Glass La/>^_ 
 
 Book^__ 
 
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 MY NATIVES LAND. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 -Dulccs moriens reminiscitur Argos 
 Virg. 
 
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 t-^l 
 
 
 TO THE 
 
 UNION SOCIETY 
 
 OP 
 
 HAMPDEN SYDNEY COLLEGE, VIRGINIA, 
 
 THIS POEM 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY AN 
 
 HONORARY MEMBER. 
 
 Lynchburg, Virginia, } 
 Dec. 28, 1827. 5 
 
MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Land of my fathers' graves, land of my birth, 
 To me the dearest, loveliest spot on earth, 
 ^ I greet thee once again. So long estranged 
 ^ Much in myself, and much in thee is changed. 
 J^ Here shall my wandering steps awhile delay 5 
 
 Ere business press, and call me hence away; 
 Awhile thy streamy plains and hills explore, 
 For they perhaps shall meet my eye no more. — 
 Dear streams, and lawns, and solitudes profound! 
 Where first my infant footsteps marked the ground, 10 
 When on Life's blooming morn your beauties shone, 
 And cares, and fears, and sorrows were unknown, 
 Beam out anew, while mem'ry's touch supplies 
 Your former charms, in Fancy's thousand dyes, 
 Sooth the sad thoughts of all my sorrows past 15 
 
 And make me feel, as when we parted last, 
 Before this sweet illusion disappears, 
 Changed into common life, with all its cares. — 
 
 In childhood's hour, if little be enjoyed, 
 Pain is unfelt, and pleasure unalloyed, 20 
 
 Or if a casual sorrow wounds the mind 
 It heals too soon, to leave a scar behind; 
 The shaft of pain withdrawn, the transient tear 
 Soon dries, and leaves the soul serene and clear; 
 
But boundless stores of novelty invite 25 
 
 To fresh pursuit, and ever new delight, 
 
 And ardent Hope's enchanted veil conceals 
 
 The pains and cares, advancing Time reveals. 
 
 Hence, when departed Hours, and all they wrought 
 
 Of good or ill, revive in pensive thought, 30 
 
 And glitter through the gathering mist of years 
 
 No visionary form of grief appears; 
 
 Or if appears, of mournful aspect yet 
 
 It has a charm we wish not to forget. — 
 
 Cold is his bosom, that reflects unmoved 35 
 
 On all his artless childhood once approved; 
 Nor pauses retrospective on the scene 
 Of Life's young morn, unclouded and serene, 
 Nor heaves a sigh, endeavoring to regain 
 His native feelings on his native plain, 4(5 
 
 Nor mourns that Time and change have borne away 
 The warmth and freshness of his earlier day. 
 Me, not the lapse of many a weary year 
 Nor changes in myself, nor changes here, 
 Defend from feelings and emotions strong 45 
 
 (Indulged not often, but perhaps too long,) 
 When from long absence, I return to trace 
 The well-known features of my native place, 
 And tender Recollection numbers o'er 
 My schemes, and Hopes, and pleasures now no more. 5o 
 
 A fretful infant, and a wayward boy 
 In me, my friends found much for grief and joy; 
 Grief, not for crimes, or stubbornness of soul, 
 But whims and fancies they could not controul. 
 A thoughtful, melancholy turn of mind, 55 
 
 To mirth, and light amusements disinclined. 
 
They blamed me much for being dull and shy, 
 
 And when I laughed or wept, they scarce knew why: 
 
 Hence, when our country parties, spruce and line, 
 
 Convened for frolic, (more intent to dine,) 60 
 
 Some favorite volume, or capricious mood 
 
 Detained me in the shades of solitude; 
 
 Far from the merry group and mazy dance, 
 
 To watch the genial Season's coy advance, 
 
 Where whispering zephyrs wafted rich perfume, 65 
 
 And breathed the timid roses into bloom. 
 
