[6. 6-- 2g 
 
 Library of Congress* 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 Chap. 
 
 PS.3i^ 
 
 Shelf i/_ 
 
 y— 404 
 
*m 
 

 THE 
 
 EXILE'S LAY: 
 
 VALEDICTORY TO THE LAND OF HIS BIRTH 
 
 AND SALUTATORY TO THAT OF 
 
 HIS ADOPTION : 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY THE BORDER MINSTREL. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES FRENCH & CO., 
 
 78 WASHINGTON STREET. 
 
 1855. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1855, by 
 
 JAMES FRENCH & CO., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 
 A stranger, having voluntarily sacrificed home 
 "with its early friendships, ties of kindred and 
 love of country at the shrine of freedom, by cross- 
 ing the Atlantic, and settling down among your 
 hills and vales as an American citizen, bringing 
 (though small and insignificant the offering) his 
 purse, his hands, an unsullied name, and habits of 
 honest industry, to the feet of Columbia, now 
 tremblingly offers for her acceptance the first fruits 
 of his humble muse. 
 
 In justice to himself, it may be proper for the 
 author to state, that many of these poems are juve- 
 nile efforts, and that the first three were composed 
 amid constant interruptions and other discouraging 
 circumstances, during a portion of last winter's 
 leisure hours. 
 
 In the longer poem, while giving vent to na- 
 tional feelings, and sometimes using strong lan- 
 guage, it has been his study to excite the admira- 
 tion, rather than the jealousy of Americans toward 
 their mother country. 
 
 The design of the author in exposing, in this 
 country, the faults of England, (in the second 
 part) is to foster in the minds of other Anglo- 
 adopted citizens a feeling of duty toward the coun- 
 try of their birth ; that they may echo back the 
 songs of Columbian Freedom, and contribute what 
 
IT PEEFACE. 
 
 they can to relieve Britian from the evils that have 
 too long existed there. English liberals are doing 
 much ; but they have much to contend with, and 
 their progress is slow ; and if any who have es- 
 caped those evils can assist them, and share the 
 honors they are winning, it should be their pleasure 
 to do so. 
 
 The language used toward the aristocracy may 
 be severe, but it would be well if there were less 
 truth and justice and more poeti-y in it. There are 
 however, good, honest and humane individuals 
 among them ; if honesty and goodness be compat- 
 ible with the tacit support of such a dislocated 
 system of society. 
 
 The tribute paid to the country of his adoption 
 (in the third part) is sincere and involuntary, but 
 he would that time had enabled hnn to have made 
 it more worthy of the glorious theme which his 
 humble muse has attempted to sing. 
 
 The whole is designed to show that, while the 
 foreign-born citizen forgets not the land of his 
 birth, (and who can,) he still can love and appreci- 
 ate the country of his adoption; and aid in making 
 the two great Anglo-Saxon nations better acquaint- 
 ed with each other, that the Old may emulate the 
 New, and strengthen the common ties of language, 
 literature and brotherhood. 
 
 Lmcoln, Me., Apr. 25th, 1855. 
 
TO A FOND MOTHER AND A 
 KIND AND INDULGENT FATPIER, 
 WHO ARE NOW SLUMBERING FAR 
 AWAY BENEATH THE SHADE OF THE OLD 
 GRAY TOWER ; AND WHOSE UNCLOGED SPIRITS 
 MAY BE HOVERING NEAR THEHl WANDERING 
 CHILD, AND SYMPATHIZING IN HIS FATE, 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DUTIFULLY 
 AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDI- 
 CATED, BY THEIR SON, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 The Exile's Lay 7 
 
 The Indian, (a fragment) -- 60 
 
 Business and Retirement -------65 
 
 Kossuth's Address to the Northern Despots - - - 68 
 Tribute to the American Soldiers who fell in the Mexican 
 
 War 71 
 
 Shine on my path again, Star of my Soul - - - - 73 
 
 Katie Farre ---.------74 
 
 I Found a fair Maiden ----.---76 
 
 Lines on visiting a young and fair Niece on her death bed 78 
 The Bereaved and phrenzied Mother - - - - 80 
 
 The mother's Rose, an Allegory ------ 82 
 
 'Tis Sunshine wherever thou art - - - - 83 
 
 The Mother's Lament for her Child 85 
 
 Little Maimie - - - 87 
 
 Come to me ------ -_..90 
 
 Stanzas on the death of a pious brother - - - - 92 
 
 Farewell to my native cot -------93 
 
 Stanzas, written after having been five weeks at sea - 93 
 
 Stanzas 97 
 
 The Absent Lover 99 
 
 The Shepherd Boy's Midnight Song - - - - 101 
 
 Song of the Insane Maiden 103 
 
 Lines to a Young Lady -------- 105 
 
 An Impromptu --------- 106 
 
 Stanzas on seeing a lovely girl looking sad - - - - 107 
 
 Lines on the death of my mother ----- 108 
 
 The complaint of the Voluntary Exile - - - - 110 
 
 Stanzas to -_.-_--.- 112 
 
 Stanzas to Miss G 114 
 
 Our Blue-eyed Boy 117 
 
 Cardigan's Address to his Brigade 119 
 
 Art thou form of earth ? 120 
 
 Stanzas - t ----■""-- 1^1 
 
THE EXILE'S LAY. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Sweet muse from sacred mountain ! if thy fruits 
 
 Be index of thy glorious attributes ; 
 
 Thy holy origin I fain would trace, 
 
 Not to the gods, but to a higher place : 
 
 I'd deem thee seraph, from a brighter world, 
 
 Who hath thy soft and lovely wings unfurled, 
 
 And left in pity yon celestial bowers, 
 
 To hover round this sinful world of ours. 
 
 Dropping thy heavenly manna here and there, 
 
 Smiling on man, smoothing his brow of care ; 
 
 Passing thy magic wand before our eyes, 
 
 That we may know where truth and beauty lies ; 
 
 Teaching us what to shun, what to admire, 
 
 And raising all our groveling natures higher, 
 
 A glorious boon to wretched mortals given, 
 
 To make this less an earth, and more a heaven I 
 
 O ! come, enchantress, with thy sacred lyre, 
 And lend a portion of celestial fire ! 
 Infuse its subtle essence through each part, 
 And melt the filial burden from my heart j 
 
8 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Assist a stranger on a foreign strand, 
 
 To tell the story of his native land; 
 
 With glowing pride to chant her noble fame, 
 
 And in sad numbers tell her wrongs and shame 5 
 
 "With bliss the genius of Columbia greet, 
 
 And place myself and labors at her feet • 
 
 To join the New World's song of Freedom bold, 
 
 Until its echoes swell and reach the Old. 
 
 Though warm my blood no southern sun looked 
 forth, 
 From scorching eyelids, on my place of birth 3 
 But where his veiled ray and genial smile 
 Beams bright in the southwest of Albion's isle. 
 
 I was not cradled where gay turret high 
 Doth greet the passing clouds and kiss the sky j 
 Nor in old castle gray, with ponderous gate, 
 Defying siege of foe, and time, and fate • 
 Nor gentry's mansion, with its park and lawn, 
 Where feed the deer and sport the nimble fawn, — 
 I was not rocked, disturbed by city's din. 
 Where smoke and walls scarce let the sun peep in ; 
 But in a lovely cotage, white as snow. 
 Where creeping vines, and well trained Avail fruit 
 
 grow, 
 In winding vale it stands alone ; and near, 
 But rural sights and sounds we see or hear j 
 Hard by a crystal, gentle stream doth stray, 
 And murmurs sweetly o'er its rocky way j 
 
THE exile's lay. 9 
 
 Which hath at eventide, times without number, 
 With its soft music, lulled me into slumber j 
 Behind it is the steep and sheltering hill. 
 Beyond it stands the old time-honored mill, 
 Its walls with venerable ivy crowned, — 
 Its mossy, busy wheel revolving round, 
 The lazy swine, and miller powdered o'er, 
 And neighbor with his grist, are at the door : — 
 Around are seen the sheltering oak and elm. 
 Which storms may bend, but never can o'erwhelm j 
 The orchard, where I passed full many an hour j 
 And garden where I gathered many a flower, 
 Whase double hawthorn hedge, in snowy bloom, 
 Loads the wing'd zephyrs with its sweet perfume j 
 The mead, where violet and primrose too. 
 With modest daisies, smile at dawn in dew j 
 There, every morn and eve doth float along. 
 The mingled notes of birds, and milkmaid's song, 
 Aaccomp'nied by a voice more loud than all, 
 The distant bass of dashing waterfall. 
 
 The valley, lower, down more narrow grows j 
 Its side more steep, a heavier shadow throws ; 
 The stream's west bank the solemn woods 
 
 crown. 
 And opposite the rugged hill looks down. 
 Here at its base, scooped out by ancient hand, 
 A mirror spring doth rise mid moss and sand : 
 Pure fount of tears, from nature's generous heart ! 
 Oft dost thou make the village maiden start. 
 
10 THE exile's lay. 
 
 When seeing with agreeable surprise, 
 As she bends o'er, a lovely image rise 
 From its clear depths j (like young love's first ap- 
 pearing, 
 In her pure heart, seraphic image wearing j) 
 She on its bank a moment lingering waits, 
 Loth to destroy the beauty she creates j 
 Then dips her pitcher, scares the form aside. 
 And homeward strays then with a smile of pride, 
 With heavier load, but with a heart more light, 
 For having gazed upon that vision bright. 
 And lower still the smiling hamlets sleep, 
 Like ships at anchor on the quiet deep. 
 
 Thou lovely vale, where at the close of day, 
 Lovers and poets would admire to stray : 
 The one find inspiration all around, 
 The others' hearts with purer rapture bound. 
 Shall I e'er welcome more thy evening shade ? 
 Or dash again the dew drop from thy blade ? 
 To gaze on thee once more is it denied ? 
 Where I was born and where my mother died I 
 
 Yet others nobler far doth Cornwall boast. 
 By smiling southern and bold northern coast ; 
 Where Fal flows by Pendenni's castle walls, 
 And idly sways as ocean swells and falls ; 
 Where rapid Tamar hastes to meet the tide, 
 Midst bending fruitful trees on either side j 
 
THE exile's lay. H 
 
 And Camel strides toward the northern shore, 
 Adding its mite to broad Atlantic's store. 
 
 Cornubia .' ^ Scene of legend and of story, 
 Still, still I love thee, rugged promontory ! 
 The ancient Briton here fresh courage drew. 
 And Saxon daunted, dared not to pursue ; 
 For sheltered here among thy hills they broke, 
 The terror of their iron conqurer's yoke. 
 Here Arthur bold, perchance from Row-Tor's 
 
 height, ' 
 
 Led down his warriors to successful fight j 
 Rolled back the tide of war with vengeful blow, 
 And kept at bay th' exterminating foe ; 
 Did sally unawares with followers true, 
 And punished treachery and aggression too. 
 
 Druidic priests once more here found repose j 
 Again in peace the smoking incense rose j 
 Upon thy hills with superstitious eyes, 
 The people gathered round the sacrifice : — 
 Then ancient bard forgot his battle song, 
 And poured in rapture peaceful themes along; 
 The echoing hills took up the joyful strain, 
 And weary warriors smoothed their brows again. 
 Hung up their battle axes, bows and blades. 
 And used once more their shepherd's hooks and 
 spades ; 
 
 • Cornubia is the ancient name for the County of Cornwall. 
 
12 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Watched flocks and herds by mountain, field and 
 
 flood, 
 And tilled the soil enriched with saxon blood! 
 
 Thou range of hills, from either shore remote, 
 Free pasture for the poor man,s cow and goat ; 
 Though nouglit but barrenness thy sides unfold, 
 Thy bosom heaves, with mineral wealth untold ! 
 Tin, iron, copper, lead, and silver ore, 
 Here gleam and sparkle in a boundless store. 
 Thy snow-white clay, in an exhaustless vein, 
 Supplies full half the world with porcelain. 
 Science and enterprise do, here combined, 
 An ample fleld of operation find. 
 Thy pealy sod, warms many a poor man's cot, 
 Thy heath in brooms, to many a door is brought. 
 
 Upon thy beacon'd peaks, in by-gone days. 
 Was seen the high-piled faggots fearful blaze ; 
 When all unknown the telegraphic wire, 
 The news of war, was sped on wings of fire I 
 And ready warriors, snatched the blade and bow, 
 And hastened to hurl back the threatened blow. 
 To mount the flame still higher, the labor'd 
 
 mound, 
 O'ertopping all was raised, and still is found. 
 Old forts, now nothing but their sites retain j 
 High banked enclosures are all that remain, 
 Leaving the antiquarian much in doubt, 
 Whether they kept the wolf or Saxon out ; 
 
THE exile's lay. 13 
 
 Whether they were a peaceful shepherds fold, 
 Or barrier raised 'gainst warriors stern and bold. 
 There one can view the south and northern shore, 
 And here can listen to their distant roar : 
 For when the ocean in his rage doth rise, 
 And heaves, and rolls, like mountains to the skies ; 
 When breaks each tumbling, rapid, foaming wave, 
 'Gainst towering cliff, through hoarse resounding 
 
 cave ; 
 When roused and furious from his coral bed, 
 'Tis then old Neptune's awful thundering tread, 
 Resounds a hundred furlongs from the strand, 
 And like an earthquake, shakes the solid land ! 
 
 Thou Isle of Isles ! thou richest, fairest gem, 
 
 That sparkles in old Ocean's diadem ! 
 
 Britain ! although a thousand leagues and more, 
 
 Away from thy bold, stern, and classic shore j 
 
 Thou cradle of my sickly, infant years. 
 
 Thou witness of my early hopes and fears. 
 
 Can I forget thee, ere in death I sleep ? 
 
 Thou Ocean Bower ! from whence I took my leap I 
 
 By the emerald of thy vales, — 
 Fragrance of thy summer gales, — 
 Winding streams through ancient woods, 
 Garden'd fields, and mountain floods j 
 Hills of grazing flocks and herds. 
 Myriads of singing birds j 
 
14 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Sailing on the passing cloud, 
 Lark's gay music, sweet and loud j 
 And the cuckoo's voice in spring, 
 Making woods and vallies ring ; 
 Robin's notes that never fail, 
 And the pensive nightingale j 
 Loveliness of moonlit waters. 
 Beauty of thy rosy daughters : 
 Modest, pure, fair and round. 
 As the shapes on fairy ground ; 
 By the bravery of each son, 
 (Room for cowards thou hast none,) 
 Festive dance in shady dells. 
 Music of thy merry bells ; 
 Evening tale and jovial song, 
 From a care defying throng ; 
 Round the fireside blazing high, 
 Or beneath a summer sky, 
 By the early huntsman's horn, 
 Starting up the slumbering morn ; 
 Beauty of thy summer showers. 
 Grandeur of thy old gray towers : — 
 Setting sun at dewy hour, 
 Lingering long in Twilight's bower j 
 Ere he pass with golden crest, 
 His bright portals in the west : 
 
THE exile's lay. 15 
 
 Evening gun=^ and curfew bell,-j- 
 Funeral train with solemn knell ! 
 Slow, and solemn, and sublime 
 As the onward march of time ! 
 While the requiem of the fair 
 Melts in sadness on the air4 
 By the graves that hold in trust, 
 My forefather's mouldering dust. 
 Resting place of a kind brother, 
 Sacred tomb of a fond mother I 
 (How consoling 'twould have been, 
 If her last fond look I'd seen j 
 Ere she closed her weary eyes, 
 Till the dead again shall rise ; 
 Could I on mother's bier. 
 But have dropped one burning tear ; 
 Or have heard the solemn toll, 
 For her dear, departed soul ! 
 'Twould have lightened me in part. 
 Of the burden on my heart j 
 Who was far beyond the wave, 
 When they bore her to her grave. 
 
