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THE IMMORTAL; 
 
 ^ Biamatic jtvomancc; 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 JAMES NACK 
 
 ftTitl; a 3};hmnir nf tljB antljnr; 
 
 GEORGE P? MORRIS 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 STRINGER AND TOWNSEND, 223 BROADWAY 
 
 1850. 
 
 ^^ ^i^ri:* .^^ O^ 
 
 
v% V 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the yearlSSO, by 
 
 JAMES NACK, 
 
 the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New Yt 
 
 li. Craighead, Printer and Stereotyper 
 112 Fulton Street, New Yo-^^. 
 
DEDICATORY LINES 
 
 CHAELES DICKENS, ESQ 
 
 Friend of my heart I — friend of the human race ! 
 Though I may never gaze upon thy iace, 
 Nor clasp the hand that has such wonders penned ; 
 Yet when entranced by thy prevailing spell, 
 I watch the ebbing life of gentle Paul, 
 Or looking up, as at an angel's call. 
 
 Pursue the heavenward flight of " LiUle Nell^'' 
 Heart leaps to heart, and I embrace my Friend ! 
 
 It hath been given to thy hand to trace 
 All that is good and glorious in our race, 
 As with an " angel's ken " thou hast divined 
 The riches in the human heart enshrined ; 
 Crowns, sceptres, laurel wreaths, or robes of state, 
 Thy genius needs not, to reveal the great. 
 
 Greatness is only greatness in itself, — 
 It rests not in externals, nor its worth 
 
 Derives from gorgeous pomp, or glittering pelf, 
 Or chance of arms, or accident of birth ; 
 
IV DEDICATORY LINES. 
 
 It lays its deep foundations in the soul, 
 And piles a tower of virtues to the skies, 
 
 Around whose pinnacle majestic, roll 
 
 The clouds of glory, starred with angel eyes ! 
 
 Such is the lofty lesson thou hast taught, 
 But still diviner blessings hast thou wrought ; 
 Like light from heaven, thy genius has unveiled 
 Affection's deepest mystery of grief. 
 And to despairing sorrow brought relief. 
 Where reason and philosophy had failed. 
 By opening the fountains of the heart : 
 And therefore distant strangers give thee part 
 In their affections, as a household guest, 
 Who shares the sacred secret of their breast. 
 
 There is a sorrow that can never die ; 
 
 There is a loss we never can forget, 
 Yet can it purify and sanctify. 
 
 And mingle heavenly solace with regret ; 
 And therefore do we love thee and thy page, 
 Which moves our tears, but moves them to assuage 
 And therefore do I hail thee as my friend. 
 
 And yield the tribute of a grateful heart ; 
 Though humble is the offering I send. 
 
 Affection may some little worth impart. 
 
C N T E iN T S 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Memoir of the Author, by George P. Morris, 
 
 1 
 
 The Immortal, 
 
 9 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 
 To my Wife, 
 
 87 
 
 She calls Me Father, . 
 
 
 90 
 
 A Father's Dirge .... 
 
 
 91 
 
 The Watches of the Night, . 
 
 
 95 
 
 My Boy, 
 
 
 98 
 
 The Charms of Woman, 
 
 
 100 
 
 To Mrs. Mary B., on her Birthday, 
 
 
 103 
 
 A Valentine to my Wife, 
 
 
 104 
 
 My Little Friend, 
 
 
 106 
 
 A Hundred Years from Now, 
 
 
 108 
 
 Ambition, addressed to my Son, . 
 
 
 110 
 
 My Darling Little Mary, 
 
 
 112 
 
 The Mother's Pride, . 
 
 
 ]13 
 
 The Power of Affection, 
 
 
 115 
 
 The Ringlet, .... 
 
 
 116 
 
 My Love Loves Me, 
 
 
 117 
 
 Broken Ties, .... 
 
 
 118 
 
 The Battle of the Snakes, an Epielle to 
 
 Catharine, 
 
 119 
 
 My Pretty Birds, .... 
 
 
 124 
 
 To One Remembered still, . 
 
 
 125 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 My Blue-eyed Maid, written at the Age of Fourteen 
 To my Friend, R. B., . 
 What Should we Do, my Brother 
 The Grave of Mary, written at the age of Fiftc 
 The Pearl-handled Knife, 
 The Choice, .... 
 To my Daughter, 
 Mount Vernon, 
 
 The Hero, inscribed to James B. 
 Woman's Ministry, 
 New Year Hymn, 
 On the Death of a Young Sister, 
 My Cap, .... 
 To a Bereaved Friend, . 
 Rest, Baby, Rest ! 
 Walter Scott and Washington Irv 
 The Font, .... 
 The Sum of Philosophy, 
 .Tane Eyre, written after Reading that admirabl 
 Work, 
 
 Spring is Coming, 
 Love will Find out the Way, 
 New Year Thoughts, . 
 Good Night, Mamma ! 
 Wedded Love, 
 
 Resolution, .... 
 A Woman as She Should be, 
 Jenny Lind .... 
 
 Parte 
 
 121 
 128 
 129 
 130 
 131 
 137 
 138 
 140 
 142 
 145 
 146 
 147 
 150 
 152 
 155 
 156 
 159 
 IGO 
 
 IGl 
 ib. 
 103 
 1G5 
 166 
 168 
 169 
 170 
 171 
 
MEMOIR OF JAMES NACK, 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS 
 
 When genius of no common order is placed in con- 
 flict with circumstances of peculiar difficulty, it presents 
 a subject of interesting contemplation to tliose who 
 take an interest in the philosophy of the human mind. 
 Hence the career of James Nack has engaged the 
 attention of more than one eminent writer. The ele- 
 gant memoir by General Wetmore is familiar to all 
 conversant with the literature of our country ; and, in 
 the present brief sketch, we shtill, to a great extent, 
 avail ourselves of his remarks, with a few additional 
 particulars from other sources. 
 
 James Nack was the son of a merchant of the city 
 of New York. From his earliest years his attention 
 to study and literature gave promise of future dis- 
 tinction. His first efforts in poetry were at so early an 
 age, it might be said of him as of Pope, 
 
 " He lisped in mimbers, for the numbers came." 
 
 But the fond expectations which his precocious talents 
 
 1 
 
naturally inspired among his friends and family, appeared 
 to be suddenly destroyed by an accident, which might 
 have been fatal to the development of genius less 
 innate, or faculties less energetic than those with which 
 he was endowed. He had scarcely attained his ninth 
 year, when one day, as he was descending a flight of 
 stairs with a little playmate in his arms, his foot slip- 
 ped ; in his fall he caught at the nearest article, which 
 happened to be a heavy fire-screen ; this gave way, and 
 descending upon his head, crushed and mangled it 
 severely, depriving him of consciousness for several 
 weeks, and of his hearing for ever. 
 
 It is a natural consequence of a deprivation of hear- 
 ing in early life, for the articulation to become gradually 
 imperfect for want of an ear to guide its pronunciation, 
 and Nack has not entirely escaped this misfortune. 
 Hence, though his speech is intelligible to those who 
 have grown up with him, and become accustomed to 
 its peculiarities, he prefers to carry on his intercourse 
 with others in writing. To many the loss of hearing 
 at so early an age would have presented almost un- 
 conquerable difficulties in the pursuits of science and 
 literature ; but familiar with books from his earliest 
 years, the spirited boy only applied with the more dili- 
 gence to his studies. The result may be given in the 
 words of the late Samuel L. Knapp, who knew him in- 
 timately, and was well qualified by his own talents and 
 attainments to appreciate those of his young friend. 
 
 " His acquirements at this early age, in the languages 
 and all the branches of knowledge, ordinary and extra- 
 ordinary, are superior to those of any young man of the 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 same age I ever met with. There is a strength and ma- 
 turity about his mind rarely to be found in those who have 
 experienced no such deprivation as he has been visited 
 with. His criticisms have a sagacity and shrewdness 
 unequalled by those who were critics before he was 
 born. He acquires a language with the most astonish- 
 ing fiicility. No one I ever knew could do it with the 
 same readiness, except the late learned orientalist, 
 George Bethune English. Nack unites in a degree 
 truly astonishing, those two seemingly inconsistent qua- 
 lities, restlessness and per sever ayice. He reads and 
 writes, and does all things as though he had just 
 breathed the Delphic vapor, and perseveres as though 
 he were chained to the spot by some talismanic 
 power. 
 
 " In a few years our gifted author will find things 
 changing around him, and his youthful labors will be- 
 come the foundation stones of a goodly edifice, in the. 
 fashioning of which he has learned the skill of a 
 literary architect, and acquired the strength to raise a 
 temple of imperishable fame for his own and his coun- 
 try's glory." 
 
 Such were the impressions and expectations that 
 James Nack inspired in his boyhood, even in the 
 veterans of literature ; and a boy of such extraordinary 
 promise must have been remarkable under any circum- 
 stances. But when we consider the difficulties he had 
 to surmount, we must no less admire his energy and 
 perseverance than his talents. As General Wetmore 
 eloquently remarks, " had not James Nack been deeply 
 imbued by nature with the vision and the faculty 
 
4 MEMOIR. 
 
 divine — had he not been impelled by an irresistible love 
 and a feeling for his art, he never could have overcome 
 the numerous and seemingly insurmountable difficul- 
 ties which met him at every turn in the opening of his 
 career. Cut off in early youth from that familiar 
 general intercourse which sweetens the days of child- 
 hood and smoothes the path to knowledge, his sole 
 reliance was on his own natural resources ; an intel- 
 lect vigorous and clear, an imagination vivid and far- 
 reaching, and a resolution that could meet and subdue 
 the irreparable calamity of his life." 
 
 On the publication of a volume of his poems, written 
 between the fourteenth and seventeenth years of his 
 age, it was hailed with wonder and admiration. One 
 of our leading reviews, in alluding to that volume, says, 
 " For precocity of talent and attainment under circum- 
 stances peculiarly unpropitious, James Nack is an in- 
 tellectual wonder. As far as known, Christendom 
 contains nothing comparable to him. All things con- 
 sidered, Chatterton did not equal him. He has written 
 much, and many of his productions are of a high order ; 
 all of them are marked with the rich and fervid out- 
 pourings of genius. For intensity and all that gives 
 to poetry its highest character, they are certainly not 
 surpassed, we think not equalled, by any of the early 
 productions of Lord Byron, and those youthful pro- 
 ductions of the noble bard have never received the 
 commendations they merit. It is not too much to say 
 of this gifted young American, that when matured by 
 time and finished by labor, some of his future efibrts 
 
MEMOIR. 6 
 
 in song may equal the happiest of those that have im- 
 mortalized the author of Childe Harold."* 
 
 Among those who took an active interest in the 
 young poet was a distinguished member of the New 
 York bar, who engaged him in his office, and placed an 
 extensive and well selected library at his disposal. 
 " This situation," says Colonel Knapp, " opened a new 
 world to him. He revelled in fresh delights, devoured 
 books upon poetry, history, philosophy, fiction, mathe- 
 matics, politics, ethics, criticism, and theology. He 
 wrote as well as read on many of these subjects; formed 
 a thousand theories, and tore them up root and branch 
 for new creations." 
 
 On the departure of this gentleman for Europe, 
 young Nack formed an engagement with another of his 
 early friends, Mr. Asten, at that time Clerk of the City 
 and County of New York, who had been among the 
 first to notice and appreciate his abilities. He soon 
 mastered the intricacies of the various duties required 
 of him ; and the manner in which he has fulfilled them 
 has been well described by General Wetmore : " The 
 dry details of legal papers, the monotonous toil of 
 searching the musty records of the courts, however 
 •uncongenial to the poetic temperament, have no power 
 to turn him from the path of duty. He enters 
 thoroughly into the spirit of his various labors, and dis- 
 charges them with a zeal and ability which probably 
 few could equal, and which has secured for him not 
 only the confidence of his successive employers, but 
 
 * As this juvenile volume has long been out of print, a few of 
 the minor pieces have been included in the present collection. 
 
6 MEMOIR. 
 
 the warm regard and esteem of the members of the 
 bar." 
 
 In the early part of the year 1838, Mr. Nack was 
 united to a young lady to whom he had been attached 
 almost from her childhood ; and who, it would appear, 
 from more than one beautiful tribute to her worth, 
 which may rank among the happiest efforts of his pen, 
 must have been every way worthy of his choice. 
 
 The poetry of James Nack is characterized by a 
 versification remarkably flowing, easy, and musical — an 
 unaffected and felicitous diction — and a depth and 
 tenderness of feeling for which he may be eminently 
 considered the poet of the affections. 
 
 His personal qualities could not be more accurately 
 described than in the words of General Wetmore : 
 " Mr. Nack's habits are regular and retired. The 
 domestic attractions of home have a greater charm for 
 him than the allurements of the world. The amuse- 
 ments and excitements of society can rarely win him 
 from his books or his desk. He is averse to mixed com- 
 pany, reserved in the presence of strangers, but familiar 
 and playful in the circle of his select friends ; of strong 
 passions, quick to resent, but quicker to forgive ; prone 
 to act upon the impulse of the moment ; of a dispo- 
 sition gentle, generous, and sincere. He is fond of 
 children, and successful in engaging their affections. 
 With such qualities of mind and heart, it is not sur- 
 prising that he secures the warm regard of those who 
 have the happiness of his acquaintance, nor that he is 
 most esteemed by those who know him best." 
 
 In conclusion, the writer cannot forbear availing 
 
MEMOIR. 7 
 
 himself of this opportunity to express his own high 
 appreciation of the worth and genius of one whom it 
 has for many years been his privilege to number 
 among his most intimate and most esteemed friends. 
 
 Geo. p. Morris. 
 
THE IMMOKTIL 
 
 % Sramnttt Enmotitt. 
 
 ■ Once more in man's frail world, which I had left 
 
 So long that 'twas forgotten." 
 
 Prophecy of Dante. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The Drama of the Immortal was written at the age 
 of eighteen. The author's more mature judgment 
 has suggested considerable abridgment; and among 
 the scenes suppressed, were some that perhaps might 
 have been useful in developing the object and tendency 
 of the work. It therefore may be as well to supply 
 their place by a brief introduction. 
 
 It is assumed, for the purposes of this work, that 
 besides its visible inhabitants, the world contains a 
 higher order of beings, of a spiritual nature, exempt 
 from sin, suffering, and death. A man of lofty aspira- 
 tions, impatient of the errors and infirmities of his 
 fellow-creatures, and yearning for a higher communion, 
 is permitted by Providence to quit the society of 
 mankind, and to dwell nearly a century with those 
 spirits, partakers of their immortality. Among them 
 he forgets much of his experience of human life ; and 
 it is not till one of the spirits appears in a form that 
 recalls the most endearing recollections of his long 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 forsaken nature, that he yields to an impulse to revisit 
 the world of man. All that he first encounters there 
 conveys the most painful impressions of the miseries of 
 the human lot ; and the spirit does not at first undeceive 
 him, in the view of deepening the impression that this 
 is not the world in which it is desirable to be an 
 immortal ; but finally the spirit reveals to him the 
 higher destinies of mankind, and the immortality to 
 which we should aspire. 
 
 With this explanation, it is to be hoped that the 
 object of the work will not be misunderstood : and 
 that if our lot in this world is portrayed in the darkest 
 coloring, it is still intended to show — " With all its 
 troubles, life is worth the having," especially in view to 
 the life to come. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 MoRELLi, the Immortal. 
 
 Andrea, 
 
 Leon, 
 
 Hugo, 
 
 Adrian, 
 
 Carlo, 
 
 Felicia, 
 
 Marina, 
 
 Julia, 
 
 Arameth. 
 
 Chorus of Spirits^ <^c. 
 
THE IMMORTAL, 
 
 ACT FIRST. 
 
 MoRELLi appears on the summit of a mountain. 
 
 MoRELLi. Ye hills, wliicli towering to the base 
 of heaven 
 Receive its shadowed glory on your heads, 
 Never profaned by human step, save mine ! — 
 Ye skies ! — ye glorious skies ! — whose azure beauty, 
 Melting upon my swimming eyes, compels 
 The worship of my tears ; nor reverenced less 
 In tempests, when the dark magnificence 
 Of terror clothes ye — when the light of hell 
 Glares on creation's pall ! Thou glorious sun. 
 At whom I scarce can glance, so beautiful, 
 So bright, so awful ! — thou appear'st thyself 
 Too much a god, that such a thing as I am 
 Should dare to worship thee, much less thy Maker ! 
 
16 THEIM MORTAL. 
 
 And thou^whose milder splendors sweetly chasten 
 The majesty of night ! and oh, ye stars ! 
 Sweet eyes of heaven, whose tears of light are shed 
 On man's unhappy world ! — I love ye all, 
 Admire ye, worship ye ! Long have you been 
 Companions to my eyes ; but ah ! my heart ! — 
 Where can it be companioned ? Not on earth — 
 Of all its multitude I found not one 
 To recompense my love, or to deserve it. 
 Nor here — howbeit my reverence and esteem 
 These spirits claim, not being of my nature — 
 Their sympathies blend not with mine. 
 
 What curse 
 Like the heart's desolation ! Still the same 
 In throngs and solitude, interminable 
 As hell, and scarce less fearful ! But these thoughts 
 Avail not — I must fly them ! Arameth ! 
 Hasten, hasten, Arameth, 
 Whether bathed in music's breath, 
 Whether on the zephyrs gliding. 
 Or on burning lightnings riding. 
 Whether earth in tempests whirling 
 Or the stream in breezes curling, — 
 Spirit ! whether thou dost over 
 Scenes of love or carnage hover, 
 Where are strewed the dead and dying, 
 Or to beauty youth is sighing ; 
 
THE IMMORTA 
 
 17 
 
 Be thy errand what it be, 
 
 Hither, hither, haste to me ! 
 
 Come, though called by human breath. 
 
 Hasten, hasten, Arameth ! 
 Arameth [invisible). Form of earth and soul of 
 fire ! 
 
 I have come at thy desire ; 
 
 Arameth is here to ask 
 
 What thou wouldst appoint his task, 
 
 And thy bidding, life or death, 
 
 Shall be done by Arameth. 
 MoRELLi. Comest thou from earth or air ? 
 
 Tell me, Spirit, tell me where 
 
 Thou hast been — what hast thou seen ? 
 Arameth. One who might be named the queen 
 
 Of earth for beauty. 
 MoRELLi. Spirit, say, 
 
 Canst thou think as sons of clay ? 
 
 Spirit, I should think thou must 
 
 Scorn the fairest breathing dust. 
 Arameth. Fairest earthly work of God 
 
 Woman seems to man and me ; 
 
 Man adores the earthly clod, 
 
 But the pure divinity 
 
 Of that clod, the holy breath. 
 
 Homage claims from Arameth. 
 
18 T Ff E T M M O R T A L . 
 
 MoRELLi. Many years have passed away 
 Since I've seen a form of clay, 
 Save when on my own I look, 
 Imaged in the silver brook ; 
 And I now am first inclined 
 One to see of womankind. 
 Spirit, who all forms canst wear, 
 Though thyself possessing none, 
 Thee I now would look upon 
 In the guise of maiden fair ; 
 Take the image of the same 
 Thou so beautiful didst name. 
 Arameth. Light of heaven, be thou set 
 In the hue of violet ! 
 On the hyacinthine flow, 
 Night, thy glossy shadows throw ! 
 With the pure new-fallen sleet 
 Let the blush of morning meet ! 
 Of fire the brightness 
 Of air the lightness. 
 The softness of water. 
 In earth's fairest daughter, 
 Together blend ! 
 Earth ! I dive into thy breast ! 
 Now I as thy loveliest 
 Ascend ! 
 
