell ! 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper pro 
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 Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 
 
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