 *The gun fired at the forts every evening at nine o'clock. 
 
 fThe ringing of the curfew bell is now an almost discontinued 
 custom whicli originated in William the Coiiqiierer's time. He 
 compelled the people to put their tires and lights out when the 
 signal by ringing the bell was given. Curfew means cover fire ; 
 hence the term. 
 
 tit is the custom in England (in the country) to carry the 
 corps by hand, and at mlervals a choir preceding the coffin sing 
 a solemn tune to some appropriate hymn. 
 
16 THE exile's lay. 
 
 By that well remembered spot, 
 Dewy vale, and native cot : 
 Zephyr's notes from forest dim, 
 Sweet as distant matin hymn ; 
 Softly soothing as a lay, 
 Of a holy by-gone day : 
 Or some treasured scenes that rise, 
 Plain to memory's thousand eyes. 
 
 By the meads where I have strayed. 
 And the nooks where I have played ; — 
 Garden path, and lilac bower, 
 Where Iv'e passed, so many an hour. 
 While the summer moon was shining : 
 Roaming pensive, or reclining : 
 Pondering as each season rolled. 
 What the future might unfold. 
 First when cupid met mine eyes, 
 There I fanned my heart with sighs j 
 I its feeling could not rule, 
 Sighs nor tears would keep it cool. 
 'Twas upon that fairy ground. 
 My rude harp one night I found, 
 When I touched its magic wire. 
 Heard its tone, and felt its fire j 
 I could seem to realize, 
 Half the bliss of Paradise ! 
 And I trembled half afraid. 
 At the sounds that I had made : 
 
THE exile's lay. 17 
 
 All in doubt their source and worth, 
 So unlike the jars of earth, — 
 By my kindred lengthy train, 
 Whom I ne'er may see again ! 
 Aged father's hoary locks, 
 Bleached by eighty winter's shocks ; 
 By his kindness since my birth, 
 And his moral, pious worth : 
 His example, pur© and great, 
 Which I hope to imitate ; 
 Sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts. 
 And their numerous olive plants : 
 From the infant to the hoary. 
 They would fill a territory. 
 
 None have empty titled birth. 
 Most have claim to sterling worth ; 
 In religion, or in parts, 
 In their heads or in their hearts ; 
 Nature none in both has slighted ; 
 Oft'ner far has both united. 
 
 When the many stood aloof, 
 Wesley 'neath grandfather's roof, 
 Found protection, and good cheer, 
 And what was to him more dear, 
 Piety the most sincere. 
 So religion, ought to fall, 
 Down by heirship to us all ! 
 
18 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Some glow with a holy ire, 
 And with intellectual fire, — 
 While from sacred desk they shed, 
 Gospel light on sinner's head ; 
 Or in Sabbath School are found, 
 Training youth for holy ground. 
 Many on Apollo wait : 
 Music is a family trait ; — 
 Some have tried the poet's lay, 
 But their notes have died away : 
 For with timid hand they struck, 
 And then soon the harp forsook. 
 You, who with cold sceptic look, 
 Dare review the Sacred book, 
 And deny its inspiration, 
 (Cutting off your own salvation,) 
 Having modern creeds outgrown, 
 With a theory of your own : 
 You who hold that man if wise. 
 May on wings of virtue rise, 
 High as piety can bear him, 
 (But alas ! cannot prepare him, 
 Death to meet with hopeful eyes, 
 Such as when the Christian dies :) 
 Wit and humor, can dispense. 
 And the sweets of eloquence, 
 With a fervid, constant flow, 
 While thy handsome features glow, 
 With an influence I could feel. 
 But can ne'er by words reveal : 
 
THE exile's lay. 19 
 
 How unlike thy sainted sire, 
 Whom to see, is to admire. 
 He, with bald and reverend head, 
 To the village church is led : 
 Tears roll down his sightless eyes. 
 While the anthem strains do rise : 
 Touching compliment indeed, 
 To the choir he used to lead. 
 How his pious bosom swells, 
 While his hopeful fancy dwells 
 On that broad celestial plain. 
 Where his sight will come again ! 
 
 Britain ! by thy mighty name ! 
 Thy imperishable fame ! 
 Ancient Empire's sounding story. 
 Can't outvie thy well earned glory ! 
 Tho' it gleams from ancient pages. 
 Thundering down through dust of ages ! 
 Thou hast ne'er thy flag unfurled, 
 To reduce ('tis true) a world ; 
 As the Romans did of old. 
 Or the Macedonian bold ; 
 But, what nations stood in awe, 
 As thou stamped, and read the law ? 
 Dared Napoleon to th' attack ! 
 With all Europe at his back ! 
 
 What was Asia's coward host 
 Source of Alexander's boast? 
 
20 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Csesar mid liis battle's gore, 
 "Won the laurels that he wore, 
 With victorious well trained bands, 
 As he scoured the northern lands. 
 But the nations that he slew, 
 Arts or arms then scarcely knew j 
 And, in barbarous state, could be 
 Merely in their infancy j 
 Such as England in her power 
 Might as easily devour, 
 If she thought such savage foes, 
 Worthy of her giant blo.ws ! 
 
 By thy Empires martial might, 
 By thy trophies won in iight ; 
 On the land and ocean too, 
 From Poictiers to Waterloo ! 
 And from time when Spanish fleet 
 Met such terrible defeat, 
 When they sought invading war, 
 Down to Nile, and Trafalgar ! 
 
 By the laurels that surround 
 Thy bold heroes, far renowned: 
 Won 'mid bloody battle's crash j 
 Thunderbolt from cannon's flash ! 
 Where the bayonet and sword. 
 Their harsh music did afford ; 
 And where bursted murderous shell, 
 Like a meteor from hell ! 
 
THE exile's lay. 21 
 
 This and more thy sons have stood, 
 
 Calm as statues in a flood ; — 
 
 Firm as heedless giant rock, 
 
 To old Ocean's surging shock ! 
 
 By a Wolf's proud victory, 
 
 And a Nelson on the sea ; 
 
 By the wonders that were done, 
 
 Tiirough old iron Wellington ! 
 
 And especially the last, 
 
 Where Napoleon's die was cast I 
 
 By thy keen cutting blade, which too oft thou hast 
 
 plied • 
 Thy boldness, which hath modern Europe defied ; 
 By the eagles of France thou hast humbled in 
 
 gore, 
 Though taught by a Bonaparte's genius to soar. 
 By thy conquering power, like the tide rolling 
 
 forth, 
 Until thy vast empire encircles the earth ! 
 Tho' twilight is creeping o'er land, sea, and crag. 
 The sun never sets on thy meteor flag I 
 And as night travels onward, all darkly and dumb. 
 She keeps step all the time by the roll of thy drum ! 
 Thy emblem is good, for the lion we find. 
 Is like proud Anglo Saxon, to the rest of mankind. 
 Ancient tigers went forth, mangling, thirsting for 
 
 blood: 
 Saxon's lion goes forth, merely craving for food. 
 
22 THE exile's lay. 
 
 The ancients hewed down, to gaze on the slain, 
 The moderns do battle, for conquest and gain j 
 By instinct goes forth, bids the savage retire, 
 From the soil his proud millions bye-and-bye will 
 require ! 
 
 By thy bays won in peace, ah ! more lasting by 
 far, 
 Than all thy vast trophies of conquest and war ! 
 Mammoth bee-hive of industry ! (with many a 
 
 drone,) 
 Turning all things to gold, like th' " philosopher's 
 
 stone ; " 
 Fountain head of thy wealth ! thy artisans hand, 
 Sending forth its productions t' each civilized land. 
 
 By thy broad wings of commerce, that flap o'er the 
 
 seas ! 
 That ride out on each tide, and float in on each 
 
 breeze ! 
 For all countries the workshop, the storehouse, and 
 
 mart, 
 Every part of the globe, feels the throb of thy 
 
 heart ! 
 Thou creditor, broker, on a gigantic scale. 
 The world's business would suffer, should thy credit 
 
 fail. 
 By the limits now set, to thy monarchy's power. 
 That safely have borne thee through each trying 
 
 hour ; 
 
THE exile's lay. ' 23 
 
 The progressing liberty thou dost possess, 
 Although sure, it is slow (with a sigh I confess) : — 
 Thy unshackled press, and thy freedom of speech, 
 That's faithfully guarded, and granted to each. 
 By the laurels thou hast by philanthropy won, 
 In what Wilberforce wrought, and what Howard 
 
 hath done ; 
 And whose followers, v/orthy, though on a far smal- 
 ler scale, 
 Shelter many from fate and misfortune's rude gale. 
 
 By the liberty granted to all sections and creeds, 
 From Papists with cross, holy water, and beads ; 
 Through Wesleyans down to loud Bryanite 
 
 screams, 
 And Southcoate's and Swedenburg's crack-brain-ed 
 
 dreams ! 
 By the poets you've cradled, a fond cherished host, 
 Who have echoed the thunders of thy rock-bound 
 
 coast ! 
 Wrought thy beauty and grandeur into many a 
 
 theme. 
 And put words to the music of each murmuring 
 
 stream ; 
 Whose fancies have soared beyond earth, beyond 
 
 time ; 
 On Eternity's shore, lay their pathway sublime ! 
 At their will. Heaven opened her golden gates 
 
 wide ; 
 And hell yawned beneath, with its red liquid tide ! 
 
24 THE exile's lay. 
 
 With the wand of a wizard, brought the dead to 
 
 new life, 
 And made them react scenes of love, hate, and 
 
 strife. 
 Thy Milton, and Shakspeare, old time hath defied, 
 Their strains will be echoed as long as thy tide ! 
 Thou mirror of nature, thou warm-hearted Burns ! 
 How cold is the heart that in rapture not turns 
 To thy rich glowing pictures, songs, humor, and 
 
 tales, 
 That sparkle like dewdrops along thy own vales ; 
 Thy Dryden's bold hand, and thy Pope's flowing 
 
 line. 
 Pious Cowper, whose morals and truthfulness 
 
 shine : 
 And powerful Byron, with sad ending tale. 
 With spirits high, low, like the tide or the gale j 
 Whatever the prying find in him to blame. 
 His muse is eternally wedded to fame : 
 And the lyre of Scott, if not sweetest in tone, 
 Its sound had a spell that was wholly its own ; 
 And Hemans. and Landon, who are fled with a 
 
 train. 
 Whose harpstrings ah ! never will vibrate again ! 
 
 By thy orators many, sweet, brilliant, and great, 
 Who have honored the pulpit, the • forum, and 
 
 state J 
 Lord Chatham the lofty, the eloquent sage, 
 Whoes speeches will echo through each coming agej 
 
THE exile's lay. 25 
 
 And the Autocrat Pitt, whose proud giant thrust, 
 Brought progressing Bonaparte down in the dust ! 
 Thy Whitfield, and Hall, Fox, Canning and Peel, 
 Who could reach heart or head, if 't were not lead 
 
 or steel, 
 By the light of thy science a Newton has shed ; 
 The Philosophy Bacon and Lock has outspread : — 
 By the practical genius of Arkwright and Watt, 
 And the marvellous change, loom and engine hath 
 
 wrought ! 
 By thy patronage given to talent and art, 
 In which Ben of the West bore a prominent part J 
 Thy Opie, trained up in Cornubian mine. 
 Thy Reynolds, and Hogarth, whose humor doth 
 
 shine : — 
 Though an ocean now rolls 'twixt my home and 
 
 thee. 
 And I 'm cheerful and happy in the land of the 
 
 free ; 
 Though strangers have welcomed, and flattered, 
 
 and smiled. 
 And every regret of my bosom beguiled ; 
 Till mem'ry decays, ah ! my thoughts oft will flee, 
 To thy surf-beaten shores, thou gem of the sea . 
 Ah, light is the mind, that to home never turns, 
 And corrupt is the heart, that for home never burns. 
 
 On the surf beaten shores, where my boyhood was 
 
 spent, 
 I might have been happy, had I been content j 
 
26 THE exile's lay. 
 
 But scorning to delve and improve other's soil 
 I longed for a spot of my own where to toil. 
 Though my pride it was wounded, and my heart 
 
 it was bleeding, 
 When at last in the distance, native shores were 
 
 receding ; 
 Yet hope smiled upon me ; and Philosophy chided : 
 ^'Columbians are brothers though by ocean divided ! 
 ** Would you envy their country, which Nature 
 
 hath given ? 
 " Would you grieve for the freedom for which they 
 
 have striven ? 
 " Disown them because they a tyrant withstood ? 
 " And fought for their rights, as bold Britons 
 
 should ? 
 " Would'st thou have them prove false to the blood 
 
 in their veins ? 
 *' Dost thou wish thy own race, to be clanking their 
 
 chains ? " 
 So I learned that tho' banners be different, and 
 
 name, 
 The blood of our kindred flows ever the same. 
 That where 'er Anglo Saxon wina bays, you may 
 
 place 
 The deed to the credit of the whole iron race ! 
 And in laws, education, and liberty too. 
 Old England has much yet to learn from the New j 
 And to me 'tis a wonder, to herself a disaster 
 That the model held up she don't imitate faster. 
 