 Pleased with the lonely walk, when morning mild 
 Poured through the vales, her wood-notes sweetly wild, 
 While the blithe songsters smoothed their glossy wings, 
 Or wheeled in amorous chace their airy rings, 70 
 
 I tuned to Nature's charms my infant lays, 
 When bounding joy grew vocal in her praise; 
 Soft were the notes, tho' rapture struck the string, 
 For heart-felt pleasure is a serious thing. — 
 
 Then, where the precipice abrupt and vast, 75 
 
 Wide o'er the subject plains its shadow cast, 
 I loved to linger and survey the scene 
 Of forests wild, and cultured fields between; 
 Reclined at ease to count the distant flocks, 
 Or gather wild flowers nodding from the rocks; 80 
 
 To hear the headlong torrent rushing by, 
 Its loudest thunders scarcely heard, so high; 
 Or the lone dove her tale of sorrow tell, 
 With many a pause, and soft melodious swell. 
 
 Dear, long regretted moments! Time has drawn 85 
 Their picture lovely now, but all are gone. 
 Where yon disjointed fragments strew the field 
 By clustering brambles now almost concealed 
 
Our dwelling stood — a simple — rural rest 
 
 With every social, kind endearment blest. 90 
 
 Here grassy seats, and shady trees around — 
 
 They felt the axe, and can no more be found. 
 
 Our little garden plat is all forgot, 
 
 And scarce a vestige designates the spot. 
 
 The willow drooped in many a graceful braid 95 
 
 Where now, the rugged thorn extends his shade; 
 
 And where the lily breathed her sweets around 
 
 The russet wild-briar trails along; the ground — ; 
 
 Where yon rank waving grass and tangled brake 
 
 Shelter the reptiles in a putrid lake, 100 
 
 Was a trim meadow, and as pure a stream 
 
 As ever glittered to the morning beam. 
 
 Lamented change! These ruins seem to say, 
 
 They, like myself, have known a better day — 
 
 In fancy's ear, their tales of suffering tell 105 
 
 And stand to me, in mournful parallel. 
 
 In simple, quiet beauty once they smiled, 
 
 I was a sportive, and a happy child; 
 
 The hand of rustic labour misapplied 
 
 Ravaged their modest charms and humble pride, 110 
 
 And spread in rank luxuriance o'er the plain 
 
 The noxious plant, Virginia's boast and bane; 
 
 Rifled the soil at avarice's stern behest 
 
 And all destroying time has done the rest. 
 
 Now desert, desolate and long decayed 115 
 
 Like me they flourished — I like them must fade. 
 
 The rocks and pines that crown my fav'rite hill 
 Alone retain their former aspect still; 
 Those hoary cliffs, around whose summits cold 
 The clouds of summer noon are often roiled; 120 
 
Whose shattered crags in furrowed lines display 
 
 Where angry thunders ploughed their furious way; 
 
 When brooding showers essayed their infant, force 
 
 Ere tempest winged them on their destined course; 
 
 Those pines, whose solemn murmurs seldom sleep 125 
 
 Tho' zephyr scarcely breathes along the steep; 
 
 This shady grot, irregular and wild, 
 
 Whose native beauties, art has never spoiled — 
 
 All seem to recognise me, and appear 
 
 Lovely as when a child I rambled here. 130 
 
 Beloved retreats! Secluded from the jar 
 
 Of busy multitudes, not heard so far. 
 
 From boisterous mirth, and folly's laughter loud, 
 
 Pomps of the rich, and insults of the proud. 
 
 Remote from avarice' and ambition's strife 135 
 
 That actuates and embitters common life. 
 
 The axe and flame have never thundered there 
 
 Nor sturdy tillage urged the glittering share; 
 
 Nor to the merry shouts of reapers nigh 
 
 Have these wild echos ever deigned reply. 140 
 
 But prowling foxes bark secure from fear; 
 
 Here undisturbed repose the timid deer, 
 
 And croaking ravens tend their clamorous brood 
 
 Sole tenants of the trackless solitude. 
 
