^1^ 
 
 'MA 
 
 LIBRARY OF CCNGRESS. 
 
 Chap. 
 
 ^i UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
A^ 
 
STATE HOUSE, BOSTOX. 
 
POEMS, 
 
 FRANCES ELIZABETH BROWNE 
 
 II 
 
 li 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 STACY, RICHARDSON & CO., PRINTERS 
 
 Kxceisior Establishment, 142>^ Washingtou St. 
 
 1848. 
 
^c. 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by 
 
 Frances Elizabeth Browne, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts" 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF BOSTON FROM THE 
 
 CUPOLA OF THE STATE-HOUSE 1 
 
 ON THE MISSION TO INDIA 6 
 
 ON THE STORMY FETREL 9 
 
 MOUNT AUBURN 13 
 
 ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND IC 
 
 ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES - 19 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER 22 
 
 ON MUSIC 25 
 
 BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW 27 
 
 ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN 30 
 
 LINES - 33 
 
 LINES 36 
 
 L' AMENDE HONORABLE 39 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND 41 
 
 THE MISSIONARY 43 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG 45 
 
 ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND 47 
 
 ODE TO POESY ----- 52 
 
 ON THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED - 54 
 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE 57 
 
 ON SEEING SOME CHILDREN BLOWING BUBBLES - - - 59 
 
 THE WAGER 61 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE 63 
 
 HA WARDEN HEYS «« 
 
 THE SOUVENIR 68 
 
 A SKETCH 70 
 
 ON READING LORD BYRON'S LINES ON THE DEATH OF 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE 72 
 
 LINCONSTANT 74 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 SELF-EXAMINATIOX 76 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND, ON RECEIVING SOME IVORY TABLETS - 78 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY 79 
 
 LINES FOR AN ALBUM 81 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS 83 
 
 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE 8f) 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE DOWAGER LADY POWERSCOURT - 89 
 
 METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N -.-..-- i)2 
 
 A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA 94 
 
 ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT - 97 
 
 TO A FRIEND, FOR CHRISTMAS DAY 99 
 
 A CAMBRIAN TOUR 101 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT - - - 104 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE PARLIAMENTARY GRANT FOR 
 
 THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE SHANNON - - - . lOfi 
 TO A FRIEND, ON HIS LEAVING ENGLAND FOR SOUTH 
 
 AMERICA - - 110 
 
 TO ANNIE 112 
 
 AN ACROSTIC 114 
 
 HYMN lie 
 
 ON COLONIAL SLAVERY 118 
 
 FONTSTOWN 120 
 
 TO MRS. G. W. 12:; 
 
 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF ISIY BIRTHDAY 12C 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT 132 
 
 HOPE 134 
 
 ON THE LETTER O 13(i 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY 138 
 
 LINES TO AN OLD LADY 139 
 
 THE THREE AGES OF HUMAN LIFE - 141 
 
 THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT 143 
 
 LINES TO 1 14f, 
 
 LIFE - - , 147 
 
 ON POETRY 14J) 
 
 ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB 151 
 
 LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW 153 
 
 TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY 155 
 
POEMS. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OP BOSTON FROM THE CUPOLA OP 
 THE STATE-HOUSE. 
 
 From Albion's isle I come, 
 I was born on a foreign strand. 
 
 Yet I love the Pilgrims' home. 
 And am proud on this spot to stand. 
 
 0, much did I long to see 
 
 The scenes of their bright career, — 
 Of the good, the brave, the free, — 
 
 Of their toils and their triumphs here- ! 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Canadian shores I 've viewed, 
 
 I have sailed on St. Lawrence' tide, 
 
 On Quebec's fair plains I 've stood, 
 Where onr British hero died. 
 
 But theirs was a brighter crown 
 
 Than earth's highest honors yield, — 
 
 A victory harder won 
 
 Than the fame of the proudest field. 
 
 They scaled not the dangerous height 
 
 Of a fort or a castle's brow, 
 But they gained heaven's regions bright. 
 
 By virtue's steps below. 
 
 Their path was more dark and steep 
 Than Wolfe's daring footsteps trod. 
 
 But it led o'er the stormy deep. 
 To freedom, and fame, and God. 
 
 They fought not with bomb or shell, 
 Artillery's dreadful rage, 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Yet Satan's empire fell, 
 
 And with sin fierce war thej wage. 
 
 The sword of the word of God 
 
 They bore to a distant land ; 
 Where no Christian's foot had trod 
 
 They stood, a patriot band. 
 
 Their country was not of earth, — 
 As pilgrims they lived and moved ; 
 
 They rejoiced in their heavenly birth. 
 And they spoke of the land they loved. 
 
 They told the poor Indian, lost 
 
 In ignorance dark as night. 
 Of the price his redemption had cost, — 
 
 Of Jesus, and heaven, and light. 
 
 They taught him that Jesus' command 
 
 Was that wars and contentions should cease ; 
 
 That his symbol in every land 
 
 Was the olive-branch, whispering peace. 
 
STANZAS. 
 
 Americans ! ye who delight 
 
 In the fame of these heroes of old, 
 
 Beware how their precepts ye shght, — 
 More precious than silver or gold. 
 
 Let freedom to worship your God, 
 
 Let peace, by your fathers bequeathed, 
 
 Your triumph at home and abroad. 
 
 Round your star-spangled banner be wreathed ! 
 
ON THE MISSION TO INDIA.* 
 
 I stood amongst a list'ning crowd 
 
 Upon New-England's hallow'd sod, 
 
 And whilst each head devoutly bow'd 
 
 Before their Pilgrim fathers' God, 
 
 I thought perchance their spirits near 
 
 Might hover o'er the sacred scene, 
 
 Rejoic'd to view the sheaves appear 
 
 Where their " seed-scattering steps " had been. 
 
 But who, but He who form'd the world, 
 And blesses those who sow in tears, 
 
 * These lines were suggested by the farewell meeting in Park 
 Street Church, Boston, on the occasion of the departure of the Kev, 
 Dr. Scudder, Rev. Mr. Spaulding, &<;., for Southern India. 
 
ON THE MISSION TO INDIA. 
 
 Who saw their fiut'ring sail unfurFd 
 With simple faith, but inward fears, 
 Who guided that lone " Mayflower's " track 
 To Massachusetts' shelt'ring Bay, 
 Who warded off each fierce attack, 
 From savage Indians, bent to slay ! 
 
 Who fed and watched his httle flock 
 In this dread wilderness afar ! 
 ! who but " He," salvation's Rock, 
 The Christian Pilgrim's guiding star, 
 Could ever dream that scenes like this 
 Would be the product of their toil ? 
 To send forth Harbingers of Bliss, 
 To distant India's burning soil ! 
 
 Yet such it was ! proud sceptic, cease! 
 And doubt God's promises no more ! 
 The Gospel of the " Prince of Peace " 
 Is borne from this to India's shore I . 
 
ON THE MISSION TO INDIA. 
 
 The little persecuted band, 
 The grain of Mustard seed, so small, — 
 Is now a tree, and fills the land ! 
 And spreads its boughs to shelter all ! 
 
 Aye ! stretches o'er the distant main, 
 To grasp the world in its embrace. 
 To break sin's harsh and galling chain. 
 Where e'er it binds the human race ! 
 Aye ! soon shall every link be riv'n, 
 Forg'd by the powers of Hell combin'd ! 
 To keep the fetter'd soul from Heav'n 
 And captive hold the human mind ! 
 
 Think ye to see a Savior come 
 With shining hosts reveal' d from Heav'n ? 
 Not so, vain man ! let pride be dumb, 
 Not such the symbols Christ has giv'n ! 
 The " Leaven," the Mustard seed so small. 
 The power of truth, the power of grace. 
 Soon shall the world before it fall. 
 And Satan's lying dreams give place. 
 
ON THE MISSION TO INDIA. 
 
 Mahomet feels liis Kingdom shake, 
 Nor dares (as once) the sword to wave, 
 In Christian blood his thirst to slake, 
 And doom the " Heretic '' a grave ! 
 " Brahma " now totters on his throne, 
 Tho' victims still his course attend. 
 And the poor " Suttee's " piercing groan. 
 In flames and blood to Heav'n ascend. 
 
 China receives her Missions too. 
 Within her regions vast and broad. 
 And Ephraim, the backsliding Jew, 
 Shall soon stretch out his hands to God ; 
 Then — then Messiah's reign shall come. 
 The knowledge of the Lord shall be 
 Spread o'er the Earth 'till Nature's doom. 
 As spreads from pole to pole the sea. 
 
ON THE STORMY PETREL, 
 
 CALLED BY SAILOES, MOTHER CARET'S CHICKENS. 
 
 Bird of untiring wing, 
 Whence dost thou come ? 
 
 Bird of deep mystery, 
 Where is thy home ? 
 
 On the broad ocean wave 
 
 How canst thou rest ? 
 Where dost thou roost at night ? 
 
 Where build thy nest ? 
 
 Land is too far from thee 
 
 On every side. 
 Thousands of miles away, 
 
 Over the tide. 
 
10 ON THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 Yet dost thou carelessly 
 Sport o'er the wave, 
 
 Fearless of finding 
 A watery grave ! 
 
 When the storm rages, 
 And tempests beat high, 
 
 Still on the crests 
 
 Of the billows you fly ; 
 
 Sportively, joyously, 
 Dart through the foam, 
 
 Still seem delighted 
 O'er ocean to roam. 
 
 Bird of three elements. 
 
 Air, water, earth. 
 Where dost thou rear thy young ? 
 
 Where hail their birth ? 
 
 Is it on some lonely 
 Rock in the sea, 
 
ON THE STORMY PETREL. H 
 
 Where human hand or foot 
 Never may be ? 
 
 Dost thou from such lone spot 
 
 Launch o'er the flood, 
 Bringing along with thee 
 
 Thy youthful brood ? — 
 
 Over the deep, deep sea 
 
 Like thee to fly. 
 Like thee to bring their young, 
 
 Flutter, — and die ? 
 
 Bird of existence brief, 
 
 Man is hke thee. 
 Launching he knows not where, 
 
 O'er a wide sea; 
 
 Tossed on the billows 
 
 Of life's stormy wave, 
 Restless as thou 
 
 Till he sinks in the grave ; 
 
12 
 
 ON THE STORMY PETREL. 
 
 But not like thee, poor bird, 
 
 Never to rise ! 
 Soon on the wings 
 
 Of the spirit he flies, — 
 
 Soars through eternal space, 
 Ransomed and blest, — 
 
 Mounts to heaven's utmost height ! 
 There is his rest. 
 