THE exile's lay. 27 
 
 Farewell to Cornubia ! a lasting farewell 
 To each hill, and green valley, and deep shady- 
 dell : 
 And thou, smiling cottage, the place of my birth, 
 No more wilt thou witness my sorrow or mirth : 
 Where the brook sweetly warbles a soft, chiding 
 
 tune, 
 No more shall I stray, by the light of the moon ! 
 Adieu, to thy daughters, so bright eyed and fair, 
 (How oft have 1 roamed with them, free from all 
 
 care, 
 "When the landscape look'd gay, under bright sum-, 
 
 mer skies, 
 'Neath the light of the stars, and the glance of 
 
 their eyes ! ) 
 Nor again where of yore, (tho' I scarcely knew 
 
 how,) 
 With delight strike my lyre, as I followed the 
 
 plough ;— 
 My companions the lark, with his sweet gushing 
 
 sound. 
 The robin, and sometimes, the muse hov'ring 
 
 round. 
 Never more tending gaily thy flocks and thy herds, 
 Nor listen again to the songs of thy birds ! 
 Farwell, early friends ! do you e'er think of me ? 
 Adieu to my kindred, left beyond the dark sea ' 
 
 Thou, Britain I've praised, but in duty to you, 
 Alas I I must chide, ere I bid you adieu. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 Isle of the palace and of cottage low ! 
 Where streams of poverty and riches flow j 
 Britain ! though loud thy tones of glory rise, 
 And float wherever thy proud pennant flies j 
 A sound in discord with its symphony, 
 Doth echo far, and pierce the troubled sky, 
 The air with voice of thy oppressed is stirred j 
 A constant wail, like raven's croak is heard j 
 Or spirits in distress forever flying, 
 Whose melancholy dirge is never dying. 
 From where thy numerous, hopeless, paupers dwell, 
 As heart-crushed as the prisoner in his cell : — 
 From alleys dark and close, in cities vast, 
 And cots that scarcely shelter from the blast. 
 Where poverty doth humble to the dust. 
 And hunger often craves in vain a crust 
 Where Sickness languishes by rushlight dim. 
 And winter's cold doth palsy every limb ! 
 Where weeping Want, his tattered rags unfold, 
 And wander round mid mountain heaps of gold ' 
 And sometimes famishes, alas ! and dies. 
 With the rich metal glittering in his eyes ! 
 
THE exile's lay. 29 
 
 From those whom fate and partial fortune foil. 
 But half remunerated doomed to toil ; 
 And waste their strength, and nothing lay aside, 
 For the sick hour, nor for old age provide ; 
 To soothe the closing days of life, and stand, 
 'Twixt manly pride, and charity's cold hand ! 
 
 There is an evil, with deep buried roots, 
 Whose branches bend, with deadly poisonous fruits; 
 This giant tree of evil, it appears. 
 Has been maturing for a thousand years ; — 
 From time when vassal's rights were not regarded, 
 And chivalry was bounteously rewarded 
 With lands and titles ; and to make both sure, 
 Were granted " laws of primogeniture : " 
 Which laws have proved a heavy curse at best, 
 And time, and craft, and self, have done the rest : 
 Broad acres, long improved by others' toil. 
 Each year increased the value of the soil ; 
 Till now their rising rents and leases bring, 
 To lords an income equal for a king j 
 The greedy owners sternly hold it fast, 
 And grudge each parting house-lot to the last ; 
 Or dole their acres out at monstrous price, 
 On lease ; and when increased in value thrice. 
 By others' bone and sinew, come again 
 To swell their riches, and their vast domain. 
 
 Their unrelenting steward rolls in fat, 
 A pretty miniature, aristocrat : 
 
30 THE exile's lay. 
 
 The link between the farmer and his lord, 
 He piles each year, another's golden hoard : 
 A pampered hireling, oft with heart of stone j 
 He robs the bees to feed an idle drone / 
 
 Still they, unsatisfied, make farmers give 
 Such monstrous prices, that they scarce can live : 
 Who o'er their hapless, bitter fortune mourn^ 
 And crowd, alas ! the laborer in their turn. 
 And thus it is, when longer grows the purse, 
 In selfish hands, proportioned is the curse. 
 " Knowledge is power ; " to this all men assent j 
 But money I is it not omnipotent ? 
 And doth it not, its owner's feelings steel ? 
 Making him tread his fellows 'neath his heel? 
 Custom and law, each generous impulse cool, 
 And conscience, too, conveniently they school. 
 The strong in power, forever grasping more, 
 Frame laws to aid the rich, and grind the poor. 
 England ! how curs'd art thou with legal wrong ! 
 How vile are they, who still the curse prolong ! 
 
 What is thy bane ? thy deadly upas tree ? 
 Drag of thy glorious car of libert}- 
 Thy rankling poison ? Aristocracy . 
 Its very breath seems to pollute the gale ' 
 And where it comes, the victims all turn pale ! 
 It crossed the broad Atlantic on the breeze. 
 And human energy began to freeze j 
 
THE exile's lay. 31 
 
 The sounds of busy pro-gress well-nigh hu'shed, 
 And treasured hopes of noble minds near cru^hod j 
 Until a democratic storm did rise, 
 And cleared the stench from fair Columbia's skies ! 
 Then the new world, from centre to the main, 
 More sweetly smiled and breathed fresh air again J 
 
 It floated where Napoleon's eagles soared, 
 And where the French their only god adored ! 
 The noble birds fell writhing to the dust I 
 And Bonaparte's fresh laurels fell — a crust ! 
 It paralyzed the blood within his veins, 
 And tamed him down for exile and for chains ! 
 It passed his lonely isle and sapped his strength, 
 And prematurely brought him death at length. 
 If then it hath such awful, blasting powers, 
 To chill such fiery blood in such brief hours, 
 /^h, what can flourish, where, for evermore. 
 At home it blows and floats from shore to shore ? 
 
 The Aristocracy can all endure. 
 The arduous duties of a sinecure ; 
 Of counting gold, wet with the poor man's tear, 
 For which they ^ve lounged, and slept^ and snored a 
 year ! 
 
 They guard from sin (?) have souls to heaven sent, 
 At last, by rigid act of Parliament ! 
 But make them pay for it in many a ti-the, 
 While struggling victim^ 'rieath . their burdens 
 writhe. 
 
32 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Yes, "livings,"^ worth a thousand pounds a year, 
 In the control of Bishop, Duke, or Peer, 
 Wrung out of honest, working people's thrift, 
 Are handed to some fav'rite, like a Christmas gift • 
 And further still, to push their wicked farce on, 
 Two flocks oft guarded are hy one rum parson. 
 'Tis true, all go to heaven which way they please. 
 Or go to h — Z, but Bishops will have fees. 
 What a vile marriage this, of Church and &tate, 
 The gross abomination how I hate j 
 Whose offspring should be piety perhaps, 
 Instead of MILLIONS into Bishop's laps! 
 No wonder Wesley such a crew forsook. 
 To start a purer church on his own hook. 
 Victims, why suffer ? Agitate divorce j 
 That failing, use a little Cobden force : 
 The cause of God and liberty promoting, 
 Just try if there is virtue yet in voting : 
 Go, snap the rotten band for aye asunder ; 
 And stop their solemn mockery and plunder! 
 The English middle class, whenfairly stirred^ 
 And roused to their own interest, ivill be heard. 
 Would I could waft to them a Yankee breeze ! 
 And make them call aloud for wide " Franchise ! '' 
 And ballot box, to vote for whom they please. — 
 Demand more education for the poor ; 
 For that all know, is Freedom's only door J 
 
 * There is a direct tax levied chiefly on the middle classes for 
 the support ot the '< Established Church : " the aggregate amouul 
 paid in each parish is denominated "Uvings " or " beuehts." 
 
THE exile's lay. 33 
 
 See cobweb sinecures all duly broomed, 
 
 Where golden dust of industry's entombed. 
 
 Nor longer let them mar the dome of state, 
 
 But leave the money -spiders to their fate ! 
 
 They '11 take no damage by the fall, they 've stood 
 
 Too long already, sucking poor men's blood I 
 
 The laws of Primogeniture pull down 
 
 About the lordly heads, and let them frown j 
 
 If anything, it would improve their bust, — 
 
 Powdering their heads a little with its dust ! 
 
 And of the document, leave not a trace, 
 
 But burn it up before their angry face : 
 
 Who by its light, if it burns bright, may see, 
 
 To will their lands with more of equity ! 
 
 Claim boldly, the taxation is unfair 3 
 
 Make every titled nabob pay his share ; 
 
 Give them who shun the change, to understand 
 
 They must relax their hold, or loose their hand : 
 
 Tell them this truth, and come to it they must : 
 
 Taxes on property alone are just. 
 
 But they jog on so mighty sure and steady, 
 
 The De'il can't stir them until they get ready. 
 
 What is the startling, true, and sad comment 
 
 On all the gold Aristocrats have spent, 
 
 Their transatlantic brethren to enslave, — 
 
 And to backup kidnapping on the wave ? 
 
 And indirectly to support their own, 
 
 To place an exiled Bourbon on a throne ? 
 
 To scourge a haughty nation with the sword, 
 
 Because with them, their voice did not accord ; 
 
34 THE exile's lay. 
 
 For, seeing what themselves did wish them blind to, 
 iVnd having things the way they had a mind to : 
 For cutting off an empty wooden head, 
 And worshipping a genius in its stead ? 
 (Ah Bonaparte ! didst thou a sceptre wield, 
 A throne for aye from disrespect to shield ? ) 
 Britain ! thy rocks and hills have heard the first, 
 Dread chapter, comments that to heaven did burst .' 
 'Twas widows, orphans, maidens, mother's cries .' 
 For husbands, fathers, lovers, that did rise ! 
 Who poured in foreign lands their life's red tide ! 
 To gloat aristocratic sway and pride ! 
 
 The second chapter, debt : from loans on loans, 
 Oh ! mountain weight I hark, how the nation groans. 
 What mind can grasp eight hundred million 
 
 pounds ? 
 To Albion's poor, how mournfully it sounds ! 
 What giant strength, to stand erect, and straight, 
 A nation must possess, and bear such weight ! 
 What reckless insolence, so much to ask. 
 How stupid they, who bent to every task ! 
 The next black chapter, has no end ; 'tis tax! 
 And who can prophesy the dread climax ? 
 
 Oh ! hadst thou listened to thy Fox's wit. 
 Thou hadst not fallen in to such a pit(t) ! 
 Thy throne, with such a monarch, might have 
 
 SLOOd, 
 
 Without being crimson'd with thy noblest blood ! 
 
THE exile's lay. 35 
 
 Might have remained secure for unknown years, 
 And not be floating with thy daughter's tears ! 
 And thy good Queen been spared of half her sighs, 
 That for her suffering subjects now arise. 
 
 Ah ! were it not for thy accursed debt, 
 What deeds of glory might thou not do yet ! 
 The praises of the world thou might'st excite, 
 By nobly rising in thy lion might .' 
 To shield young nations in their trying hour, 
 Of struggling infancy, from tyrant's power; 
 With mane erect, and'fiery flashing eyes ! 
 Scathing thy foes, like lightning from the skies ! 
 Making offensive despots shake with dread, 
 Before thy grand approaching earthquake tread ! 
 And crouch like wolves to hear thy thundering 
 
 roar ! 
 Loud as storm billows 'gainst a rocky shore ! 
 Like sudden sweeping gale upon the main, 
 Or the tornado ravaging the plain, 
 Thou would'st hew down, and make a gory path ! 
 And slake in blood thy vengeance and thy wrath ! 
 Base tyrants would turn pale, and stand aghast, 
 To see their strength prostrated by thy blast I 
 Black Despotism, coward like, would hide, 
 To see thee on, in glorious triumph, ride ! 
 Would tear his hoary locks, and writhe with pain, 
 And gnash his teeth, above his broken chain ! 
 While every cave, and hill, and vale around, 
 Would with his groans of agony resound ' 
 
36 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Justice would smile, and wave her keen-edged 
 
 sword, 
 To find her scales to equity restored ; 
 And Liberty, exulting in thy pride, 
 "Would at the infant nation's birth preside ; 
 Crown thee with bays, the mighty undefiled j 
 And greet thee, both her champion and her child ! 
 
 But thou art under bonds to keep the peace, 
 And not again thy fearful debt increase. 
 With folded arms, must hear rough tyrants shout, 
 While treading a young nation's freedom out. 
 Nor power to make third parties stand at bay, 
 And let a struggling people have fair play. 
 
 Would I could make the hand of Power relax, 
 And soften down its heart, and make it wax : — 
 Then deeply mould, with scrupulous patient care, 
 Both Love and Pity's angel image there ! 
 Then Want, might tears, without a cork-screw, 
 
 draw 
 From lordly eyes j oh ! what a mighty thaw .' 
 The freshet large would pay up all arrears, 
 The congeal'd pity of a thousand years ! 
 All their unequal laws they would repent, 
 And form a Democratic Parliament ; 
 Then we should see my lord and lady walk 
 Where Poverty, and Vice, and Hunger stalk ! 
 Take erring subjects gently by the hand. 
 And feed and clothe the poor throughout the land. 
 
THE exile's lay. 37 
 
 But no, such tenderness can never be, 
 
 Another course clahns their philanthropy, 
 
 'Tis distant sightSj at which their hearts grow 
 
 bigger, 
 A banished monarchy or an injured nigger . 
 They can spend millions to wipe slavery's curse j 
 And quietly put thousands in their purse ! ^ 
 Lend John Bull cash, from blacks sold to the 
 
 nation : 
 The world admires (?) their double speculation ! 
 
 Can they find in their hearts for paupers room ? 
 No ! they are left to farmers and their doom. 
 They leave them to the farmers did I say ? 
 Alas ! they used to in a by-gone day. 
 Then poor had sympathy, were duly fed j 
 But now the yeoman by the nose is led. 
 He furnishes all that the law demands, 
 But chief control is taken from his hands. 
 The poor-rates raised by extra tax each year, 
 And lordlings fix it, to go almost clear ; 
 The middle classes raise it 'gainst their will j 
 The poor are taxed, to feed the poorer still ! 
 While rich impertinence, by shocking laws, 
 Have got the pauper firmly in its paws, 
 
 * We are willing: Ihey should have all the credit due Ihem, in 
 bringiug about thai greal. philanthropic enterprise: Still it is 
 notorious, that the undertaking received the most encouragement 
 from ilie middle classes. It is also a (act that it was strongly 
 opposed by some of the aristocracy? until they found that the 
 slaves were to be paid for at a fair valuation ; when they at 
 once consented, and quietly pocketed the money for slaves which 
 they owned. 
 
38 THE exile's lay. 
 
 The lamb and lion ! poor and autocrat ! 
 
 Who feeds them scant, lest they should grow too fat! 
 
 Who 've built them palaces, their rags to mock, 
 
 And when within, the more their feelings shock ! 
 
 Here poverty is treated as a crime ! 
 
 Old age abused, for not withstanding Time! 
 
 They dole their rations out by weight, as tho' 
 
 Poor, guilty prisoners were our deadly foe ; 
 
 Nor can misfortune or grey want relieve, 
 
 Without insulting those the gift receive. 
 
 And feed their paupers scantier than their swine. 
 
 Nor yield a crust, unsoaked in tears of brine ! 
 
 O, for a Byron's diamond pen to lash. 
 Or blind the guilty with its fearful flash ! 
 To tell them how I hate their borrowed glory. 
 Above all things this side of purgatory ! 
 Ye painted worms ! who many hues unfold ; — 
 Ye worst of paupers ! decked in lace and gold ! 
 Ye heirs of waste ! born nought but to consume : 
 To eat, ride, lounge, and sleep, and snuff perfume j 
 Ye flaunting butterflies of scented bowers ! 
 Prisoners of sickly ease, and mis-spent hours ! 
 What are your products, ye vile want creators ? 
 Just to have 'round a score of liv'ried waiters. 
 Alas ! for the poor, ragged starvling's sake, 
 Would those were all the bitter wants you make ! 
 Ye mammoth millstones I whose whol6 weight is 
 
 thrust 
 Upon the laborer, grinding him to dust ! 
 