 Yet far more interesting to my heart 145 
 
 These barren wilds, than all the grace of art. 
 And far more dear these shaggy woods and rocks 
 Than the tame pride of cultured fields and flocks. 
 True, the rough hand of industry may tame 
 The forest, yielding to his axe and flame, 150 
 
 May joy to give the tangled wilderness 
 A milder aspect and a lovelier dress; 
 
Fill his capacious granaries hence, and pour 
 
 On luxury's lap a more exuberant store, 
 
 And while he reaps abundance, peace, and health, 155 
 
 Is adding to the mass of general wealth. 
 
 But here I seek my woods and wilds again 
 
 Haunts of my youth, and would not seek in vain. 
 
 Whence these attachments, little understood, 
 
 Yet felt and cherished by the wise and good ? 160 
 
 Why graved indelibly on memory's page 
 
 Remain the trifles of that tender age, 
 
 When the young mind in eager chase employed 
 
 Deserts its object, ere it be enjoyed ? 
 
 Ere knowledge beam on error's devious way 165 
 
 Or love or friendship give the passions play ? 
 
 On scenes of pleasure or of suffering past 
 
 Why is affection riveted so fast ? 
 
 We would not live our childish years again 
 
 Reason contemns them, trivial, light and vain; 170 
 
 But feeling triumphs over reason's boast, 
 
 And polished minds indulge and love it most. 
 
 Nor is it only pleasing to review 
 What all may feel, and own important too; 
 For, though the stream of years with ceaseless force 175 
 Wears deep the channel, that betrays its course; 
 Leaves many a landmark in its devious range 
 Of prominent event or wasting change; — 
 Its trivial currents oft effect a trace 
 
 That time and grief and change cannot efface. — 180 
 
 Where these tall poplars climb along the hill 
 And tangled hazles drink the latent rill, 
 And pendent vines, half dead and withered now 
 With luscious clusters loaded many a bough, — 
 
How many images of past delight, 185 
 
 Unseen by others, crowd upon my sight! 
 
 Fair was the morn, but Autumn's yellow veil 
 
 Fluttered, inconstant on the sighing gale; 
 
 Not loaded yet with clouds and chilling showers 
 
 But wafting fragrance from the latest flowers. — 190 
 
 One friend (I called him so) of equal years 
 
 As ardent as myself, as void of cares, 
 
 Was my companion — On that spreading beach 
 
 The grapes hung ripe, but far above our reach. 
 
 Oft we essayed to climb, as often failed, 195 
 
 Tugged at the vine and finally prevailed. 
 
 While broken twigs and leaves fell thick around, 
 
 We drew the juicy treasure to the ground. — 
 
 Then, what the slender hazles would afford 
 
 We gathered frugal, for our winter hoard, 200 
 
 Stripped off their tawny husks, and fond to boast 
 
 Counted the nuts, to see, who had the most. — 
 
 Sometimes on yonder cliff, whose awful form 
 
 Lifts the tall forest to the mountain storm, 
 
 We sought for chesnuts; easy to descry, 205 
 
 The burs were open, but the trees were high. — 
 
 With many a club and stone we strove to gain 
 
 The lovely prize, nor always strove in vain; — 
 
 Shook from their thorny coats, they rattled down 
 
 Inestimable, plump, and glossy brown. — 210 
 
 Beneath this shady rock, I used to lie 
 When summer noon glowed silent thro* the sky, 
 Wearied with rambling, with amusement cloyed, 
 Rest and refreshing, coolness I enjoyed. 
 And faint from toil, while here at ease reclined 215 
 
 I gave to soothing languor all my mind: 
 
10 
 
 Watched from afar, the scattered clouds advance 
 
 And slowly glide along the blue expanse, 
 
 Presenting to Imagination's eye 
 
 The mountains, vales, and landscapes of the sky, 220 
 
 Where gorgeous palaces their gates unfold 
 
 And solemn temples bright with burnished gold; 
 
 While from their fleecy sides in splendour curled 
 
 Look forth the inmates of another world. 
 
 In long succession shifting to the gale 225 
 
 They fade away, and other shapes prevail.— 
 
 Lulled by the tinkling sound of distant bells, 
 
 Or torrents murm'ring down the winding dells, 
 
 Mixed with the hum of bees, whose active wing 
 
 Explored the last retiring sweets of Spring, 230 
 
 On every nerve the soft sensation crept 
 
 Till every faculty but Fancy slept. — 
 
 She, sportive power, with busy fingers wrought 
 
 Light dreams from mere vacuity of thought. 
 