THE TMMO RT A L . 19 
 
 [ArametA rises in the apparition of a beautiful 
 woman. 
 
 MoRELLi. Spirit, thou mockest me ! the form 
 thou wearest 
 Has no original of earth ; for heaven 
 When it a being had created all 
 So beautiful, for very pity could not 
 Pronounce it mortal ! No, it cannot be — 
 It cannot be that there is one of earth 
 Lovely as this ! But how it tortures me 
 To look upon thee thus ! There was a time, 
 When I was yet among the sons of men, 
 That as I gazed upon the face of woman, 
 Proud as I was I could not wish myself 
 A being of another world than hers. 
 'T was the last link I broke when from the world 
 Of man I sprang to yours. Thy beautiful 
 Embodiment recalls such thoughts as might 
 Render me less than man, though I am more. 
 
 Arameth. And while thou wouldst be more 
 than man, beware 
 Of earthly recollections. By the express 
 
 Permission of the highest, thou dost share 
 Our immortality, from all distress 
 
 Exempted that terrestrial beings bear ; 
 For heaven's especial purpose this hath been 
 
 To thee allotted, else to all mankind 
 
20 THEIM MORTAL. 
 
 Denied for ever ; but should earthly sin 
 Or even earthly weakness sway thy mind, 
 That weakness or that sin to earth shall bind 
 Thy lot again, and from the evils there 
 
 Deliverance, save by death, thou shalt not find. 
 MoRELLi. The warning is not needed ; yet if ever 
 Woman should meet me, all as beautiful 
 As thou appearest, I doubt temptation might 
 Awaken for a moment. How dangerous 
 Must beauty be to man, since it is thus 
 To me ! It is not safe to look upon thee 
 While thou art thus ! Become invisible. 
 Or change thy form to one that cannot move me. 
 Arameth. Ninety years have o'er thee past 
 And no change upon thee cast, 
 Speeding on this hallowed height 
 As on earth a moment's flight. 
 Think not that it thus could be 
 Were thy lot mortality ; ., 
 
 Though the form thou wearest 
 
 Corruption cannot know, 
 On earth's first and fairest 
 Time a change will throw. 
 Earthly beauty ! what art thou. 
 When before thee thousands bow, 
 When adored and deified, 
 Dare not mock thyself with pride ? 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 21 
 
 As tliy sire corruption name, 
 In the worm thy mother claim ! 
 All thy charms most glorious 
 All by Time must vanish — thus ! 
 
 [Disappears. 
 MoRELLi. Can decay 
 
 Ever lay 
 Its withering rod 
 On beauty such as thou didst wear ? 
 His workmanship so fair, 
 
 Will not the creating God 
 From corruption spare ? 
 Arameth. All must perish ! all must perish ! 
 Perish all creation must ! 
 All of dust return to dust ! 
 MoRELLi. Alas ! may I not cherish 
 A tmst. 
 If there be one of earthly sphere 
 Lovely as thou didst appear. 
 The grave shall not her charms devour ? 
 Arameth. Nor shall it; for the tomb 
 Hath power upon her, but no power 
 
 Upon her charms ; for all whose bloom 
 Corruption e'er can know, shall leave her 
 
 Before the hour 
 The grave is destined to receive her. 
 But behold 
 
22 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 How time shall mould 
 Her form, then, if thou canst, repine 
 That such should in the grave recline. 
 
 Open earth and show 
 What time shall beauty render ; 
 
 The eyes once wont to glow 
 With celestial splendor, 
 Feeble in their socket damp, 
 As the midnight charnel-lamp ; 
 Here and there 
 Dishevelled hair 
 Loosely sprinkled, 
 Wont in raven showers to flow 
 
 O'er a brow 
 Whose delicate snow 
 A sickly dark usurpeth now ; 
 Sallow cheeks, sunk and wrinkled, 
 Limbs which scarce the frame can bear ; 
 Veins whose blood is stealing 
 Like icicles congealing ! 
 
 Open earth ! open earth ! 
 Open earth and show ! 
 [Arameth rises in the a2?parition of an old and 
 decrepit woman. 
 MoRELLi. Away ! away ! What is there in the 
 grave 
 So horrible ? 
 
T H E I M M O R T A L . 23 
 
 Arameth. Son of earth ! 
 Human birth 
 Gave thee many a human feeling, 
 Which e\en here is on thee steahng ; 
 But mark thou well 
 The appearance now I wear, 
 
 And let it be thy spell 
 To guard thee from all earth's alluring fair ; 
 For all must come to this at last ! 
 
 Beware ! beware ! 
 When beauty's glance is on thee cast. 
 Remembering what thou seest now. 
 Thus her magic disavow. 
 MoRELLi. But why this caution ? Never here 
 Earthly beauty can appear. 
 
 Arameth. Nay, but thy wish I know 
 Upon thy native sphere 
 Another glance to throw 
 And heaven thy wish forbids not ; near 
 Will I attend on thy career, 
 A warning to bestow, 
 Should e'er 
 Thy earthly feelings triumph. 
 
 MORELLI. No ; 
 
 They shall not. Arameth, I go. 
 
 If but to test my strength ; from thee 
 I claim no guidance ; let me owe 
 
24 THE IMM ORT AL. 
 
 Myself alone the victory, 
 If, indeed, for one like me 
 Earth's temptations to o'erthrow 
 Any cause for triumph be. 
 Arameth. Beauty's influence conquer thou. 
 And earth and heaven will thee allow 
 Most triumphant conqueror ! 
 Yet if e'er enthralled by her. 
 Bear in mind that down the tide 
 Of time her every charm must glide, 
 Fleeting with each fleeting year, 
 Till she become what I appear ! 
 Oh ! why 
 Do mortals heave the sigh 
 And drop the tear. 
 O'er those who in the bloom of youth and beauty die? 
 Better in the grave decay 
 Than be of time the living prey ! 
 MoRELLi. No more of this, I gladly would forget 
 That there is beauty, since I must remember 
 That there is death and time ; howbeit the world 
 To which I now return must oft remind me 
 Of that, and much beside, for which oblivion 
 Would be a blessing far excelling all 
 To earth accorded ; yet as the observance 
 Of human fate may better reconcile me 
 To mine, convey me thither, Arameth. 
 
THE IMM ORT AL. 25 
 
 ACT SECOND. 
 
 Scene in the open Country. 
 Enter Arameth and Morelli. 
 
 MoRELLi. I've seen all earth, and all I've seen 
 informs me 
 That man exists only to mal^e himself 
 And others wretched. I'm sick at heart with pity 
 For all who are thrust into a world like this. 
 
 Arameth. Can that world no good display 
 Every evil to outweigh ? 
 
 Morelli. Nothing ! When man raves of a 
 heaven on earth, 
 I know it for the mockery of hell ! 
 And there is nothing beautiful on earth 
 But ministers destruction in its beauty ! 
 When I beheld the tempest in its terrors, 
 To me they were most lovely, till I saw 
 That they were as destroying ; when the lightnings 
 Bathed earth in liquid fire, whose withering torrent 
 Blended the ashes of the habitation 
 2 
 
26 THEIM MORTAL, 
 
 With the inhabitants' ; or when the billows, 
 Dashing against the heavens, in sudden swell 
 Encanopied the bark that o'er their bosom. 
 When they were sraihng, had as lightly danced 
 As danced the thoughtless hearts wherewith 't was 
 
 freighted — 
 The hearts of those whose death-cry from the waters, 
 Half-stifled, pained my ear ! How oft this ear 
 Has heard within the space of one short hour 
 The cry of death repeated ! From the thousands 
 Crushed in their palaces of pride, or hovels 
 Of vileness, all confounded in the shock 
 Which hurled their city from its burst foundations ; 
 From the red field of war, where myriads butchered 
 Opposing myriads, till themselves had fallen, 
 In idiot obedience to the will 
 Of diademed fools ; or from the desert city 
 Where all the air was poison, and the wretch 
 Who breathed it, breathed his last 'mid reeking 
 
 heaps 
 Of those who died before him, and none other 
 Near him among the dead, except the dying ! 
 The sky was fair then, and I turned my gaze 
 Towards it from earth's multitude of death. 
 The golden moon smiled on me, and I said, — 
 " Beautiful world of light ! say, art thou too 
 A world of bliss ? or hast thou nauo'ht of heaven 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 27 
 
 Except its splendor ? Even then thou art 
 More favored far than earth !" Oh, Arameth ! 
 Remove it from ray sight and my remembrance ! 
 Arameth. Morelli, thou shouldst not advance 
 
 A judgment from a rapid glance ; 
 
 Wait till thou hast communed with men, 
 
 In act and word, determine then. 
 
 But one approaches — mark him well. 
 
 By his appearance thou canst tell 
 If time and death 
 
 Are the mightiest to effiice 
 
 Every charm of form and face. 
 
 Enter a Man intoxicated. 
 
 Morelli. Arameth ! 
 
 What hideous brute behold I there ? 
 Arameth. A man ! and such as thou wilt find 
 
 Commonest among mankind ! 
 
 Those features the impression bear 
 
 By pleasure on her votaries set, 
 
 When nature's limit they forget. 
 
 Her characters we recognise 
 
 In the dim, sunken, bloodshot eyes, 
 Where quivers lurid fire, 
 The unsteady gait. 
 The hmbs opprest by one another's weight, 
 
28 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Till thus they sink, and grovel in the mire ! 
 
 Oh ye, whose aspirations climb 
 
 To a god-hke height sublime ! 
 
 There your fellow-man behold 
 
 In defilement beastly rolled. 
 
 To the vilest, filthiest vice, 
 
 A self-devoted sacrifice ! 
 
 Mark him well, and if you can. 
 
 Glory in the name of man ! 
 MoRELLi. Man ! methinks he would profane 
 
 The name of beast ! 
 Arameth. Thou sayest well ; 
 
 Yet that form, so horrible, 
 
 Was noble once — could once contain 
 
 A manly, nay, a godlike mind. 
 
 Elevated and refined. 
 And a heart whose feelings were 
 
 Of loftiest and loveliest kind ; 
 
 But examine now his heart — 
 
 How brutalized its every part ! 
 His mind — what idiocy antics there ! 
 MoRELLi. To what demon could belong 
 
 The power to change him thus ? 
 Arameth. Listen to the poet's song : — 
 " How divine — how generous, 
 
THEIMMORTAL. 29 
 
 The pleasures of the social bowl ! 
 How they elevate the soul ! 
 Care and sorrow find a grave 
 Underneath the ruby wave ; 
 And o'er it, fanned by pleasure's gales, 
 Time, his scythe forgotten, sails. 
 And laughing loves within it spring, 
 Bathing the heaven-colored wing. 
 And with it, when you kiss the brim. 
 Into the heart delighted swim !" 
 
 MoRELLi. But how does this the wretch concern 
 To whom my eyes reluctant turn ? 
 
 Arameth. Askest thou what to the sight 
 Could thus hateful render one 
 That once could every eye delight ? 
 This the social bowl hath done. 
 
 MoRELLi. Then who would touch it ? 
 
 Arameth. Sad the truth 
 
 That many in the flower of youth 
 Deem that they a manly name 
 From the drunken bowl can claim ! 
 Great spirits ! they aspire to be 
 Such men as thou in this canst see 
 Exampled ! 
 
 Mokelli. Men I would behold. 
 
 But oh 1 not such ! 
 
 Arameth. I'll show to thee 
 
30 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 His victims, and the misery 
 From the cup of pleasure rolled. 
 
 Scene changes to the interior of a hovel. Lying on 
 thejloor^ two children are discovered, the mother 
 bending over them. 
 
 Mother. But he will bring it soon ! Alas ! 
 poor wretch ! 
 Hope is the only food that I can offer, 
 A.nd hope myself rejects. How still thou art ! 
 Has patience hushed thee ? But who can be patient 
 In agonies like thine, poor innocent ! 
 Thou moanest still, but in such dying faintness 
 Scarce can a mother's ear arrest the sound ! 
 Oh ! that my blood were like the pelican's, 
 To nourish thee ! No other food is left us ! 
 Ah ! now I hear him — ye shall yet be saved ! — 
 I'll lead him softly in, lest he disturb them. 
 
 [^Opens the door and returns. 
 
 None near ! — I was deceived ! — and night is coming, 
 And then the night of death ! Bear with me, 
 
 heaven ! 
 It is not for myself I dare upbraid thee, 
 But these ! I am a mother ! — would I were not. 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 31 
 
 Rather than they were thus ! And thou ! oh thou ! — 
 Child of my heart ! — my dearest, lovehest one ! 
 
 [Throws herself hy the youngest child, 
 
 MoRELLi. Lovely does she call him ? 
 
 Arameth. Yes ; 
 
 His was cherub loveliness, 
 Till a father's cruelty 
 Made him even as thou dost see, 
 Who in revelry has spent 
 What should be the nourishment 
 Of his children and his wife. 
 Draining' from them the stream of hfe 
 In guilty pleasure's draught unholy, 
 Which hath him abased thus lowly. 
 
 MoRELLi. Shall we as their friend appear ? 
 
 Arameth. No ; a better friend is near ! 
 And see, upon the infant's brow 
 He shakes the chilly dew-drops now, 
 And to the eyes' expanded glare 
 Imparts the unchanging vacant stare. 
 And bids the unmoistened blue lips sever, 
 Again to kiss each other never. 
 And shows the veins' meanders blue 
 The cheeks' transparent likeness through ! 
 
 Mother. 'Tis death ! — 'tis death has stilled thee ? 
 Shall I murmur ? 
 
32 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 I will not ! Heaven, on bended knee I tliank thee ! 
 The b'ow had pity in it. But oh, my heart ! 
 Ask not what pity could be in the sufferings 
 Which make the parent of the innocent victim 
 Grateful to death for its release ! Hark ! there ! 
 He comes at last to save thee ! — save thee ! Oh ! 
 Let not such horror mock me ! Let me not 
 Find that a moment more had kept the life 
 That now is fled for ever ! Art thou there ? 
 Come in, thou wretched father ! He is not near, 
 And it was folly in me to imagine 
 He might return, while that return could bring 
 Relief to these who are not yet beyond 
 Relief, as thou art, my sweet babe ! — my cherub ! — 
 My cherub ! — yes ! for beautiful wast thou 
 As heaven's own cherubs are ! And art thou not 
 A cherub now in heaven ! But these fond eyes 
 Are widowed of thy charms ! My God, forgive 
 These ingrate murmurs ! Kindly hast thou ended 
 His sufferings, and should I not thank thee for it? 
 If I might murmur, it should be that these 
 Are left to suffer yet. And shall I pray 
 For their release ? Forgive me ! — oh, foi-give me, 
 And curb my impious thoughts ! My heart is 
 broken ! 
 
 Arameth. Wouldst thou see more ? 
 
 MoRELLi. Oh, let us fly ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 33 
 
 In pity hide them from my eye. 
 
 But hark ! what sudden sound alarms ? 
 Arameth. It is the din of clashing arms ; 
 
 And hark that groan ! in desperate fight 
 
 Some wretch is struggling for his hfe. 
 MoRELLi. Haste ! lead me to the scene of strife — 
 
 Haste to protect the right ! 
 
34 THE IMMORTAL, 
 
 ACT THIRD. 
 
 Scene — a Garden adjoining a Country-house, 
 
 Enter Leon. 
 
 Leon. Seek virtue upon earth ! ha ! take the sun 
 From heaven to light thee in the search, and then 
 Thou wilt discover — what ? — what ? Why, the folly 
 Of seeking^hat as real which exists 
 Only in the imagined fantasy 
 Of dreaming ignorance ! So have they told me, 
 Who, when they sketched their picture of the world 
 Set their own hearts for the original — 
 Hearts which, unknown to virtue, would not deem 
 That others knew her better. For myself, 
 Should I allow to every human heart 
 As fair a claim to \drtue as my own 
 Can arrogate, and neither more nor less, 
 I make no question but upon the whole, 
 At such an estimate, all human virtue 
 In the amount would be — let's see — let's see — 
 Aye, aye, I have it — 'twould be — even nothing ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 35 
 
 For take me piecemeal, and anatomize me, 
 
 Body and son], yet will it pazzle you 
 
 From my whole composition to pick out 
 
 One particle of virtue. But I am not 
 
 Of those who judge others by themselves ; 
 
 Neither a votary nor an infidel 
 
 Am I to virtue ; I mock her, yet I doubt not 
 
 That she exists, and her divinity 
 
 Breathes on the spirit of man, though not on mine ; 
 
 But human deeds are not the oracles 
 
 That tell me so ; I never trust to them, 
 
 Or good or ill in seeming. To be certain 
 
 Of any thing, we first must ask ourselves 
 
 If we ourselves have known it. That assurance 
 
 Have I of virtue, though I now disclaifti her. 
 
 For I have known her once — might know her still, 
 
 Tf so it were my choice. I was not made 
 
 Her foe by nature, but by circumstance. 
 
 I found this world was never made for virtue, 
 
 But for hypocrisy, which steals the guerdon 
 
 That virtue toils for in successless labor ; 
 
 And therefore I conformed me to the world 
 
 That fate has thrust me into. Virtue can 
 
 Exist without the name, so can the name 
 
 Exist without her ; and of these the latter 
 
 I rather choose, and truly I have found 
 
 The choice no bad one. 
 
86 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Enter Hugo. 
 
 Ah ! my saintly brother ! 
 He sees me not : I will approach ; nor then, 
 Nor ever, shall lie see me as I am. 
 No more of truth, good tongue ! 'tis pardonable 
 Unheard, not otherwise. Hugo, my brother ! 
 
 Hugo. My brother Leon, welcome ! 
 
 Leon. Who are those 
 
 Advancing yonder ? 
 
 Hugo. I think I see our father, 
 
 Or the uncertain glimpse caught through the 
 
 branches 
 Deceives my eye, 
 
 Leon. They turn, and there — 't is he 
 
 Indeed ; but one is with him whom my eyes 
 Remember not. 
 
 Hugo. Nor mine ; but be whoever 
 
 He may, he seems of noble bearing. 
 
 Leon, Hush! 
 
 Enter Andrea with Morelli. 
 
 Andrea. Welcome, my sons, and give this 
 stranger welcome. 
 Who saved my life at peril of his own, 
 But now, when at the mercy of banditti 
 I lay defenceless. 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 37 
 
 Hugo. Words can never thank him. 
 
 Leon. But hearts. 
 
 MoRELLi. Forbear ! From all I know of men, 
 No man has ever cause to thank another ; 
 And the best deed that claims our gratitude, 
 Probed to the core, betrays some rotten taint 
 Of selfishness or worse. 
 
 Leon. Yet virtuous men — 
 
 MoKELLi. Are men unknown to earth. I have 
 seen the world. 
 And many are the things the world contains ; 
 But two are wanting — happiness and virtue. 
 Leon. Ah, say not so ! 
 
 Andrea. My lord, it is apparent 
 
 That thou hast been by evil men surrounded, 
 And deemed that they exampled human nature ; 
 But I have hope I may divert thy mind 
 From such injustice. Let me recommend 
 My sons to thy observance, for the virtues 
 Of either were alone enough to win thee 
 To an acknowledgment that all mankind 
 Are not depraved ; those virtues long have flourished 
 Before my glad paternal eye. My lord, 
 Saidst thou there was no happiness on earth ? 
 I would that thou hadst sons, even as these two, 
 That thou mightst know a father's happiness 
 ^Vhen by his children'^ virtue he is blest. 
 
38 T H E I M M O R T A L . 
 
 Had I no other cause to thank my Maker 
 
 For my existence, it were cause enough 
 
 For gratitude most infinite, that I 
 
 Have given existence to such sons as these, 
 
 Whose fiHal love and manly virtues bless 
 
 Their father ! Oh, ye gracious heavens ! look down 
 
 While thus I call your dearest blessings on them ! 
 