THE exile's lay. 39 
 
 From whence your right on golden w'mg to be, 
 Soaring for aye above humanity ? 
 And with a scornful and insulting frown, 
 On fellow dust from far be looking down ! 
 Ye need not cross again the ocean's waves, 
 To exercise your sympathy on slaves 2 
 A Lady Sutherland may find, I 'm sure. 
 Enough of slaves at home at her own door : 
 With more eifect, and with far better face, 
 She might find fairer subjects for her Grace ! 
 From their false height, all distant objects grow, 
 More plain than those immediately below : 
 They see our negroes tasks, and stripes, and gore 
 And hear their groans above Atlantic's roar I 
 While brethren toil from cradle to the grave, 
 And starve and die without a hand to save ! 
 
 While thus your fellow creatures starving are, 
 And others toil from morn till rising star, 
 (I have a subject to take up your time) 
 Is idleness and luxury a crime ? 
 When that 's resolved, go count the myriad souls, 
 That have been sent to their eternal goals ! 
 (And if ye can,) the burning tears, and sighs. 
 That has been wrung from women's hearts and 
 
 eyes ! 
 And guess how far their sad united cry. 
 Would pierce the trembling air and liquid sky ' 
 Go mete the sea of blood, that has been spilt ' 
 And lastly reckon the amount of guilt 
 
40 THE exile's lay. 
 
 That rests upon each empty, haughty head ! 
 By whom their tears, and noble blood were shed ! 
 By crushing red Destruction's gory car 
 In forei gn and urmecessary war ! 
 
 O ! for a wizard's awful power ! 
 Some solemn evening's silent hour : 
 When through your endless pleasure grounds, 
 Ye take your dull accustomed rounds j 
 When Day in Evening's lap is dying, 
 And every breeze a dirge is sighing : 
 As Night lets her dark curtain down, 
 And Nature seems to wear a frown. 
 When hushed each daylight's harsher feeling, 
 And melancholy thoughts are stealing j 
 To waft upon the evening air. 
 The rending sounds of dark despair ! 
 From brethren sinking in distress, 
 And cots that you might cheaply bless : 
 And what would sound to thee still worse, 
 A dying pauper's bitter curse ! 
 To conjure up by bush and post 
 As ye pass by,*a horrid ghost ! 
 Whom ye your aid, alas, denied, 
 And who in want and misery died ! 
 Divert each pale face 'mid the gloom, — 
 Its vengeance should survive the tomb : — 
 While every one with fiery sword, 
 A threatening aspect should afford ; 
 
THE exile's lay. 41 
 
 With angry scowl, and instinct true, 
 They fix their hollow eyes on you j 
 Then flash their swords above your head, 
 And shriek, *' We died for want of bread /^^ 
 And as ye haste through lawn or park, 
 While shades of night grow thick and dark, 
 I'd summon from the battle plain 
 The ghostly forms of thousands slain, 
 Looking as when they breathed their last 
 Where hell's war-demon onward pass'd j 
 The echo of whose mighty tread 
 Again should thunder over head, 
 As tho' he 'd gloated not his fill, 
 But urged their spirits onward still, 
 His banner red, still floating high 
 Making them battle in the sky ; 
 Their clay still warm their bed still wet, 
 Their gaping wounds still bleeding yet. 
 The frightened deer in groups should flee, 
 And leaves should quiver on each tree : 
 The trembling ground my power should feel, 
 And, as when earthquakes jar, should reel, 
 While thunders roll, peal after peal, 
 And lightnings dart from blacken'd sky, 
 Like Jove's own anger-flashing eye, 
 Revealing scenes of crimson dye : 
 Where soldiers still with look of pride, 
 Lie pale and stifli'ning side by side. 
 As comrade by h^s comrade died j 
 
42 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Where sunder'd limbs upon the ground, 
 
 And headless trunks are scatter, d round : 
 
 Some holding swords in deathly grip, 
 
 And others pressing to their lip 
 
 Lov'd images of maiden fair, 
 
 For whom went up their dying prayer. 
 
 When hushed the thunders, you shall hear 
 
 Dread sounds still falling on your ear : 
 
 The solemn murmur of a flood. 
 
 The ripple of a stream of blood. 
 
 And women's mourning shrieks be heard, 
 
 And flaps like wings of some huge birdj 
 
 For dimly seen on troubled air. 
 
 Would darkly hover wild despair I 
 
 And death stalks where war fiends had been, 
 
 Gazing and smiling on the scene. 
 
 And should this fail to make you just, 
 I'd turn your coffers all to dust. 
 Or eat them through and through with rust ; 
 I'd haunt you in your midnight dreams. 
 And dog your steps by woods and streams, 
 I'd stain with blood your hoards of gold, 
 And visit you with plagues untold j 
 Until your iron hearts relent. 
 And you your selfishness repent. 
 
THE exile's lay. 43 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 Land of the Pilgrims ! Home for the oppress'd ! 
 
 City of refuge ! Ark where all may rest ! 
 
 Columbia hail I Thou haven from the storm 
 
 Of blasting tyrany in every form. 
 
 Where thy proud, graceful standard is unfurled, 
 
 Thine arms are open to a groaning world. 
 
 Thy endless prairies tempt the plough and yoke; 
 
 Thy giant trees invite the woodman's stroke. 
 
 From the St. Croix unto the Rio Grande, 
 
 Atlantic doth more gently kiss the strand, 
 
 And seem to roll with more majestic pride, 
 
 While floating exiles anchor on her tide. 
 
 Thy streams to meet them run with smiling face, 
 
 In token of a welcome and embrace. 
 
 To thy broad valleys, stretching out sublime, 
 We come from every land, from every clime : 
 Norwegians from their snowy hills arise j 
 Italians leave their purple glowing skies ; 
 The Swiss boy quits his dashing mountain streams, 
 Whose home with wond'rous Alpine scenery 
 
 teems. 
 The Spanish, and the French, desert their vine j 
 And Dutch, and German, cease to tend their kine : 
 
44 THE exile's lay. 
 
 The Irish start with many a rending wail, 
 
 And Britons sigh, for many an emerald vale. 
 
 No scenes, or skies, however fair they be. 
 
 Nor love of home, nor dangers of the sea, 
 
 Nor Briton's pride, nor climate e'er so blest, 
 
 Is proof against the loadstone of the west. 
 
 From where society is out of joint. 
 
 Where fate and fortune many disappoint, 
 
 Where pure ambition swells the breast in vain. 
 
 There in a dormant slumber to remain. 
 
 Stifled by sighs, or quenched with tears its doom, 
 
 Child of the heart, the heart becomes its tomb ! 
 
 Where blind aristocrats believe they must 
 
 Usurp each place of honor, power, and trust j 
 
 And humble worth, may to the moon complain, 
 
 While gold, and brass, supply the place of brain j 
 
 From where the favorites of fortune flout, 
 
 By fate and circumstances crouded out j — 
 
 Wishing for energies a broader scope, — 
 
 To realize some early, favorite hope ; 
 
 We come to join the happy and the free, 
 
 To taste the fruits of real Liberty. 
 
 May no adopted citizen be slack. 
 
 In echoing songs of sacred Freedom back ; 
 
 Making the Old World feel, the New World see j 
 
 That we fulfil a righteous destiny. 
 
 But if our fancy roam by native streams, 
 
 Or sometimes visit them in harmless dreanis j — 
 
 Or if we drop a tributary tear. 
 
 For parted friends, and relatives still dear, 
 
THE exile's lay. 45 
 
 Ah J who can blame a weakness all confess^ 
 While we love not our new .found homes the less. 
 
 Thou country vast ! O, with what glories frauglit ! 
 What bounteous Nature and thy sons have 
 
 wrought ! 
 Who can but see, the Architect Divine 
 Hath beauty stamped, or grandeur in each line * 
 Whether we view thy ancient forests dim, 
 Or inland seas, o'er which thy eagles skim ; — 
 The rugged sides of Rocky Mountains climb, 
 (Creeping o'er footsteps of old Father Time •) 
 Where soaring Condor likes to build his nest, 
 And snowy clouds their weary pinions rest : 
 Whether among thy towering cliffs one toils, 
 Above where Neptune's Ocean cauldron boils ! 
 Upon some bluff with an astonished eye, 
 See giant Mississippi striding by ! — 
 Or view Niag'ra's waters angry grow. 
 And madly leap into the gulph below ; 
 Making the strongest nerv'd grow dumb with awe, 
 And feci himself an atom or a straw ! 
 (Dread Falls! Nature methinks took pains with you, 
 To show the insect man what she could do ! ) 
 Or stand, where gushing mountain torrents dash, 
 And gaily skip, and in the sunlight flash j — 
 Stray where gay, native flowers do sweetly bloom, 
 And load the air around with sweet perfume ; — 
 Or see at night the glittering fire-flies glance, 
 Like fairies' sparkling eyes in midnight dance ; 
 
46 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Or rove at sunset's holy hour, and gaze 
 
 Where some deep river smoothly, slowly strays, 
 
 Reflecting hues the Western skies unfold, 
 
 That seem to change it to a stream of gold I 
 
 Or be where zephyrs, like a living thing. 
 
 Wave the tall prairie grass with passing wing, 
 
 Graceful, and free from each unwelcome sound, 
 
 As tho' a band of Angels hovered round : — 
 
 Or steal along where gems of liquid glass. 
 
 Deep in the woods are set, and fringed with grass j 
 
 Where sweetly sheltered, peacefully they rest. 
 
 Nor rudest gale scarce heaves their tranquil 
 
 breast : — 
 They woo with modest beauty like a bride. 
 And tempted wild swans cleave their liquid tide; 
 E'en savage breasts must yield the tribute, due 
 To thy sublimity and beauty too ! 
 
 By thy bold sons' undaunted enterprise, 
 What rapid monuments of glory rise : — 
 What various proofs of industry and skill, 
 Are seen around, on vale, and plain, and hill. 
 The forest wild, as if by wizard wand, 
 Recedes apace before their powerful hand. 
 
 Where quick-eared, timid deer once cautious 
 walk'd. 
 And broad-horned moose aforetime proudly 
 stalk'di 
 
THE exile's lay. 47 
 
 Where tne black sullen bear hath nightly prowled, 
 The owlet screamed, and hungry wolves have 
 
 howled j — 
 Where wigwams stoodj on slopes by rolling waters; 
 Where toiled, and wept, rude Nature's dark-eyed 
 
 daughters ; 
 Where painted Indian aimed his arrow well, 
 Hunted, or bravely fought, and nobly fell : 
 Protecting ashes of his kindred dead. 
 From the profanity of white man's tread, 
 Before whose haughty march did scorn to flinch, 
 The right of soil disputing inch by inch : 
 And where their dance and council-fires were 
 
 seen, 
 Now waves the grain, and smiled the living green : 
 There, cottage homes are seen, with cultured 
 
 flowers. 
 Or mansions fair, with lovely pleasure bowers j 
 Or cities rise, with, steeples, turrets, domes. 
 Where thousands dwell in " brick and mortar *' 
 
 homes : — 
 Sage Learning strays with meditative Art, 
 And anxious thousands crowd the busy mart 
 Or flocks of sheep and cattle safely feed, 
 And hastes on demon wing the " iron steed," 
 With scorching breath and firy glaring eyes, 
 Like Satan racing, and a Pope the prize ; 
 And like him too, it does not always win : 
 In leaping streams, it sometimes tumbles in. 
 
48 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Or distant friends converse with talking wire, 
 As though botli sat down by one chimney fire j 
 Or news is borne o'er mountains, plains, and vales, 
 With speed more wonderful than eastern tales j 
 Which to believe one's faith doth surely tax, 
 That news '* out west " is published neat as wax. 
 Three hours before His sent from Halifax ' 
 
 Where Red man skimmed with fragile birch 
 canoe. 
 O'er streams, and lakes, and Ocean's deeper blue j 
 Now ships do ply, and distant products bring, 
 And steamers fly with monstrous dipping wing j 
 Their clippers clip it o'er the wave indeed, 
 And beat the world in beauty and in speed j 
 Their steamers skim along with conscious pride, 
 As on the deep those palaces do ride : 
 And cataracts, that echo far away. 
 Robed in their glowing, rainbow-colored spray, 
 By night alone the vales with music fill, 
 And wondering list by day, to noisy mill. 
 
 The last of the poor Indians will have fled, 
 Their nation's funeral rites alas be said j 
 And the last echo of their voice, where they 
 Once happy flourished, will have died away, 
 And nought be left but their transmitted name, 
 And volumes vast of legendary fame : 
 Poor Afric's bitter tears and dripping blood. 
 Will all be washed by Freedom's ocean flood ; 
 
THE exile's lay. 49 
 
 The whip with clotted gore and clanking chain, 
 Will broken be, and never used again. 
 Long centuries will unfold their unknown pages, 
 (With changes vast,) till they amount to ages, 
 Before thy countless acres will be tilled, 
 Before thy endless vallies will be jfilled : 
 Where a mild sway thy scattered millions own. 
 Between the Frigid and the Torrid zone : 
 Where east and west thou stretchest far away, 
 Unbounded art thou, save by Ocean's sway j 
 Where the Atlantic's trade and commerce ride, 
 And smooth Pacific heaves her gentle tide. 
 
 I glory in thy strength and spirit high, 
 That did a monarch's giant strength defy j 
 When tyrant parent wronged her well- grown 
 
 child, 
 Who e'er was loyal 'neath her treatment mild : 
 Who at Quebec, with filial foot and gory, 
 Stood by her side, and added to her glory ! 
 When thou with growing strength to aid her went, 
 To sweep Gaul's Empire from the Continent ! 
 Before thy brief minority had passed, 
 A storm was gathering o'er thee, black and fast*) 
 But thou didst stand by wrongs stung into rage, 
 And unscathed British Lioa didst engage ! 
 After full many a struggle with thy foe, 
 Thy fortune's tide oft ebbing too and fro, 
 King of the forest crouched to thee full low ! 
 