13 
 
 MOUNT AUBURN. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! which with verdure and with 
 
 bloom 
 Adorns the precincts of the darksome tomb, 
 Divests the grave of half its dread array, 
 Plants living flowers upon the lifeless clay. 
 Hallows the memory of the cherished dead, 
 And turns to balmy dews the tears we shed, 
 Accept a tribute from a stranger's pen, 
 Meet resting-place of brave and pious men I 
 
 There marble monument and sculptured bust 
 Seem to reanimate the silent dust. 
 Give to each grave a voice, whose thrillmg tone 
 The sorrowing hearts of friends and kindred own ! 
 
14 MOUNT AUBURN. 
 
 Imagination revels in the scene, 
 And fills with fancied forms each alley green, — 
 Hears Channing preach with eloquence divine, — 
 Spurzheim philosophy's wise precepts join, — 
 Heroes address their friends in martial strains, 
 Tell them of Bmiker's Hill and battle-plains ; 
 Others who braved the dangers of the sea. 
 To serve their country and preserve it free. 
 The spangled banner o'er the waves unfurled. 
 The naval bulwarks of the Western world. 
 Now safely landed on a peaceful shore, 
 Where wars no longer rage, nor billows roar. 
 Still hovering round, may angel wings expand. 
 Be guardian spirits of their native land. 
 
 But see where yonder httle cherub lies, 
 As if sweet sleep had gently closed her eyes ! 
 One beauteous foot across the other thrown. 
 Calm she reclines, in infant grace alone. 
 While gazing on that face so sweet and mild. 
 The parents still may dream they have a child ; 
 For she, alas ! so deeply cherished here. 
 She was their only one, — thus douUy dear ! 
 
MOUNT AUBURN. 15 
 
 Nor scorn we to appropriate a place 
 
 To yonder emblem of the canine race ; 
 
 But honored still for ages yet to come, 
 
 The faithful dog here guards his master's tomb ! 
 
 In sculptured stone immortalized is he, — 
 
 A noble tribute to fidelity ! 
 
 Beside the friends in life he loved to guard. 
 
 In death he gains this justly earned reward. 
 
 Bright resting-place of faithful hearts and true. 
 Auburn ! New England's pride and boast, adieu '. 
 
16 
 
 ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 Down the rapid stream of time, 
 Lo ! another year has passed ; 
 
 Protestants from every clime, 
 Brethren, friends, awake at last ! 
 
 Have we not a mystic tie 
 
 Strong as aught on earth can be. 
 Changeless as heaven's azure sky. 
 
 Lasting as eternity ? 
 
 Rome's proud zealots boldly join. 
 Strong their union 'gainst the cause. 
 
OlSr PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND. 17 
 
 Satan's agents all combine 
 To oppose Christ's holy laws ! 
 
 Brethren of a purer faith, 
 
 Shall we not join heart and hand, 
 
 And a bond as strong as death 
 Unite us in a foreign hud ? 
 
 Brethren of this hallowed soil, 
 Which our mutual fathers trod, 
 
 Here reposed from earth's turmoil. 
 Founded here a house for God, 
 
 Will ye not, with friendly clasp, 
 Greet the sons of other lands, — 
 
 With the warm fraternal grasp 
 
 Which our common faith demands ? 
 
 Yes ! ye will ! our fathers yet 
 
 Look down upon their foreign home, 
 
 And see their sons together meet, 
 
 No more from freedom's land to roam. 
 
18 ON PROTESTANT UNION IN NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 The shamrock, rose, and thistle still 
 Shall flourish in Columbia's soil, 
 
 And triumph o'er all foes, until. 
 Millennium rest o'erpays their toil. 
 
19 
 
 ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE 
 UNITED STATES. 
 
 From the fair realms of Britain a stranger I came 
 To the land which exults in great Washington's 
 
 name, 
 To the land disenthralled by free patriot hearts, 
 To the land to which freedom such glory imparts. 
 
 To the land where the rights of all men are re- 
 spected, 
 Where its rulers and statesmen are freely elected, 
 Where no proud aristocracy ever can sway. 
 And no people on earth are unshackled as they ! 
 
20 ON THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY 
 
 How, then, can your star-spangled banner still wave 
 (While such freedom ye boast) o'er the head of a 
 
 slave, — 
 O'er the head of a slave — aye, of millions — as free 
 By nature's true birthright, Heaven's mandate, as 
 
 thee ? 
 
 Bom under your flag, on Columbia's soil. 
 
 Yet born to dark slavery, fetters, and toil, 
 
 0, the sun of the South darts a soul-sickening ray 
 
 Which withers the heart's best affections away ! 
 
 Not so in your keen, bracing air of the North, 
 Where the first germs of liberty nobly burst forth ! 
 In the soil which it loved the tree flourishes still, 
 And a soul-healing balm its sweet flowers distil. 
 
 When the red cross of Britain unfolds to the 
 
 breeze. 
 The manacled captive fair liberty sees ; 
 England, my country ! this glory is thine, — 
 Round Victoria's sceptre no fetters entwine. 
 
IN THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 21 
 
 Americans ! freemen ! how long will ye bear 
 That your brethren the dark badge of slavery wear ? 
 0, wipe from your standard this stain on its bright- 
 ness, 
 And undimmed be its lustre, unsulhed its whiteness ! 
 
22 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 My gourd is withered ! — she is gone 
 
 Who most could wake mj hopes and fears. 
 
 Of all beloved the dearest one, 
 
 The dearest from my earliest years. 
 
 My mother ! 0, on that loved name 
 
 How oft will fond remembrance dwell ! - 
 
 Earth ne'er can know a tenderer claim, — 
 A mother's fondness who can tell ? 
 
 With what a sweet, seraphic smile 
 Her mild, her gentle spirit fled. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 So much like life, that for a while 
 We scarcely could believe her dead. 
 
 So calm she looked, her lips apart 
 
 Appeared as if about to move. 
 Some fond memento to impart, 
 
 Some parting token of her love. 
 
 Yet, mother, would thy mourning child 
 (Could she) recall thee here below. 
 
 Though then she cried, with anguish wild, 
 " Spare me, God, this trial ? " — No. 
 
 In mercy thou wert but removed 
 
 From sorrows yet to come, and woe ; 
 
 And, fondly as thou wert beloved. 
 That very love would answer. No. 
 
 Farewell, dear mother ! thou art blest ; 
 
 Thou slumberest with the peaceful dead ; 
 And oft thy child, with grief opprest. 
 
 Would lay by thine her weary head. 
 
 23 
 
24 ON THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER. 
 
 Farewell, till in a happier sphere, 
 
 When earthly sorrows grieve no more, 
 
 They whom the grave has severed here 
 Heaven's opening portals shall restore. 
 
25 
 
 ON MUSIC. 
 
 Music, soother of the soul ! 
 
 Purest balm to mortals given ! 
 Passion bows to thy control, 
 
 Thy sweet strains partake of heaven. 
 
 Thou canst cheer the wounded heart 
 When depressed with earthly woes, 
 
 Comfort gently canst impart. 
 Wildest feelings calm compose. 
 
 Joy wakes from thee a liveher strain ; 
 
 Mirth with thee delights to dwell. 
 And, in sportive pleasure's reign. 
 
 Lightly strikes the vocal shell. 
 
26 ON MUSIC. 
 
 But all thy noblest powers are joined 
 To emulate devotion's flame ; 
 
 With strength and harmony combined, 
 Be this thy proper end and aim. 
 
 Seraphs golden harps employ 
 To celebrate Jehovah's fame, 
 
 While the harmonious choir on high 
 Of spirits blest resound his name. 
 
 When, in a melodious song, 
 
 Earth echoes back the heavenly strains. 
 Angels the dying notes prolong, 
 
 Sweet music fills the ethereal plains. 
 
2T 
 
 BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW. 
 
 TO MISS C. S. 
 
 Dear Charlotte ! our ramble along the sea-shore, 
 When Bray Head's fair prospects we sought to ex- 
 plore, 
 
 You beg me to give you in verse ; 
 And, though no cold critics my lines may commend, 
 I ever comply with the wish of a friend, 
 
 And thus our adventures rehearse. 
 
 'T was a bright, glowing day , in the dawn of the year. 
 When the primrose and violets begin to appear. 
 
 And Winter seems struggling with Spring ; 
 This day the fair youth seemed the victory to gain. 
 And dreary old Winter to give up his reign. 
 
 And away his dark mantle to fling. 
 
28 BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW. 
 
 The air was as mild as a morning in May, 
 The sky was so bright, and the midges so gay, 
 
 All nature appeared to rejoice ; 
 The sea, and the waves, as they rolled on the land, 
 And sparkled, and dashed the white spray on the 
 strand. 
 
 Seemed to echo the general voice ! 
 
 But, though all above us was brilliant and fair. 
 Though the sky was so clear, and so balmy the 
 air. 
 Yet some traces of winter we found ; 
 For when Bray's rugged headland we sought to 
 
 ascend, 
 On our most cautious footsteps we scarce could de- 
 pend. 
 From the damp, slippery state of the ground. 
 
 But, mutually lending each other our aid, 
 We the summit attained, and were fully repaid 
 By the prospect which greeted our sight ; 
 
BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW. 
 
 29 
 
 Whilst below, 'midst the rocks, the sea eddied and 
 
 boiled, 
 With the roar as of cannon, and fruitlessly toiled, 
 As the waters were chafed in their might. 
 
 One false step, and our wanderings for ever were 
 
 o'er. 
 And earth's varied beauties would charm us no 
 more, — 
 We should sink in the chasm below ! 
 Erom the fearful abyss, then, our eyes let us turn. 
 To where Howth and yon miniature isle we discern. 
 And the waters so peacefully flow. 
 
 Perchance, my dear Charlotte, when hither you stray, 
 When your friend may be far o'er these waters 
 away. 
 You may think of your wanderings here ; 
 And wherever that absent one's footsteps may rove. 
 Yet Erin's sweet shores and kind friends she will 
 love, — 
 They will still be to memory dear. 
 
30 
 
 ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 DURING HIS BANISHMENT TO THE ISLAND OF PATMOS. 
 
 Thou, to whose favored view 
 
 Heaven's portals open flew, 
 And visions bright of glorious things were given ! 
 