 May theirs be all the joys that I have known, 
 
 Without the sorrows ! May they in their offspring 
 
 Be blest as I am now in them. 
 
 MoRELLi. So be it ! 
 
 I am no father, but my heart can wish 
 A father's prayer success, when breathed as now 
 To bless his offspring ; but upon occasion 
 May not a fiither's prayer arise to curse 
 Children whose guilt has cursed him ? 
 
 Andrea. To speak of such 
 
 To me, were as to speak of hell to spirits 
 In heaven. But come, my lord, beneath our roof 
 May further proof be found that happiness 
 Is not unknown on earth. 
 
 Hugo. Indeed, my lord, 
 
 My Paradise is there ! 
 
 MoRELLi. Well, may it prove so ! 
 
 [Exeunt Morelli, Andrea, and Hugo. 
 Leon. Aye, brother ! get thee to thy Paradise ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 39 
 
 Is there no serpent near it ? Where is Leon ? 
 
 Is there no woman in it ? Ha ! ha ! — what is it ? 
 
 What is it but a woman ? — a woman ! — ha ! ha ! 
 
 Oh ! what a precious world of fools we have ! 
 
 Woman exiled us from the Paradise, 
 
 Else our inheritance, and yet we make 
 
 Our earthly Paradise depend on woman ! 
 
 Marry, good brother, Hugo ! 't is a pity 
 
 The tales our grandam mumbled o'er our cradle, 
 
 And gownsmen still rehearse, in their impression 
 
 Upon thee, turn to an account so little ! 
 
 But trust me, if experience do not teach thee 
 
 To better purpose, 'tis no fault of mine ! 
 
 Let us remember that our father blest us, 
 
 Though Heaven, whom he has troubled for our sake 
 
 Will not remind us by the answer 
 
 He looks for, if by any. Well I know 
 
 The blessings that await thee ; thou art welcome 
 
 To all of the kind ! I'll help thee to as many 
 
 As ever I can, and more than I'll be thanked for ! 
 
 But what said our papa ? " Ye gracious heavens ! 
 
 May they be in their offspring blest as I am 
 
 In them !" We crooked our knees in filial duty ; 
 
 So will our sons when we pray over them. 
 
 Whether they be as thou or I ! No matter — 
 
 I seek not happiness from my own virtue, 
 
 Or any other's. Ye heavens ! if ye do hear me, 
 
40 T H E I M M O R T A L . 
 
 Let all m}?- children be — e'en what they may be ! 
 
 But see the moralists ! How I hate their prosing '• 
 
 Yet would I stay and cant like one of them 
 
 In their own dialect, if so it were not 
 
 There is another thing that I must look to — 
 
 And let them look to it, for they must anon. 
 
 Aye, rave of thy fools' Paradise, sweet brother ! 
 
 I pray your pardon, that I do not stay 
 
 To mark what you may please to say about it ; 
 
 I've more to do with it. [IJxit. 
 
 Re-enter Morelli, Andrea, and Hugo. 
 
 Hugo. If it would please you, 
 
 My lord, although we have not found them there, 
 They will return ere we await them long ; 
 But see 
 
 Enter a Little Girl and Boy. 
 
 Girl. Now is not this a pretty flower ? 
 
 Boy. This is the prettiest though ! I'm sure papa 
 Admires it most. 
 
 Girl. True, mine is not so pretty ; 
 
 I wish it were, for then it would so please him, 
 And he would love me for it. 
 
 Boy. Take this, sister, 
 
 For you shall give it him. Pa loves us both, 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 41 
 
 And I'm as glad when he is pleased with you 
 As 't were myself. 
 
 Hugo {advancing). Indeed, pa loves you both. 
 My little cherubs ! and if anything 
 Could make me love you more, it were your love 
 To one another. Look upon me, stranger ! 
 AVhile those dear lovely innocents are clinging 
 Around me thus. Oh ! say am I not happy ? 
 
 MoRELLi. And these are mortals ! — these ! Oh, 
 Arameth ! 
 How cruel is such beauty to the sight 
 That shoots beyond the present ! Is it so ? 
 And must they 
 
 Hugo. He is strangely moved. 
 
 Andrea. My lord ! 
 
 MoRELLi. Sweet innocents, come hither ! Fear 
 me not. 
 Though for a moment from a fither's bosom 
 I take you to my own. Rich as he is 
 In your embraces, he without begrudging 
 Can spare me one. How sweet ! My spirit springs 
 Upcn ray lips, as if it there would melt 
 Into the rosy snow they glow upon ! 
 Yet what to me are these more than the other 
 Children of men ? Heavens ! if they were my own 
 What were the ecstasy, which even now 
 Is like to that around the spirit gliding 
 
42 T n E I M M O R T A L . 
 
 When all the air is music ! How this kiss — 
 And this — and this, thrill my delighted soul ! 
 TBut ah ! what are they to a father's kiss ? 
 A father's kiss ! Oh, if I had a child — 
 A child of mine, upon whose cheek of beauty 
 My lips might dwell, as now they dwell on this, 
 Ye heavens ! I would entreat you in that moment 
 The cherub and myself might both become 
 Immovable to all eternity ! 
 For sure a father's kiss were heaven itself 
 Were it but as eternal ! But they struggle 
 To seek their father's arms again ; nor longer 
 Will mine imprison them from the embrace 
 They love. Receive them. Now I call thee happy ! 
 Mortal ! thou art a father ! 
 
 Arameth {invisible). Morelli, hear ! 
 MoRELLi. Arameth ! 
 Arameth. Listen and reply, 
 
 For every mortal ear 
 Is deadened wliile I hover nigh ; 
 And glazed is every mortal eye 
 As in the fixed transparency, 
 Fascinating painfully. 
 The gazer on the wreck of death ! 
 Behold 
 The group around, 
 Wlio stand as if their mould 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 43 
 
 Were marble ! Feeling, sight, and sound, 
 All forsake tliem, save their breath, 
 Till I take the spell away. 
 Mark those infant forms of clay ; 
 Though lifeless rnarble either seemeth, 
 Around their glowing features beameth 
 A magical charm, which appears to be 
 The spirit of the Divinity ! 
 
 See ! oh, see ! 
 Are they not beautiful ? and would they not. 
 If thine, be dear to thee ? 
 MoRELLi. Dear ! oh, heaven ! 
 Arameth. Wilt thou embrace a mortal lot, 
 That such as those 
 May to thyself be given ? 
 
 Hast thou forgot 
 That thy life among mankind 
 
 Was but a life of woes ? 
 Cause but httle couldst thou find 
 To think thyself the giver's debtor ; 
 Theirs perhaps may be no better : 
 Soon their blessings may forsake them, 
 Curses soon may overtake them ; 
 Yes, their fate may in a morrow 
 Turn their parents' joy to sorrow ; 
 Withering fever may embrace them, 
 Pale consumption may deface them. 
 
44 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Hide their bloom in ghastly whiteness, 
 Sink their eyes, and quench their brightness ; 
 And shouldst thou behold them languish, 
 Writhing on a bed of anguish. 
 And the father o'er them bending. 
 Listening, with bosom rending, 
 To the smothered feeble moaning, 
 Or the wild hysteric groaning, — 
 Mark his feelings, and inquire, 
 Who would be a mortal sire ? 
 Chorus of Spirits. Who would be a mortal 
 
 sire ? {wild laughter.) 
 MoRELLi. Canst thou be Arameth ? Art thou 
 not rather 
 A spirit accurst ? And who are those with thee. 
 Echoing thy laugh of horrid mockery ? 
 Arameth. Morelli ! 
 
 MoRELLi. Vex me not. These eyes are blinded 
 What is it dims them ? — tears ? 
 Arameth. Morelli ! 
 Morelli. Wretches ! 
 
 Back to your native hell ! I knew ye were not 
 Of heaven ; but did not think that ye were spirits 
 Of evil, else when it was offered first 
 I would have spurned your fellowship, as now 
 T spurn it, for I know ye ! Hell alone 
 Could laugh to mock a father's agonies ! 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 46 
 
 Earth, I abhor thee ! — man, I would despise thee, 
 But that thou art beneath contempt ! And yet. 
 Earth ! thou shalt be my home, and man shall be 
 My fellow ! Rather would I weep with mortals 
 For mortal sorrows, than laugh at them with fiends ! 
 Arameth. We laugh, but not at human woes ; 
 We laugh at human folly ! 
 He to whose view 
 Stern melancholy 
 The destiny of mortals shows, 
 In the hue 
 Most dark and true ; 
 He who knows 
 What sorrows man is born to bear, 
 What sins to do, — 
 Can he suppose 
 That it can be a mortal's prayer 
 To be a father, and to send 
 
 Others into the world to share 
 The curses that himse f attend ? 
 We laugh at this, yet might we weep, 
 
 For folly so insane 
 To contemplation deep 
 
 Presents a sight of pain ! 
 Childless mortal ! check the prayer 
 Thou wouldst proffer for an heir ! 
 
46 THEIM MORTAL. 
 
 Not name and fortune alone would be 
 His inheritance from thee. 
 No, ah no ! he would inherit 
 
 All the damning sins that stain, 
 All the pangs that wring thy spirit ! 
 
 Man but hves for sin and pain ! 
 Is it then not truly said, 
 Favored is the childless bed ? 
 Chorus. Favored is the childless bed ! 
 Arameth. Lay to heart what we have spoken ; 
 
 Answer not — the spell is broken ! 
 "Andrea. My lord you have been silent long, as 
 rapt 
 In some deep meditation ; may we ask 
 To know its nature ? 
 
 MoRELLi. In your ignorance 
 
 Be happy. Knowledge is the deadliest foe 
 To happiness, which lives not for a moment 
 Save in delusion. Why should these poor infants 
 Cling to their parents with such trusting fondness ? 
 What have ye done in merit of their love ? 
 Hugo. We love them. 
 
 MoRELLi. And that love ye manifest 
 
 By your endearments, lavishing upon them 
 Your kisses and caresses, which you cannot 
 Be sparing of for your own pleasure's sake. 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 47 
 
 But spare ye nothing from your children — nothing ! 
 Yield them your all — grovel in earth before them — 
 Sweat in the toil of slaves for them — tear open 
 Your bosom, that, if it may pleasure them, 
 Those lips, on which you set your seal of love, 
 May drain the very life-blood from your heart ! 
 All were too little to atone the sin 
 That you have done against them. 
 
 Hugo. How, my lord ? 
 
 MoRELLi. Did you not give them life ? And 
 what is life ? 
 Sin, sorrow, danger, disappointment, pain. 
 Wounds, sickness, toil, fatigue, ennui, distress, 
 Deserted loneliness, friendship estranged, 
 Afifection wronged, heart wrung, hope crushed, 
 
 fame blighted. 
 Remorse, despair, and phrensy — this is life ! 
 
 Andrea. My lord, when young and struggling 
 with the world. 
 Such bitter thoughts were mine ; but I have found, 
 With all its troubles, life is worth the having, 
 And so thou wouldst acknowledge, didst thou know 
 The blessings that are given us ; if thou wert 
 A father. 
 
 MoRELLi. Ever may such curse be spared me ! 
 
 Hugo. And sure thou hast forgotten what it is 
 To have a father— -to be blest by him — 
 
48 THEIM MORTAL. 
 
 To bless ourselves in blessing him — to shield 
 His venerable head from every gale 
 That blows too rudely. 
 
 Andrea. Happy wouldst thou be 
 
 If thou hadst sons like mine. 
 
 Enter Adrian and Carlo. 
 
 And there approaches 
 My youngest hope, and with him, my poor Carlo, 
 My brother's orphan boy, dear to my heart 
 As if he were my own. Observe the smile 
 That brightens either face — are they not happy ? 
 Adrian. Joy ! joy ! my father ! Bless me ! — 
 need I ask it. 
 Blest as I am ? My knee can scarce support me 
 Beneath the o'erwhelming weio;ht of happiness ! 
 Here let me lie till calmness still the brain, 
 Now whirled in ecstasy ! My own Felicia ! 
 Mine — yes ! my own ! Oh ! I could weep, Felicia ! 
 Carlo. Let not the shock of joy crush reason's 
 throne. 
 My friend. 
 
 Adrian. She loves me ! — yes ! she does — she 
 loves me ! 
 Trouble me not, for I would think of this, 
 And all but this forget ! Away ! away ! 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 49 
 
 Carlo. My joys are none the less, though 
 better mastered, 
 They burst not forth in an extravagance 
 That threatens reason. Yes, my more than father, 
 I am most happy that, with thy approval. 
 Before to-morrow's close shall Julia bless me. 
 But she approaches, whose consenting smile 
 Has phrensied Adrian. 
 
 Enter Felicia. 
 Arameth appears as a decrepit old ivoman. 
 
 Arameth. Look upon me in a guise, 
 Visible only to thy eyes ; 
 She whom thou beholdest there 
 Is one of human birth. 
 The loveliest on earth ; 
 But of the beauty mortals wear, 
 If thou wouldst see 
 The essential worth. 
 Gaze at her, then gaze at me. 
 Morelli. Away ! 'Tis she ! — 'tis she ! Oh ! 
 Arameth ! 
 
 [Morelli rushes to Felicia, a7id falls at her 
 feet. The others group around in wonder and 
 anxiety. Scene closes. 
 
50 THE IMMORTAL 
 
 ACT FOURTH. 
 
 MoRELLi is discovered lying insensible on the 
 summit of a hill. 
 
 Arameth (invisible). Awake ! 
 From the sleep 
 That thee doth steep, 
 Awake ! awake ! 
 Dead obhvion from thee shake ! 
 The scattered senses all 
 To thy mind recall ! 
 Awake ! awake ! awake ! 
 MoRELLi. It was a vision, and a dreary one ; 
 But it hath past, and I am wakened now, 
 To what ? — to dreariness whose heavy darkness 
 They scarce can dream of, whom it never shrouded ; 
 Nor can it pass away, save with existence ! 
 But it is well existence hath an end. 
 And with it ends its sorrows. I have dreamed 
 My curse of hfe eternal ; now awakened, 
 How glad am I to know there yet shall be 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 51 
 
 A time, that my last sigh shall with a breath 
 Scatter together the sorrows and the ashes 
 Of what was once a heart, like to a wild 
 Deserted, open still to the approach 
 Of all, yet shunned by all ; or if by any 
 Approached, by them approached with clogged 
 
 reluctance. 
 And instant fled with feathered eagerness ; 
 Thus the aflfections of mankind, to whom 
 My heart was ever open, have approached it 
 And vanished from it ; thus would hers, the bright 
 Creation of the vision, she who burns 
 My eyes, my soul, with her sun-dazzling beauty, 
 Which blazes on me still as if it were 
 Before me, though I know 'twas but a dream. 
 Oh, thou mysterious power ! whate'er thou art, 
 That giveth to the mind delusion's eyes 
 When sleep hath locked the body's, to what end 
 Hast thou this vision sent ? Wouldst madden me 
 With the imagination of a beauty. 
 Found in no Avorld but those of thy creation ? 
 Whate'er thy end in that, I need not ask 
 Why I was linked by thee to beings as far 
 Above me as I deem mankind beneath me ; 
 'T was to instruct me, that might it be so 
 Indeed, the desolation of my heart 
 
52 T H E I M M O R T A L . 
 
 Were none the less. And this was meant for 
 
 comfort ! 
 'T is the philosophy of desperation 
 Wrings comfort from the thought, that from the worst 
 No change is for the worse ; but thou hast shown 
 That none were for the better. Must I find 
 In this my consolation ? 
 
 Arameth. Morelli ! 
 
 MoRELLi. Ha ! 
 
 Arameth. MoreUi ! 
 
 Morelli. It was no dream then ! 
 
 Arameth appears. 
 
 Fearful being ! I know thee ! 
 Arameth. Time was thou didst curse thy fate, 
 That ungenial tie should mate 
 One of thy aspiring mind 
 To the nature of mankind. 
 Thy indignant aspiration 
 After more exalted station 
 Happened to arrest my ear, 
 As I chanced to hover near. 
 Then I, looking in thy soul, 
 Saw it dark by the control 
 Of sorrow, not of guilt ; I viewed 
 Its errors, but they were endued 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 63 
 
 With something noble ; all declared 
 That thou wouldst be well prepared, 
 From some few frailties purified, 
 With our spirits to abide : 
 And, with heaven's allowance, then 
 I took the form that thou dost call 
 Fearful, but I remember when 
 I told thee I could disenthrall 
 Thee from the fellowship of men. 
 This form was welcome to thy sight ; 
 Haply thou art altered quite, 
 And deemest I have done thee wrong. 
 To raise thee from the human throng ; 
 Speak, and to them I thee restore. 
 MoRELLi. Nay, let me first observe them more. 
 Arameth. And hither some this moment tend 
 Whose fate will much instruction lend ; 
 But it fits not thou shouldst claim 
 Their present sight ; they are the same 
 From whom I snatched thee in thy trance. 
 MoRELLi. Then conceal us from their glance. 
 Arameth. Ye exhalations which arise 
 From, the sun-clad <feep. 
 And ascending athwart the skies, 
 
 Hiding their azure sweep, 
 And slowly, to darken mortal eyes. 
 The air displacing, creep ; 
 
54 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 And every mortal so enshroud, 
 
 That he might think the earth had all 
 
 Evaporated in a cloud, 
 
 Now let your shadows on us fall ; 
 
 Come and veil us, where we stand, 
 
 From observance, while our glance 
 
 May to all around advance ; 
 
 Come ! 't is Arameth's command ! 
 
 \_A mist encircles the kill. 
 
 Enter Andrea, Hugo, Leon, Adrian, Villagers^ 
 c&c, in procession, to the bridal of Carlo and 
 Julia. 
 
 Choir of Maidens. 
 
 Oh, Love ! the maiden's joy and pain ! 
 
 Be thou our guide to Hymen's shrine ! 
 For his is but an iron chain 
 
 When linked by any hand but thine. 
 But, by thy glowing fingers twined, 
 His ties are as the ties that bind 
 
 The blessed soul to heaven ! 
 But why for these fhould we implore 
 The flowery fetters, which before 
 
 Thy smile to them has given ? 
 Of thee we need but supplicate 
 That ours may be as blest a fate ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 55 
 
 Leon (aside). Amen, my dears ! but, prithee, 
 
 mark the end of it. 
 And see what you have prayed for ! Now I think 
 
 on't, 
 I will not say Amen ! I wish no evil, 
 Sad sinner as I am, but when I think 
 That it may work toward my gain or pleasure. 
 But hush ! there is another group of fools 
 Hemming their prelude to more prayers. Let's 
 
 hear them ! 
 
 Choir of Matrons. 
 
 The ties of Hymen we have found 
 
 A wreath of blended thorns and flowers ; 
 
 Its sweetness floats our hearts around. 
 But with the sw^eets the stings are ours. 
 
 Oh, love ! we pray thee on the wreath 
 That shall unite these lovers, breathe 
 
 That every thorn may be scattered away, 
 
 But bloom and fragrance for ever stay ! 
 
 Hugo. Immortal be their love ! 
 
 Leon (aside). So ! it is prayed well ! 
 
 But I am fooled if it speed any better 
 Than my own prayer — immortal be the lovers ! 
 
 Carlo. Julia ! 
 
 Rosa. What says my love ? 
 
66 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Carlo. I am in heaven ! 
 
 Leon (aside). Thy love shall soon be there ! 
 
 Carlo. This is a moment 
 
 Worthy the sufferance of a thousand ages 
 Of agony ! 
 