50 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Then Europe took new courage, Freedom smiled, 
 And gazed with rapture on her new-born child ' 
 Harsh were the sounds that ushered in its birth : 
 Artillery's roar, that shook the trembling earth, 
 The crack of musketry, and clang of arms ! 
 While cannon's flashy revealed the infant's charms ! 
 Above its head^ thy conquering eagle soared, 
 Delighted eyes the glorious form adored : 
 Around keen-edgedj triumphant swords, were 
 
 gleaming, 
 And in the breeze, victorious standards streaming ! 
 The pall of battle-smoke soon clear'd away : 
 Again the sun shot out its cheerful ray ; 
 A strain went echoing far upon the blast : 
 '' Our shrouded stormy sky, is clear at last ; 
 *' The bays from tyrant mother's brow are torn^ 
 *' And by victorious injured sons are worn : 
 *' And Liberty, fair child, at last is born ! 
 *' Now wounded Despotism bleeds and groans, 
 " And for his wrongs, with agony atones : 
 " Our glorious Leader, tribute due shall have, 
 *' Hail ! Washington ! the champion of the brave I 
 **The task assigned thee, thou hast nobly done, 
 " With deeds immortal, thou our rights hast won ; 
 " You braved a tyrant foe's colossal strength, 
 *' And more than e'er we asked, is ours at length j 
 " You snapped a mighty chain, our country's fetter, 
 " And the whole world must ever be thy debtor ' 
 " Rejoice, ye hills, and vales, and plains around ; 
 
THE exile's lay. 51 
 
 " Ye cloud-capped mountains ! echo back the 
 
 sound ! 
 '' Ride on in triumph now each perfumed breeze, 
 " And sweetly kiss, more graceful waving trees j 
 *' Dance on in glee each crystal flowing stream, 
 ti For ' rights of man ' are now no more a dream. 
 " Ye mighty rivers ! roll along in pride ! 
 "To meet old conscious Ocean's swelling tide ! 
 **Look down, resplendent sun ! and smile to see, 
 " Your rays illume homes of the brave and free ! 
 "But oh ! ye light- winged evening- zephyrs, sigh, 
 " You've passed above where martyr'd patriots 
 
 lie ; 
 " Ye drooping willows weep, your branches wave 
 " O'er gallant hearts, who've found a soldier's 
 
 grave I 
 ** Moan through the groves, each nightly passing 
 
 " In sympathy with wives' and orphans' wail I " 
 
 What volumes would it fill, to tell the story 
 Of all thy ills from open foe and Tory : 
 From time when flashing torch of war was lit, 
 Until its horrid glaring ceased to flit : 
 "While idle plough-shares rusted in the field, 
 And vales, and hills did not their tribute yield ; 
 While many a hearth, with bitter tears were wet, 
 And many a sigh was heaved, of deep regret 
 For husbands, fathers, sons, and lovers, slain. 
 Or struggling were, on crimson battle-plain ! 
 
52 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Ah ! little recked old George the royal foe, 
 His deeds of desolation blood and woe ! 
 Forgot how royalty at home, once shmk away 
 Before the injured people's iron sway ; 
 Forgot that Puritans were fiery veined, 
 Forgot the block, his predecessor stained ! 
 But slept, and dreamed, that since stern Cromwell 
 
 died. 
 Freedom had been a constant ebbing tide j 
 Nor Bunker Hill, nor Saratoga's stroke, 
 The fatal slumber of the monarch broke . 
 When Yorktown's thunder o'er the ocean crossed j 
 And he awoke, a Continent was lost ! 
 On western shores, the people's Reign begun, 
 When he awoke a Continent was won ! 
 
 By thy solemn forest aisles. 
 Where the woodnymph sweetly smi es j 
 Lakes, gay mirrors of the skies, 
 Where the wild fowl floats and flies j 
 Majesty of mountain's height. 
 Where the eagles point their flight j 
 Praries (with their forest strand,) 
 Like a sea turned into land, 
 By Omnipotent command ! 
 Beauty of thy vales and dells. 
 Music of thy sleighinj^ bells : 
 Ringing merry, sweet, and wild, 
 Like the laughter of a child ; 
 Singing, witty mocking-bird, 
 
THE exile's lay. 53 
 
 Catching every sound that's heard ; 
 
 Bob-o-]ink with plumage gay j 
 
 Voice of thrush at dawn of day j 
 
 Evening dance of fiery flies : 
 
 By thy clear and sunny skies, 
 
 Mighty rivers rolling waters, 
 
 And thy fair and cultur'd daughters, — 
 
 Who in beauty will compare, 
 
 With their sex, aye, any where ; 
 
 By each educated son, 
 
 Who doth stoop nor cringe to none ; 
 
 By their courage, and their daring, 
 
 For no dangers ever caring ; 
 
 And their quick inventive skill, 
 
 Boundless enterprising will ; 
 
 By the welcome hand you lift. 
 
 To the exiles, who here drift^ 
 
 O'er the waters, o'er the sea, 
 
 To where Freedom smiles on thee ; 
 
 Where they (as all ought to) can, 
 
 Feel the dignity of man ! 
 
 Where no titled nabobs swell. 
 
 And no humble " subjects " dwell j 
 
 Where each son is born true heir. 
 
 To the Presidential chair : 
 
 A more honorable throne, 
 
 Than those Kings and Emp'rors own ! 
 
 For 'tis always filled with ref'rence 
 
 To thy judging people's pref 'rence j 
 
54 THE exile's LA.Y. 
 
 And its occupant must be, 
 
 Man of good ability ; 
 
 While in Monarchies, a throne 
 
 Falls by chance to some dull drone j 
 
 And his people kneel down flat, 
 
 Thanking God for one at that : 
 
 By thy schools to each one free, 
 
 Nurseries of Liberty j 
 
 And thy generous bounteous store, 
 
 Thou dispensest to the poor ; 
 
 By thy Freedom's beacon light! 
 
 May it shine forth ever bright, 
 
 And its clear and glorious ray, 
 
 Be reflected far away : 
 
 By each church with graceful spire, 
 
 Pointing to a country higher. 
 
 By the glorious glittering page, 
 Of thy brief historic age : 
 Rapid course of onward flight, 
 And thy honors won in fight 
 Twice with kindred-blooded foe, 
 And on plains of Mexico. 
 
 By a name thou hast unrolled, 
 Written down in type of gold ; 
 Stainless matchless, Washington ! 
 And the wonders by him done : 
 Soldier ! Sage ! and Patriot ! 
 Beauty he from chaos wrought : 
 
THE exile's lay. 55 
 
 Freedom's standard he unfurled, 
 Fought, and won the Western world: 
 Who can weave a garland now ? 
 Worthy of such noble brow ? 
 Nature's model ! Nature's King ! 
 Who can worthy tribute bring ? 
 Hero of the star and stripe ! 
 Where, ah, where, s thy prototype ? 
 If thou hast a mate sublime, 
 He is in the womb of Time ! 
 
 By his generals, brave and true, 
 Wayne, and Knox, and others who 
 Green remain' in mem'ry yet. 
 And none more than Lafayette. 
 By more recent heroes' fame 
 Harrison's, and Jackson's name, 
 Glorious battles Taylor fought, 
 Fame of scientific Scott : 
 By thy naval hero's bays. 
 Won by deeds beyond all praise : 
 Only deeds that ever broke, 
 Th' charmed spell round English oak ! 
 Youthful Perry on the lakes, 
 Doing all he undertakes j 
 Spite of foes, valliant and daring, 
 Spite of fate the victory bearing j 
 Hull and Bainbridge on the sea, 
 And McDonough's victory j 
 
56 THE exile's lay. 
 
 Chivalrous Decatur's grave, 
 
 None more true, and none more brave . 
 
 Lawrence with his dying lip, 
 
 Shouting, *' Dont give up the ship / " 
 
 By tliy living poets, who 
 
 Have a noble task to do : 
 
 I sing thy deeds with native lyre, 
 
 Touch Columbia's heart of fire : 
 
 By thy Bryant's swelling song, 
 
 Sounding sweet, and echoing long ; 
 
 Cool Longfellow's sparkling glow, 
 
 Rich as diamonds on the snow j 
 
 Wliittier good, and Willis gay. 
 
 Witty Holme's and Saxe's lay ; 
 
 Sweet and christian Sigourney, 
 
 Honor to her sex and thee : 
 
 Irving's sweet poetic prose, 
 
 Which true pathos does disclose j 
 
 Cooper's sounding, thrilling story, 
 
 Arthur, teaching moral glory • 
 
 (By his tales in virtue great. 
 
 Would that more would imitate ;) 
 
 By thy Franklin's great renown. 
 
 He who charmed the lightning down j 
 
 By thy orators of power, 
 
 Who stood by in trying hour j 
 
 Patrick Henry's kindling fire, 
 
 Adam's independent ire ; 
 
 By thy Webster, and thy Clay, 
 
 /Would that they were here to-day, 
 
THE exile's lay. 67 
 
 With their mighty, rolling thunder, 
 To rend treachery's wall asunder I) 
 By thy science and thy arts, 
 Fulton's bold inventive parts j 
 Whitney's, West's, and Allston's fame, 
 Powers, and a Stewart's name j 
 By all we are now beholding, 
 And the future that's unfolding ; 
 By thy blood and language too, 
 I claim kindred still to you : 
 (Loyalty will strive in vain. 
 Nature will assert her reign ;) 
 And have sworn (whatever be mine,) 
 That in future, I am thine : 
 Thine Columbia till I die. 
 And I'm happy in the tie. 
 
 Great as thou art, though loud thy sounding 
 story, 
 Liberty's temples are thy greatest glory. 
 On hill, and plain, by winding stream they rise, 
 And point their lofty domes toward the skies. 
 For every true American's abode, 
 Hath smiling Liberty, its household god. 
 The sound of bell, on sabbath, sacred falls, 
 But Freedom's worshipper as sweetly calls ; 
 From bench, and field, from valley, hill and plain, 
 Bidding stern La,bor, from his toil refrain 
 And hie to task less holy, but to duty. 
 Involving the sublime in moral beauty ' 
 
58 THE exile's lay. 
 
 At church the poor man feels that he is poor, 
 While on the bench he sits behind the door ; 
 At church the rich man feels that he is such, 
 And thinks himself defiled by poor man's touch : 
 But here, the honest workman feels his strength, 
 Grows head and shoulders higher in civil length ! 
 
 'Tis here impartial Justice doth preside 
 Unholy hands- of tyrants being tied ; 
 Pride is abashed ! High birth has nought to win, 
 And Riches lurk around, but ne'er go in ! 
 Here high and low all on a level come, 
 Frame local laws, and vote the needed sum j 
 With voice, and ballot, all their rights secure : 
 The great Republic shown in miniature ! 
 Hail humble Ballot-Box ! thou quiet source. 
 Of mighty strength ! Thou Archimedean force ! 
 Thy votes that fall, still as a snowy shower, 
 United gain an avalanchine power ! 
 
 These are the crystal springs, the riv'lets' head, 
 By which the streams of liberty are fed. 
 Those brooks flow murmuring and swelling on, 
 Till by and by they sweetly blend in one j 
 That rolls in grandeur, and greets thirty more. 
 And heave along with a majestic roar I 
 Its mighty voice is borne upon the vast. 
 As it swells onward to the ocean past : 
 Down-trodden distant nations' hearts do bound, 
 To hear the music of its cheering sound j 
 
THE exile's lay. 59 
 
 While Autocrats, with dark, foreboding pun, 
 Think their dead march already is begun ! 
 
 That temple grand, the dome of which doth 
 gleam, 
 Near the Potomac's smoothly gliding stream, 
 Is where the Western Empire's voice is heard, 
 Is where a giant nation's heart is stirred j 
 O ! what a glorious and majestic sight, 
 Where thrice ten nations into one unite .' 
 Columbia ! what an influence thou can'st wield, 
 By smile or frown, to punish or to shield ! 
 What rising power, for virtue or for crime : 
 O ! may'st thou grow as spotless as sublime ! 
 
 Then the Old World beholding will admire, 
 And light its torch at Freedom's sacred fire : 
 The poor oppressed, its glorious beam will hail-, 
 And bloated tyrants will affiighted quail ! 
 Their long unrighteous reign at last be doomed, 
 And heartless Despotism be entombed : 
 His chain reduced to atoms, hurled as chaff, 
 And smiling Justice write his epitaph ! 
 While wicked spirits from beneath, emerge, 
 To mourn their loss, and howl a dismal dirge ! 
 Pale Want, and degradation's dreary night, 
 Will flee away, at Freedom's holy light, 
 That must illumine, and be flashing yet 
 On Lisbon's tower, and Moscow's minaret. 
 
THE INDIAN.-A FRAGMENT. 
 
 How many times the moon had filled her horn, 
 How many times they plucked the golden corn, 
 How many fruitless centuries had fled 
 Unnoticed o'er the heedless Red man's head, 
 How long the sullen, crumbling, craggy, steep, 
 Had watched and nodded to the flowing deep, 
 Ere western waters knew a white man's prow, 
 Or dusky savage did to white man bow : 
 No lore, or sage tradition, did betray, 
 No record, date, or chronicle had they. 
 While they could whoop, and dance, and fight, and 
 
 chase. 
 Time was no object to the forest race : 
 From month to year, from year to century. 
 No change was wrought, no change they wished 
 
 to see. 
 As Nature placed, so Europeans found them, 
 With all they could appreciate around them. 
 Above, around, for nature far less rough, 
 Was beauty and sublimity enough. 
 Without man's aid to polish, and impart 
 Fresh beauties by the touch of magic art. 
 
THE INDIAN. 61 
 
 The gorgeous sun burning in heaven^s blue arch, 
 The moon, and stars, upon their midnight march j 
 The flying cloud, the rainbow's lovely hues. 
 And holy twilight, with its pearly dews j 
 The painted wing of bird and butterfly, 
 And flowers of every shade, and every dye ; 
 And woman's voice, and woman's smile was there, 
 (With which no sound, or object can compare j) 
 She fearless roamed, the Empress of the woods! 
 Nymph of the ocean, rivers, lakes, and floods ! 
 
 The Indians' lands were broad, their wants were 
 
 few. 
 And straight from Nature's bounteous stores they 
 
 drew. 
 Disease was rare, and when it did disturb, 
 'Twas soon removed by well appointed herb : 
 They had no rum, or mineral drug, or pill, 
 No liquor shops, or doctors there to kill ! 
 For silks, and broad-cloths, they did never fret, 
 Or' sigh o'er yellow-covered novelette ; 
 No lawyers there, were taking cash for lies. 
 And pulling wool all neatly o'er their eyes j 
 They had no long black catalogues of crimes 
 Peculiar to the whites of other times. 
 
 By day they hunted, fished, and lounged, and 
 roamed, 
 Free as the streams that down their mountains 
 foamed : 
 
62 THE INDIAN. 
 
 At nigbt, the husbands to their wigwams came, 
 To cheer their squaws and papoose with their 
 
 game j 
 And youths strayed forth in solitary shades, 
 To meet their favorite, black-haired, dark-eyed, 
 
 maids ; 
 Or piled the wood for the night council fires, 
 And listened to their patriarchs and sires, 
 On peace, or war, or deeds of glory dwell. 
 Till nerves grew strong, and firy breasts did swell ; 
 For well those Nature's statesmen, sage and hoary, 
 Knew how to move by floods of oratory. 
 