 Bright as the painted bow in vernal showers 235 
 
 Or drops that glitter on the humid flowers, 
 
 And glancing various, in succession fast 
 
 Her train of fleeting imagery passed. — 
 
 Young Innocence in sunny robes was seen 
 
 With rosy health, desporting on the green; 240 
 
 Laughter and Mirth were there, with sparkling eyes 
 
 And Infant Hope, pursuing Butterflies. — 
 
 Yet now and then an anxious look he threw 
 
 To brighter fields just rising into view: — 
 
 For, tho' Remembrance had no chilling frown 245 
 
 To blast the bloom of Pleasure's flow'ry crown, 
 
 Yet were the sprightly group at times disturbed 
 
 By appetites and passions badly curbed; — 
 
11 
 
 And scowling in their rear, where'er they went, 
 
 Followed Satiety and Discontent. — 250 
 
 Rapt in sweet vision, then, I seemed to hear 
 
 Melodious numhers wafted to my ear, 
 
 From that enchanted Harp, whose melting falls 
 
 The breezes waft along their airy Halls, 
 
 When struck at pausing intervals the sound 255 
 
 Swells on the Hills, and Silence sleeps around. 
 
 I waked to iterate the charming dream, 
 
 'Twas nothing but the Eagle's distant scream. — 
 
 In softened radiance to the blushing West 
 The sun descending sought his wonted rest, 260 
 
 And drew in pomp around his flaming bed 
 His cloudy curtains, tinged with rosy red, 
 And I forgetful of approaching night 
 Watched the long lingering beams of parting light, 
 Where the twin Peaks like hoary giants rise* 265 
 
 In frowning grandeur midway to the skies; 
 While twilight deepened on the plains below 
 Their towering heights detained the yellow glow, 
 Till slowly fading from my distant view 
 Their rocky summits slept in pensive blue. — 270 
 
 Such were my sports, my pleasures such as these 
 Too dull to charm, too singular to please 
 The calculating, or the giddy crowd, 
 Immersed in gain, or mirth or laughter loud. — 
 Yet were there some; I found a chosen few 275 
 
 True to my taste, to all my feelings true; 
 Whose bosoms tuned by Nature's finest touch 
 Erred like my own, and wooed her charms too much: — 
 
 Peaks of Oiter. in Bedford County, Virginia. 
 
12 
 
 For, while her beautiea melt the raptured heart 
 
 'Tis left more pervious to misfortune's dart; 280 
 
 And that which makes our joys intensely glow 
 
 Adds tenfold honor to the night of woe. — 
 
 There is a sadly pleasing joy in grief 
 In aching thought that seeks not for relief; 
 Oft as remembrance wakes the tender theme 285 
 
 Of joys forever vanished like a dream; — 
 Calls forth her shadowy train in long review 
 In beamy robes to Nature more than true. — 
 Come, then, ye dear companions of my youth! 
 Each face in smiles, each accent joy and truth, 290 
 
 How gladly would I join your sparkling train 
 And sport in childhood's flow'ry fields again! 
 Once more this throbbing bosom might forget, 
 The pang of fear and torture of regret; 
 Sooth all its cares, and bid its tumults cease, 295 
 
 In that sweet world of innocence and peace. — 
 Fallacious dream! all mournful now appears 
 That fairy land beneath the cloud of years. 
 Its noisy tenants of my early day, 
 
 Dispersed to different regions far away, 300 
 
 Some to the West, some plough the Atlantic wave, — 
 The larger portion slumber in the grave — 
 Beneath the shade of yonder straggling trees 
 Whose asjed branches sigh in every breeze, 
 In long repose (her better part above) 305 
 
 Sleeps the first object of my infant love; 
 Spread your long arms, ye murmuring pines! and wave 
 Your deepest umbrage o'er that humble grave. 
 There let reviewing Spring her fragrance breathe 
 In honor to the sacred dust beneath, 310 
 
13 
 
 And while she laughs ahroad, profuse of flowers, 
 
 And wakes the song amid her leafy bowers, 
 
 There let the widowed warbler come and join 
 
 His mournful notes in unison with mine. 
 