 Leon (aside). And it is but a moment ! 
 
 [Julia shrieks and falls. 
 
 Hugo. Merciful heaven ! 
 
 Leon. Aye, heaven 's most merciful ! 
 
 Hugo. She is dead, I fear. 
 
 Carlo. She dead ! Who dares to say it ? 
 
 'T is false ! — what ! — dead ! — my own ! — my beau- 
 tiful !— 
 My love ! — my bride ! Dead ! — dead ! — and now — 
 oh, Julia ! 
 
 Leon. Thy love is now in heaven ! 
 
 Carlo. I were in hell then ! 
 
 Are these lips cold ? They burn my soul ! 
 
 Andrea. My son, 
 
 Seek comfort in submission. 
 
 Carlo. I will ! — I will ! 
 
 Say, do I weep ? 
 
 Andrea. I would to heaven thou couldst ! 
 
 Carlo. Now who shall part us, Juha ? 
 
 Hugo. See the blood 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 57 
 
 Bursts from his i-iveii heart, and gushes forth 
 Through his mouth, ears, and nostrils — even his 
 
 eyes ! 
 Leon. He is dead ! 
 
 Andrea. Why do I hve ! 
 
 Leon. Think of your precept — 
 
 Seek comfort in submission ! The example 
 Becomes you, father ; let us have no murmurs. 
 Since heaven saw fit to call him to itself, 
 The will of heaven be done ! 
 
 Hugo. Behold, how changed 
 
 This countenance ! It was no deed of heaven's, 
 But of some devil on earth ! She has been poisoned. 
 
 Leon. Who could have done it ? 
 
 Adrian. Be he whom he may, 
 
 My vengeance follows him, though he should leap 
 To hell from its pursuit ! Is it not enough 
 Such sweetness is his victim, but my friend ! — 
 My friend ! Ye heavens, hear me ! If I forgive 
 His murderer, deny me your forgiveness 
 For ever and for ever ! Hear me, my friend. 
 And thou, his murdered love, while thus I take 
 Each by the death-chilled hand, I call upon 
 Your spirits to attest my vow, most dearly 
 To have ye both avenged ! If I forget it, 
 Hurl upon me the due of your destroyer ! 
 
 Leon. I pray you utter not such bloody thoughts ; 
 
58 THE IMMORTAL, 
 
 Let me not name a savage in my brother. 
 Such fierce intemperance is most unworthy 
 A man who knows his duty. 
 
 Adrian. Mine I know, 
 
 And I will do it. Look at these, then tell me 
 If duty bids us stand and moralize, 
 As if we had no hfe but in our tongues ! 
 Should we not rather be heaven's instruments 
 To avenge them ? 
 
 Andrea. Heaven can need no instrument ; 
 And heaven alone knows whose the guilty head 
 That claims its vengeance. 
 
 Leon. Sirs, revenge is sin, 
 
 Yet justice is a duty ; would we knew 
 Whither to send her to overtake the guilty ! 
 But since suspicion hovers on a wing 
 Uncertain, nor can find a resting-place 
 For justice to alight on, let us leave it 
 To heaven to send a guide in its good time. 
 But are we sure she is poisoned ? 
 
 Andrea. Can we doubt it ' 
 
 The suddenness of the effect ; the change 
 In these once seraph features. 
 
 Leon. Sadder change 
 
 Is coming ; let us hide her in the grave 
 Before her charms be horrors. 
 
 Hugo. From his arms 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 59 
 
 We cannot part her ; they encircle her 
 As in a marble fold. 
 
 Andrea. Lovely they were 
 
 And pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths 
 They shall not be divided ; bear them thus 
 Together to one grave, their bridal bower ! 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 MoRELLi. And this is love ! 
 Arameth. By the deceiver's smile allured 
 Until thy heaven appears secured, 
 But ce the first step enters there 
 To find, instead of hope, despair ! 
 And she who smiled upon thy flame, 
 Kindlino' a ra^fe too wild to tame, 
 When her delusions all have flown. 
 Still smiling, but in scorn alone ! 
 Chorus op Spirits. Oh, this is love ! 
 Arameth. Or when assured, thy truth returning, 
 
 To thine is linked thy loved one's heart, 
 Even in that hour ecstatic, learning 
 That destiny commands to part ! 
 And in agony awaking 
 
 From the dream of blessedness,' 
 Knowing, while thy heart is breaking, 
 
 That her own is wrung no less. 
 Chorus. Oh, this is love ! 
 
60 THE IMM RT A L. 
 
 Arameth. Or when she smiles, and every power 
 
 Smiles with her, and no bar appears ; 
 When vision of the nuptial hour 
 
 Thy soul in Paradise inspheres ; 
 When joined for ever to become, 
 
 With meeting Hps and blending breath. 
 To yield her, in that moment, from 
 
 Thy arms into the arms of death ! 
 Chorus. Oh, this is love ! 
 
 Arameth. But hark ! a mortal step is near. 
 
 Enter Adrian and Felicia. 
 
 MoRELLi. Arameth ! 
 
 Arameth. In silence hear, 
 
 And let thy firmness now appear. 
 
 Adrian. Forgive me, my beloved, if in thy 
 presence 
 Even my hapless friend is scarce remembered, 
 Though dear my love to him, and dear shall be 
 The vengeance I shall yield him ; but beholding 
 My promised Paradise, can I restrain 
 My joy from swallowing all emotions else ? 
 If heaven should roll its flood of bliss to earth. 
 It were too much for our poor nature's weakness 
 To stem, and in it we must needs dissolve. 
 Let it not thus be with me, prithee, dearest ! 
 The joy thy promise gives me has too much 
 
T H E I M M O R T A L . 61 
 
 Of heaven in it ; then rob me of a httle, 
 Or I must die in sooth. 
 
 Felicia. I rather question 
 
 Thou hast such cause. Consider that my promise 
 Was not a gift of love, but of impatience ; 
 And an extorted promise on occasion 
 May be recalled. 
 
 Adrian. Recalled ! 
 
 Felicia. I've thought upon it, 
 
 And find it is my duty to decline 
 The acceptance of a hand I do not merit ; 
 Nor can I merit thine, as I have not 
 A heart to give thee. 
 
 Adrian. Say what have I done 
 
 Worthy of thy displeasure or contempt ? 
 
 Felicia. Nothing, dear Adrian. I well esteem 
 you, 
 And as a friend and brother love you dearly, 
 But never could I love you as a husband 
 Should be beloved. In pity to yourself 
 And me, I do beseech you but to think me 
 A sister. Take your heart again, and give it 
 To one who can repay you with her own. 
 
 Adrian. Patience ! — are these my hopes ? Why 
 were they suffered 
 One moment? 
 
62 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 Felicia. Then my heart, although not thine, 
 Was not as yet another's. 
 
 Adrian. How ! another's ? 
 
 Is it another's ? But Til find the villain ! 
 He bought it with his life ? — revenge ! revenge ! 
 
 [Rushes away. 
 
 Felicia. Nay, I adjure thee ! Well, his madness 
 rages 
 Without an object, and so does my love. 
 Where can he be, the beautiful, majestic, 
 And noble stranger ? Was it not a vision ? 
 For thus he came and vanished ; and it may be 
 A vision that hath past away for ever ! 
 But be it as it may, this heart is wedded 
 To his dear image, and this hand shall never 
 Be any's, if not his. Would I might meet him ! 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 Arameth. Speak, Morelli, wouldst thou not 
 Share with her a mortal lot, 
 To enjoy the love which she 
 Thus, unsought, hath rendered thee ! 
 Morelli. How would I revel in that dream of 
 heaven, 
 But that I know there is no heaven on earth ! 
 How strong were the control of love upon me, 
 
T H E I M M O R T A L . 63 
 
 But that I know far heavier the control 
 Of misery o'er mankind. Even if her love 
 Could make the every moment of existence 
 A perfect joy, what were that joy's remembrance 
 When she were torn from me, and hid in the 
 grave ? 
 Arameth. Fear not living to deplore her ; 
 
 Rather hope to die before her. 
 MoRELLi. And leave her wretched ? No ! 
 Better than either 
 Should mourn a separation, that we never 
 Should be united, even to be most blest. 
 And were no other motive to dissuade me 
 From being a mortal's partner, in the fear 
 Of being a mortal's father were enough. 
 Arameth. Yes, it might be truly said 
 That it were a thing to dread, 
 A mortal's father to become. 
 If this mortal life were all ; 
 But it now is time that from 
 
 Thy mental eyes the film should fall. 
 That so darkly shades to thee 
 Of mankind the destiny. 
 Every mortal sire indeed. 
 Oft must for his oflPspring bleed ; 
 Oft must broken-hearted mourn 
 When they to the grave are borne ; 
 
64 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 Or with heavier grief opprest, 
 Their existence see unblest ; 
 Or exclaim, in anguish far 
 More despairing, when they are 
 Plunged in infamy and sin, — 
 " Better they had never been !" 
 The darkest this ; the brightest side 
 Should thy observance now divide, 
 Which to thee I have not shown 
 Hitherto, till thou hast known 
 What existence would appear, 
 Were indeed its finis here, 
 As some fiends in human guise, 
 By their damning sophistries, 
 Merely to insure their name 
 The applause of fools, of heaven the blame, 
 To persuade mankind would joy. 
 And all comfort thus destroy. 
 MoRELLi. Nay, such are not the doubts by which 
 my mind 
 Is darkened ; not a moment have I questioned 
 There is a life to come, and for the good 
 A happier ; but observing that the number 
 Of such is few, that far the greater part 
 Sinning, as suffering here, shall find hereafter 
 No end to suffering, how can I but question 
 That 't were not better none were ever born. 
 
THE IM MORT A L. G5 
 
 Even to good, than such a multitude 
 To evil. 
 
 Arameth. All are born to pain. 
 But none to sin, by which alone 
 
 Bliss they lose and anguish gain, 
 For their hereafter ; all are thrown 
 
 Indeed amid temptation's snares, 
 But none are there compelled to fall. 
 
 Nor err by any will but theirs ; 
 For the power is given to all 
 Nobly to win, or basely lose 
 The victory o'er them, as they*choose. 
 Even we, the sinless, painless race, 
 Whose nature thou aspir'st to share. 
 May envy that thou scorn'st to bear ; 
 Yes, willingly would we embrace 
 The evils whence we are exempt. 
 And folhes moving our contempt, 
 
 And all would undergo that tries 
 Mankind, were but the trial done 
 As soon, and then such trophy won, 
 
 A crown immortal in the skies, 
 
 To which we never can arise. 
 Here, though oft the parent grieves 
 For the pain his child receives, — 
 Here though oft the child forlorn 
 May curse the hour that he was born. 
 
66 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 When on earth their short career 
 Is finished, and they shall appear 
 Together in the realms of rest, 
 Blest the sire shall be most blest, 
 To say before the throne divine, 
 " Here, my God, am I with mine !" 
 In that happy hour the child. 
 
 Deeming all he sustained on earth 
 Trifles at which he should have smiled, 
 
 Will bless the hour that gave him birth, 
 To dwell amid the angelic choir. 
 In delight that palleth never. 
 With his sire, and Him, the sire 
 Of all, for ever and for ever ! 
 MoRELLi. Oh, say no more ! I should have 
 thought of this ! 
 I have been unwise ! Restore my human nature. 
 Restore it, Arameth ! I little care 
 What sufferings it may bring me, or how long 
 Those sufferings may endure, so that at last 
 I may accomplish heaven. My God ! I thank thee 
 That I was born a mortal, to become 
 A blest immortal ! Pardon me, sweet heaven ! 
 That scornful of the nature thou hadst given me, 
 I've risked thy dearest blessing ! Oh, restore it ! 
 Arameth. Thou canst resume it at thy will, 
 But it were better thou shouldst still 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 67 
 
 Thy superhuman nature keep, 
 For before it' is resigned, 
 
 Power it gives thou canst employ, 
 Either, for thyself, to reap 
 
 All of earth thou wouldst enjoy, 
 Or some to bless among mankind. 
 Be careful which thou choosest from 
 The occasions that for this shall come, 
 For once when thou employ'st this power, . 
 It shall forsake thee fiom that hour. 
 MoRELLi. I shall employ it well, or if I do not, 
 My will is not to blame .> Now, Arameth, 
 Convey me whither I may best observe 
 Who needs my aidance most. 
 
 Arameth. Extend thy hand. 
 
 Spirits of the rosy gale. 
 Let him on your pinions sail. 
 Hovering over sea and land. 
 Till to pause I give command. 
 Ye obey me ? 
 Chorus op Spirits. We obey. 
 Arameth. Then away ! 
 Chorus. Away ! away ! • 
 
THE IMMORTAL, 
 
 ACT FIFTH. 
 
 Scene — The Garden. 
 
 Andrea enters, meeting Leon with the children of 
 Hugo bloody and lifeless in his arms. 
 
 Andrea. Oh, God ! what do I see ? 
 
 Leon. Alas ! my father ! 
 
 A pitiful sight is this ! And my poor brother ! — 
 Truly my heart would break, but it becomes not 
 Poor sinners to repine at heaven's dispose. 
 
 Andrea. Say, whence this awful chance ? 
 
 Leon. This Httle fellow, 
 
 Happening to brawl about some toy or other 
 "With his poor sister, struck her ; this their father 
 Observing, struck the boy. Oh, fatal rashness! 
 He fell upon the mangling rocks below. 
 And she leaped after him as if to save him, 
 And perished with him. Why is man the sport 
 Of passionate impulse, that forgets itself 
 To those most dear ? 
 
 Andrea. Alas ! 
 
THE I MM O RIAL. 69 
 
 Leon. But yonder comes 
 
 The wretched father. 
 
 Enter Hugo. 
 
 Hugo. I gave but to recall ! Where is their 
 mother ? 
 She had no share in their death. 
 
 Leon. And haply thou 
 
 As little in their life. 
 
 Hugo. You make me smile, 
 
 Thinking to cheat my madness with a hope 
 That — would I were so fooled ! — could I forget 
 These children were my own, I were most happy ? 
 'T were but a thing to laugh at, had this hand 
 Made childless all mankind so it had spared 
 My own ; I'd think it dripping in its crimson 
 As white as innocence ! Who calls him bloody 
 That slaughtered all the innocents of Judea ? 
 Was he their father ? 
 
 Leon. In my apprehension 
 
 As much as thou of these. 
 
 Hugo. Fiend ! dare not mock me ! 
 
 Leon. No — I would comfort thee. 
 
 Hugo. Thou comfort me ! 
 
 And what art thou ? 
 
 Andrea. ' Tis true, my son, from man 
 
 No comfort canst thou find, yet heaven can send it. 
 
VO T H E I M M R T A L . 
 
 Hugo. And will, belike ! But let its angels 
 shoot 
 To earth, with consolation on their wings, 
 Deem you I'll thank them ? Eather will I curse 
 
 them 
 That they prevented not what cannot be 
 Redeemed by even them ! 
 
 Leon. Thy misery 
 
 Blasphemes. 
 
 Hugo. And I must hush it in submission ? 
 And so I will ! However it be questioned, 
 These knees can bend ; their sinews are not iron. 
 But oh ! my heart ! my heart ! 
 
 Andrea. Unhappy boy ! 
 
 Heaven knows it is thy anguish, not thyself, 
 Speaks thus, and heaven forgives thee ! 
 
 Leon. My father, may we not infer 
 When one sinks into guilt upon the sudden. 
 He may have slipped before ? 
 
 Andrea. And what of this ? 
 
 Leon. Had I a wife who long appeared most true, 
 Yet faithless proved at last, might I not think 
 She had before deceived me, and her children 
 Were none of mine ? 
 
 Andrea. What then ? 
 
 Leon. Why then I question 
 
 Those were my brother's children. 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 71 
 
 Hugo. Ha ! 
 
 Leon. Tliy wife 
 
 Being now convicted false. 
 
 Hugo. False ? 
 
 Leon. False, by heaven ! 
 
 Hugo. By hell, thou art false thyself ! 
 
 Andrea. Kill not thy brother. 
 
 Hugo. Has he not killed her fame ? 
 
 Leon. I do repent me : 
 
 I spoke too hastily methinks. 
 
 Hugo. Forgive me 
 
 My violence then ; but they were words to make me 
 Forget a brother spoke them. 
 
 Leon. My suspicions 
 
 Having no certainty, I did not well 
 To utter them. 
 
 Hugo. Oh, speak ! 
 
 Leon. Thou hast enough 
 
 Of sorrow now. 
 
 Hugo. Speak ! Dare no more torment me ! 
 
 Andrea. What means this ? 
 
 Leon. When you hear it, pray 
 
 remember 
 That you would hear it. Yet, if I hope rightly, 
 No mischief's in it. She may take a ride, 
 Meaning no harm, howbeit, by the array 
 Of her and her companion, and the speed 
 
72 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Of their dark coursers, it is not unlikely 
 The ride may be a far one. 
 
 Hugo. Her companion !— 
 
 Dark coursers ! Darkness ! — devils ! — who was with 
 her? 
 
 Leon. The stranger whom our father introduced. 
 
 Hugo. Fled, say you ? — fled ? Marina ! — my 
 Marina ! 
 Thy Hugo calls thee ! 
 
 Leon. Hers were a good ear 
 
 To know it at this distance. 
 
 Hugo. What is all this ? 
 
 My children murdered, and my wife — my wife — 
 What did I hear ? — something about my wife ? 
 
 Leon. Rather a wretch to whom that name is 
 forfeit 
 By her unworthiness. 
 
 Hugo. And she has fled 
 
 Lest she should see the murderer of her children ? 
 Away ! away ! away ! fly from the air 
 Polluted with their blood and with my breath! 
 Nay, pause not there, for it was there they perished, 
 And perished by this hand ! — yes, mine ! — their 
 
 father's ! 
 Hast thou no lightnings, heaven ! — has hell no fires, 
 This murderous limb to wither ? 
 
 Leon. Other matters 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 73 
 
 Require thy thoughts, for it will not be long 
 Before the stranger's pleasure, or expedience, 
 Returns thy wife. 
 
 Hugo. What said you of my wife ? 
 
 But do not answer me — why should you speak 
 When these are silent ? They have called me 
 
 ''Father P' 
 As I remember ! Oh, 't was sweet to hear them ! 
 And now they will not speak ! — oh, never ! — never ! 
 
 — never ! 
 Their life will not return lest I destroy it 
 Again ; it will not fear their mother thus : 
 I'll send her to recall it. [Exit. 
 
 Leon. He forgets 
 
 In his poor children's fate his wife's dishonor ; 
 For that I blame him not ; the innocent 
 Alone are dear, or should be so. No wife 
 Lost in this way was ever woi-th the having. 
 
 Enter Adrian and Felicia. 
 Adrian. I have been dashed 
 
 From heaven, my father ! My Felicia — mine ? 
 Alas ! not mine ! She has recalled the promise 
 That blessed me ! Intercede for me, my father ! 
 Andrea. Not now — not now ; I am too full of 
 sorrow 
 To speak of anything. Look there ! 
 4 
 
74 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 Adrian. Oh, God ! 
 
 My eyes are drowned in blood ! 
 
 Re-enter Hugo. 
 
 Hugo. She will return, 
 
 But not to us ! How will she laugh on the way 
 To think of the dear welcome we shall give her ! 
 And she will come — to find us in the grave ! 
 And she will weep above us ! Can the dead 
 Speak words of comfort ? 
 
 Andrea. Would the hving could 
 
 To thee or to myself! 
 
 Leon. I can but say. 
 
 If 'tis the will of heaven, all yet can end well. 
 
 MoRELLi appears. 
 
 MoRELLi. It shall, but not for thee. 
 