 These were the Red man's sunny, palmy days , 
 A volume might be written in their praise j 
 How bold they fought, how independent stood, 
 No rich, no poor, all rovers of the woqd : 
 Each arm was strong, every heart was brave ; 
 No Tyrant's foot to crush, no suppliant slave : 
 And arbitrary fashion's mighty sway 
 [nto their woods had never found its way. 
 
 But Progress had design'd they should give place, 
 CJnto a fairer and a nobler race ; 
 As wild fruits, and wild flowers, all o'er creation, 
 Give place to those of highest cultivation. 
 Thus fate denied their golden hours should last, 
 A cloud was gathering eastward thick and fast j 
 Their noon of happiness was drawing nigh j 
 Columbus utters a bold prophecy. 
 
THE IlSTDIAiq-. 63 
 
 Sublime as poets make an ancient god ! 
 Or King commanding vvith a silent nod ! 
 He, in the Majesty of genius, stood, 
 Pointing toward th' Atlantic's mystic flood ! 
 Telling astonished Europe there must be, 
 Another continent beyond the sea ! 
 While millions laughed, Sages and Monarchs 
 
 smiled. 
 And thought his speculation sounded wild. 
 
 The royal aid he asked was long denied ; 
 Meanwhile in dreams, he, new-found lands espied, 
 Which their surpassing riches did unfold. 
 Where crystal streamlets ran o'er beds of gold ; 
 Where precious stones, as thick as pebbles lay, 
 And diamonds shot afar their dazzling ray : 
 Whose natives gentle were, whose women fair. 
 Whose skies were bright and perfumed was the air j 
 And smiling maids rich fruits to him did bring. 
 And singing birds made every valley ring. 
 Then in his dream returned and told his story. 
 And covered was with honor and with glory ! 
 
 Thus was he urged to fr^sh appeals, until 
 He did succeed, as genius ever will. 
 
 Alas ! that great man saw not in his sleep, 
 (For if he had, he ne'er had crossed the deep ;) 
 The timid natives, butcjiered for their gold ; 
 And human beings, bought like swine, and sold ! 
 
64 THE INDIAN. 
 
 That good man never deemed his virgin soil 
 Would need such blood, or unrequited toil ! 
 His ships have anchored on the western sea, 
 And, unsuspecting Red man, where is he ? 
 He's on his way toward the Pacific's wave : 
 His funeral march is toward his nation's grave ' 
 
 Is it not true that Nature did deplore, 
 When the first bark drew near Columbia's shore ? 
 That she his future did anticipate, 
 And sympathized with the poor Indian's fate ? 
 That the veil'd sun went mourning to his bed, 
 And pensive sky wept tear-drops from o'erhead ; 
 Black clouds did hurry by with winged speed. 
 Like warriors hastening to some fearful deed : 
 The moon did hide her pale and sorrowing face, 
 And not a star gleamed through the vaulted space j 
 The mountains did more dark and solemn grow, 
 And seemed to frown on vale and plain below ! 
 No sound of mirth, no evening note was heard, 
 From wigwam door, or solitary bird : 
 The forest bent in awe before the gale. 
 And Nature sent a melancholy wail ; 
 Rivers and streams, did on in sadness glide, 
 Overhanging cliffs re-echo'd the hoarse tide ; 
 And on the deep in anger looked, and scowled, 
 (While ghost-like winds throughout their caverns 
 
 howled) ! 
 And raised their hoary heads to challenge and defy, 
 The thunderbolt that rent the blackened sky ' 
 
BUSINESS AND RETIREMENT. 
 
 Farewell thou dusty, busy, crowded street, 
 With hateful, jarring, sounds and sultry heat j 
 Where perfumed breeze, in summer never plays, 
 And winter's sun scarce sheds its slanting rays j 
 Wiiere piles of granite, bricks and mortar rise. 
 And block the view where'er we turn our eyes ; 
 Adieu, ye marts, ye solitary places, 
 With rolling tide of dumb, cold, human faces : 
 Relief comes only when fair eyes impart. 
 In cheerful glances, sunshine on the heart. 
 
 Farewell ! a glad farewell to business life ! 
 To cankering cares, anxieties and strife ! 
 To dull, prosaic bargaining and driving. 
 For ever sweating, hurrying, or contriving : 
 The thousand little irritable things. 
 The web that business round its victims flings : 
 Its shade that hangs eternally around. 
 Weight that oft draws the noblest to the ground ! 
 Who e'er may fettered be by love of gain, 
 I'll not be bound, e'en by a golden chain ! 
 When gold is all the prize, I scorn the race, 
 And proudly leave it for the world to chase. 
 
66 BUSINESS AND KETIREMENT. 
 
 It ne'er shall clog the pinions of my soul ; 
 E'en were 1 sure to win the shining goal. 
 
 Hail I sheltering woods ! to your embrace I come, 
 Ye giant evergreens, sublimely dumb ! 
 Impenetrable bulwark 'gainst each blast, 
 That harmless o'er my lovely cot hath past ; 
 Extend your arms and nod me we welcome home, 
 While through your shadowy aisles again I roam. 
 Hail gushing spring, and brook, fields, hill, and 
 
 vale. 
 With songs of birds, and gentle fragrant gale j 
 Ye silver lakes ! gay mirrors, mimic skies, 
 What magic beauty in your bo-som lies ! 
 The moon delighted o'er your surface sweeps. 
 And timid star, upon your water sleeps ; 
 While wood-nymphs hover round with many a 
 
 prank. 
 And view their image from each mossy bank. 
 
 Hail ! generous friends and neighbors ! on whose 
 face, 
 I see a smile, and token of embrace ; 
 I come again to roam among your flowers, 
 I come again to share your happy hours ; 
 I come with hope, health, gratitude, and pride. 
 Joyful to live, and labor by your side : 
 With strength of arm, throw obstacles aside, 
 Until my lands and heme are beautified. 
 
BUSINESS AKD BETIEEMENT. 67 
 
 Hail I leisure hours ! to wander with the muse, 
 At eventide, and brush distilling dews, 
 From tender blade, and see the twilight star 
 Peep mildly out from the blue arch afar : 
 To see the gorgeous gold and orange dye. 
 That spread sublimely o'er the western sky ! 
 When blushing sun (not backs of chimneys) hides, 
 But down beyond the purple mountains glides . 
 To watch the rising moon, over yon hill. 
 And listen to the waterfall, or rill. 
 Gay, leisure hours ! o'er favorite books to pore. 
 Or welcome friends, and neighbors to my door : 
 I love your careless ease, bestowing time 
 To woo the muse, and dash a hasty rhyme. 
 
 Float on gay world, on life's tumultuous stream ! 
 While I lay on its sunny bank, and dream. 
 Roll on ye seasons ! there can never be 
 Season so cheerless, but hath charms for me. 
 Remorseless Time ! you, too, may roll along. 
 Thou hast no sting, while we do nothing wrong ! 
 Death ! if you come, (while deeds of virtue shine,) 
 Ours is the glorious victory ! not thine ! 
 
KOSSUTH'S ADDRESS 
 
 TO THE NORTHERN DESPOTS. 
 
 Gloat, ye despots, o'er my fall ! 
 Shade our vales with tyrant's pall .' 
 Drench our Country with your gall ! 
 
 Gag fair Liberty ! 
 Banish me beyond the wave, 
 Make each countryman a slave, 
 But beware ! their hearts are brave : 
 
 Tyrants you shall see ! 
 
 By ten thousand brethren slain ! 
 By their ghosts on battle plain ! 
 Wishing they could die again ! 
 
 In their country's cause : 
 By each mother's solemn rpoan ! 
 Maiden's tear I and widow's groan ! 
 Independence overthrown, 
 
 And our trampled laws. 
 
 By our spade and plowshare's rust ! 
 Wasted fields ! and orphan's crust ! 
 Pride awhile laid in the dust, 
 Deadly hates that burn I 
 
kossxtth's address. 69 
 
 Traitors ! by your treachery ! 
 Tyrants ! by your tyranny ! 
 Butchers ! by your butchery ! 
 You shall lesson learn. 
 
 By my head above the sod ! 
 By my country ! and my God ! 
 Hungary shall not be trod, 
 
 Long in dust by ye ! 
 Victors may awhile be flushed j 
 Hungary's voice is only hushed ; 
 Her proud spirit is not crushed, 
 
 And can never be. • 
 
 Keep awhile your northern bounds. 
 While my country heals her wounds, 
 Then pour in your Cossack hounds ! 
 
 Slow or unawares : 
 In impregnable array, 
 We'll be ready for the day, 
 And your wicked progress stay. 
 By our sword and spears. 
 
 Come and bring a " Persian " host. 
 We shall have more cause to boast. 
 While our joyful song and toast, 
 
 Shall be Liberty. 
 Like the rolling billow's lash I 
 Or an avalan chine crash ! 
 Hungary's sons will forward dash ! 
 Through the enemy. 
 
70 Kossuth's address. 
 
 Then ye'll see your hirelings flying, 
 Hear their groans and see them dying ! 
 Sons of Freedom at them flying ! 
 
 Bold and manfully ! 
 Then you will your lesson find, 
 Northern bear ! and Despot blind ! 
 Tyrants gold can never bind^ 
 
 Those who will be free ' 
 
TRIBUTE 
 
 TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIERS WHO FELL LN THE 
 MEXICAN WAR. 
 
 Far away from their homes in the land of the free, 
 Where mothers and maidens at eventide weep ; 
 
 'Neath the broad passing shade of the tropical tr^e, 
 Ah ! many a hero in calmness doth sleep. 
 
 Where Taylor his laurels so gloriously won, 
 
 And Scott added more to the bays on his brow j 
 
 No foe did they fear, no odds did they shun, 
 
 Whose stout arms by death are laid motionless 
 now. 
 
 In many a vale where their cannon have thundered 
 And their eagles have soared upon hill, plain 
 and shore j 
 Where the enemies' ranks they scattered and sun- 
 dered, 
 They are resting, to muster to battle no more ! 
 
 Sigh over them zephyrs ! dews, weep on the grass, 
 That's waving where brave hearts are moulder- 
 ing beneath : 
 
72 TRIBUTE, ETC. 
 
 Ye peasants tread light on the sod as ye pass : 
 It hides those who bow to no conqueror but 
 death ! 
 
 Columbians, your deeds with delight will be told, 
 Your bright page of hist'ry glad eyes oft will 
 greet ; 
 Where Mexicans found Anglo-Saxons were bold 
 For your stroke it was strong as your slumbers 
 are sweet. 
 
SHINE ON MY PATH AGAIN, 
 
 STAR OF MY SOUL. 
 
 Shine on my path again, star of my soul ! 
 Bright as the silver rays from the tiorth pole, 
 Lovely as moonlight on night's sleeping waters ; 
 Brightest and dearest of earth's fairest daughters ! 
 
 Come with thy harp again ! sweet was its note,* 
 Still round my heart its soft echoes do float j 
 Waking me still to love, rapture and song ! 
 Strike thy gay harp, and its soft notes prolong. 
 
 Come again vision of beauty to me ! 
 Angel, or fairy, or nymph of the sea ! 
 Mortal or spirit sent down from the skies, 
 Bring again heaven in the light of thine eyes ! 
 
 Sweet was our pleasure as young poet's drearti. 
 Swiftly it passed as the bark on the stream j 
 Mem'ry be true, hold this dear treasure fast, 
 Bliss then denied me, I'll dwell on the past ! 
 
 Shine on my path again, star of my soul! 
 Strike thy gay harp, let its soft echoes roll ! 
 Vision of beauty ! oh, come, I implore ! 
 Come again to me, and leave me no more. 
 
KATIE FARRE. 
 
 At midnight I was dreaming, 
 Of thee, my Katie Farre ; 
 
 Thine eyes were on me beaming, 
 Like pensive evening star. 
 
 Thy raven hair was flowing, 
 In ringlets glossy bright j 
 
 O'er cheeks with crimson glowing, 
 And bosom snowy white. 
 
 As thou wert o'er me bending, 
 To shelter me from harm ; 
 
 All loveliness was blending, 
 In one united charm. 
 
 The miser o'er his treasure, 
 His glittering, golden heap j 
 
 An angel for his pleasure. 
 Watching an infknt's sleep j 
 
 Is less intent and tender. 
 
 Than thou in fancy seemed ; 
 
 Whils't with thy form so slender, 
 Wert watching while I dreamed ! 
 
KATIE FARRE. 75 
 
 I strove to get a kiss love, * 
 
 But as I raised my head ; 
 1 was denied the bliss love, 
 
 I woke and thou had'st fled ! 
 
 O ! come again, I pray, love, 
 
 la dreams like beaming star ! 
 O ! come ! and longer stay love ! 
 
 Angelic Katie Farre ! i 
 
I FOUND A PAIR MADEN. 
 
 I found a fair maiden from Albion's shore, 
 As pure as a gem from old Ocean's rich store : 
 That maiden was fair as a fair one could be, 
 1 loved that fair maiden from over the sea. 
 
 Her hair was jet black, her dark eye flashed fire, 
 
 Whenever excited by rapture or ire j 
 
 'Twas an eye that could scorn, 'twas an eye that 
 
 could dare ; 
 But languishing love was seldom seen there. 
 
 On her face, smiles and roses together were blend- 
 ing, 
 Her song was like music from seraph descending ; 
 Intelligence on that fair brow took its seat j 
 Her motions were graceful, her form was complete. 
 
 Her home and her friends on her heart were engra- 
 ven : 
 
 They were to her loadstone, chart, north star and 
 haven : 
 
 Like the dove from the Ark, she went forth to roam, 
 
 But finding no Olive branch, sighed to come home. 
 
I FOUND A FAIR MAIDEN. 77 
 
 1 woed that fair maiden, but ah ! long in vain, 
 She longed to recross the Atlantic again : 
 For Love in that heart like a seraph lay sleeping, 
 While she for her home and her kindred was weep- 
 ing : 
 
 At last Love awoke in that bosom so dear j 
 And she smiled a consent through many a tear j 
 She wept ! for the vow that did bind us may sever. 
 Her home and her friends from that fond Jieart for- 
 ever. 
 
LINES 
 
 ON VISITING A YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL NIECE ON 
 HER DEATH BED. 
 
 With soft step, I advanced to the bedside of one 
 
 Who erewhile was all beauty, and spirit and glee, 
 And whose laughter rang out j for all sadness to 
 her, 
 Was as strange as 'twas to the blithe bird on the 
 tree. 
 
 I gazed upon her, but ah ! she who had hail'd. 
 With smiles of affection my approach in time 
 past J 
 Was now speechless, insensible, wasted and pale. 
 And each hour portending her next would be 
 last ! 
 
 Stern Death's pioneer, pale Disease, had made 
 way ; 
 And the monster himself was approaching with 
 
 The esteemed and the fair, he designed for his prey, 
 Human aid could not rescue, Death would not 
 rece4p | 
 
LINES. 79 
 
 Lovely flower ! too tender to thrive here below, 
 
 At the breath of Disease thou art falling decayed : 
 He who planted, thee here, will transplant thee to 
 grow, 
 Where storms never gather, and flowers ne'er 
 fade ! 
 