 Thou, to whose piercing ken, 
 
 Unseen before of men. 
 The Savior oped the golden gates of heaven 1 
 
 Beloved by him whose love 
 No change could ever move, — 
 
 No, not the dazzling change from earth to heaven ! 
 He to thy ravished sight 
 Disclosed his glories bright, 
 
 When, scorned by men, to exile thou wert driven. 
 
ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN. 33 
 
 Vain Caesar's vaunted power — 
 
 Poor emperor of an hour ! — 
 To banish thee from earthly courts of clay, 
 
 When thy Almighty Friend, 
 
 Before whom kings must bend. 
 Could bear thee to the courts of heavenly day ! 
 
 How mean thy purple robe. 
 Proud tyrant of the globe, 
 
 Would seem, contrasted with the brilliant sight 
 Of Jesus' glorious state, 
 And all who round him wait. 
 
 Those countless hosts, arrayed in purest white ! 
 
 And are there here a few 
 
 To Jesus' precepts true. 
 Who, scorned by men, are yet beloved by Heaven ? 
 
 A little flock there is. 
 
 Designed for heavenly bliss. 
 To whom Christ's love, to whom Christ's grace, is 
 given. 
 
32 ON THE VISION OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Jolin saw a countless band, 
 
 From every clime and land, 
 Redeemed from among men, heaven's presence fill ; 
 
 All clothed in robes of light. 
 
 By Jesus' blood made white 
 In Calvary's stream, that fountain open still. 
 
 In Christian virtues fair. 
 
 They Jesus' image bear, 
 In spirit and in truth and heavenly love ; 
 
 Till, having left below 
 
 All for his sake, they go 
 To join the hosts of his redeemed above. 
 
33 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY READING THE FOLLOWING ACCOUNT OF IN- 
 STANCES OF BRAVERY AT THE DEFENCE OF A MEXICAN 
 BATTERY AT VERA CRUZ. 
 
 [" At the Mexican battery which fought so well, when the flag-staff was 
 shot away, an officer tore the flag from the renmant of the staff, jumped upon 
 the parapet, and held it in his hand, until he himself was shot down. This 
 was done thi-ee times. "J 
 
 Standard of Mexico fall'ii from thy glory, 
 Yet wert thou grasp' d by a Patriot hand ; 
 
 Brave hearts of ev'ry dime, hear the sad story, 
 Mourn for his fate through Columbia's land. 
 
 The flag of his country, before the invader, 
 With anguish he saw was just ready to fall, — 
 
 My country! he cried, and sprang forward to aid her, 
 Snatch'd the flag, and once more it wav'd high o'er 
 the wall. 
 
34 LINES. 
 
 The flag-staff was shatter'd — he flung it aside 
 And held the torn emblem of freedom on high ; 
 
 On I on, my brave soldiers, he fearlessly cried. 
 With this let us live, or with this let us die ! 
 
 Once more from the battery a volley resounded, 
 And every shot carried death in its track ; 
 
 Columbia's bravest gazed on them astounded ! 
 
 But soon their bold fire with dire sweep echoed 
 back. 
 
 Down dropp'd the brave Mexican, shot through the 
 heart — 
 
 The banner was steep'd in his fresh flowing blood ; 
 But not with his life did the spirit depart 
 
 With which, as a martyr, he nobly had stood. 
 
 Another was found on the instant to stand 
 
 In the place where he proved as a mark to the foe ; 
 
 He fell too! — yet still a third stretch' d forth his 
 hand 
 To gi'asp the lov'd banner, and then be laid low. 
 
LINES, 35 
 
 Columbia's Standard no\V proudly floats o'er 
 The once beauteous City of fair Vera Cruz, 
 
 But when shall war's triumphs be echoed no more 
 Which each faithful Christian most painfully views ? 
 
 Oh ! when shall the clarion no longer be heard, 
 And these contests and strifes between brethren 
 cease ? 
 When shall man — proud man, bow to his Lord's writ- 
 ten word, 
 And the reign of Messiah be hallow'd by peace ? 
 
36 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE DISTRESS IN IRELAND IN 1847. 
 
 0, Erin ! how long are thy woes to continue, 
 Are thy sorrows and sufferings never to cease ? 
 
 Poor stricken one ! say can no sufferings win you 
 From the Father of Mercies an answer of peace ? 
 
 Direct to yon cabin your pitying glances, 
 
 See two youthful brothers are laid side by side. 
 
 One dead, and one dying — the Pastor advances. 
 And the rites of religion are calmly applied. 
 
 He dies ! — and the third who was patiently striving 
 To give some relief to a fourth worse than he, 
 
LINES. 37 
 
 Sees him droop and die, whom they thought was 
 reviving, 
 And faints, and soon follows the first stricken three. 
 
 Oh ! this is no fanciful picture of sorrow, 
 Would God, that it were ! but look yonder again. 
 
 See that tall manly youth from his mother's breast 
 borrow 
 The strength to encounter more hardship and pain. 
 
 Yes, Mothers ! behold that poor infant — look there ! 
 
 'T is deprived of the nourishment nature decreed, 
 That the just fainting son may be strengthened to 
 bear 
 
 The labor on wliich the whole family feed. 
 
 0, England I my country! withhold not thy hand 
 From the famishing sons of affliction beside thee, — 
 
 While moved with compassion this far distant land 
 With noble examples has richly suppHed thee. 
 
38 LINES. 
 
 Poor Erin ! thine Isle like a Beacon is shining, 
 And prophecy's page is illumed by its light 
 
 That famines must come. Oh, then cease all repin- 
 ing, 
 Bright days often follow a dark gloomy night. 
 
 Already from evil has good been extracted, 
 Across the broad waters came help from afar ; 
 
 Poor Erin ! thy sorrows so deep and protracted. 
 Have called to thy aid the American Star. 
 
 With the warm feeling hearts of a generous nation. 
 Whose sympathies feel for the whole human race, 
 
 They rush'd to thy succor from every station — 
 Oh ! ne'er from thy memory their kindness efface. 
 
39 
 
 L'AMENDE HONORABLE. 
 
 Accept the thanks which my poor pen affords, 
 For the perusal of your charming pages ; 
 
 From a sick bed they '11 needs be burning words, 
 But fear them not, no baleful sickness rages. 
 
 Here, stretched at length, — I cannot say at ease, 
 
 Philosophizing over oatmeal-gruel, 
 Like sick man in the fable, conscience sees 
 
 Sins rise before me in array most cruel. 
 
 Confession, then, and reparation too. 
 
 The genuine symptoms of sincere repentance, 
 
 I offer. Sir, unfeignedly, to you ! 
 
 Sins against charity deserve this sentence. 
 
40 l' AMENDE HONORABLE. 
 
 Forgive me, Sir, if my poor thoughtless Muse 
 In harsh, unfriendly censures seem to deal ; 
 
 To pardon an offence you wont refuse, 
 
 Which, you, perchance, too sensitively feel. 
 
 And surely. Sir, a mind like yours, imbued 
 With sweet philosophy's dehghtful lore. 
 
 Could never by such weakness be subdued, 
 The guise of which your playful history wore. 
 
 Nor could you, who so feelingly portray 
 From nature's works the universal plan 
 
 Of kindness and benevolence, betray 
 
 The trust poor woman must repose in man ! 
 
41 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND 
 
 ON HIS COMPLAINING OF THE INSUFFICIENCY OF PHILOSOPHY 
 AS A SUPPORT TO THE MIND UNDER -AFFLICTION, AND THAT 
 HE MEANT TO SEEK THAT SUPPORT IN RELIGION AND THE 
 SCRIPTURES. 
 
 0, SEARCH the bright record, — let nothing restrain 
 thee, — 
 The earnest pursuit shall be crowned with suc- 
 cess ! 
 Let not earth, with its varied temptations, enchain 
 thee. 
 Seek Him who alone can Hfe's pilgrimage bless ! 
 
 Can Science true happiness ever bestow ? 
 
 Will Philosophy prove from fate's arrows a shield, 
 
42 LINES TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Or blunt the barbed shafts of affliction ? Ah, no ! 
 Its impotent arm in the conflict must yield. 
 
 Religion alone can the armor supply ; 
 
 The shield must be faith, and the spirit the sword. 
 The breastplate of righteousness, — these may defy 
 
 The world, in the name of a crucified Lord ! 
 
 0, seek then that armor, — prayer ever obtains it, — 
 The Savior has promised, " Ask, it shall be 
 given ; " 
 That promise how sacred ! the Bible contains it ; 
 He reigns who has made it in earth and in 
 heaven. 
 
 0, seek it in faith ; with humility crave 
 
 That wisdom which science can never supply ; 
 That comfort and peace which the world cannot 
 give. 
 Nor with which the world's treasures in value 
 can vie. 
 
43 
 
 THE MISSIONARY. 
 
 Go, messenger from realms on high ! 
 
 On wings of love thy mission bear ; 
 To earth's remotest regions %, 
 
 And plant thy sacred banner there. 
 
 The red cross -wave o'er Afric's sands, 
 And bid her swarthy natives know 
 
 Their great Creator's mild commands, 
 And at the name of Jesus bow. 
 
 The red cross wave o'er India's soil, 
 O'er Ganges' water raise it high ; 
 
 The Hindoo, worn with heat and toil, 
 Shall to its grateful shadow fly. 
 
44 THE MISSIONARY. 
 
 The red cross wave where Buddha reigns, 
 
 His idol temples overthrow ; 
 Soon shall it burst his iron chains, 
 
 Though forged by Satan's host below. 
 
 The red cross wave o'er Southern seas ; 
 
 Pacific, be thy islands blest ! 
 Breathe soft, ye winds ! Heaven's favoring breeze 
 
 Speed gospel blessings to the West ! 
 
 The red cross wave where Northern suns 
 
 Scarce warm the earth, scarce melt the snow ; 
 
 Where life's dull current feebly runs. 
 Scarce felt is nature's genial glow. 
 
 The red cross wave o'er land and sea, 
 From north to south, from east to west ; 
 
 Let Father, Son, and Spirit, be 
 
 Through all earth's varied nations blest. 
 
45 
 
 EPITAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG. 
 
 Poor little dog I thy span of life was short, 
 Spent half in misery, and half in sport. 
 Thy bark so joyous, and thy bound so light, 
 Thy speed so swift, and thy dark eyes so bright. 
 Thy puppy age so fondled and caressed. 
 Thy lot appeared peculiarly blessed. 
 Poor Tip 1 disease attacked thy little frame, 
 Anguish and pain scarce could thy spirits tame ; 
 But, wandering from thy home in evil hour, 
 Thou wert exposed to persecution's power. 
 Hunger and cold and cruelty combined. 
 Home thou at length were brought, exhausted, 
 blind. 
 