 Leon. Behold the villain ! 
 
 Andrea. Seize him ! 
 
 Leon {aside). What charm is this ? My 
 
 arm refuses 
 To rise against him ! 
 
 Morelli. I am not the villain 
 
 Ye seek, but can instruct you where to find him. 
 Why should the hypocrite exult that all 
 His deeds of evil are unseen of men ? 
 Fool, to forget that at the bar of heaven 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 75 
 
 They must be all, before assembled worlds, 
 Unveiled in all their darkness. As for thee {to Leon), 
 I charge thee here with what thou must acknowledge 
 Hereafter. Fearing that she would betray 
 The villany thou hadst designed her honor. 
 And mad with disappointment, thou hast poisoned 
 The innocent Julia. 
 
 Adrian. Is it so ? Speak, villain ! 
 
 Leon. Provoke me, boy ! — you had best ! 
 Andrea. Oh, part them ! part them 1 
 
 MoRELLi. Good youth, I pray you leave him to 
 the fate 
 That heaven ajDpoints him. But before condemned, 
 
 sir. 
 Take your own time to coin a vindication 
 Ingenious as you please ; you shall be heard, 
 But, be assured, I know you. 
 
 Leon (aside). Have I met 
 
 The eyes that mine must shrink from ? Furies 
 blast them ! 
 Arameth (invisible). Yet, Morelli, hesitate ; 
 Were it not better thou shouldst choose 
 For thyself thy power to use. 
 To make thee wealthy, mighty, great ? 
 Lord of kingdoms wouldst thou be ? 
 Speak, and they are rendered thee! 
 
'76 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Wouldst thou fortune's floods control ? 
 
 Speak, and at thy feet they roll ! 
 
 Burns thy brow for glory's rays ? 
 
 Speak, and they around thee blaze ! 
 
 Sighest thou for beauty's charms ? 
 
 Speak, and she is in thy arms ! 
 
 All are offered to thy choice, 
 
 Waiting only for thy voice. 
 MoRELLi. And I forego them all. I rather choose 
 To employ what power I may in blessing others, 
 To balm the wounds of sorrow, to redeem 
 The innocent from villany's oppression ; 
 And even this alone methinks were worth 
 The sacrifice of my unearthly nature ; 
 For what could that impart me like the pure 
 And happy consciousness of being a blessing 
 To my afflicted fellow-creatures ? Nothing. 
 Arameth. Ask thy heart, and then declare, 
 
 In this choice has love no share ? 
 MoRELLi. Let the event reply. Appear ! appear ! 
 
 Arameth appears^ ivith Marina insensible. 
 
 Hugo. Is not that my Marina ? Ha ! I was told. 
 But surely it was false ! Oh ! speak to me ! 
 Still silent, my Marina ? Her eyes are closed ; 
 Is it in sleep or death ? Let it be death ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 77 
 
 Yes, let eternal slumber from her eyes 
 Conceal ber children and their murderous father ! 
 MoRELLi {to Leon). It pains me, for thy sake, 
 thou pitiless fiend, 
 That I must dwell with men, since men can darken 
 Their nature with such guilt as thine. 
 
 Leon. Guilt, say you ? 
 
 Remember how the good old man, my father. 
 With pride has held me up as an example 
 Of human virtue. Well ! what have I done ? 
 Poisoned a woman ! Why, she was a woman. 
 And could tell foolish tales not worth the hearing ; 
 My virtue silenced her. What else ? I veiled 
 My brother's wife from all inquisitive eyes 
 (As I believed), and for a virtuous purpose, 
 No doubt ? What think you now of human virtue ? 
 
 Hugo. And thou art innocent, my love ? I 
 knew it , 
 Guilt has not torn thee from me, but I fear 
 Death will ! Ah, heaven ! those eyes, — those dear 
 
 eyes open. 
 And smile upon me ! Speak, my sweet Marina ! 
 Art thou returned, my love ? 
 
 Marina. My dearest Hugo ! 
 
 But tell me where we are, and who are those ? 
 
 Leon. Aye, who are those ? 
 
 Marina. Merciful heavens ! my children ! 
 
VS THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 MoRELLi. Say, wouldst thou have them hve ? 
 
 Hugo. How canst thou ask it ? 
 
 Marina. Oh, save them, if thou canst ! 
 
 MoRELLi. There yet is in them 
 
 A particle of hfe, although no power 
 Of earth can waken it into a flame, 
 Which I, by my unearthly power, will do, 
 Though using it, I forfeit. By that power 
 I lay this curse upon yon scowling villain ! — 
 His next deed, let it be in its intent 
 Or good or evil, shall restore your children. 
 
 Leon. Since I have found hypocrisy so faithless, 
 ISTo more of sanctity for me ! But do not 
 Mistake me ; think not that my voice can shape 
 A penitential whine ; or yonder stranger. 
 Be what he may, can have a power upon me 
 To make me either will your good, or do it. 
 Thus I defy him and his power ? 
 
 [Stabs himself. 
 
 Andrea. Oh, horror ! 
 
 Leon. Nay, trouble not yourselves. Haply you 
 think 
 I am unfit to die, but take my word for it, 
 I'm now as well prepared for death as ever 
 I can be ; not a moment's penitence 
 Could find me, should I live a thousand ages ! 
 The world to come — but I've not been the fool 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 79 
 
 To trouble myself with any tliought of that 
 In life, then why in death ? My sword ! — my sword ! 
 Death is a sluggard, and I am not willing 
 The power of good should sooner overtake me. 
 Give me my sword ! — thou wilt not ? Will thy pity 
 Bestow the stroke this arm appears too weak for ? 
 MoRELLi. Ye spirits by whom 
 Was given the bloom 
 Unearthly I wear ; 
 Recalling my doom 
 To earth and the tomb, 
 Who raised me to share 
 Your dwellings of air ; 
 In this the last hour 
 I partake of your power, — 
 Let my power with your highest and freest compare. 
 Be this weapon in my hand. 
 Holy as an angel's wand ; 
 Be the dripping guilty blood 
 Like the consecrated flood 
 That in Paradise is flowing, 
 Life, where'er it strays, bestowing. 
 Now, ye hving, lifeless two, 
 I sprinkle ye with bloody dew. 
 By every drop upon you falling, 
 The spirit in it? flight recalling. 
 
80 THEIMMORTAL. 
 
 Now it is returning fast — 
 
 Now 't is come ! — the spell is past — 
 
 Yet his triumph to avow, 
 Death will meet us all at last ! 
 
 You and I are mortal now ! 
 
 (The children start to th& embrace of their parents.) 
 
 Leon. I care not what ye are, but make no 
 question 
 That I am mortal. Could I in the grave 
 Behold one curse accomplished, I'd bequeathe you 
 A thousand ; but no matter. My good father, 
 A word with thee. Thy fatherly affection 
 Haply may give my grave a stone inscribed, 
 " Erected by the most bereaved of fathers 
 To the most excellent of sons." Remember 
 To add a line, which in my commendation 
 Shall say thus much, — though not her faithful 
 
 servant 
 In life, I'd more to do with truth in death 
 Than, or in life or death, full many a saint 
 Whose dying speeches have been chronicled 
 For others to repeat on the occasion. 
 Adieu ! forget me not ? [Dies, 
 
 Andrea. Oh, God of heaven ! 
 
THE IMMORTAL. 81 
 
 MoRELLi. Be not so agonized ! While these are 
 happy, 
 As they deserve to be, joy in their joy, 
 And be that wretch forgotten ! 
 
 Andrea. Can he be 
 
 Forgiven ? 
 
 MoRELLi {to Felicia). Lady, most fair thou art, 
 and I beheve 
 Most excellent, and worth the sacrifice 
 Of all accounted high, save the approval 
 Of conscience and of heaven, whose condemnation 
 "Were merited, if, even for thy possession, 
 I should inflict upon a fellow creature 
 The agonies to which the loss of thee 
 Would doom this youth. His love is not unworthy 
 A recompense. As I unite your hands 
 May heaven unite your hearts ! 
 
 Adrian. Thou generous being, 
 
 Is it sin to worship thee ? 
 
 Morelli. How blest I feel ! 
 
 How glad I am that I have rather chosen 
 The privilege of doing good to others. 
 Than all presented for my own advantage ! 
 Now, Arameth ! 
 
 Arameth. This choice of thine 
 
 Upon thee calls the smile divine 
 4^- 
 
82 THE IMMORTAL. 
 
 Of Him above, who wills to thee 
 A recompense that cannot be 
 Accorded by this world or mine. 
 The bloom, the vigor, and the pride 
 
 Of youth, which in thy age thou wearest, 
 By age like thine has been denied 
 
 To all of earth, though once its fairest : 
 And thee no longer must I save 
 
 From the decree on mortals spoken ; 
 To time's corruption and the grave 
 
 Earth calls thee back. The spell is broken. 
 
 (MoRELLi falls on the ground as an old man in 
 extreme decrepitude.) 
 
 Arameth. Know ye not, ye sons of earth, 
 That for death ye have your birth ? 
 That your Maker placed you here 
 But to seek a better sphere, 
 Which attained, will be forgot 
 All the ills of mortal lot. 
 Care not then if o'er your path 
 Hover fortune's smile or wrath, 
 But alike, through good and ill. 
 Onward, heavenward, struggle still. 
 Thou, Morelli, thou hast known 
 It is mercy's doom alone 
 
THEIM MORTAL. 83 
 
 Sends the angel of the grave, 
 
 From the ills of life to save. 
 
 Dreader could no curse appear 
 
 Than to be immortal here, 
 
 Or in any world, save where 
 
 Angels bliss eternal share ; 
 
 Now to dwell with them arise, 
 
 Be immortal in the skies ! 
 
 Give thy body to the sod, 
 
 Give thy spirit to its God ! 
 Chorus of Spirits. Give thy body to the sod, 
 
 Give thy spirit to its God ! 
 Arameth. Now 't is done ! On angel wings 
 
 Forth the bright immortal springs ! 
 
 Mortals, would ye follow him 
 
 To the blessed cherubim ? 
 
 Love your Maker and mankind. 
 
 And the path to heaven ye find. 
 
 Here your life was only given 
 
 That ye thus might seek for heaven ; 
 
 Here death cometh but to bear 
 
 The delivered spirit there. 
 
 END OF the immortal, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
MPSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 
 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 The winds of March are loose again, 
 
 And, shrinking from the piercing air, 
 I shudder at the thought of pain 
 
 That I have borne, and yet may bear ; 
 But while the scenes return to view, 
 
 Which seemed to be my last on earth, 
 Returns the heavenly picture too 
 
 Of all thy love, and all thy worth ! 
 
 Thy matchless love, that bore thee up 
 
 Through trials few have heart to brave ; 
 That shrank not from the bitter cup 
 
 Of anguish, which my anguish gave ; 
 That, while thy noble heart was wrung 
 
 With pity, tenderness, and grief, 
 Still o'er my couch of suffering hung. 
 
 To give me comfort and rehef. 
 
88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A common love might weep and sigh, 
 
 To spare its grief, my presence shun, 
 And in its weakness let me die. 
 
 Lamented much, but aided none ; 
 Thy nobler nature rose above 
 
 All trials, so they gave me aid. 
 And on the altar of thy love 
 
 Thy heart a sacrifice was laid. 
 
 Thy sighs were hushed, thy tears supprest, 
 
 Lest I thy sorrow should divine ; 
 Thy eyes refused their needful rest, 
 
 To watch the fitful sleep of mine : 
 No sharer in a task so dear 
 
 And sacred would thy love allow ; 
 By day and night, still hovering near, 
 
 My " Ministering- Angel " thou ! 
 
 Thou wast my dearest hope on earth 
 
 Since first I met thy welcome sight ; 
 But never had I known thy worth 
 
 'Till in affliction's darkest night. 
 Oh, then thy peerless goodness shone, 
 
 A star amid the gloom profound. 
 Dispersed the clouds above me thrown, 
 
 And scattered heavenly radiance round. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 
 
 The God of mercy heard thy prayer, 
 
 When hope itself receded fast, 
 And gave to thy unwearied care 
 
 The hfe that seemed already past ; 
 That life I ever would employ 
 
 To bless thee, and thy love repay — 
 To give thee comfort, peace, and joy. 
 
 To be thy friend, thy shield, thy stay. 
 
 I will not at the past repine, 
 
 Though the remembrance wakes a sigh — 
 To know the worth of love like thine 
 
 'Twere well to suffer or to die ! 
 But ah ! at once its worth to know 
 
 And to enjoy its fulness, live ! 
 No greater favor heaven can show, 
 
 And earth has nothing more to give. 
 
90 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 SHE CALLS ME FATHER 
 
 She calls me " father !" — though my ear 
 
 That thrilling name shall never hear, 
 
 Yet to my heart affection brings 
 
 The sound in sweet imaginings ; 
 
 I feel its gushing music roll 
 
 The stream of rapture on my soul ; 
 
 And when she starts to welcome me, 
 
 And when she totters to my knee, 
 
 And when she climbs it to embrace 
 
 My bosom for a hiding-place, 
 
 And when she nestling there reclines, 
 
 And with her arms my neck entwines, 
 
 And when her lips of roses seek 
 
 To press their sweetness on my cheek, 
 
 Or when upon my careful breast 
 
 I lull her to her cherub rest, 
 
 The heart to which I hold my dove 
 
 Swells with unutterable love ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 91 
 
 A FATHER'S DIRGE. 
 
 My hopes are blighted, and I feel 
 An anguish I may not reveal ; 
 
 And fain I would retire apart 
 Where common eyes may not intrude, 
 Who care not for the sanctitude 
 Of sorrow in a father's heart. 
 But I have duties to perform 
 
 To others, who have claims as strong, 
 And still must struggle with the storm 
 
 Of hfe, amid the careless throng ; 
 And veil the secret of my breast 
 With smile for smile, and jest for jest. 
 While fain I would sit down and rest 
 
 Beside my darling's clay ! 
 Yes — for my wife's and children's sake, 
 I'll bid my energies awake. 
 And nerve the heart that swells to break, 
 To be their shield and stay. 
 
 But, oh ! the sorrow, when I come 
 From weary work to lonely home. 
 
92 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 To miss that face, whose pleasant sight 
 Gave to that home a heavenly light ! 
 At hour of rest, how sad to miss 
 The comfort of her parting kiss ! 
 And every morning when I wake 
 This lonely heart is nigh to break, 
 For ever when I rose from sleep. 
 
 Beside me smiled her cherub face, 
 And close and closer she would creep 
 
 To nestle in my heart's embrace ! 
 But now at every wonted spot 
 I seek her, and I find her not ; 
 Save that at times before my eyes 
 Distempered fancy bids her rise 
 As last I saw her, night and day 
 Gasping her little life away ! 
 And then my anguish and despair 
 Become too terrible to bear ! 
 
 Yet, my beloved ! though I must mourn, 
 
 And nothing can my grief beguile, 
 I should rejoice that thou wast born 
 
 To bless me, though but for a while. 
 The love that hghtened up thy eyes, 
 
 And smiled on thy angelic face, 
 "Was such a glimpse of Paradise, 
 
 As, though but for a little space, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A sacred influence has left 
 Of which we cannot be bereft, 
 And tells us what the heavens must be 
 That for a moment lent us thee, 
 And fires our zeal to persevere 
 To meet thee in that better sphere, 
 Where yet we trust redeemed to stand, 
 And lead our darhng by the hand, 
 Thou best of all our hearts held dear ! 
 
 If thou canst see us from above, 
 At last thou knowest all the love, 
 
 Nor words nor tears could tell ; 
 Thou readest in thy father's heart. 
 Of which thou wast the dearest part, 
 
 A love unspeakable ! 
 And thou dost love me, my sweet child. 
 And thy affections from the skies 
 Come down to bless me, till I rise 
 To meet them, pure and undefiled ; 
 Oh, let me then be reconciled. 
 And conquer passion's bitterness, 
 
 For why should we deplore 
 That earth has now one sufferer less, 
 
 And heaven one angel more ! 
 The sun rose glorious on thy birth, 
 
 As if he welcomed thee to day. 
 
94 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And shone as glorious, when to earth 
 We gave thy cold unconscious clay. 
 I saw him on his noonday throne, 
 
 In summer's proudest hour. 
 And thought, of all he looked upon, 
 
 Thou wast the fairest flower ! 
 Where art thou now ? 
 
 JSTay, it is weak, 
 ' Tis wrong, that gloomy grave to seek !- 
 Let Faith and Hope unveil the skies 
 A moment to affection's eyes ! 
 Look up, my soul ! and there behold 
 A heavenly form with locks of gold, 
 That shade a brow divinely bright, 
 And float upon her wings of light ; 
 All Paradise is in her face, 
 And in her smile celestial grace ; 
 She looks upon us from above 
 With pity and undying love, 
 And gently beckons to her home — 
 I come, my Anna ! — soon I come ! 
 And till we meet, will strive and pray 
 To keep upon the only way, 
 Nor more repine that thou dost rest 
 Upon a Heavenly Father's breast ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 95 
 
 THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 In the watches of the night, 
 
 When the world is hushed to sleep, 
 
 Comes my anguish strong and deep, 
 Like a torrent at its height. 
 Rushing with resistless might. 
 
 Every barrier down to sweep ; 
 Parts the darkness like a veil, 
 
 And reveals my dying dove. 
 With her patient ff^ ^ and pale, 
 
 And her sweet bk. eyes of love. 
 Sadly looking into mine, 
 Till they every look resign. 
 Now returns the scene of death — 
 Slowly gasps away her breath ; 
 Now the lips that were my bliss 
 Move as for a parting kiss ; 
 Now she gives a feeble start, 
 As to nestle to my heart ! 
 
96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How its breaking fibres thrill ! 
 All is over ! — from my sight 
 Fades the vision of the night, 
 
 And the night is darker still ! 
 
 Day returns — thou swelling breast, 
 Hush ! and hide thy sacred guest ! 
 
 Forth into the world I go — 
 Hollow laugh and ribald jest 
 
 Round me bandy to and fro ; 
 And I look and list the while 
 With a forced and feeble smile, 
 
 Bitter mockery of woe ! 
 Common talk of common things. 
 Like the buzz of insect wings. 
 Brushes o'er my weary mind. 
 And I answer in some kind. 
 
 What I hardly care or know. 
 
 Nay, my soul, this is not well ! 
 
 Rouse thee from thy stern despair, 
 Crush the thoughts that would rebel, 
 
 Nobly bear what thou must bear ! 
 Leave it to the common crew 
 
 In their sorrow to be weak ; — 
 
 In the might of anguish seek 
 Might to bear and might to do ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 97 
 
 Gather up thy inmost strength — 
 
 To some earnest task apply ; 
 So shalt thou escape at length 
 
 Thoughts that else would bid me die ! 
 
 Thou from whom all blessings came ! 
 Thou who dost at will reclaim ! 
 Thou who the Great Father art, 
 And in every parent's breast 
 Strongest feelings hast imprest, 
 Sweetest, purest, holiest, 
 Yet canst rend a parent's heart, 
 Snapping all its links apart ! 
 
 Thou who didst the boon bestow. 
 Once my comfort, hope, and pride, 
 
 Yet removed it at a blow — 
 May that blow be sanctified ! 
 Though my heart is sorely tried — 
 
 Though my hopes are in the dust, 
 In thy wisdom I confide. 
 
 In thy boundless mercy trust ! 
 
98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 MY BOY 
 
 My boy ! my boy ! what hopes and fears 
 Are prophets of thy future years ! 
 How many smiles — how many tears 
 
 Shall ghsten o'er this face ! 
 This eye, so innocently bright, 
 May kindle with a wilder light. 
 