 Fair maid I when thy last hour shall come, may 
 death steal 
 O'er thy senses like slumber ! all thy sorrows be 
 o'er : 
 Thy spirit will rise, and earth ope' to conceal 
 A form sweet and lovely, as ever she bore ! 
 
THE BEREAVED AND FRENZIED MOTHER. 
 
 I see thee not, my lovely child, 
 
 In field or meadow now j 
 Where oft thou hast the tuTie beguil'd, 
 And happy with thy playmates smil'd : 
 
 Louisa, where art thou ? 
 
 Nor art thou in the garden straying, 
 
 Where th' rose and liliy grow ; 
 Nor with thy little sister playing j 
 Or in thy secret bower praying : 
 Louisa, where art thou ? 
 
 Hast thou thy home and mirth forsook. 
 
 To sit and watch the flow 
 Of some deep valley's crystal brook, 
 With downcast, melancholy look ? 
 
 Louisa, where art thou ? 
 
 Or art thou on the broad sea shore, 
 
 Watching in sullen woe 
 The tumbling, waves ? to leave no more, 
 (To thee) its welcome, solemn, roar ! 
 
 Louisa, where art thou ? 
 
BEKEAYED AND FKENZIED MOTHER. 81 
 
 Or hast thou climbed some mountain height, 
 
 And, seated on its brow ? 
 Dost view beneath, the raven's flight, 
 Or sea, or streamlet's silvery white ? 
 
 Louisa, where art thou ? 
 
 Alas ! my thoughts have sadly strayed, 
 
 But 1 remember now : 
 Death ! death has seized thee, lovely maid j 
 In yonder grave-yard thou art laid ! 
 Louisa, there art thou ! 
 
 Yes ! yonder new-made grave contains 
 
 That once fair form — Her clay. 
 For ever free from earthly stains, 
 With God and Angels, now she reigns .' 
 Above in endless day. 
 
THE MOTHER'S ROSE. 
 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 Lovliest rose that ever grew! 
 Of finest odor, brightest hue ; 
 Until a sweeping blast did pour, 
 In an untimely, evil hour, 
 Such a sweeping, deadly gust. 
 As to lay it in the dust. 
 
 Yet still a sweet perfume doth rise, 
 E'en though my rose in ruin lies j 
 Looking through futurity, 
 Lost ! enraptured ! lo I see ! 
 Again, by power Divine, my rose, 
 New hues, transcendant fair, disclosed, 
 Dazzling in light, in Paradise it grows I 
 
^TIS SUNSHINE 
 
 WHEREVER THOU ART. 
 
 In cottage, at home, or afar, 
 
 In field, or in deep shady grove ; 
 
 By stream, or wherever you are, 
 On mount, or wherever you rove ; 
 
 The light of thine eyes can impart 
 
 Sweet sunshine, wherever thou art. 
 
 Tho' fogs may obscure the sun, 
 Or thunder clouds darken the sky. 
 
 All gloom thy fair presence doth shun ; 
 There is light in the glance of thine eye ; 
 
 Of daylight itself, thou art part j 
 
 For there's sunshine wherever thou art. 
 
 The sun, should it fail to arise. 
 Or ever from earth fade away, 
 
 I'd see by the light of thine eyes. 
 As plainly as now at mid-day : 
 
 Thou, daylight itself can'st impart, 
 
 For there's sunshine wherever thou art. 
 
84 'tis sunshine. 
 
 Even winter 's bereft of its chills, 
 And languor and weariness flies ; 
 
 One's life is all shorn of its ills, 
 
 'Neath the light of thy lustrous eyes : 
 
 For bliss thou cans't always impart, 
 
 While 'tis sunshine wherever tliou art. 
 
 Thine eyes I may they close not on me ,* 
 Thou sun ! O continue to shine ; 
 
 And my life a long summer shall be, 
 My happiness rapture Divine ! 
 
 There's a fountain of bliss in thy heart ! 
 
 Which makes sunshine wherever thou art. 
 
THE MOTHER'S 
 
 LAMENT FOR HER CHILD. 
 
 In that garden'd enclosure on yonder hill, 
 Where the yew and the drooping willow 
 
 Wave mournfully over full many who sleep 
 In the grave on their cold, earthy pillow. 
 
 Among marbled and costly mementoes, where 
 wealth 
 
 Has been taxed, to do honor to those 
 Who slumber beneath ; there's a little lone grave, 
 
 Where my hopes with my child do repose. 
 
 Tbo' lowly and plain is the monument there, 
 
 Attracting no stranger's bold eye j 
 Affections last tribute, to hastily scan 
 
 And pass without heaving a sigh. 
 
 Enshrined in my memory as lasting as life. 
 Than words carved in marble, more deep 
 
 Is the image of him, 'neath that hillock at rest, 
 For whom his fond mother doth weep. 
 
 That child was as lovely as seraph above, 
 
 And as mild and affectionate too ; 
 And none but a mother can tell what a pang, 
 
 'Twas to bid such an Angel adieu ! 
 
86 THE mother's lament, etc. 
 
 Ye feathery songsters ! sing sweetly around, 
 And ye zephyrs, when spring- thne appears. 
 
 Sigh softly above him, and kiss the green blade, 
 That has often been watered with tears ! 
 
 Rest in peace, gentle boy, now no sound can 
 molest. 
 
 Or danger, or dreams, more affright j 
 Temptation and hardship, you never will know. 
 
 Nor can'st fall from. Ambition's proud height. 
 
 'Till that terrible day, when the trumpet's loud 
 voice. 
 
 Like echoing thunder shall swell 
 O'er mountain and vale, across ocean and sea ! 
 
 I tearfully bid you farewell ! 
 
LITTLE MAIMIE. 
 
 The snow was drifting o'er the hill, 
 Black clouds hung gloomily and still, 
 While I, sad task came to fulfil, 
 To watch by Maimie. 
 
 ] she was such a lovely child, 
 
 Playful, affectionate, and mild. 
 
 And like a little seraph smiled, 
 
 Sweet little Maimie. , 
 
 But winter's breath is cold and chill, 
 And, little fairy, she grew ill j 
 Oh ! would that thou wert living still, 
 Sweet little Maimie. 
 
 Oh ! what a sad and dreary hour, 
 When pale Disease with Demon-power, 
 Did nip such lovely smiling flower, 
 As little Maimie. 
 
 » 
 Ah ! ruthless Death ! how could'st thou seize 
 
 And bear from fond affection's gaze. 
 
 Child of such guileless, winning ways, 
 
 As little Maimie. 
 
88 XITTLE MAIMIE. 
 
 She wears that peaceful look which saith, 
 *' I am asleep : " there comes no breath : 
 Alas ! it is the sleep of death ! 
 Sweet little Maimie. 
 
 Her cheek where once the rose did blow, 
 Is cold and colorless as snow ; 
 And passion's flush will never know, 
 Pale little Maimie. 
 
 Her dirge is on the midnight gale, 
 Her coflin-robe droops from yon nail .' 
 But not more spotless or more pale, 
 Than little Maimie ! 
 
 Oh ! is it right to guard her dust, 
 And rob the Angels of their trust ? 
 So sad, so sweet, they envy must 
 Our task, sweet Maimie ! 
 
 Thou hast thy little brothers left, 
 Thy sister too, is now bereft, 
 And parents' bleeding hearts are cleft 
 By loss of Maimie ! 
 
 To-morrow bears thee sad and slow, 
 And lays thy lovely form full low. 
 While many a heartfelt tear will flow 
 For thee, sweet Maimie ! 
 
LITTLE MAIMIE. 89 
 
 Before to-morrow's night be fled, 
 Thou 'It slumber in thy narrow bed ! 
 And sno ws be drifting o'er thy head ! 
 Sweet little Maimie ! 
 
 Thy spirit here so full of love, 
 Hath taken wing, sweet gentle dove ! 
 And thou art singing songs above, 
 With Angels, Maimie ! 
 
COME TO ME. 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 From all deceit secure j 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 
 With heart all light and pure, 
 Maid of Greenvale. 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 
 When leaden grief you bear j 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 And let me have my share, 
 Maid of Greenvale. 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 With pain or toil oppress'd j 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 And soothe upon my breast, 
 Maid of Greenvale. 
 
 Come to me, come to me. 
 With joyous tokens bearing j 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 
 Gay smiles and roses wearing, 
 Maid of Greenvale. 
 
COME TO ME. 91 
 
 Come to me, come to me, 
 
 To depart again never ! 
 Come to me, thou fair one, 
 
 And dwell with me forever, 
 Maid of Greenvale. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A PIOUS BROTHER. 
 
 He is gone to the heavenly land, 
 
 Now invisible to mortal eyes j 
 To the house which is not made with hands, 
 
 But eternally is in the skies I 
 
 He is gone to the country where toil 
 And weariness are never found j 
 
 He's removed to a far richer soil, 
 
 Where lux'ries spontaneously abound. 
 
 He is gone to the place where all care 
 
 And anxiety are at an end j 
 Every thought of futurity there, 
 
 His unspeakable raptures extend ! 
 
 He is gone where temptations are o'er. 
 And the sounds of oppression are lost ; 
 
 He is free from the pride and the power, 
 Of bad men and all hells' tempting host ! 
 
 He is gone where afflictions are o'er. 
 And no pining or pain can molest j 
 
 The effects of transgression no more. 
 Will disturb or deprive him of rest ! 
 
FABEWELL TO MY NATIVE COT. 
 
 Slowly, slowly on, my steed, '^ 
 
 While I turn to gaze my last j 
 
 On my lovely, native cot, 
 Fading in the distance fast. 
 
 Fondly, fondly do I gaze, 
 
 On that cot I so much prize. 
 Till its white walls scarce I see, 
 
 Through the tears that dim mine eyes I 
 
 Sad, I dash the tear aside, 
 And my lingering eyes still rest 
 
 On that fair, enchanted spot. 
 Of all others, lovM the best ! 
 
 Prized, far more than palaces, 
 
 Is that lovely cot by me, 
 Though they may be built in climes, 
 
 Lovely as fair Italy ! 
 
 But, alas ! months, years must roll, 
 
 Ere 1 pass again that gate ! 
 And my tears in torrents fall. 
 
 As I ponder on my fate. 
 
94 FAEWELL TO MY NATIVE COT. 
 
 Cottage ! time and tempest stand ! 
 
 Shelter those who in thee dwe 11 ! 
 Thou art now in distance lost i 
 
 Farewell, cottage, fare ye well ! 
 
STANZAS 
 
 WRiarCEN AFTER HAVING BEEN ABOUT FIVE WEEKS 
 AT SEA. 
 
 Morn greets me j but not through the glass 
 Of the old diamond window it plays, 
 
 But down through the skylight it sends 
 Its timid and trembling rays. 
 
 I breathe the fresh air now, 'tis true, 
 But not in green mead, lovely sight j 
 
 Above and below all is blue. 
 
 And our ship hurries on in her flight. 
 
 No cottage, with smoke gently rising, 
 
 (The sight, oh how welcome 'twould be) j 
 
 Hill or Valley, with steamlet meand'ring. 
 Nor forest trees waving, I see. X 
 
 I tread 'neath a clear, open sky. 
 
 But not among lambkins and sheep j 
 
 Nor following the plough now am I j 
 Although I am ploughing the deep. 
 
96 STANZAS. 
 
 Night comes, but I'm not at the hearth, 
 With brothers and sisters surrounded, 
 
 Where chat unreserved, and mirth, 
 
 And humor, were cherished unbounded. 
 
 But over our gallant ship's side, 
 I'm leaning, and viewing the foam 
 
 Of remorseless Atlantic's dark wave, 
 
 Three thousand miles distant from home. 
 
 Alas I and as night, sable night, 
 
 O'er the wave draws her dark curtain forth, 
 I retire in sadness to dream 
 
 Of my friends and the land of my birth I 
 
 Yet still there's a ray that is beaming, 
 That pierces the gloom of my breast j 
 
 From hope's lovely star it is gleaming. 
 And it brightly shines out from the West. 
 
 Shine on, lovely star of my hope, 
 May'st thou on my path never set j 
 
 With all obstacles then I can cope. 
 And see freedom and happiness yet. 
 
 Atlantic, May, 1845. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 O, I should like to build, 
 
 A castle in the air, 
 And have it always filled 
 
 With chosen spirits rare ; 
 
 The good, the wise, the great, 
 The modest, pure and fair, 
 
 Together congregate, 
 
 Free from all earthly care. 
 
 And see on stream of time. 
 Mankind float on below, 
 
 Staining its waves with crime. 
 While swift they onward flow. 
 
 Sigh for the poor and needy, 
 Down sinking to dispair. 
 
 Before the strong and greedy 
 Who grab a double share. 
 
 To watch the constant fight. 
 That 's waging fierce and long j 
 
 The virtuous for the right, 
 The wicked for the wrong. 
 
98 STANZAS. 
 
 View mute, inglorious Ease, 
 
 Sitting an imbecile ; 
 With hands upon his knees, 
 
 The neither good nor vile. 
 
 And from that castle high, 
 To send a mighty voice ; 
 
 Making the wicked fly, 
 The virtuous to rejoice. 
 
 To stir the nmtralSj holding 
 The balance of the power • 
 
 Their arms no longer folding j 
 The right would wrong devour. 
 
THE ABSENT LOVER. 
 
 At morn, when the stars, lovely lamps, without 
 number. 
 Are fled, and the sun does in majesty rise 
 On his bright throne of gold in the east, and when 
 slumber, 
 With its shade of oblivion, you shake from your 
 eyes, 
 Then think of me, fair one, now far, far away. 
 
 But when with companions thou may'st be sur- 
 rounded, 
 As gay as the gayest that are to be found, 
 And each face is illumin'd with pleasure unbounded. 
 Where the droll tale is told, or where wit flies 
 around j 
 Then I claim not a thought, being far, far away. 
 
 Yet when evening's dark shadows around thee are 
 coming, 
 And dews are distilling upon the green blade j 
 When by the pale moonlight alone thou art roam- 
 ing, 
 On the hill where we often have lovingly stray'd ; 
 Then I claim a sweet thought tho' I'm far, far away. 
 
 LofC. 
 
100 THE ABSENT LOVEK. 
 
 When the duties and cares of the day are all o'er, 
 
 And thou on thy pillow art sinking to rest ; 
 Think of one whom perchance you may never see 
 more j 
 Breathe a prayer for me, dearest, and I shall be 
 blest. 
 Though far from the fair one, yes far, far away. 
 