46 EPITAPH ON A FAVORITE DOG. 
 
 We fed, and watched, and nursed thee for a while, 
 And kindness did thy sufferings beguile, 
 Until with health thy buoyant heart revived, 
 Although, alas! thy mirth was but short-lived ; 
 For, when accustomed to the loss of sight. 
 Again thou gambolledst with renewed delight. 
 Thy yet unconquerable wish to roam 
 Impelled thee once again to quit thy home. 
 And, blind and helpless, fall an easy prey 
 To boys, who drowned thee for their cruel play. 
 
ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 In such an age as this, such times as these, 
 
 Marked by indulgence, luxury, and ease, 
 
 Can truths, unvarnished truths, the power impart 
 
 To touch the conscience, or to mend the heart ? 
 
 Ah, Cowper ! but too plain didst thou foretell, 
 
 And paint the coming evils but too well. 
 
 Ah ! vainly didst thou warn ! — in vain deplore 
 
 The ills which threatened England's favored shore. 
 
 How, then, shall humbler poets hope to wake 
 
 An interest in themes all now forsake ? 
 
 Yet subjects which involve our nation's fame 
 
 May surely from her sons attention claim. 
 
 In nations, as in individuals, wealth 
 
 Seldom conduces to repose or health ; 
 
48 ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 As wealth and luxury are near allied, 
 
 And luxury produces vice and pride. 
 
 No happiness is found where virtue fails, 
 
 Where folly and where arrogance prevails. 
 
 Imperial Rome, the world's proud mistress, found 
 
 The empire totter, fall, bowed to the ground, 
 
 When wealth and luxury her senate filled ; 
 
 The state corrupted made her warriors yield ; 
 
 Enervate they, whose former well-earned fame 
 
 So powerful, nations trembled at their name ; 
 
 They sunk in luxury's devouring flood. 
 
 By rude barbarians saw their land subdued. 
 
 Athens and Sparta both, in evil hour. 
 
 Experienced luxury's destructive power. 
 
 0, guard Britannia from the baleful drought. 
 
 Which never without ruin can be quaifed ! 
 
 Britons ! descendants of a glorious race 
 
 Of heroes, patriots, statesmen ! 0, erase 
 
 Not from your souls the memory of your sires. 
 
 But emulate the deeds their fame inspires ! 
 
 Let not what should be blessings prove your bane ; 
 
 0, still the virtues of your sires retain ! 
 
ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 49 
 
 Let not, o'ercome by indolence and ease, 
 
 Slothful indulgence be the fruits of peace ; 
 
 Let not prosperity produce excess. 
 
 But calm content, and grateful happiness. 
 
 But, ah ! refinement's enervating hand 
 
 Is threatening swift destruction through the land, 
 
 And luxury, with an avalanche's force, 
 
 Gains strength as it advances on its course. 
 
 Refinement ! — ah ! how falsely so defined ! 
 
 Real refinement is of heart and mind. 
 
 Truly consists in purity of soul, 
 
 And Christian courteousness to crown the whole. 
 
 Pride and ambition reign alike in all. 
 
 No rank exclusively in great and small ; 
 
 Each aims at those above himself, and then 
 
 Inferiors copy him in turn again. 
 
 All feel the general impulse, and look down 
 
 With scorn on those in stations once their own ; 
 
 The sons of tradesmen hate the name of trade, 
 
 In which their vulgar fortunes have been made. 
 
 Dress, show, and equipage alone excite 
 
 The emulation which, directed right, 
 
50 ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Would make men truly great, and wise, and good, 
 
 Though so perverted and misunderstood. 
 
 Yet now fair science rears aloft her head, — 
 
 Genius, invention, knowledge, wide are spread, 
 
 And education's blessings showered around 
 
 On all, in every situation found. 
 
 Does knowledge cause the evil we deplore ? 
 
 Would barbarous ignorance befriend us more ? 
 
 No ! knowledge is a blessing all should prize. 
 
 And wilful ignorance as much despise ; 
 
 But ever should be such of sterhng use, — 
 
 No blessing liable to more abuse, — 
 
 Such knowledge as will time and death defy, 
 
 And flourish most in worlds beyond the sky. 
 
 As when a voyager to a distant shore 
 
 Has o'er the seas a pathway to explore, 
 
 Should ever keep his destined port in mind, 
 
 Though beautiful the coast he leaves behind. 
 
 Nor, idly hngering, trifle time away 
 
 With what should only soothe him on his way ; 
 
 So man, proceeding on his heaven-bound course, 
 
 Should for that voyage collect his utmost force ; 
 
ON THE TIMES IN ENGLAND. 51 
 
 To that his studies, recreations, tend, 
 
 That all, that only all-important end ! 
 
 But, present pleasure, present ease, in view. 
 
 The distant future fades as instant too. 
 
 Light, unimportant studies fill the mind. 
 
 Nor prompt a thought but what's to earth confined. 
 
 John Bull, — once reckoned solemn, grave, sedate. 
 
 With conquests and prosperity elate. 
 
 Has now become so polished and refined 
 
 He 's left at last his neighbor, France behind. 
 
 Rouse ! rouse, Britannia ! from thy dangerous 
 
 sleep ; 
 Awake ! arise ! and vigilently keep 
 Guard o'er thy country, which will else become, 
 'Tis to be feared, in fate, a second Rome. 
 Awake, ye Britons ! dash the cup aside 
 Of folly, vice, voluptuousness, and pride ! 
 Beware ! nor rashly tempt the certain fate 
 Of a luxurious and corrupted state ! 
 
62 
 
 ODE TO POESY. 
 
 Hail, heaven-born Poesy ! — heaven-born, for all 
 Of good or fair proceeds, and must, from heaven, — 
 Lead me a willing votary in thy train ; 
 An humble one, indeed, but one whose heart 
 Would fain receive thee to its inmost core, 
 And cherish thee while vital heat remains ; 
 One who would prize thee as a valued gem 
 Of countless worth, and bright and glorious lustre ; 
 One who would love thee, one who loves thee now. 
 One who will ever love thee, as the friend 
 Of virtue, wisdom, pity, and philanthrophy ; 
 One, sweet Poesy, who ne'er would barter thee for 
 
 sordid wealth. 
 Or sully thy pure flame with flattery's incense, 
 
ODE TO POESY. 53 
 
 Basely to court the smiles of eartlily greatness. 
 And are there any such ? There are, 't is true ; 
 And pity 'tis 'tis true, and shame as well as pity. 
 But few are they who thus pollute the fount 
 Of famed Castalius, — sweet, pellucid draught ! 
 Then lead me. Poesy, to thy sweet stream. 
 Briton may surely boast of her Parnassus ; 
 Eor thou hast visited her sea-girt chflfe. 
 And deigned to animate her bards to rapture. 
 Greece had her Homer, England boasts a Milton. 
 
54 
 
 ON THE MELANCHOLY DEATH OF LIEU- 
 TENANT HALSTED,* 
 
 AN OFFICER OF THE 87tH FUSILIERS, INTERRED AT CHESTER, 
 WITH MILITARY HONORS. 
 
 See that mournful array ! 
 
 Hark ! that drum's muffled roll ! 
 'T is a solemn lament 
 
 For a warrior's soul. 
 Yes ! a hero 's no more ; 
 
 But we trust -it will prove 
 He was only advanced 
 
 To the armies above. 
 
 * He was killed by a fall from the top of Chester castle, and was 
 a young man of great promise, having distinguished himself in sev- 
 eral engagements, during the Burmese war, in the East Indies. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED. 55 
 
 How fell he ? In battle, 
 
 While death raged around ? 
 Did he sink at the moment 
 
 With victory crowned ? 
 No ! a conqueror in war, 
 
 He in peace met his doom, 
 Which so suddenly hurried him 
 
 Into the tomb. 
 
 In martial procession 
 
 They follow the bier, 
 While the dirge for the dead 
 
 Slowly strikes on the ear ; 
 And the arms which in life 
 
 He had never disgraced. 
 In death, with deep grief. 
 
 On his coffin are placed. 
 
 And now, as the corse 
 
 Is inclosed in the ground. 
 The vaulted roof echoes 
 
 The awful death-sound. 
 
56 ON THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT HALSTED. 
 
 Hark ! a third time they fire ! — 
 'T is the soldier's last knell, 
 
 And his comrades now bid him 
 A sorrowing farewell. 
 
57 
 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE. 
 
 How vain to look for happiness on earth ! 
 Friends drop around us, even from our birth, 
 And could we be ourselves exempt from woe, 
 Ah ! still the tear of sympathy must flow. 
 
 Yet, 0, the tear of sympathy is sweet ! 
 The painful heart-throb is with balm replete ; 
 Pleasure and pain here ever are combined, 
 And tears give pleasure to a feeling mind. 
 
 Here, too, we cannot taste without alloy 
 Intense sensations of delight and joy ; 
 Angels alone the heights of rapture know. 
 And fallen angels feel the depths of woe ! 
 
58 
 
 PAIN AND PLEASURE. 
 
 Placed in a medium state, let us beware ; 
 Heaven be our hope, and virtue be our care, 
 Pleasure encourage us our course to steer, 
 And pain still warn us what we have to fear. 
 
59 
 
 ON SEEING SOME CHILDREN BLOWING 
 BUBBLES. 
 
 See yonder youthful circle, blowing 
 
 Bubbles high in air, 
 While their hearts, with mirth o'erflowing. 
 
 Know no thought or care ! 
 
 See the sparkling globules rise. 
 
 Quickly in succession ! 
 Some, ambitious, seek the skies, 
 Some, yielding to depression. 
 One moment sink, the next to mount on high, 
 And end their wavering course more brilliantly. 
 
 Like visions glittering in Hfe's young day. 
 Bright as yon globules, like them light as air, 
 
60 ON SEEING CHILDREN BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 Like hopes by disappointment swept away, 
 Which, vanishing, are followed by despair, — 
 
 Like shadowy phantoms of the poet's brain. 
 Or like ambition's wild-aspiring schemes, 
 
 Equally bright, and equally as vain, — 
 Like fancy's magic, or like lover's dreams. 
 
 Emblems of all by which we 're here perplexed, - 
 
 This world itself a huhhle to the next. 
 