 In pleasure's maddening chase : 
 This brow, where quiet fancies lie. 
 May proudly lift itself on high, 
 
 In fierce ambition's race ; 
 This form, so beautiful, so blithe. 
 May waste in sickness, or may writhe 
 
 In agony's embrace ; 
 This cheek may lose its healthful blush, 
 For sorrow's languor, passion's flush. 
 
 Or thought's corrosive trace ; — 
 But of all evils that may come. 
 My prayer the most would shield thee from 
 
 The guilty or the base. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 99 
 
 Thy heritage is but my name ; 
 Then prize its purity of fame, 
 
 And shield it from disgrace ; 
 And if that name have some renown, 
 May it be thine a brighter crown 
 
 Upon it yet to place ! 
 For should a prouder wreath be thine 
 Than ever was or shall be mine. 
 
 The more will be my joy — 
 The vanity of fame I've found ; 
 Still could I wish its laurels crowned, 
 
 My boy ! my only boy ! 
 
 And yet, should genius never roll 
 Its inspiration on thy soul. 
 
 Nor gift thee with the might 
 To image such creations forth 
 As crown " the Minstrel of the North,"* 
 
 Imperishably bright ; 
 Or with a Shakspeare's Muse of fire 
 Up to the highest heaven aspire. 
 
 The sun of every sight — 
 If science shall not in thy mind 
 Unfold a beacon to mankind, 
 
 Amid the mental night ; 
 
 * Walter Scott. . 
 
100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Or if tliy arm shall never wield 
 A hero's sword, on conquest's field, 
 
 To guard thy country's right — 
 If all the glorious hopes be vain 
 That often float athwart my brain 
 
 In visions of delight — 
 Still thou as fully canst complete 
 The hope — of all most dear and sweet 
 
 That may my mind employ — 
 All other wreaths I can resign, 
 So virtue's trophies may be thine. 
 
 My boy ! my only boy ! 
 
 THE CHARMS OF WOMAN 
 
 The glittering stars we admire. 
 
 And the sun on his throne in the skies ; 
 And we worship the lovelier fire 
 
 That sparkles in woman's sweet eyes ; 
 The bloom of the flourishing roses 
 
 Dehght to the eyes can impart, 
 And the bloom that dear woman discloses 
 
 Has far more delight for the heart. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 101 
 
 How sweetly the zephyrs are throwing 
 
 The fragrance they snatch from the flowers ! 
 How sweeter the breath that is flowing 
 
 From the pure hps of woman to ours ! 
 Whatever around thee thou meetest, 
 
 The spell of delight that can lend, 
 The brightest, the fairest, the sweetest, 
 
 In woman far lovelier blend. 
 
 Her eyes have a heavenly splendor. 
 
 But if virtue have kindled its star 
 In her soul, its resplendence will lend her 
 
 A light that is lovelier far ! 
 Her breath has a sweetness when blending 
 
 With ours in the pure kiss of love ; 
 Far sweeter that breath when ascending 
 
 In prayer to her Maker above. 
 
 When in one all the charms are united 
 
 On the soul and the senses that steal. 
 When we gaze on her softness dehghted. 
 
 Or when to her brightness we kneel. 
 However those beauties may ravish. 
 
 And fetter the soul and the eyes, 
 Not on them all our thoughts should we lavish, 
 
 But spare one, at least, for the skies. 
 
102 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 If the light of her eyes we adn)ire, 
 
 Oh, what is the glory of Hj'm, 
 From whom heaven's eyes had the fire, 
 
 To which even beauty's were dim ! 
 Who the blaze to Apollo has given, 
 
 "Which the stars to behold cannot bear ! 
 What splendor on earth or in heaven 
 
 Can with its Creator's compare ? 
 
 If all the creation discloses 
 
 Such beauty our homage to claim. 
 How awful a beauty reposes 
 
 On the brow of the God whence it came ! 
 When woman upon you has laid her 
 
 Control, while you love and adore, 
 Oh, think of the Being who made her. 
 
 And love him and worship him more ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 103 
 
 To MRS. MARY B. 
 
 ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Lady ! tliy friends may well unite 
 
 To hail the hour that gave thee birth ; 
 
 For it might seem a child of light 
 
 That moment came from heaven to earth. 
 
 I speak not of the form or face, 
 
 Though both might claim the poet's song ; 
 With every charm of beauty's grace, 
 
 Diviner charms to thee belong. 
 
 The sense of duty, pure and high. 
 Which gives the orphans in thy care 
 
 All that a mother can supply, 
 
 And in thy heart an equal share : 
 
 True friendship that can never fade. 
 
 Affection won by manly worth. 
 Which well bestowed, and well repaid, 
 
 Can make a Paradise on earth. 
 
104 MI.SCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Good humor's smile, for ever bright, 
 That casts a sunshine all around, 
 
 Truth in her spotless robe of light. 
 And virtue hke a seraph crowned ! 
 
 These are the charms that most express 
 
 A mind with more of heaven than earth- 
 Friends, husband, children, all may bless 
 The auspicious hour that gave it birth ! 
 
 A VALENTINE TO MY WIFE, 
 
 Twelve years ago ! how swift their flight. 
 Since first thy fate was linked with mine ! 
 
 How much they brought of dark or bright 
 To crown thy love, or prove its might, 
 My faithful Valentine ! 
 
 Twelve years ago, my chosen bride ! 
 
 How proud was I to call thee mine ! 
 But more my love, and more my pride, 
 
 Since years on years thy worth have tried. 
 My precious Valentine ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 105 
 
 It may be sorrow and despair 
 
 At times have wrung tliis heart of mine ; 
 But to thy love I could repair, 
 And find my peace and solace there, • 
 
 My sweetest Valentine ! 
 
 And every joy that I may know. 
 
 When kinder fortune seems to shine, 
 
 Wins from thy smile a brighter glow — 
 
 To see thee happy makes me so, 
 My dearest Valentine ! 
 
 Sweet mother of the cherub boy. 
 
 Round whom our fondest hopes entwine ! 
 
 May he his coming years employ 
 
 To be thy comfort, pride, and joy, 
 And bless my Valentine ! 
 
106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MY LITTLE FRIEND. 
 
 " OF SUCH IS THE KINaDOM OF HEAVEN." 
 
 Often while I sit apart 
 Comes a yearning of the heart, 
 With a sense of lonehness 
 Hard to bear or to express ; 
 Then of ill-repaid affections 
 Throng the saddest recollections, 
 And of friends I used to know 
 Till the hour to prove them so ! 
 Friendship then a fable seems, 
 Love, the most absurd of dreams. 
 
 Thus I sit and muse alone — 
 
 Sudden comes a fairy face, 
 Dimpling with a smile divine ; 
 Glides a tiny hand in mine. 
 And a little arm is thrown 
 
 Round my neck with winning grace 
 And a pair of sweet blue eyes 
 Look in mine with quaint surprise. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 107 
 
 And a lip of roses pouts 
 
 In assurance of a kiss — 
 Care be hanged ! — away witli doubts ! 
 
 Love is truth ! — and life is bliss ! 
 
 Potent as the harp divine, 
 
 David played to moody Saul, 
 Comes her spirit upon mine, 
 
 When of gloom the saddest thrall, 
 And away the shadows run, 
 Like the clouds before the sun ! 
 Blessings on the little fairy 
 
 Whose affections, frank and artless, 
 
 Prove the world not wholly heartless ! — 
 Thou wilt not forsake me, Mary ! 
 
108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW. 
 
 What millions live to-day 
 As tliey might ever stay, 
 How soon to pass away ! 
 
 Sweet face and lofty brow, 
 So pleasant now to see — 
 Alas ! where will they be 
 
 A hmidred years from now ? 
 
 The sage with silver hair, 
 Proud youth and maiden fair, 
 Time will not pause to spare — 
 
 Glad childhood's sunny brow, 
 The infant's dimpling face — 
 All gone without a trace, 
 
 A hundred years from now ! 
 
 The ills we scarce sustain. 
 The trouble and the pain 
 That vex the heart and brain, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS TOE MS. 109 
 
 And wring the calmest brow — 
 All, serious as they seem, 
 Fade, a forgotten dream, 
 A hundred years from now ! 
 
 The time seems far away. 
 Yet will not long delay ; 
 It comes with every day 
 
 That goes, we know not how ! 
 Howe'er thy lot be cast, 
 'T is all the same at last, 
 
 A hundred years from now. 
 
 In all but this the same — 
 Some few may leave a name, 
 A monument of fame 
 
 That time shall never bow, 
 Or heavenly-thoughted page. 
 To consecrate our age 
 
 A hundred years from now ! 
 
110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 AMBITION. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MY SON. 
 
 When I was young, my noble boy ! 
 
 Ambition filled my ardent mind ; 
 I thought I could my powers employ 
 
 To be a blessing to mankind. 
 Statesman or hero, bard or sage, 
 
 I thought I might achieve a name 
 To stand the glory of the age, 
 
 And flourish in immortal fame. 
 Romantic dreams ! how swift they fled, 
 
 Dispersed in even childhood's day ! 
 In every path I wished to tread 
 
 Misfortune sternly barred the way ! 
 Some little good I may have wrought, 
 
 And penned some not inglorious songs ; 
 But opened no new worlds of thought, 
 
 Nor saved a people from their wrongs. 
 Thou too wilt own ambition's sway : — 
 
 No matter so it prompt no sin — 
 I care not if its voice should say, 
 
 Be all thy father should have been ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ill 
 
 Ambition is of various kinds, 
 
 And even in tlie child proclaims 
 The cast of great or common minds, 
 
 According to its various aims. 
 Some place in dress their only pride. 
 
 While some aflfect a ruffian air, 
 Some aim at most to dance or ride, 
 
 Or on the stage to rant and swear ; 
 Some with ambition meaner still. 
 
 Their honor seek in deeds of shame, 
 For virtue choose the worst of ill. 
 
 The worst of names their proudest name ! 
 Such fancies sway the vulgar breast. 
 
 And may become the fools at least. 
 Who think that man was made at best 
 
 To be partaker with the beast ! 
 But those to whom the Lord hath given 
 
 A portion of the spark divine, 
 May tread on earth — but look to heaven — 
 
 And more and more their souls refine ! 
 
 My son ! to wisdom give thy heart ! 
 
 Improve thy God-imparted mind ! 
 The mind is our celestial part. 
 
 More heavenly as the more refined ! 
 Employ thy thoughts on nobler things 
 
 Than those that with the body die ! 
 
112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Mount thy ambition on the wings 
 Of virtue that ascends the sky ! 
 
 So shall thy soul, while yet confined 
 To earth, its heavenly kindred claim, 
 
 And thou shalt move among mankind, 
 An angel in a mortal frame. 
 
 MY DARLING LITTLE MARY 
 
 When childhood shall have flown away, 
 
 And youth its bloom shall lend thee. 
 May all the bliss of childhood's day 
 
 And innocence attend thee ; 
 Nor may a heart so pure and blest 
 
 For guilt or sorrow vary, 
 That now are strangers to thy bi'east. 
 
 My darling little Mary. 
 
 When beauty's glow is on thee thrown. 
 
 May it be thy endeavor 
 Not outward charms to win alone, 
 
 But those that perish never ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 113 
 
 Since all the charms that meet the eye 
 
 Are not more bright than airy, 
 Be thine the charms that ne\'er die, 
 
 My darling little Mary ! 
 
 On earth may Mary long repay 
 
 The fondness of a mother, 
 And from this world when called away 
 
 By death to seek another, 
 May angels her pure spirit bear 
 
 To bliss that cannot vary, 
 And may a mother welcome there 
 
 Her darling little Mary ! 
 
 THE MOTHER'S PRIDE. 
 
 Yes, she is beautiful indeed ! 
 
 The soft blue eyes, the raven hair. 
 The brow where pleasant thoughts we read, 
 
 The radiant smile, the winning air. 
 
114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The clierub form of perfect grace, 
 Whose fairy steps in music glide — 
 
 And oh ! that sweet, that heavenly face ! 
 Well may she be her mother's pride ! 
 
 Yet may she nobler pride awake 
 
 Than all external charms impart ; 
 'T is not alone for beauty's sake 
 
 We hold her in our inmost heart — 
 Her sunny soul, her spotless mind. 
 
 Where comes no thought to shun or hide, 
 Her artless love, her feelings kind. 
 
 Have made her more her mother's pride. 
 
 Then come to me, my cherished child, 
 
 And, bending o'er my shoulder, fling 
 Thy raven tresses, rolling wild. 
 
 In many a soft and sunny ring ! 
 Look up in fondness to my face. 
 
 And thine upon my bosom hide, — 
 Close — closer, to my heart's embrace, 
 
 My sweetest joy ! — my fondest pride ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 115 
 
 THE POWER OF AFFECTION 
 
 The world is full of pain and harm, 
 And life at best is little worth, 
 
 Yet pure affection is a charm 
 
 That ahuost makes a heaven of earth. 
 
 'T is true we often find it frail 
 
 And transient as a morning flower ; 
 
 Yet, for a time, it can prevail 
 
 Where helpless every earthher power. 
 
 If even she whose welcome love 
 
 Once saved me from the worst of care, 
 
 Should like the rest forgetful prove. 
 And leave me to my soul's despair, — 
 
 Still the impression of the past 
 Will comfort many a lonely hour. 
 
 And still the sweet remembrance last 
 Like frasfrance of a faded flower ! 
 
116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But no ! — whoever may forsake, 
 
 To doubt my cherub were unjust ! — 
 
 Come, darling ! to my heart, and take 
 Its perfect love and perfect trust ! 
 
 THE RINGLET. 
 
 Though to thee this little tress 
 Brings no thought of loveliness, 
 Nothing that my eye can meet 
 For that eye hath charm as sweet ; 
 Nor such witchery is spread 
 By the locks on beauty's head ; 
 Whether their dishevelled dance 
 Floats in wild luxuriance. 
 Or their gently waving rings 
 Fall in sunny ghstenings ; 
 Or in their ambrosial wreath 
 Violets and roses breathe ; 
 Or in regal band controlled. 
 They entwine with gems and gold — 
 Whether, their light clusters through, 
 Peeps the laughing eye of blue ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 117 
 
 Or the shade of raven wing, 
 O'er the eye of night the}^ fling. 
 Know, if thou wouldst have me tell 
 Whence it hath derived a spell. 
 Far all other charms above — 
 'T was her first fond gift of love. 
 
 MY LOVE LOVES ME. 
 
 Oh, there is a song that the young heart sings 
 That forth in a fountain of music springs. 
 As fresh as the dance of the streams set free ; — 
 " I love my love, and my love loves me !" 
 
 Sweetest and dearest, fondest and best, 
 While with thy presence no longer blest. 
 My heart murmurs o'er, as it strays to thee, 
 " I love my love, and my love loves me !" 
 
 And thou, my beloved, when 1 leave thy sight, 
 It soothes me to think that thou wilt delight 
 To murmur the song I taught to thee, 
 " I love my love, and my love loves me." 
 
118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 We had not the pleasures to others known ; 
 A better, a dearer, is ours alone. 
 To whisper our hearts in their secret glee, 
 " I love my love, and my love loves me !" 
 
 And oh ! when again I welcome thy face — 
 When again I clasp thee in fond embrace, 
 To me wilt thou whisper, and I to thee, — 
 " I love my love, and my love loves me !" 
 
 BROKEN TIES. 
 
 Go — I from my soul disclaim thee ; 
 Mine I never more shall name thee ; 
 By the love that thou hast slighted, 
 By the joy that thou hast blighted. 
 By the fairy visions vanished, 
 Ingrate, go ! for ever banished ! 
 
 By the promise vainly spoken. 
 By the heart thou wouldst have broken. 
 Did not strength of soul sustain me 
 That I mourn not, but disdain thee, — 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 
 
 Go, for ever from me driven ! — 
 Go, forgotten — not forgiven ! 
 
 When thou findest all around thee 
 Faithless, worthless, as I found thee, 
 Thou shalt learn the worth to measure 
 Of the heart thou wouldst not treasure ; 
 But in vain thy soul's repentance, 
 Irrevocable the sentence — 
 Go, for ever, from me driven ! — 
 Go, forgotten ! — not forgiven ! 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE SNAKES. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO CATHARINE. 
 
 Dear Kate — more dear than I can tell ! 
 No matter, though — you know it well — 
 Dear Kate — in this delicious weather, 
 I wish, don't you ? we were together ; 
 That we might wander, hand in hand, 
 Amid those scenes of fairy land, 
 
120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Whicli now, to glad tliy vision, rise 
 And fancy pictures to my eyes ! 
 To climb the hills, the woods explore, 
 Or ramble by the sea-beat shore, 
 Where ringing waves delight thy ear 
 With music mine shall never hear : 
 Or rove where sweetest flowers embower 
 My pretty Kate, " a sweeter flower !" 
 While balmy zephyrs kiss thy brow 
 Of beauty — (might I kiss it now !) 
 
 'Mid scenes like these, one summer's day, 
 A lordly serpent wound his way ; 
 From Ratler's hne of length he came, 
 And gloried in a tail of fame ; 
 His pointed tongue, his sparkling eyes. 
 His gorgeous robe of thousand dyes — 
 All these with rapture swelled his hide. 
 For snakes, like other fools, have pride. 
 
 While winding through a tangled brake. 
 He chanced to meet another snake. 
 Who wore a suit of sober black. 
 Which might become a doctor's back, 
 And, coiled in many a ring, reclined, 
 While thoughts as coiled perplexed his mind. 
 
 " Good parson Black ! ah, is it you ?" 
 Quoth flippant Rattle, "How d'ye do?" 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 
 
 " I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir." 
 " How's Mrs. Black ?" " All's well with her." 
 " How are the little dears ?" " So so ; 
 The youngest has been ailing though." 
 "How go the times ?" " Oh, very bad !" 
 Sighed Black ; " the times are truly sad. 
 Which plunges me in deep dejection, 
 And makes me ask in sage reflection. 
 Why all that is beneath the skies. 
 Is what it is — not otherwise ! 
 Why Providence, by strange mistakes, 
 Instead of men, has made us snakes ; 
 Why we are born — and wherefore die — 
 
 Why " "Fool !" quoth Rattle, "care not why! 
 
 He who himself will wretched make 
 Deserves the hiss of every snake. 
 Enough for us that all on earth 
 Is full of beauty, life, and mirth ; 
 While of its joys I have a share, 
 I care not who may cherish care — 
 Mine be the maxim wise and just : 
 ' Live while you live, die when you must 1' " 
 " Then die this moment !" Black exclaimed. 
 With foaming lip and eye inflamed. 
 At this the other shook his rattle, 
 To sound the stirring charge to battle. 
 6 
 
122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 So fiercely tliey together flew, 
 They bit each other right in two. 
 Quoth Black, " I beg a truce, my friend, 
 To ponder on my latter end !" 
 So each in different windings past, 
 To seek his tail, and fix it fast ; 
 But in their hurry, by mistake, 
 Black got the tail of Rattlesnake, 
 And Rattle to himself did tack, 
 Unwittingly the tail of Black. 
 
 Now Rattle fiercely shook the tail 
 He thought his own, without avail, 
 To wake the sound once wont to be 
 His " earthquake voice of victory !" 
 Now right, now left, he lashed the ground, 
 But, burn the tail ! it gave no sound ! 
 He swings it left, he swings it right — 
 In vain, poor Rattle bursts with spite. 
 
 Black, for his part, had run away ! 
 But, as he runs, to his dismay. 
 Loud from his tail a rattle peals. 
 As if the foe were at his heels. 
 More fast he runs, more loud it rings, 
 And louder, as he faster springs : 
 He runs for six successive suns, 
 And still it rattles as he runs : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 
 
 He runs and runs till out of breath, 
 And then the rattle sleeps in death. 
 