 My mother! Melancholy was the morn 315 
 
 That found me orphaned, and almost forlorn. 
 
 My friend! My guide! Oh, could not mercy save 
 
 Her for her child, or lay me in her grave! 
 
 Why cheer my drooping and unsheltered head, 
 
 When to the skies, her gentle spirit fled ? 320 
 
 Why bid me live, since riper years must pay 
 
 Their long arrears to that lamented day ? 
 
 I had a mother, tender, kind and true, 
 
 Her virtues many and her failings few; 
 
 With warm solicitude and watchful eye, 325 
 
 She taught me what to follow, what to fly, 
 
 And warned me disappointment and distress 
 
 In life must be my portion, more or less; 
 
 That fierce disease would often banish health; 
 
 Pride point the insolence of power and wealth; 330 
 
 Folly and vice allure; pretended friends 
 
 Abuse my confidence for private ends; 
 
 And fears and sorrows hovering round my head 
 
 Pursue me to my last and narrow bed. 
 
 Yet would she say, in Virtue's path was found 335 
 
 A balm to heal the bosom's deepest wound : 
 
 Winged my young thoughts to better worlds above, 
 
 There to repose my confidence and Love. 
 
 Her fond affection never would deceive, 
 
 But these were things I could not then believe. 34f/ 
 
 Yet though her warnings vanished from my mind, 
 
 Her precepts left a faithful trace behind; — 
 
14 
 
 In memory's careful records still remain, 
 
 And long experience proves, they were not vain. 
 
 'Tis past! The dreams of Fancy disappear: 345 
 
 I feel myself a Stranger, even here. 
 Why then expatiate ? Why unlock the store 
 Of mournful memory, only to deplore 
 (And linger here, unwilling to forget) 
 Departed joys, the theme of long regret ? 350 
 
 For me no more these jutting cliffs shall form 
 A shade from heat, or shelter from the storm; 
 No more these breezy summits shall attend 
 The gentle accents of my long-lost friend; 
 No more this rill in dewy murmurs weep, 355 
 
 When noon-day musings press the verge of sleep; 
 Nor sportive Fancy to my ears convey, 
 Aerial music, breathing far away. 
 Nor evermore a mother's presence bless, 
 Share all my joys, or sooth me in distress. — 360 
 
 Adieu! Perhaps forever! Should it be, — 
 "Land of my Fathers! I will think of thee." 
 Long as its motions last, and vital heat, 
 Within my heart, thy lovely name shall beat. — 
 Tho' rude thy piny hills, a thankless soil 365 
 
 Whence scanty products meet the tiller's toil. 
 Tho' thy wild scenery, and thy fickle clime, 
 Exhibit little beauteous, or sublime; — 
 And timid superstition's witching tales, 
 And Gothic ignorance linger in thy vales; 370 
 
 The charms that could my infant love engage, 
 Have fixed the feelings of maturer age. 
 So strongly linked to joys and sorrows past — 
 I loved thee first — loved long — will love thee last. 
 
15 
 
 Whether, where Beauty taught me first to feel, 375 
 
 And mutual passion fixed *he sacred seal 
 
 On treasures, Heaven reserved for me alone, 
 
 A friend, a bosom dearer than my own, 
 
 On Staunton's banks my wandering feet shall rest, 
 
 Or in some Eden of the Rosy West, 380 
 
 In Alabama's ever verdant clime, 
 
 Or where the wild Missouri rolls sublime; 
 
 Or 'mid the Bedford hills, whose limpid streams, 
 
 Pay scanty tribute to the mighty James. — 
 
 Land of my birth! and where my fathers sleep, 385 
 
 Oft shall Remembrance turn to thee and weep; 
 
 And though my steps be doomed to wander far, 
 
 Affection tremble to her Polar Star, 
 
 Till the last throb shall lay this bosom low, 
 
 Where Memory and Jlffection cease to glow. 390 
 
*