61 
 
 THE WAGER. 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A CHALLENGE FROM A YODNG GENTLEMAN, 
 IN WHICH EACH WAS TO WRITE TWENTY LINES OF POETRY, 
 WHICH WAS TO BE SUBMITTED TO THE JUDGMENT OF 
 FRIENDS. 
 
 A MINSTREL wreath I'm called to twine, 
 Come, aid me, all ye sisters nine ! — 
 
 I've twenty lines to write ; 
 A rival holds a tempting prize, 
 And my poetic power defies, — 
 
 Come, gird thee for the fight ! 
 
 No mean opponent hast thou found. 
 To meet thee on Parnassian ground ; 
 Shouldst thou the laurel gain. 
 
62 THE WAGER. 
 
 And this fair company decree 
 The meed of victory to thee, 
 Thou may'st be justly vain. 
 
 At friendship's call thou oft hast waked, - 
 Here glory, honor, fame, are staked, — 
 
 Come, lady Muse, defend me ! 
 Be thou my sword, be thou my shield ; 
 The knight must to the lady yield 
 
 If thou wilt but befriend me. 
 
 Yet, should the wished-for prize be mine. 
 Or this just court award it thine, 
 
 Yet when the contest ends. 
 Though poets seldom can agree. 
 The world at least one proof shall see, 
 
 That rivals may be friends. 
 
63 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OE WILLIAM SHEN- 
 STONE. 
 
 A PASTORAL POEM. 
 
 Ye shepherds, attend to my strain, 
 While I sing of your Corydon's praise ; 
 
 He was truly the pride of the plain, — 
 0, assist me a tribute to raise ! 
 
 A tribute to him I admire, 
 
 For his tenderness, talents, and "worth ; — 
 Ah, shepherds ! how vain the desire 
 
 We shall e'er see his equal on earth ! 
 
 And, Corydon, was there a heart 
 
 Which, unmelted, could hear thee complain ? 
 A nymph who could bid thee depart. 
 
 Nor, relenting, recall thee again ? 
 
64 TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 
 
 To the banks, and the grottos and groves, 
 Which for her with such taste you adorned, 
 
 By the fountains and murmuring Doves, 
 
 Could she stray, and your love unreturned ? 
 
 Ah, Phillis ! our favorite swain 
 'Twas cruel to use thus unkind. 
 
 And to wound with contempt and disdain 
 His feeling and sensitive mind. 
 
 For thee not a shepherd shall mourn, 
 Not a dirge shall melodiously flow ; 
 
 You in turn shall be treated with scorn. 
 Since you caused our dear Corydon woe ! 
 
 But, Phillis, though justly your due. 
 In vain our resentment is shown ; 
 
 For our favorite shepherd was true. 
 And you Hve in a strain of his own. 
 
 And since our own Corydon thus 
 Has made Phillis his favorite theme, 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. 65 
 
 Her name shall be precious to us, 
 
 While lier virtues we love and esteem. 
 
 Ah, shepherds ! our Cory don's flute 
 
 No longer is heard on the plain ; 
 The voice which once charmed us is mute, — 
 
 Its sweet tones will ne'er soothe us again. 
 
 His picturesque sjlvan retreat 
 
 May the loss of its master deplore, 
 And echo his name may repeat, 
 
 For his fostering care is no more ! 
 
 If genius merits a sigh, 
 
 If goodness is worthy a tear, 
 Mild charity's pitying eye, 
 
 And justice to self still severe, — 
 
 0, join us our shepherd to mourn ! 
 
 For these were in him all combined ; 
 Breathe a sigh, drop a tear, o'er his urn. 
 
 For his was a masterly mind. 
 
66 
 
 HAWARDEN HEYS. 
 
 All around 't is fairy ground, 
 Nature's magic here displayed, 
 
 By romantic beauties crowned. 
 Hill and dale, and light and shade. 
 
 Trees of various form and hue. 
 Wildly scattered o'er the scene. 
 
 Here, a wide and lovely view, 
 
 There, the Heys embowered in green ! 
 
 If to pensive thought inclined. 
 Here the wanderer may stray, 
 
 And in wood or valley find 
 Shelter from the blaze of day. 
 
HAWARDEN HEYS. 
 
 67 
 
 Climb the hill, and there the eye 
 A wide expanse of earth may see ; 
 
 Art and nature equal vie 
 To form the rich variety. 
 
 But haply eve's pale tints you love, — 
 Perchance you prize the moonlight ray ; 
 
 Go, watch, then, Cynthia rise above 
 Yon ruined castle's turrets gray. 
 
68 
 
 THE SOUVENIR, 
 
 Take this simple and beautiful air, — 
 May it sometimes remind you of me ; 
 
 And sweetly 't will banish my care, 
 To imagine it warbled by thee. 
 
 In my absence 'twill plead for me here. 
 
 And gently my advocate prove ; 
 'T will tell you that love so sincere 
 
 Separation can never remove. 
 
 When my tongue has pronounced its farewell, 
 And when far from the voice I love best. 
 
 My heart shall dehghtedly dwell 
 
 On that thought, and 't will soothe it to rest- 
 
THE SOUVENIR. 
 
 69 
 
 0, let it not e'er be profaned 
 
 By lips which love's power have not known ! 
 Keep sacred its token unfeigned, — 
 
 Keep it sacred to lips like your own ! 
 
TO 
 
 A SKETCH, 
 
 I SAW her in beauty, I saw her in pride, 
 
 In Hfe's brightest lustre, youth's earliest bloom, 
 When her cheek with the hue of that rose might 
 have vied, 
 That decks the green sod which encircles her 
 tomb. 
 
 I saw her when, colorless, faded, and pale, 
 That lily her delicate emblem might be ; — 
 
 Or the marble on which is mscribed her sad tale. 
 Warning others they soon may lie lowly as she. 
 
 I saw her encircled with each magic charm. 
 
 With each witching spell, which earth has to be- 
 stow, 
 
A SKETCH. 71 
 
 And I saw her shrink back in dismay and alarm, 
 When death, hovering over her, menaced his blow. 
 
 I saw her when suffering had blanched her fair cheek, 
 And her eyes, once so brilhant, now trembled with 
 tears ; 
 
 But a sweet, placid smile, and her accents so meek, 
 Assured us religion had banished her fears. 
 
 In health's brightest bloom, she never had seemed 
 
 So lovely, so beauteous, so heavenly, as now ; ^ 
 When her eye, and her smile, with wild gayety 
 beamed, 
 And her pale cheek was flushed with a delicate 
 glow. 
 
 I saw her as calmly she yielded her breath ; 
 
 The tear was now gone, but the smile still re- 
 mained 
 On her beautiful features, when sleeping in death. 
 Which no trace of her sufferings or sorrow re- 
 tained. 
 
72 
 
 ON READING LORD BYRON'S LINES ON 
 TH E DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 
 
 IN " ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWEIIS." 
 
 Unhappy White I — Ah ! Byron, say not so ! 
 
 0, may thy spirit be as happy now ! 
 
 Well did an ancient sage the caution breathe, 
 
 Say not what man is happy, ere his death ! 
 
 And when Kirke White expired, ah ! who could 
 
 fear, 
 That that pure soul winged not its bright career 
 To an exalted, a celestial sphere ? 
 Then say not, Byron, all its promise fair 
 But sought the grave to sleep for ever there ! 
 That noble heart by death was not undone ; 
 Heaven called, not Science slew, her favorite son, — 
 
ON THE DEATH OF HENRY KIRKE AVHITE. T3 
 
 Called him to realms of clear and perfect light, 
 The mysteries of science opened to his sight, 
 Unveiling beauties which the mists of sense 
 Enveloped in thick clouds, obscure and dense. 
 Not hke an eagle stretched upon the plain, 
 No more on venturous wing to soar again. 
 But like Him who descended from the skies 
 To raise man there, Kirke White but fell to rise ! 
 
74 
 
 L' INCONSTANT. 
 
 He saw, he admired her, and sought to inspire 
 Her susceptible heart with love's sweetest emo- 
 tion ; 
 
 He strove to anticipate every desire, 
 
 And silently paid her the deepest devotion. 
 
 He saw the deep blush he could call to her cheek, 
 And vainly imagined the conquest his own ; 
 
 Then heartlessly left her, fresh triumphs to seek, 
 And exult in the victory he thought he had won. 
 
 But he knew not the spirit of womanly pride 
 
 Which, though sweetness itself, she could call to 
 her aid ; 
 
l'inconstant. 
 
 75 
 
 She summoned it now, and successfully tried 
 To forget the impression his falsehood made. 
 
 He saw, and too late, with remorse and regret, 
 That she viewed him with feelings allied to dis- 
 dain ; 
 
 He felt that like him she could learn to forget, 
 And ne'er trifled with woman's affections again. 
 
76 
 
 SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 While darkness shrouds thy mortal sight 
 In nature's solemn stillness, night, 
 These questions to thine heart apply, 
 And let it answer honestly. 
 
 What have I done that I should not ? 
 That which I should have I forgot ? 
 Have I done aught to mark my way, 
 Or, like the Roman, lost a day ? 
 
 Have I thought what I fain would hide. 
 When my heart's inmost depths are tried ? 
 Or said what I should hlush to appear, 
 When God, and man, and angels hear ? 
 
SELF-EXAMINATION. 77 
 
 Have I employed my tongue in praise 
 To Him whose mercy crowns my days ? 
 Or thought of Him who gave me power 
 To think, that I might love him more ? 
 
 A day is added to my store, — 
 Who much receives should render more ; 
 Since yesterday another given, — 
 To-day am I more fit for heaven ? 
 
78 
 
 LINES TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON RECEIVING SOME IVORY TABLETS. 
 
 Accept a tribute of sincere regard, 
 
 A simple wreath, and from an humble bard. 
 
 But one poor Muse at least my lay shall grace. 
 
 Each flattering hne benevolently trace ; 
 
 Mnemosyne her grateful aid shall lend. 
 
 My dear, my kind, my own, my father's friend ! 
 
 Yes ! symbols of thy worth still brightly shine 
 
 In memory's deep but treasure-hoarded mine ; , 
 
 And on the tablets of my heart shall write 1 
 
 Each kindly act in characters of light ! 
 
79 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Mourn not for Marg'ret ! her sufferings are o'er, 
 
 And her glorified spirit rejoices in bhss ; 
 Triumphantly crowned, she remembers no more. 
 
 In the joys of the next world, the sorrows of this. 
 ConfoiTQed to her Savior in suffering here, 
 
 She drank of the cup which her Father had given, 
 And exchanged for a higher and holier sphere 
 
 The trials of earth, for the treasures of heaven. 
 