 You say this story can't be true — 
 Dear Kate, I quite agree with you ! 
 But now that I must say farewell, 
 One little word of truth I'll tell ; 
 And well you know I speak sincerely, 
 In saying, " Kate^ I love you dearly /" 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. Some say they are not able 
 
 To see the moral of my fable ! 
 
 Inform them, had the snakes been wise, 
 
 'T is like they would have used their eyes ! 
 
 And secondly, it hence appears. 
 
 Our eyes are better than our ears ; 
 
 From which reflection I contrive 
 
 Some consolation to derive ; 
 
 For though I oft have sighed, my dear. 
 
 That it is not for me to hear 
 
 The thrilling music of thy voice, 
 
 That would my very heart rejoice : 
 
 Yet when my arm is round thee wreathing. 
 
 And on thy brow my lip is breathing. 
 
 When thy dear head my hand caresses, 
 
 Or wreathes among thy raven tresses. 
 
 Or clasps in mine thy fairy fingers, 
 
 While fond my look upon thee lingers, 
 
124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Then, while emparadised, I trace 
 Affection breathing from thy face — 
 Oh, then I feel in deep delight. 
 There is a music for the sight ! 
 "Which I would not exchange for all 
 That ever on the ear may fall. 
 
 MY PRETTY BIRDS. 
 
 My pretty birds, as sweet your song. 
 
 And of as blithesome kind, 
 As when you winged your flight along 
 
 By but the skies confined ; 
 Though severed from your native bowers. 
 
 And caged in narrow space. 
 As gay ye carol through your hours 
 
 As in your native place. 
 
 And grateful to the tender hand 
 That watches o'er your need. 
 
 Your little hearts with love expand, 
 While from that hand ve feed : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 
 
 And this is well — ye need not mourn 
 
 The scenes that ye have lost, 
 For there the pangs ye might have borne 
 
 Of famine or of frost. 
 
 But man less wise — restrained from ill 
 
 By the Almighty's bars, 
 The rage to have his erring will 
 
 His spirit's music jars. 
 My birds, my sweet philosophers, 
 
 May I your wisdom learn, 
 And welcoming what God confers. 
 
 To His protection turn. 
 
 TOONE REMEMBERED STILL 
 
 How oft shall memory's glance be cast 
 To the lovely eve when I met thee last ! 
 No star was seen in the silver sky, 
 And the moon was hid from mortal eye. 
 And the sun had gone to his briny bed. 
 Yet a beautiful light upon earth was shed, 
 
126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For the gloom of eve had a softened ray- 
 Reflected from the departing day ; 
 And I said in my heart, as I marked how tender 
 A hght had succeeded the vanished splendor, 
 " May a beam as soft — as calm — and as sweet, 
 Illumine thy lot till again we meet !" 
 
 As my fingers twined in thy locks of gold 
 
 Adown thy neck of ivory rolled, 
 
 And I saw thy blue eyes, fixed on mine, 
 
 In soft and artless tenderness shine, 
 
 And I pressed in mine thy dear, dear hand, 
 
 My feelings I could not well command. 
 
 But I turned my head to hide the tear 
 
 At the thought of parting with one so dear, 
 
 And I felt that there was no pang above 
 
 The pang inflicted on parting love ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 12*7 
 
 MY BLUE-EYED MATD. 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN 
 
 Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid, 
 
 When fate our parting shall decree ! 
 My love may never be repaid, 
 
 But still, oh, still remember me ! 
 Thy image, in my heart enshrined. 
 
 In death's embrace alone shall fade ; 
 When I am in his arms recHned, 
 
 Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid ! 
 
 If on tlio monumental stone 
 
 The name of one thou chance to see. 
 Whose heart was thine, and thine alone, 
 
 Oh then, my love, remember me. 
 As one that were supremely blest 
 
 His life before thee to have laid, 
 Could that insure his last request. 
 
 Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid ! 
 
128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND, R. B. 
 
 The only Paradise on earth 
 Is found at the domestic hearth, 
 When on the ano-el wino-s of love 
 The bliss of heaven comes from above ; 
 Not that vain love scarce worth the name, 
 Whose only light is passion's flame, 
 But love unfading, pure, refined, 
 Whose throne of beauty is the mind, 
 Where soul communes with kindred soul, 
 And heart replies to heart's control ! 
 Truth, virtue, honor, faith sincere, 
 Like guardian angels hover near. 
 And build love's altar on a rock 
 Superior to misfortune's shock ; 
 Nor time, nor change, can ever blight 
 One spark of its celestial light. 
 
 But none this Paradise can find, 
 Save one who bears a ])olished mind, 
 A noble heart, a liberal hand 
 And all that may esteem command. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 129 
 
 Then highly may I prize thy worth, 
 Since thine this Paradise on earth ! 
 And if the prayer of friendship aid, 
 That Paradise shall never fade. 
 
 WHAT SHOULD WE DO, MY BROTHER? 
 
 Where pleasant fields are growing. 
 
 Where rocks are tossed on high. 
 Where streams in music flowing. 
 
 Delight the ear and eye, 
 Where rivalling each other. 
 
 Fair scenes invite our choice, 
 What should we do, my brother 1 
 
 Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 
 
 Where woods in tangled wildness 
 
 Oppose our weary way. 
 Where bowers in shady mildness 
 
 Invite a sweet delay. 
 Where wild birds to each other 
 
 Their blithesome carols voice, 
 What should we do, my brother ? 
 
 Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 
 6* 
 
130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 When slowly home returning, 
 
 While moonlight's golden streams 
 Refresh the brow still burning 
 
 With day's departing beams, 
 While cheering on each other 
 
 With songs of merry voice, 
 What should we do, my brother ? 
 
 Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 
 
 THE GRAVE OF MARY. 
 
 WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. 
 
 Far, far from this grave be the footstep unholy, 
 
 Its sanctity that would presume to invade, 
 By all who approach it, with reverence lowly. 
 
 May homage to virtue and beauty be paid, — 
 To virtue and beauty, that almost had made her 
 
 On earth what they now have quite made her in 
 heaven ; 
 For the seraphic charms in this world that arrayed 
 her 
 
 To wither as soon as they bloomed were not given ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 
 
 Ah, no ! they were only transplanted again 
 
 To shine in the glorious world whence they came, 
 
 Where nothing of earth or corruption shall stain, 
 Their splendors on high that eternally flame 1 
 
 My Mary ! my love ! art thou hovering near, 
 
 To look upon him o'er thy dust who is kneehng, 
 While wrung from his bosom, full many a tear, 
 
 To water the grave of my Mary is stealing ? 
 While o'er thee in passionate agony bending, 
 
 I fondly would think from the regions above, 
 Thy spirit I see in its beauty descending, 
 
 To calm my wild anguish for Mary and love ! 
 
 THE PEARL-HANDLED KNIFE. 
 
 A LITTLE boy sits by his mother's tomb, 
 And waters the flowers that above her bloom 
 With tears that flow from his orphaned heart, 
 Sobbing as if it would burst apart. 
 
 He looks around with a glance of fear. 
 To see that no ruthless eye is near. 
 
132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Then draws from his bosom his cherished toy, 
 His mother's last gift to her own dear boy : 
 It was a knife with a silver blade, 
 And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made. 
 
 That little boy has a step-dame stern, 
 Whose evil feelings against him burn ; 
 Though once on the orphan boy she smiled, 
 And kindly treated her husband's child ; 
 But a change was on her feelings thrown 
 When she had a httle babe of her own, 
 For she loved her babe with a love so great, 
 Her love for the orphan was turned to hate : 
 For it was a thought she could not bear 
 That Edwin should be his father's heir ; 
 "And all would be for my child," she said. 
 In her guilty heart, " were but Edwin dead !" 
 
 Oh ! a mother's love is a holy thing ! 
 But even from good may evil spring. 
 And they who would love with a sinless love, 
 Must set their affections on things above, 
 Nor ever, for perishing things of clay, 
 From God and his law be led astray. 
 
 Poor Edwin ! he found it a cruel change, 
 For all was bitter and all was strange ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 
 
 Now first in his life he felt and heard 
 The passionate blow and the angry word, 
 And knew not what it could mean the while, 
 For he had been ruled by look and smile. 
 
 His father had gone abroad for a time 
 To gather wealth in a distant clime, 
 And Edwin was left in his step-dame's power, 
 Who beat and abused him every hour. 
 But once in a day the orphan fed. 
 And then on a bone or a crust of bread. 
 His strength decayed, and a fever came. 
 But it made no change in the ruthless dame ; 
 She spurned him up as he sunk on the floor. 
 From which he gladly would rise no more ; 
 And she made him work like the veriest slave ; 
 How he longed to rest in his mother's grave ! 
 
 To that mother's grave he crawled one day, 
 When he thought the dreaded eye away. 
 And told her unconscious ear the wrong 
 Her poor little boy had endured so long ; 
 Then drew from a secret slit in his vest 
 The only comfort he yet possest ; 
 It was a knife with a silver blade. 
 And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made. 
 
134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Alas ! for the cruel step-dame was near, 
 And heard what he meant for his mother's ear ; 
 On her evil mind temptation flashed : 
 At a blow the boy to earth she dashed, — 
 She snatched the knife with a sudden start, 
 And buried the blade in the orphan's heart. 
 
 She opened the door of his mother's tomb, 
 And thrust him down in that place of gloom ; 
 She hastened home and she laughed so wild — 
 " Come kiss me ! all is your own, my child." 
 
 A month elapsed, and the father came. 
 And kissed his babe and his smiling dame ; 
 But when he asked for his pretty boy. 
 To deepest sorrow it changed his joy ; 
 " The child," she said, " of a fever died, 
 And was buried at his mother's side." 
 
 A year and another passed away. 
 
 And the babe grew lovelier every day : 
 
 It was a bright and merry child. 
 
 And the father of half his grief beguiled. 
 
 Another year and another past, 
 
 And the child in beauty flourished fast. 
 
 And the father's heart no more was sad, 
 
 And the mother's heart was proud and glad : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 
 
 She forgot lier sin, as too many do, 
 And fancied God had forgot it too. 
 A guilty deed may be long concealed, 
 But its time shall come to be revealed, 
 And long unpunished may flourish crime, 
 But vengeance cometh in God's good time. 
 
 It was a fair and a sunny day. 
 
 And Robert went in the fields to play ; 
 
 But the shades of night began to fall 
 
 Before he returned to his father's hall — 
 
 " Oh, Robert ! where have you been so long ? 
 
 My child, to wander so late is wrong." 
 
 " Mama, I am sorry I stayed so late, — 
 
 This morning I passed by the churchyard gate, 
 
 And found it open ; I wandered there, 
 
 To gather the flowers so fresh and fair ; 
 
 And weary at last with my play alone, 
 
 I lay me down on the nearest stone. 
 
 I had not been resting long, before 
 
 I noticed a tomb with a little door : 
 
 Oh, mother ! I gazed in fear and doubt. 
 
 For opened the door, and a boy stept out ; 
 
 But when his beauty beamed on my sight, 
 
 My fear gave way to a strange delight. 
 
 His cheek was fair as the sunset skies. 
 
 And like stars of heaven, his sparkling eyes : 
 
 Adown his shoulders his ringlets rolled. 
 
136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And glistened and gleamed in sunny gold ; 
 
 But the charm all other charms above, 
 
 Was the smile that melted the heart to love ; 
 
 Yet was it a sad and a serious smile, 
 
 And the tears would start to your eyes the while. 
 
 He came where I lay ; — he spoke — the sound 
 
 Breathed music in all the air around ; 
 
 He lay at my side, and he took my hand, 
 
 And he talked of a brighter and better land, 
 
 Where nothing of evil can enter in. 
 
 Nor sickness nor death, nor sorrow nor sin ; 
 
 Where God's holy children, a radiant band, 
 
 In his garden of glory walk hand in hand ; 
 
 Where all is bliss, and all is love — 
 
 And he whispered — ' Oh, come to my home above !' 
 
 And thus we talked till the close of day. 
 
 And then we arose to go away ; 
 
 But he flung his arms around me, mother, 
 
 And kissed my forehead, and called me — ' Browner !' 
 
 And as he turned to descend the grave. 
 
 He gave me a keepsake — see what he gave !" 
 
 The mother looked — with a frantic start 
 
 She plunged it into her guilty heart — 
 
 It was a knife with a silver blade, 
 
 And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made ! 
 
ISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ISV 
 
 THE CHOTCE. 
 
 Now lieed my words, my precious girl ! — 
 Affection is the richest pearl, 
 Nor lightly should be thrown away 
 On those who cannot love repay ; 
 Beware to whom thou shalt impart 
 That priceless jewel of the heart ! 
 Care not alone for form or face. 
 Or winning w^ords or witching grace ; 
 But choose thou one whose honored name 
 Thou canst be proud to share and claim ; 
 Let it be one of cultured mind. 
 Of generous thoughts and feelings kind. 
 Who never sought, nor e'er would seek, 
 To wrong the helpless or the weak, 
 But ever would employ his best 
 To shield the friendless and opprest ; 
 Who proudly treads temptation down. 
 Nor sinks at fortune's darkest frown ; 
 Whose equal soul and mind sedate 
 Can stand unmoved each change of fate ; 
 
138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Whose faith is firm, whose honor bright, 
 Whose love is an immortal light ! 
 Such were the love, and such alone. 
 That can be worthy of thy own ! 
 
 TO MY DAUGHTER. 
 
 My child ! my own, my precious child ! 
 
 When I behold thy charms. 
 And look upon the mother sweet 
 
 That folds thee in her arms, 
 It seems to me as I possessed 
 
 The richest treasures here ; 
 For she is best of all the best, 
 
 Thou dearest of the dear ! 
 
 My child ! 1 have but little store 
 
 Of what most mortals prize ; 
 And thousands prankt in pomp and pride. 
 
 My humbler lot despise ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 
 
 Yet thinking of ray wife and cliild, 
 
 A prouder head I rear ; 
 For she is best of all the best, 
 
 Thou dearest of the dear ! 
 
 My child ! thou hast no heritage 
 
 Except thy father's name, 
 Which in misfortune's worst despite 
 
 Has won its way to fame ; 
 And fame is only precious, that 
 
 It serves the lot to (heer 
 Of these, the best of all the best, 
 
 And dearest of the dear. 
 
 My child ! if all my httle store 
 
 Should in a moment end, 
 Should slander blast thy father's fame, — 
 
 Forsake him every friend, — 
 Thy mother spared and thou, his head 
 
 Above the storm would rear. 
 Blest with the best of all the best. 
 
 And dearest of the dear ! 
 
 My child ! in all thy path of life 
 
 Thy mother's steps pursue, 
 And let the pattern of her worth 
 
 Be ever in thy view ; 
 
140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 So shall thy father's heart be glad 
 And proud of thy career, 
 
 And thou be best of all the best, 
 And dearest of the dear ! 
 
 MOUNT VERNON. 
 
 No need of trophy or of bust 
 In honor of this sacred dust, 
 For Liberty herself shall stand 
 His monument to every land ! 
 The very name of Washington 
 Protects the blessings that he won ; 
 For bad ambition cowers with shame 
 Before that great and awful name ! 
 
 And does his dust alone remain, 
 Whose valor burst a nation's chain, 
 Whose wisdom made that nation great. 
 Whose virtues are her rock of fate ! 
 And could he die ? Ye sons of earth ! 
 Your power, your glory, and your worth, 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 
 
 What are they ? — what avail they all, 
 Since death could even him enthrall ! 
 
 This moment, glancing from the tomb 
 
 That veils his narrow bed of gloom, 
 
 Upon the skies to fix my sight, 
 
 That veil his spirit's home of light, 
 
 I saw the stars in splendor dim, 
 
 Yet deep, through liquid azure swim, 
 
 And as their beauty on me beamed, 
 
 To whisper to my soul they seemed ; 
 
 " What wonder man must hfe resign. 
 
 Since even we must cease to shine ! 
 
 And not the starry host alone 
 
 Must fall before destruction's throne ; 
 
 The moon that from the sky's embrace 
 
 Bends on you like an angel's face. 
 
 And even he whose faintest beams 
 
 Bathe worlds and worlds in Hving streams, — 
 
 In darkness must their bed be made. 
 
 W^hat wonder man as low is laid ? 
 
 That valor cannot death disarm, 
 
 Nor even beauty's magic charm ; 
 
 That warlike arm and seraph brow 
 
 Must rot in earth, in dust must bow ! 
 
 Yet there's a light beneath the sk}' 
 
 That may be dimmed, but cannot die ; 
 
142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Whatever clouds may on it dwell, 
 The soul is indestructible ; 
 A thousand suns may rise and set, 
 And leave the soul undying yet ; 
 And to the soul that dwelt in Him 
 Compared, a thousand suns wear dim !" 
 
 THE HERO. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO JAMES B. K . 
 
 Let others sing- of deeds of arms 
 By heroes who have ravaged earth, 
 
 Who shook the world with war's alarms. 
 
 While death and carnage crowned their worth ; 
 
 A nobler hero claims my song 
 
 Than we on history's page may find ; 
 
 Not his the fame of doing wrong — 
 He lives a blessing to mankind. 
 
 A blessing and a martyr too — 
 For them all comfort he forsakes ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 
 
 When others for assistance sue, 
 From friends and family he breaks. 
 
 He leaves his food, he leaves his sleep, 
 
 E'en in the deadest hour of night, 
 Though floods descend and tempests sweep, 
 
 And heaven denies one gleam of light. 
 
 Through storm and darkness on he goes, 
 
 To hut or hall — no matter where ; 
 Intent to soothe the sufiferer's woes. 
 
 And save the mourner from despair. 
 
 Scenes he must view that break his heart, 
 And deeds perform his blood that chill ; 
 
 But so that he may good impart, 
 He acts as with an iron will. 
 
 And he must bear with vain complaints, 
 When nature makes the progress slow ; 
 
 But with a patience worthy saints, 
 Will still his needful cares bestow. 
 
 Alike to palaces of wealth. 
 
 Or hovels where the friendless pine. 
 He carries comfort, life, and health, 
 
 As if a messenger divine. 
 
144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 For this his comfort up he gave, 
 For this his health is often lost, 
 
 And oft another's hfe to save 
 The peril of his life has cost. 
 
 Who is this hero, who may claim 
 
 The world's applause and that of heaven 
 
 Ah, friend ! if I should breathe thy name, 
 No other answer need be given ! 
 
 A\\ good physicians share the praise — 
 May worthy honors on thee fall ! 
 
 But thou who hast prolonged my days, 
 I fain would praise thee more than all ! 
 
 But not for praise didst thou impart 
 
 Thy aid, or any selfish ends ; 
 Yet take this tribute of my heart, 
 
 Best of physicians and of friends ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 
 
 WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 
 
 Are bright as heaven's opening gleams, 
 And give to life a cliarm divine, 
 That wisdom sorrows to resign. 
 Yet much they err who seek in this 
 The only or the highest bliss, 
 Or deem that woman's noblest part 
 Is but to give and win a heart. 
 This angel (such in all but wings) 
 Was born for higher, holier things. 
 And best her ministry fulfils 
 In smoothing life's pervading ills. 
 'Tis hers to soothe the troubled mind, 
 'Tis hers the broken heart to bind, 
 To turn the erring soul to prayer, 
 And snatch the sinner from despair ; 
 To hover round affliction's bed, 
 With angel look and fairy tread ; 
 Receive affection's dying breath 
 And seal the cherished eyes in death ; 
 7' 
 
146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 And all the while forbear to show 
 The sorrows God alone can know ! 
 The spirit thus sublimes the clay, 
 All selfish taint refines away, 
 Till too divine to be concealed. 
 The perfect angel stands revealed I 
 
 NEW YEAR HYMN 
 
 Thanks to our heavenly Father ! 
 