LINES TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 AFTER HER RECOVERY FROM A SEVERE AND SUDDEN 
 ILLNESS 
 
 Death came to thy bedside and there made a stand, 
 Gave a wound, then retired with a trembling hand • 
 For a feature so lovely and a form of such fashion. 
 Had moved the grim monster to thoughts of com- 
 passion ; — 
 He whispered : " I will not, I cannot presume 
 To consign such a creature as this to the tomb, 
 I am conquered this time, fairest damsel, recover ; 
 My arms are less welcome than those of thy lover !" 
 
AN IMPROMPTU, 
 
 In reply to a request from Mr. to contribute to the col- 
 umns of the C A , which was accompanied by the 
 
 facetious remark " You havo nothing to do but scratch your 
 head, and hold it over a piece of paper." 
 
 Ambiguous is the recipe, 
 Which you in flattery give to mej 
 
 Whether the scratch turn out 
 A paragraph dull and profuse, 
 Or something lively for your use, 
 
 I am somewhat in doubt. 
 
 This much is certain to my mind, 
 Whether your gentle readers find 
 
 An insect or a gem, 
 The difference can surely be no object : 
 A subject moving, or a moving subject, 
 
 Must be th« same to them. 
 
 If aught I send, I plainly see 
 Your friends will share the good with me. 
 
 Whatever may be said : 
 When one has faculties so dull, 
 A vigorous scratching of the skull, 
 
 Must surely " clear th-e head." 
 
STMZAS ON SEEING A LOVELY GIRL 
 LOOKING SAD. 
 
 See that lovely maiden yonder, 
 With her forehead on her hand ; 
 
 Why she looks so sad and pensive, 
 I should like to understand. 
 
 Mark the silent drooping willows ; 
 
 She might be compared to them ; — 
 Or to lovely blooming roses, 
 
 Hanging to a broken stem. 
 
 Hast thou lost a treasured friend 
 Who was dear to thee, fair maid ? 
 
 Why does grief with sable pinion. 
 Hover round thy lovely head ? 
 
 Or hast thou a lover true. 
 
 Parted from thy side awhile — 
 
 Gone to visit distant climes : 
 Why the sadness of thy smile ? 
 
 O ! for power sweet maid to bless thee ! 
 
 Angel tongue to sympathise ! 
 Seraph softness to caress thee, 
 
 Cheer thy heart, and glad thine eyes ! 
 
LINES ON THE BEATH OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 Farewell to thee, mother ! no more shall I see 
 A glance, or a smile of affection from thee j 
 Recollections of which make my heart overflow : 
 They were such as a mother alone could bestow. 
 
 Farewell to thee, mother ! no more shall 1 hear 
 Thy voice, whether praising or chiding still dear, 
 More endearing by far than of sister or brother : 
 'Twas the voice of a parent, the voice of a mother. 
 
 Farewell to thee, mother ! no more shall I feel 
 Thy tender embrace, all my sorrows to heal — 
 May thy spirit watch over thy wandering child, 
 And cheer and protect me through life's dreary 
 wild! 
 
 When we parted, and ties of endearment did sever, 
 Ah ! little thought I we were parting for ever j 
 And thy kiss, when I left thee to brave the world's 
 
 blast. 
 Would have made my heart broken had I known 
 
 'twas the last. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHEK. 109 
 
 Sad, sad is the thought that the earth is thy bed, 
 That each breeze is a dirge sighing over thy head, 
 That thy home is in darkness, where no voice more 
 
 can greet, 
 Thy companions the worms, and the cold winding 
 
 sheet. 
 
 That thy slumber is death, now no more to awake, 
 Till the trumpet at last the dread silence shall 
 
 break ! 
 That when 1 too shall slumber in death, and decay, 
 My ashes must moulder from thine far away J 
 
 But why dwell on the grave ? it is folly I see. 
 For Death never had any terror for thee ; — • 
 Thy goodness and charity left its perfume. 
 As thou went the true heroine down to the tomb. 
 
 If in death a slight stain on thy soul had been 
 
 found, 
 To have made it unfit for celestial ground ; 
 The tears of thy kindred and friends, and their 
 
 sighs 
 Would have cleansed it and wafted it home to the 
 
 skies ! 
 
 But thy trust was in Christ, the Rock of Salvation, 
 And will stand the dread shock at the wreck of 
 
 creation ! 
 When the earth is dissolved mid the fiery wave, 
 Thou wilt triumph o'er Sin, Death, Hell and the 
 
 Grave I 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF THE VOLUNTARY EXILE. 
 
 Cool breeze of the evening that o'er ocean comes 
 
 swelling, 
 Hast thou any sigh of rememberance telling. 
 From friends far away ? ah ! thou wailest, " I've 
 
 not :" 
 Alas ! can it be I so soon am forgot ! 
 
 A thousand ships came floating over the sea, 
 But they bear neither good nor bad tidings to me :.— . 
 From my birth-place afar, an exile my lot, 
 Alas ! can it be I so soon am forgot ) 
 
 Cold, cold is this world if each sister and brother, 
 In a few years of absence, can forget one another: — 
 Your hearts, are they sealed, frozen, dried up, or 
 
 what * 
 Oh » tell me the reason why I am forgot I 
 
 You are false to the wand'rer who sadly complains, 
 You are false to the blood that flows through your 
 
 veins ! 
 You are false to the tears that at parting were slied ! 
 And false to my hopes and the wish of the dead ! 
 
THE COMPLAINT, ETC. Ill 
 
 Are you travelling so fast to a bright world of bliss, 
 As to snatch not an hour for the duties of this ? 
 To just wave a hand, ere ye go^ to a brother. 
 Bar t'ring joys of this world for the hopes of another ! 
 
 You'll soon be all gone, beyond reach, out of sight, 
 And all will be lost, e'en the track of your flight. 
 Elenora, please stop, see them off one by one. 
 And then you can tell me which way they have 
 gone. 
 
 Like an ember removed far from home's sacred 
 
 fire, 
 No affection comes fanning, — left here to expire ; 
 Yet 'tis glowing in spite of neglect and of years, 
 And if e'er it goes out, 'twill be quenched with sad 
 
 tears ! 
 
 Would you have me forget ? shall each image de- 
 part, 
 That affection did fondly engrave on my heart ? 
 Your neglect replies, "Yes ;" so I turn me to weep, 
 For I cannot forget, they're engraven too deep ! 
 
 Flow on, briny tears ! ease my bosom's deep swell : 
 Each lov'd one doth bid me, by silence, farewell .' 
 That word when we parted fell sad on my ear, 
 But now it tolls ever o'er affection's cold bier ! 
 
STANZAS TO 
 
 Come, dwell near our cot, where the evergreens 
 
 wave 
 As proudly, as banners float over the brave ;— 
 Where the wild fruits ripen, and the wild flowers 
 
 bloom, 
 And load the soft zephyrs with sweetest perfume. 
 
 Come, dwell near our cot, in the same sunny nook. 
 And at eventide roam by the same crystal brook j 
 The listening woods shall re-echo our song, 
 And the cool, sighing breezes will waft it along. 
 
 Or stray on the hill, when the starlight is gleam- 
 ing— 
 
 And the moon's silver ray o'er the smooth pond is 
 streaming : — 
 
 When gone to their nest is each gay, singing bird, 
 
 And nought but the sound of the night-hawk is 
 heard. 
 
 Come, dwell near our cottage ; dull care we'll defy, 
 Nor grieve for the moments that over us fly, 
 While we wander through groves in the sultry 
 
 hour, 
 Or recline at our ease in the gay, summer bower. 
 
STANZAS. 113 
 
 Come, dwell near our cot, and oui fireside greet, 
 
 Cheer our hearth with thy smiles, and thy converse 
 so sweet ; 
 
 We'll sing psalms, hymns and songs ; with a rap- 
 ture we'll go it. 
 
 And criticise sagely th' last tale, or new poet. 
 
 Thus life shall flow on, now lilfe mid-summer's 
 
 dream, 
 Or rush on in glee, like the wild mountain stream j 
 Till at last we arrive at its calm, final close, 
 And slumber, all dreamless, in death's sweet re- 
 pose. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 To Miss G of L . Suggested on hearing her mother 
 
 speak of the delicacy of her health, and express her fears that 
 she might soon follow her two brothers, who had died not long 
 before of consumption. 
 
 Hear'st thou the faint echo of far distant strains ? 
 
 See'st thou a bright path of Celestial plains ? 
 
 'Tis the song of thy brothers, with sweet golden 
 
 lyre ! 
 'Tis their bright, gleaming track that you so much 
 
 admire ! 
 
 Grow not entranced at the sounds that come back, 
 
 Gaze not too long on that heavenly track ; 
 
 Lest thy spirit grow charmed at the sound and the 
 
 sight, 
 And unfurl its soft wings, and from earth take its 
 
 flight ! 
 
 Fair maiden, there's happiness yet to be found, 
 If thou could'st be content with terrestrial ground ; 
 You have parents and friends, who are loving and 
 
 true, 
 And many admirers gaze fondly on you. 
 
STANZAS. 115 
 
 Dwell on the beauties you every where meet, 
 Bathe thy pure heart in its essence so sweet j 
 Twine its tendrils 'round nought but what's lovely 
 
 and pure, 
 Four happiness tlien will forever endure. 
 
 Nature abounds in the lovely and fair, 
 
 It blooms in each flower, it floats on the air 
 
 From the hues of each blossom that softly are 
 
 blending, 
 To the grand, flying clouds with its lightning de- 
 scending ! 
 
 Grandeur appears as the moon is advancing, — 
 Gayety smiles where light zephyrs are dancing ; 
 Evening has charms that never depart, 
 With its moonlight on waters, like love on the 
 heart. 
 
 Mind has its treasures that ever will flow, 
 Interest and pleasures that ever will grow ; 
 Draw back the veil from Philosophy's store, 
 And rise where the Poet's rich, bold fancies soar. 
 
 Th' fount of thy heart will gush bliss deeper still. 
 As love dances in it, like a star on a rill ; — 
 For I know that a stream from so pure a source. 
 Can ne'er take a wrong channel's deep, dangerous 
 course. 
 
116 STANZAS. 
 
 Cease not to cheer with the light of thine eyes, - 
 Bloom lovely bud, let thy perfume arise ; — 
 Disease, thy embrace, oh, long, long delay, 
 For who would not weep to see beauty decay ? 
 
 Flee not away in thy youth and thy bloom, 
 Bear not thy beauty away to the tomb I 
 Heaven 's not selfish, thy presence to crave ! 
 Earth has no jewels to hide in the grave ! 
 
 Long may it be ere the sad willows wave 
 Mournful at eventide, over thy grave ! 
 Long ere thy spirits its pinions unfold, 
 And strike, with thy brothers, a lyre of gold ! 
 
OUR BLUB EYED BOY. 
 
 We had a gem bequeathed to us, 
 A source of hope and joy; 
 
 And priceless was that sacred gift, 
 A lovely, blue-eyed boy, , 
 
 As time passed on, we saw 
 Fresh beauties budding forth ; 
 
 O'er faultless features beaming bright, 
 'Twixt pensiveness and mirth. 
 
 And his fond parents' eyes, the germ 
 Of future worth could see ; — 
 
 And oft with pride prophetic, dwelt 
 On what our boy would be. 
 
 One night a visitor there came, 
 When we'd retired to rest ; 
 
 O ! how unwelcome, few can tell : 
 Death was that awful guest ! 
 
 Before the shadows of that night, 
 
 So sorrowful, had fled, 
 In spite of aid, prayers, and tears. 
 Our lovely boy was dead 
 
118 OUR BLUE-EYED BOY. 
 
 There 's a little grave on yonder hill, 
 Where buried hopes now lie j 
 
 For there, in lasting silence, sleeps 
 Our lovely, blue -eyed boy. 
 
 Till age, disease, or accident 
 
 Your parents too destroy, 
 (For then we hope to meet again,) 
 
 Farewell, our blue-eyed boy ' 
 
CARDIGAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS BRIGADE. 
 
 Soldiers ! higher up the vale, 
 
 See the Russian eagles soar ; 
 Where the cannon belch their hail, 
 
 And their mighty thunders roar ! 
 We must clip those eagles proud ! 
 
 Where the storm is raging dash ! 
 Pierce the centre of that cloud, 
 
 Stop its lightning's fearful flash ! 
 
 The' this may be tactics new, 
 Tho' we are in numbers few j 
 We will to our bloody task ! 
 And no useless questions ask : 
 Though we may not conquer odds. 
 Such as this ; yet, by the gods ! — 
 We will teach them while we try, 
 Britons never fear to die ! 
 We will wet the parched turf, 
 
 With a shower of crimson rain ! 
 From the viens of craven serf. 
 
 Ere we will return again ! 
 There's our chance, my soldiers brave. 
 Now for glory or a grave ! 
 England's voice is in the call, 
 We will at them stand or fall ! 
 Odds, tho' overwhelming large, 
 Follow, Britons, to the charge .' 
 
ART THOU A FORM OF EARTH ! 
 
 Art thou a form of earth ? 
 
 Say, cans't thou ever die ? 
 Where is thy place of birth, 
 
 Below, or in the sky ? 
 
 O, say, art thou not to 
 Gay, fairy forms related ? 
 
 And bade green woods adieu 
 And got domesticated ? 
 
 Thy form, thy smile enchanting, 
 Surpasseth earthly things ! 
 
 But one thing I see wanting : 
 A pair of angel wings ! 
 
 The lack, how much I grieve. 
 For thou with spirit free, 
 
 An airy path would'st cleave. 
 And haste to smile on me. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF A FUNERAL SERMON FOR A 
 GOOD AND AGED CHRISTIAN MAN. 
 
 No costly velvet embroidered pall, 
 
 Envelops the form before us ; 
 No tapestry decks the humble wall, 
 
 Or droops from the ceiling o'er us. 
 
 No heroic deeds are emblazoned around, 
 Of glorious campaigns or victories won j 
 
 No organ is pealing its solemn sound, 
 No doleful bell : — or minute gun. 
 
 But a soldier brave of the Saviour's cross, 
 Has closed his career of strife : — 
 
 A hero is gone and we mourn the loss, 
 For be fought well the battle of life : 
 
 He fell far away from the land of his birth, 
 And companions of earlier years ; — 
 
 But surrounded by those who can estimate worth: 
 Here is proof in this deluge of tears. 
 
122 STANZAS. 
 
 No dusty bags of glittering gold, 
 
 Or broad acres to growling heirs fall ; 
 
 His kindred found wealth in his goodness untold: 
 His example 's a gift to us all. 
 
 Now bear him away to his lowly bed, 
 Whose spirit is gone to its Giver : — 
 
 Each mourner who follows with solemn tread, 
 May Heaven from all harm deliver. 
 
 His bosom companion for twice twenty years, 
 Inconsolable now at the blow : — 
 
 May it please Thee, in mercy,to dry up her tears. 
 Who alone can such blessings bestow. 
 
 Aged saint now farewell, our loss is thy gain, 
 For thy home now is in heavenly light : — 
 
 Thou hast lived not, and died not, in vain. 
 If we follow thy footsteps aright. 
 
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