 Mourn not for her, though in youth's early bloom 
 The summons to leave all most dear has been 
 sent; 
 Though tears, bitter tears, may be shed o'er her 
 tomb. 
 He loves her far more who recalls what he lent. 
 
80 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Yes, Marg'ret ! in tliee I have lost one whose love 
 Through life I had hoped would mj pilgrimage 
 cheer ; 
 
 But thougli thou hast ilcd to the mansions above, 
 My trembling footsteps may follow thee there. 
 
 Mourn not for Marg'ret ! though great be our loss, 
 
 Though her sweet disposition endeared her to all ; 
 If we strive for the crown, we must take up tlie 
 cross, 
 Else earth would our wayward affections enthrall. 
 Though cold is that heart which so warmly could 
 glow, 
 Though silent that voice which so sweetly would 
 thrill, 
 Though the sigh may arise, the unbidden tear flow, 
 We would bow to the stroke most submissively 
 still. 
 
81 
 
 LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 TO MISS A. 8. 
 
 Alicia bids me wake the lay, 
 
 Alicia courts my muse ; 
 Sweet girl, with pleasure I obey, — 
 
 'T were painful to refuse ; 
 
 For well I feel, though weak the strain, 
 Though poor the lines may flow, 
 
 No critic harsh have I to gain, 
 Approval to bestow. 
 
 Alicia loves the simplest proof 
 
 Of friendship and regard ; 
 To gain her smile were boon enough 
 
 To inspire a worthier bard. 
 
82 LINES FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 But much I fear her poet's lyre, 
 Though tuned with earnest heart, 
 
 Can never equal or aspire 
 To half her painter's art. 
 
 No flowers have I of hue so bright 
 As his, to adorn the page ; 
 
 No brilliant tints to attract the sight, 
 And pleased regard engage ; 
 
 Else should the rose of England twine 
 With Erin's shamrock green, 
 
 And friendship's ivy-leaf divine 
 Bloom verdantly between. 
 
88 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS. 
 
 My gentle Jane, accept a willing lay, 
 An honest tribute most sincerely penned ; 
 
 No empty compliments I mean to pay, 
 
 But simply breathe the wishes of a friend. 
 
 Perchance the muse may prompt a serious strain, 
 As one best suited to a suffering hour ; 
 
 But soon may'st thou both health and strength regain, 
 Nor feel the sad effects of sickness' power. 
 
 Yet think, dear girl, while yet it pleases Him 
 (Who chastens whom he loves) your faith to try, 
 
 Who calls for clouds tbe youthful eye to dim, 
 
 That earth's vain scenes may pass less dazzhng by ; 
 
84 TO A YOUNG LADY DURING SICKNESS. 
 
 Who summons pain, or sickness, or distress, 
 
 To show the emptiness of all below, 
 To teach fond man that He alone can bless, 
 
 That lasting peace from Heaven alone can flow, — 
 
 0, think of what makes even sickness blest. 
 
 Without which health and earth's best gifts are 
 vain. 
 
 Winch gives to life's true joys their purest zest, 
 And renders death itself eternal gain I 
 
 I wish thee all which this world can supply, 
 I wish thee health, and happiness, and ease ; 
 
 But all that 's bright must fade, that lives must die, — 
 Then, dear Jane 1 I wish thee 7nore than these. 
 
 I wish thee endless life beyond the tomb. 
 Pleasures that never fade, nor joys that fly ; 
 
 Leaves for the healhig of the nations'* bloom 
 In that blest land, on trees that never die 1 
 
 * " And in the midst of the city was there the tree of life, and the 
 leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations." — Rev. xxii. 2. 
 
85 
 
 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE, 
 
 ON THE WESTERN COAST OF IRELAND. BOAT FREIGHTED 
 WITH DEAD BODIES. 
 
 Hark ! hear ye not the piercing cry, 
 That doleful mourning, long and loud ? 
 
 The echoing rocks and hills reply 
 To the deep wailing of the crowd. 
 
 A boat appears ! with outstretched hand 
 And eager eyes her course they hail ; 
 
 But scarcely does she touch the strand, 
 Again resounds that mournful wail. 
 
 That boat contains a solemn freight 
 Of human corses, lately glowing 
 
86 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 
 
 With life and health, perchance elate 
 With happiness o'erflowing. 
 
 Redeemed from the devouring tide, 
 The empty caskets now arc borne, 
 
 Each to his own beloved fireside, — 
 Alas that thus thej should return I 
 
 The animating spirits fled, 
 
 Ah ! what avails the lifeless claj ? 
 
 The piercing '' keen cry " o'er the dead 
 With empty sound shall pass away ! 
 
 But let not thus the warning pass 
 
 Which issues from their humble biers, 
 
 As many a warning voice, alas ! 
 
 Is heard with dull and death-like ears. 
 
 The winds repeat the solemn sound, 
 The waters in each rushing wave ; 
 
 Destruction both have scattered round, 
 And yawned hath many an early grave ! 
 
SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 87 
 
 Full many a fabric man hath reared, 
 
 One awful moment levelled low, 
 When, to perform his will prepared, 
 
 God bade the angrj wind to blow. 
 
 It swept through nature's wide domain, 
 The forest's pride was prostrate cast ; 
 
 The growth of ages strewed the plain, 
 Loud groaning in the ruthless blast. 
 
 But who can count the human souls 
 
 That perished in that fearful gale ? 
 When the last trumpet shakes the poles, 
 
 It — it alone — shall tell the tale. 
 
 When God's almighty power appeared 
 
 In tempests bursting o'er his head, 
 The '' still, small voice " Elijah heard, 
 
 As to his cave he trembhng fled. 
 
 And shall not we, by mercy spared. 
 
 While judgment thus has stalked abroad, 
 
88 SCENE AFTER A HURRICANE. 
 
 Be by such dread events prepared 
 To listen to the voice of God ? 
 
 That gentle voice, 0, may we hear 
 In the deep silence of the heart, 
 
 Dispelling all but godly fear, 
 And bidding every sin depart ! 
 
89 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE DOWAGER LADY 
 POWERSCOURT.* 
 
 Angels, strike your harps of gold ! 
 
 Who surround the eternal throne ; 
 Though the Godhead ye behold, 
 
 Sympathy with man ye own. 
 O'er his fallen, yet kindred, race. 
 
 Still ye watch with holy love. 
 And, ransomed through a Savior's grace. 
 
 Behold him seek your ranks above. 
 
 * This pious lady had felt a presentiment of her approaching 
 death a week before she was attacked with any sickness, and imme- 
 diately arranged her affairs, to the most minute particular, accord- 
 ingly ; on completing which, she was taken ill, and died in a few 
 days. 
 
90 ON THE DEATH OF LADY POWERSCOURT. 
 
 Hail ye now a happy soul ! 
 
 From our world of woe and care, 
 Lo ! she gains the blissful goal, 
 
 Comes your heavenly joys to share, 
 Through the portals of the grave. 
 
 In the steps her Savior trod, 
 Who in death the victory gave. 
 
 And conveyed her home to God. 
 
 Clothed in garments pure and white. 
 
 Cleansed in Calvary's crimson flood. 
 Sinners ! who (in robes so bright) , 
 
 Comes to view her Savior, God ? 
 She who gains a heavenly crown 
 
 Earthly honors meekly wore. 
 Gladly laid the burden down, — 
 
 Powerscourt was the name she bore. 
 
 Wealth was hers, but she had learned 
 Where alone true riches lie. 
 
 And from worldly treasures turned. 
 Seeking those beyond the sky. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF LADY POWERSCOURT. 91 
 
 Early doomed to feel the smart 
 
 Of affliction's chastening rod, 
 She reposed a widowed heart 
 
 On the bosom of her God. 
 
 Through this wilderness she passed, 
 
 Supported by her Savior's arm, 
 And to behold his face at last 
 
 Could death of every sting disarm. 
 Hastening her duties to fulfil, 
 
 Assured her Lord would call her home 
 From that high station which his will 
 
 Said, " Occupy till I shall come." 
 
 Her stewardship she calmly closed, 
 
 Though yet no sickness touched her frame ; 
 Her house ui order she disposed, 
 
 And then the looked-for summons came. 
 She sickened, — human aid was vam, — 
 
 She knew that now her hour was come. 
 Angels, pour forth a glorious strain ! 
 
 Her happy spirit welcome home ! 
 
92 
 
 METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N- 
 
 My very dear friend, 
 In your absence I send a few lines to remind you 
 of those left behind you. I hear that to Derry you 
 journeyed quite merry, and your brother to greet 
 you had hastened to meet you ; to whom by the way, 
 I my compliments pay, with his friend and your own, 
 now no longer unknown, for ere this, I dare say, they 
 have stolen you away from the town and its noise, to 
 the country's sweet joys. Apropos to your city ; 
 my heart throbbed with pity, as I yesterday read, in 
 the history by Reid, of the right noble stand of the 
 patriot band by whom in the seige Londonderry was 
 manned. Such sufferings and zeal to our feelings 
 appeal, and make Derry shine bright in fair virtue's 
 sweet light. 
 
METRICAL LETTER TO MISS N . 98 
 
 It surprised me to hear, that her walls still appear, 
 complete as they were in that notable year, their 
 breadth though so great, so much strength might 
 create, as might cause them to last to so distant a 
 date. my dear, to look down on the river and 
 town in so sacred a spot, must not every thought be 
 with past recollections of chivalry fraught ? No 
 wonder your mind caught a tone more refined, and 
 the scene whiph you drew bore so vivid a hue ! 
 
 But, as my vagrant Muse no such prospect now 
 views, she must beg you her errors and faults to 
 excuse. And, wishing you every joy and delight, 
 and hoping (when leisure permits) you will write, 
 My dear Mary Ann, 
 
 Pray believe me to be, 
 
 Sincerely affectionate. 
 
 Yours,— F. E. B. 
 
94 
 
 A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA, 
 
 A ROMANTIC DISTRICT IN THE WEST OF IRELAND. 
 
 Come, my friends, in fancy climb 
 Binnabola's heights sublime ! 
 See their frowning summit vie. 
 Proudly towering to the sky. 
 Now behold yon darkening cloud 
 Their stately majesty enshroud ; 
 Now dispersed and chased away 
 By the sun's enlivening ray. 
 Soon emerging to the view, 
 Clothed with every varied hue, 
 Chameleon tints of green and blue. 
 