 Though angels tune his praise. 
 He will permit his children 
 
 Their humbler song to raise. 
 Thanks to our heavenly Father ! 
 
 Whose love protects us here, 
 And spares us yet, to welcome 
 
 Another happy year. 
 
 For all the years departed, 
 For all the years to come. 
 
 For all the thousand blessings 
 That crown our happy home ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 
 
 For all our loving kindred, 
 
 For all the friends we claim, 
 We thank our heavenly Father, 
 
 And bless his holy name. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG SISTER. 
 
 But yesterday a child of pain, 
 
 That saddened pity's eye — 
 To day, a seraph called to reign 
 
 Above the stars on high ! 
 Well might the suffering move our tears, 
 
 Which she endured below ; 
 But now that heaven her soul inspheres. 
 
 Those tears should cease to flow. 
 
 Why should we her release deplore 
 
 From fate's relentless arm ? 
 Why grieve that she shall grieve no more ? 
 
 As if we wished her harm ! 
 Away with the repining tear, 
 
 The ingrate sigh forbear. 
 Which, if she up in heaven could hear, 
 
 Would grieve her even there ! 
 
148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Yet Nature's voice, more mighty far 
 
 Than all the rest can say, 
 Still calls us from the radiant star, 
 
 Down to the mouldering clay ; 
 And not in words the magic lies, 
 
 To calm the anguish wild, 
 Of one whose lonely heart replies, — 
 
 " It was my child ! my child !" 
 
 And God, who knows a mother's heart — 
 
 Permits a mother's tears. 
 When from the cherub doomed to part, 
 
 The holiest tie endears ; 
 And Jesus an example gave, 
 
 All feehng hearts accept ; 
 Weep on — for at affection's grave, 
 
 The Prince of Glory wept ! 
 
 That we have lost her we may weep ; 
 
 Yet knowing she is blest — 
 That all her cares are hushed to sleep 
 
 Upon her Saviour's breast — 
 That thought with its consoling power, 
 
 Amid our tears shall gleam, 
 Like rainbow in a summer shower, 
 
 Or moonlight on a stream. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 
 
 Her calm submission to the rod, 
 
 Which made all else rejoine, 
 Revealed her as a child of God, 
 
 While yet on earth, divine ! 
 With sweetest thoughts of heavenly birth, 
 
 Her sainted mind was fed, 
 Which flung a glory, not of earth, 
 
 Around her dying bed ! 
 
 May we from her example learn 
 
 Submission to our lot, 
 And to the Rock of Ages turn. 
 
 Whose promise faileth not ! 
 So shall our sorrows pave the way 
 
 To the eternal home. 
 Where our beloved has^ne to-day. 
 
 And seems to whisper, " Come !" 
 
150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 MY CAP. 
 
 My cap ! my well-worn leather cap ! 
 
 Though time has dimmed thy glossy hue, 
 Though broken hangs thy useless strap, 
 
 And spots obscure thy band of blue, 
 I would not give thee for the best 
 
 That graces fashion's votary ; 
 So long hast thou my brow carest. 
 
 Thou hast become a part of me ! 
 
 And happy thoughts of better worth, 
 
 Are born in thjjifebscure embrace, 
 Than any diadem of earth 
 
 Encircles in its resting-place. 
 With thee on my unhonored head 
 
 I con the page of mystic lore. 
 Explore the lights by genius shed, 
 
 And gather wisdom's precious ore. 
 
 For years, in every scene of pride 
 Or joy that it was mine to tread. 
 
 My chosen friend was at my side, 
 And thou, my cap ! upon ray head ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 
 
 And thus we rambled many a mile, 
 To witness nature's wildest cliarras, 
 
 To revel in lier glorious smile, 
 Or worship her sublime alarms. 
 
 We braved the tempest's furious shock, 
 
 In shivering night or burning day ; 
 Headlong we leaped from rock to rock, 
 
 Or through the forest toiled our way, 
 Or wandered where the rivers glide 
 
 In darkness by the tangled cliff, 
 Or tossed upon their swelling tide 
 
 That sobbed around the shuddering skiff! 
 
 With Jerome thou hast seen me share 
 
 All the communion friendship knows, 
 The wildest hope, the deepest care, 
 
 The brightest joys, the darkest woes — 
 To him, then, when I must depart 
 
 To lay my head in nature's lap. 
 For kingdom I'd bequeathe my heart, 
 
 For diadem — my leather cap ! 
 
152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 
 
 If life were only given to know 
 
 Sucli comforts as on earth may grow, 
 
 And every hope were crushed in death — 
 
 Oh ! who would care for mortal breath, 
 
 Though cradled in the lap of wealth, 
 
 Though flushed with beauty, youth, and health. 
 
 Though crowned with fame and throned in power. 
 
 Since all must vanish in an hour ! — 
 
 Since pain and ruin, wrong and care, 
 
 Lie lurking for us everywhere ; 
 
 And, worst of all, since v/e must part 
 
 With all that winds into our heart. 
 
 And to the darkness of the tomb 
 
 Resign their love, and light, and bloom ! 
 
 In such a moment to our eyes 
 
 It seems the sun forsakes the skies, 
 
 And with the loved one's funeral pall. 
 
 One robe of darkness covers all ! 
 
 Is there a grief more deep and wild 
 Than theirs who mourn a cherished child ? 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 153 
 
 The " little friend," tlie playmate dear, 
 Whose voice was melody to hear, 
 Whose ftiiry steps at its advance 
 AVould make the heart responsive dance ; 
 Whose smile was as the blessed sun 
 That gladdens all it looks upon ; 
 Whose winning ways and words of love 
 Seemed heralds of the bliss above ! 
 Of all that love and all that bliss. 
 Oh, God ! remains there only this — 
 The dying bed — the doom to part — 
 The coffin and the broken heart ! 
 
 In such an hour of bitter woe 
 What comfort can the world bestow ? 
 Can fame or fortune, pomp or power. 
 Retrieve the loss for but an hour ? 
 Can science from the depths of lore 
 A balm for such a wound explore ? 
 Can reason, wisdom, genius, frame 
 A word that one may comfort name ? 
 Philosophy declaims in vain. 
 And sympathy itself is pain ! 
 
 If in this hour of darkest night 
 
 The mourner hails one source of hght, 
 
154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And turns from his despair to bless 
 The Sun — the Sun of Righteousness ! 
 If he should find his sure retreat 
 From every grief at Jesus' feet — 
 If there indeed he should attain 
 The comfort sought on earth in vain, 
 Oh ! who its blest effects can view, 
 Nor feel religion mzist be true ? 
 
 In vain, my friend, would I impart 
 Some comfort to thy bleeding heart ; 
 For words, although as kindly meant 
 As mine, and far more eloquent, 
 In sorrow's ear unheeded sound ; 
 And thou hast better comfort found — 
 Religion comes with radiant face. 
 And points thee to that better place. 
 Where those dear cherubs, hand in hand, 
 Expectant of their father stand : 
 For God shall in his time restore 
 His gifts, to be recalled no more. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 
 
 REST, BABY, REST! 
 
 Rest, baby, rest ! rest, baby, rest ! 
 Thy pillow is a mother's breast, 
 Which heaves and falls with throbs of joy 
 Beneath thy cherub head, my boy ! 
 Upon the heart that loves thee best, 
 Rest, baby, rest ! rest, baby, rest ! 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 And closer to thy shelter creep ; 
 Thy cradle is a mother's heart- 
 Watched by a mother's eyes thou art. 
 Which could for very fondness weep — 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! sleep, baby, slee[> ! 
 
 My boy ! my own and only boy ! 
 Thy father's pride ! thy mother's joy ! 
 May God thy future being keep 
 As sinless as thy infant sleep ! 
 May dreams as pure thy life employ, 
 My boy, my bright and blessed boy ! 
 
156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 WALTER SCOTT AND WASHINGTON 
 IRVING. 
 
 God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 
 
 For thou hast blest mankind, 
 And flung upon their lot 
 
 The brightness of thy mind, 
 And filled the soul with pleasures 
 
 None other can impart. 
 And stored the mind with treasures, 
 
 And purified the heart. 
 
 Shame on them v/ho abuse 
 
 Their gifts of peerless price, 
 And prostitute the muse 
 
 To passion or to vice ! 
 Who pour into the mind 
 
 The bitterness and gall 
 Which makes us hate mankind. 
 
 Ourselves, and heaven, and all ! 
 We leave their withering page 
 
 For thine, with healing rife. 
 The fevered soul assuage, 
 
 And drink the stream of life I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ] 5 Y 
 
 ^hy shrine is virtue's altar, 
 
 Thy fame without a blot ; 
 God bless thee, dear Sir Walter ! 
 
 God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 
 
 One only son of light 
 
 Attends thy cloudless j^ath, 
 In purity as bright 
 
 As thy own spirit hath ; 
 To charm away distress, 
 
 To comfort, to delight, 
 To teach, to aid, to bless, 
 
 He shares thy wizard might ! 
 His muse from virtue's shrine 
 
 Hath never turned astray, 
 Nor ever breathed a line 
 
 That love could wish away ; 
 The temple of the free 
 
 Is radiant with his fame, 
 His country's glory he — 
 
 And Irving is his name ! 
 
 God's blessings on ye both ! 
 
 Twin heirs of glory's prize ! 
 How often when I loath 
 
 All that around me hes, 
 
158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 When in the crowded world 
 
 I feel myself alone, 
 From all communion hurled 
 
 That by the rest is known, 
 Deban-ed, by fate's control, 
 
 From every human sound, 
 And burying my soul 
 
 In solitude profound — 
 Oh, then, ye glorious pair ! 
 
 I seek the world ye give, 
 And find a kindred there 
 
 With whom I love to live, 
 Your precious magic nerving 
 
 My soul to bear its lot — 
 God bless thee, gentle Irving ! 
 
 God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 
 
 THE FONT. 
 
 No boon that fortune can impart 
 Can with a gracious child compare ; 
 
 It winds into the parent's heart, 
 And twines with every fibre there. 
 
 When to my arms my children spring, 
 Or on my breast their heads recline, 
 
 Or to my lips of love they cling, 
 No joy on earth can equal mine. 
 
 Yet e'en on these so fair and dear. 
 
 Whose looks are more of heaven than earth, 
 Some shadow will at times appear. 
 
 Some stain that speaks of mortal birth. 
 
 But there is an immortal stream 
 That cleanseth every stain away ; 
 
 And where those living waters gleam, 
 All darkness brightens into day. 
 
 And thither we our children bring, 
 
 To Him who said, " Forbid them not !" 
 
 That He within that sacred spring, 
 
 May cleanse their soul from every spot. 
 
160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Saviour of all ! who in the charms 
 
 Of childhood once this world hast trod, 
 
 We bring our treasures to thy arms, 
 And dedicate them to our God ! 
 
 THE SUM OF PHILOSOPHY 
 
 Do fortune's smiles upon thee wait, 
 With honor, power, and high estate ? 
 Let not thy heart be too elate — 
 
 All this shall pass away. 
 Art thou the sport of fortune's hate. 
 Forsaken, poor, and desperate ? 
 Still bear the worst with mind sedate — 
 
 All this shall pass away. 
 Our joys and pains are brief in date ; 
 The deeds we do of good or great 
 Alone survive our mortal state. 
 
 And never pass away ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 161 
 
 JANE EYRE. 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER READING THAT ADMIRABLE WORK. 
 
 What is the substance of all tliis ? — to teach 
 
 The nothingness of the external frame 
 Of human beauty (serving but to reach 
 
 The senses, and a sensual love inflame) ; 
 To show that form and feature disappear 
 
 In the diviner beauties of the mind, 
 When heavenly spirits meet on earthly sphere, 
 
 And blend toQ;ether in a love refined ! 
 
 SPRING IS COMING. 
 
 Spring is coming ! spring is coming ! 
 Birds are chirping, insects humming ; 
 Flowers are peeping from their sleeping : 
 Streams, escaped from winter's keeping, 
 
162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In delighted freedom rushing, 
 Dance along in music gushing. 
 Scenes, of late in deadness saddened, 
 Smile in animation gladdened : 
 All is beauty, all is mirth, 
 All is glory upon earth : 
 Shout we then with nature's voice, 
 " Welcome, spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" 
 
 Spring is coming ! come, my brother, 
 Let us wander with each other 
 To our well remembered wildwood. 
 Flourishing in nature's childhood, 
 Where a thousand birds are singing, 
 And a thousand flowers ar^ springing, 
 Where the dancing sunbeams quiver 
 On the forest-shaded river ; 
 Let our youth of feeling out 
 To the youth of nature shout, 
 While the hills repeat our voice — 
 " Welcome, spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 
 
 LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 
 
 Though father and mother 
 
 Forbid me thy sight, 
 Though sister and brother 
 
 Against iis unite, 
 Though all that surround us 
 
 To part us essay. 
 From all will I win thee — 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 Though oceans may sunder, 
 
 Or mountains may close. 
 Or tempests may thunder 
 
 The path to oppose ; 
 Though earthquakes between us 
 
 The abyss may display, 
 Through all will I win thee — 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Through forest and desert, 
 
 Through flood and through flame, 
 Through pain and through peril. 
 
 Through sorrow and shame, 
 Through darkness and danger, 
 
 By night or by day. 
 Through death and destruction, 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 Yes, I will regain thee, 
 
 My chosen, my best ! 
 My bird ! thou shalt nestle 
 
 Again in my breast ; 
 This heart for thy refuge. 
 
 This arm for thy stay, 
 I will guard thee for ever — 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 
 
 NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 
 
 How many are now in the cold grave reposing 
 
 Who welcomed the dawn of the year that has 
 fled? 
 How little, alas ! did they think that its closing 
 
 Should find them inurned in the home of the 
 dead? 
 How many this year to the grave's dark dominions 
 
 Shall hasten, who welcome its rising career, 
 Ere time once again on his air-feathered pinions 
 
 Shall usher the dawn of another New Year ! 
 
 And I, who now muse on the thousands departed, 
 
 May follow them ere the return of this day. 
 Bedewed with the tears of some friend broken- 
 hearted, 
 
 Who now smiles upon me, unthinking and gay ; 
 And better than I should survive to deplore them. 
 
 The few that to share my afiections remain, 
 Oh, better by far I should perish before them, 
 
 Nor hail the retm-n of a New Year again ! 
 
166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 How sad to be torn from our friends and connex- 
 ions, 
 
 And hid in the valley of darkness alone ! 
 What comfort to hope their surviving affections 
 
 Shall cherish our image on memory's throne ! 
 The hearts that now love me, will they not regret 
 me ? 
 
 Will ever my memory cease to be dear ? 
 The friends of my bosom — oh, can they forget me, 
 
 If swept from their sight by the close of the year ? 
 
 GOOD NIGHT, MAMMA! 
 
 A LITTLE girl, some five years old. 
 Came, hke the morning star, 
 
 Each morrow to her mother's heart — 
 " Good morning, dear mamma !" 
 
 And running to her mother's arms. 
 She kissed her o'er and o'er, 
 
 And prattled out her love to one 
 Who loved her more and more. 
 
MISCELLANEOt/S POEMS. 167 
 
 And when night's curtains closed around 
 
 The sun's resplendent car, 
 She kissed her mother, and she said, 
 
 " Good night, my dear mamma !" 
 
 Poor little girl ! her mother died, 
 
 And to the grave was borne ; 
 Where shall she find a mother now, 
 
 To greet at night and morn ? 
 
 Next morning, when she rose and dressed, 
 
 And found no mother near, 
 Without a word she slipped away, 
 
 To seek her mother dear. 
 
 In haste she to the churchyard ran ; 
 
 From home it was not far ; 
 She clasped her mother's grave, and said, 
 
 " Good morning, dear mamma !" 
 
 . All day she lingered near the grave, 
 
 Till rose the evening star. 
 Then turning slowly home she said, 
 
 " Good night, my dear mamma I" 
 
168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 WEDDED LOVE. 
 
 I MAY not call to grandeur's hall 
 
 The lady of my heart ; 
 I have not power or earthly dower 
 
 My truelove to impart ; 
 I bid her from a sphere to come 
 
 That far is mine above ; 
 Yet shall not this impair the bliss 
 
 That hails our wedded love ! 
 
 She will not grieve a home to leave 
 
 Magnificent in pride, 
 In lowly cot to share my lot, 
 
 Obscurely there to hide ; 
 Though desolate of friend or mate, 
 
 Save me and God above, 
 Yet shall not this impair the bliss 
 
 That hails our wedded love. 
 
 She has been nurst among the first 
 
 And proudest of the land, 
 Where from her head all danger fled, 
 At fortune's magic wand : 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 169 
 
 But ill my bower in stormy hour 
 
 Can shield my gentle doye ; 
 Yet shall not this impair the bliss 
 
 That hails our wedded love. 
 
 I every day a tender lay 
 
 Shall waken to her name, 
 And every night to throne of might 
 
 Shall kneel to bless the same ; 
 For years and years, through smiles and tears, 
 
 I'll prize her all above ; 
 And well shall this insure the bliss 
 
 That hails our wedded love. 
 
 RESOLUTION. 
 
 It is a goodly sight to see a man 
 
 Whom fortune's mailed hand has stricken down, 
 
 Rise in his strength of soul, and stand erect 
 
 In his integrity, and lifting high 
 
 His calm majestic brow, with steady step 
 
 Pursue his purposed path unswervingly, 
 
 Though conscious of the perils yet to come. 
 
170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 We ave not masters of our circumstances, 
 Yet circumstances should not master us ; 
 We cannot turn the current of events, 
 Yet with a skihul and determined hand 
 Can guide our barque, now yielding to the stream, 
 And now resisting ; till we reach at last 
 The haven we have in view. 
 
 A WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE. 
 
 In person decent, and in dress, 
 Her manners and her words express 
 
 The decency of mind ; 
 Good humor brightens up her foco. 
 Where passion never leaves a trace. 
 
 Nor frowns a look unkind. 
 No vexing sneer, no angry word, 
 No scandal from her lips is heard. 
 
 Where truth and sweetness blend ; 
 Submission to her husband's will, 
 Her study is to please him still. 
 
 His fond and faithfid friend. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 17] 
 
 She watcLes his returning wa}^, 
 When from the troubles of tlie day 
 
 He seeks a home of bliss ; 
 She runs to meet him with a smile, 
 And if no eye be near the while, 
 
 The smile is witli a Idss ! 
 
 JENNY LIND. 
 
 All hail to Jenny Liiid ! 
 The pure in heart and mind, 
 The lofty and refined, 
 The generous and kind — 
 All hail to Jenny Lind ! 
 
 "What though to her belong 
 The highest realms of song, 
 The empire is more strong 
 
 Of her angelic mind ; 
 For it hath given her part 
 In every noble heart — 
 
 All hail to Jenny Lind ! 
 
172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 They say that she has given 
 To us the airs of heaven, 
 
 Novy first to earth revealed ; 
 It may be so — her voice 
 Must not this ear rejoice, 
 
 By fate for ever sealed ; 
 Yet can her deeds impart 
 
 Such music to my heart 
 
 As heaven alone could yield. 
 
 Not by the wondrous powers 
 That witch this world of ours, 
 
 Does she my homage bind ; 
 Her glorious mind and soul 
 On mine have a control 
 
 More potent and refined ! 
 For all thy deeds that grace 
 And bless the human race, 
 
 I bless thee, Jennv Lind 1 
 
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