 Now turn we where fair Clifden stands, 
 And many a pleasing scene commands ; 
 
A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA. 95 
 
 But no description can convey 
 How picturesque her church and bay ; 
 Nor can we greater justice do 
 Her castle and its beauties, too. 
 But come, all ye who love the roar 
 Where wild, impetuous torrents pour ; 
 See that frail bridge sustain the shock 
 Of waters dashed from rock to rock. 
 Collecting from the neighboring hills, 
 The flood the very arches fills, 
 And, foaming down the craggy steep, 
 Forms eddying whirlpools vast and deep. 
 Yet here the daring trout can leap. 
 And, darting through the foam and spray, 
 Unharmed pursue their venturous way. 
 But see, in treacherous mazes set. 
 Yon fisher throws the wily net, 
 And cautiously conceals the snare 
 Beneath the rock, with jealous care, 
 Just where the angry waters boil, 
 And thus secures the finny spoil. 
 
96 A SKETCH OF CONNEMARA. 
 
 To Roundstone now our way we take, 
 
 O'er mountain moor and lonely lake, 
 
 Where the wild-fowl rear their broods, 
 
 In these romantic solitudes. 
 
 0, that the food, earth, sea, and sky 
 
 For man's subsistence here supply 
 
 By starving thousands were enjoyed, 
 
 Who of those comforts are devoid ! 
 
 0, that these vast unpeopled plains, 
 
 Where so much native beauty reigns, — 
 
 Neglected spots of Erin's isle, — 
 
 Were decked with culture's cheerful smile ! 
 
 But I must hasten to conclude 
 
 My ramble through these regions rude, 
 
 Lest I my kind friends' patience tire, 
 
 A prospect which I don't admire. 
 
 But should they on some future day 
 
 Again desire with me to stray, 
 
 Perchance my humble Muse once more 
 
 May Connemara's wilds explore. 
 
97 
 
 ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT, 
 
 Creator of the human race, 
 Almighty Father of mankind, 
 
 I humbly bow before thy face, — 
 0, may my child thy favor find ! 
 
 Savior ! obedient to thy word 
 I bring my infant son to thee ; 
 
 Accept and bless him, gracious Lord ! 
 Say, " Suffer him to come to me ! " 
 
 Baptized with water all must be, 
 According to thy plain command, 
 
 And cleansed by sovereign grace, as free 
 As water poureth through the land. 
 
98 ON THE BAPTISM OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Baptized in the most sacred name 
 Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, 
 
 0, may my son thy mercy claim, 
 And gain the grace by nature lost ! 
 
 My cherub boy, thy infant smiles 
 
 Bring gladness to thy mother's heart, 
 
 Which many a painful thought beguiles, 
 In which thy future fate hath part. 
 
 i But He who loved thy helpless race. 
 
 And clasped them fondly to his breast, 
 His providence thy wants embrace I 
 On this thy parent's hopes must rest. 
 
 He can through hfe thy wants supply. 
 In death, his mercy still can save. 
 
 On cherub's wings can make thee fly. 
 And bear thee safe o'er Jordan's wave. 
 
99 
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 FOB CHRISTMAS DAT, WITH A PEESENT OP A NETTED PURSE. 
 
 Accept this trifling mark of love, — 
 Affection's hand its meshes wove ; 
 May silken cords, as closely twined, 
 Our hearts and souls together bind. 
 
 May heaven its blessings on thee pour, 
 Thy purse contain a golden store, 
 And love and truth, those gems divine, 
 More bright than gold, be ever thine ! 
 
 But all earth's treasures still must fade. 
 The true, the loved, be lowly laid ; 
 
100 TO A FKIEND. 
 
 Then be thy surest riches stored 
 
 In brighter worlds, with Christ the Lord. 
 
 This day we hail his heavenly birth, 
 This day a babe he came on earth, 
 Forsook the glories of the skies 
 To win for man the heavenly prize. 
 
 Then may we lay up treasures there 
 In heaven's blest courts so bright and fair, 
 That world of peace and joy above, 
 Eternal as the Savior's love ! 
 
101 
 
 A CAMBRIAN TOUR. 
 
 Together we rambled through Cambria's land, 
 
 We sailed along Mersey's broad stream, 
 We witnessed in nature the beauteous, the grand, 
 We gazed at the noblest work art ever planned, 
 Then parted as if 't were a dream. 
 
 In scenes which the poet delights to explore, 
 
 And the hand of the painter to trace, 
 Where time has his mantle of ivy thrown o'er, 
 Beaumaris's castle, Caernarvon's proud tower. 
 Which the birth of a prince was to grace, — 
 
 In the land of romance, of the mountain and river, 
 How sweet our brief intercourse grew ! 
 
102 A CAMBEIAN TOUR. 
 
 And the thought, that when parting we parted for 
 
 ever, 
 That in this earthly scene we should meet again 
 
 never, 
 A sigh of regret perchance drew. 
 
 To Bangor's fair city our ride was dehghtful. 
 But we stopped not the town to survey, 
 
 Penmaen Maur's craggy steep frowned tremendously 
 frightful. 
 
 But Conway's light fabric looked poor to the sight, full 
 Of Menai's stupendous display. 
 
 From Conway we travelled for twenty long miles, 
 
 And arrived, just as night gathered round. 
 At the vicarage, where we were greeted with smiles. 
 And a welcome, the warmth of which sweetly be- 
 guiles 
 Fatigue of its weariness, found. 
 
 Llanberris, thy beauties can scarcely excel 
 The beauties of Clwydd and Cwm, 
 
A CAMBRIAN TOUR. 
 
 103 
 
 Where mountain and rivulet, woodland and dell, 
 With the sea in the distance, embellishes well 
 An Eden of brightness and bloom. 
 
 Fair Cambria ! land of the mountain and rill, 
 
 Of heroes and poets of old, 
 Where the harp poured its sweetness o'er vallej and 
 
 hill,— 
 Yes I nature's own harmony hallows thee still ; 
 
 What heart to her music is cold ? 
 
104 
 
 ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Welcome, my darling, to thj mother's heart, — 
 
 A gift from God, a precious trust thou art ; 
 
 A soul, confided to thy parent's care, 
 
 To train for heaven and Christ's blest mansion there. 
 
 Like Moses, in his ark of reeds and mud. 
 Thy fragile bark floats on a troubled flood, 
 Launched on the waves of this world's stormy tide, 
 More dangerous than Egyptia's waters wide. 
 
 But the same God who interposed to save. 
 
 And snatched him from the Nile's o'erwhelming 
 
 wave, — 
 That providence which Pharaoh's daughter sent, 
 And to her heart his tears made eloquent. 
 
ON THE BIRTH OF AN INFANT. 105 
 
 His fate o'erruled, and He whose word can save 
 Caused her to draw him from his watery grave, 
 And take him for her own, — that Hebrew boy 
 Whom cruel Pharaoh's mandate would destroy, — 
 
 That providence, my babe, can shelter thee 
 From all the storms of life's tempestuous sea, 
 And bear thee safely to that happy shore 
 Where all its waves and storms can reach no more. 
 
106 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGESTED BY THE PARLIAMENTARY GRANT FOR THE 
 IMPROVEMENT OP THE SHANNON. 
 
 Shannon ! on thy peaceful shore 
 Hostile armies meet no more ; 
 Civil war and foreign feud 
 Are in God's good time subdued, 
 Driven before a conquering foe, 
 
 Erin's sons no more retreat 
 Where thy waters' rapid flow 
 
 A refuge formed in their defeat. 
 Yet, beyond thy sylvan banks, 
 
 Still a separate people dwell ; 
 Connaught's province scarcely ranks 
 
 With the three which foremost fell. 
 
LINES. 107 
 
 Freedom ! when thy children sought 
 
 This their mountainous retreat, 
 Vainly they thy semblance bought, 
 
 To make their thraldom more complete. 
 Freed, indeed, from temporal power. 
 
 In savage wilds they long remained ; 
 But in that dark and suffering hour, 
 
 While ignorance and error reigned, 
 Rome riveted her fetters on the mind. 
 Ere o'er their lofty hills the light of knowledge 
 
 shined. 
 
 Shannon ! soon thy waters' bound 
 
 A proverb of reproach became ; 
 And e'en their countrymen were found 
 
 To pour contempt on Connanght's name. 
 Poor, despised, her people grew. 
 
 Exiles on their native shore. 
 Shannon ! thou conspirest, too, 
 
 Their banishment to aid thee more ; 
 But now propitious flows thy circling tide, 
 Uniting those whom thou didst once divide. 
 
108 LINES. 
 
 Now, no more thy noble stream 
 
 Sad and silent glides along ; 
 Hail the kindly power of steam ! 
 
 Thy banks present a busy throng. 
 The dawn of commerce breaks at last, 
 
 And shines upon thy silvery wave, 
 To heal the sorrows of the past, 
 
 And Erin's suffering land to save ; 
 To make thy stream the noble source 
 
 Of blessings flowing through the isle ; 
 To mark thy far, wide-spreading course 
 
 With peace and plenty's cheerful smile ; 
 To burst the bonds of ignorance, 
 
 By poverty so firmly twined. 
 And raise with happy influence 
 
 At once the body and the mind. 
 For, as the light of knowledge spreads, 
 
 Rehgion follows in its train, 
 Soon casts away vain charms and beads. 
 
 And hails with joy the gospel reign. 
 Hail ! Shannon, hail ! this lovely land restore ; 
 Bid famine feuds, and discord waste no more. 
 
LINES. 109 
 
 Let idleness no more, with downcast mien, 
 And pallid want, deface each rural scene ; 
 But active industry, and heavenly peace, 
 Bid Ireland's woes and crimes for ever cease. 
 
110 
 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON HIS LEAVING ENGLAND FOR SOUTH AMERICA. 
 
 If aught can urge a friend's request 
 
 With more prevailing force, 
 'T is parting thus from east to west, 
 When meeting must involve at best 
 
 Uncertainty, of course. 
 Yet think not I would damp the zeal 
 A sailor's breast should ever feel ; 
 
 For British bards have sung that zeal 
 
 In music's richest strain. 
 And British hearts must ever feel 
 How strongly to their love appeal 
 
 Her wanderers of the main ; 
 Then go, and prosperous gales convey 
 Thy bark upon its destined way ! 
 
TO A FRIEND. Ill 
 
 Yet think, while o'er the trackless deep 
 
 Thy vessel smoothly glides, 
 Or should the angry billows leap, 
 And rise in watery mountains steep. 
 
 Who o'er the storm presides ; 
 Remember Him whose sovereign will 
 Can bid the winds and waves be still. 
 
 Yes, Edward, yes ; the voyage of life 
 
 Demands a sailor's care ; 
 Passions, the elements of strife. 
 And rocks abound, with dangers rife, 
 
 All unsuspected there ; 
 Mists blind our eyes, our track pursue. 
 And hide our wished-for port from view. 
 
 The Bible is the compass given 
 
 By which our course to steer ; 
 When tossed by billows, tempest driven, 
 " A pilot to the port of heaven " 
 
 Points with directions clear, — 
 He who once trod the briny wave 
 To prove his mighty power to save. 
 
112 
 
 TO ANNIE. 
 
 Though dark be the season of dreary December, 
 
 A wreath we may pluck from an evergreen tree, 
 And when Erin's kind daughters I fondly remember, 
 
 A garland I '11 twine, my dear Annie, for thee. 
 The ivy, revealing of friendship the feeling, 
 
 The holly of Scotia's famed bard shall be thine ; 
 While misletoe blending, its elegance lending. 
 
 For thee, my dear Annie, a garland I'll twine ! 
 
 And though far away soon my footsteps may wander, 
 And the banks of the Foyle I no longer may see, 
 
 Full oft on the friends far removed shall I ponder, 
 And my thoughts shall revert, my dear Annie, to 
 thee! 
 
TO ANNIE. 113 
 
 Or should music, soft stealing o'er each tender feel- 
 ing, 
 And touching the cords in fond memory's shrine, 
 Full oft on each note thy remembrance shall float, 
 And the voice of its numbers, dear Annie, be 
 thine. 
 
114 
 
 AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 J OYFULLY I court the Muse, 
 A nd wake for thee the votive lay ; 
 N or thou, dear maid, the boon refuse, 
 E ntreating which my vows I pay. 
 
 E steemed, and honored, and beloved, 
 L et me, dear Jane, thy friendship claim ; 
 E ager to have these lines approved, 
 A nd prizing naught like thy sweet name, ■ 
 N 0, not a word the tongue can frame, — 
 , smile upon my simple lay ! 
 R eceive my vows this festive day. 
 
AN ACROSTIC. 
 
 115 
 
 P rizing a world of bliss above, 
 , may thy years on earth be blest ! 
 P romoting all which Christians love, 
 E ternal be thy happy rest ! 
 
116 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 O'er the dreary waste of waters 
 Where my dear ones footsteps rove. 
 
 Father ! be thy care extended I 
 God of mercy and of love ! 
 
 As of old, almighty Savior ! 
 
 Bid the winds and waves be still ; 
 Now, as then, the powers of nature 
 
 Wait upon thy sovereign will. 
 
 Spread your sheltering wings around hini^ 
 Ye whom Heaven's blest missions l>earj 
 
 Holy angels, guardian spirits, 
 Take, 0, take him to your care ! 
 
HYMN. 117 
 
 Still this fallen world ye visit ; 
 
 Though unseen, his steps attend ; 
 Viewless messengers of mercy, 
 
 From all ill his course defend ! 
 
 And, when life's short voyage is over, 
 
 When the waves of Jordan roll, 
 O, may angels round him hover. 
 
 Heaven's blest shores receive his soul ! 
 
 
118 
 
 ON COLONIAL SLAVERY. 
 
 [838. 
 
 O'er the fair realms of Britain the suii ne'er de- 
 clines ; 
 
 On our sovereign's dominions he ceaselessly shines, 
 
 And withdraws but his beams from our own native 
 isle, 
 
 Her most distant possessions to gild with his smile. 
 
 Then should not the sun of fair freedom, too, rise, 
 
 With beams as refulgent, in tropical skies ? 
 
 And while here his bright rajs their kind influence 
 
 lend, 
 To our poor negro brethren their glory extend ? 
 
ON COLONIAL SLAVERY. 119 
 
 Shall the sceptre of Britain by woman be grasped, 
 Nor the fetters which bind the poor negro unclasped '( 
 Shall the voice of her people ascend to her throne, 
 Nor Victoria the claims of humanity own ? 
 
 Forbid it, each feeling to woman most dear 1 
 Forbid it, fair charity, pity's soft tear ! 
 Forbid it, the shriek— 0, so fearfully wild ! — 
 As the poor negro mother is torn from her child I 
 
 Forbid it, the lash, which so cruelly hangs 
 
 O'er the head of the slave, and adds shame to his 
 
 pangs ! 
 Alas ! even "females the scourge cannot flee. 
 Till the law of their country pronounces them free ! 
 
 Yes ! Victoria shall yet hear the poor negro's moan, 
 And the voice of her people shall echo her own, 
 And the bright star of liberty rise o'er the waves, 
 And the mandate of mercy give freedom to slaves I 
 
120 
 
 FONTSTOWN. 
 
 From Albion's shores a wanderer long, 
 Hibernia oft has been my song ; 
 And well her beauties may inspire 
 The painter's art, or poet's lyre. 
 
 Sweet Erin ! fair and lovely land. 
 Adorned by nature's bounteous hand 
 With hills and valleys, lakes and streams, 
 Beauteous as in a poet's dreams, — 
 
 Full oft thy loveliness I've sung, 
 Thy praise has dwelt upon my tongue. 
 And many a wreath I've fondly twined. 
 To grace thy sons and daughters kind. 
 
FONTSTOWN. 121 
 
 Now once again my Muse shall wake 
 A simple strain, for Fontstown's sake ; 
 A fairer spot, where all are fair, 
 Ne'er met my wandering footsteps there. 
 
 Fontstown ! my sweet and peaceful home ! 
 Along thy glades I love to roam, 
 Or rest beneath thy spreading trees, 
 While hawthorn sweets perfume the breeze ; 
 
 Or saunter through the pleasant shade, 
 The arbor-walk, for coolness made. 
 With primroses and violets spread. 
 And branches clustering over head. 
 
 Emerging from the leafy screen. 
 The pleasant parsonage is seen ; 
 While lovely flowers, of various hue 
 And fraorant scent, adorn the view. 
 
 "^o"- 
 
 Or turn we now that walk along, 
 With lilacs and laburnums hung. 
 
122 FONTSTOWN. 
 
 And softly trace, with silent tread, 
 The precincts of the sacred dead. 
 
 No gloomy shadows here are thrown. 
 No marble urn, no sculptured stone ; 
 But flowers and trees alone disclose 
 Where here they seek their last repose ; 
 
 While pointing to that heaven above, 
 Where disembodied spirits rove. 
 No more to suffer or to die. 
 The church erects its spire on high ; 
 
 And, just beyond the grassy mound 
 
 Which marks the church-yard's hallowed ground, 
 
 The rural school-house quiet stands. 
 
 And our admiring gaze commands. 
 
 Each passing stranger's rapid glance 
 Attests its taste and elegance ; 
 May peace and love within it dwell ! 
 Fontstown ! sweet Fontstown ! fare thee well. 
 
123 
 
 TO MRS. G. W. 
 
 I 'll twine for thee a minstrel wreath, 
 And pure affection o'er it breathe ; 
 And, simple though my offering be, 
 I '11 wake a poet's lyre for thee. 
 
 My sister ! — yes, in name and heart 
 All which that word conveys thou art ; 
 As dear, as loved, as thou couldst be 
 Had the same parent nurtured thee ! — 
 
 I will not in these simple lays 
 Offend thine ear with idle praise, 
 
124 TO MRS. G. W. 
 
 Nor deck with hyperboles of art 
 A playful tribute of the heart. 
 
 The brightest proof esteem supplies 
 Of worth from whence it must arise, 
 And flattery grateful and most dear 
 To hearts like yours, is love sincere. 
 
 These both are thine, and may they bles? 
 Each coming year with happiness, 
 And may thy fate through life be proved 
 As happy as thou art beloved I 
 
 Yet, as no mortal ear may meet 
 With bhss full, perfect and complete. 
 And drops imbued with bitterest gall 
 Are mingled in the cup of all, 
 
 0, may those drops, by Heaven designed 
 To purify the heart and mind. 
 Raise us above the cares of earth, 
 And teach us things of real worth ! 
 
TO MRS. G. W. 
 
 125 
 
 Make us resigned, submissive, meek, 
 And things above desire and seek 1 
 Transformed to blessings, only prove 
 A tender Parent's watchful love. 
 
126 
 
 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY 
 BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 God of my life ! another year 
 Of that short life is past, 
 
 And this for aught that I can tell, 
 May be decreed the last. 
 
 As wave is urged on wave, 
 Year after year rolls by. 
 
 Bearing me onward to the shores 
 Of bright eternity. 
 
 Eternity, or wished, 
 Or feared, must come ; 
 
 Beyond earth's narrow bounds 
 Is placed our home. 
 
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 127 
 
 Whether the golden bowl 
 
 Unbroken shall remain, 
 Whether the silver cord 
 
 Its links unsnapped retain, 
 
 Till nature yield 
 
 To time's all-powerful sway. 
 And the tired spirit gently quit 
 
 The tottering clay, — 
 
 Or whether, ere the charms 
 
 Of life are fled. 
 The fatal shaft of death 
 
 Lay low my youthful head, — 
 
 Is only known to Him 
 
 Who reigns above, 
 But who extends to all 
 
 A father's care and love. 
 
 Whether the coming year 
 Be doomed to be 
 
128 ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY 
 
 A year of peace and joy, 
 Or fraught with misery, 
 
 I know not, and 't were vain 
 
 For me to know 
 What portion I 'm assigned, 
 
 Of joy or woe. 
 
 He who the sparrow's fall 
 
 Deigns to decree. 
 Yet rules the monarch's fate, 
 
 Will care for me. 
 
 He, to whose peircing eye 
 A thousand years are one, - 
 
 He will appoint my lot 
 And mark my span ! 
 
 He will appoint ? — he has, 
 
 Ere time began ; 
 E'en J was not o'erlooked 
 
 In Heaven's bright plan. 
 
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 129 
 
 The meanest child of earth 
 
 May — must — sustain 
 Some one connecting link 
 
 In time's great chain. 
 
 He in his wisdom planned 
 
 My course through life ; 
 He saw if I should fall 
 
 Or conquer in the strife. 
 
 He knows the soul he formed, 
 He hears each feeble prayer 
 
 Which, when to Heaven breathed. 
 Finds entrance there. 
 
 He knows the heart he framed, 
 
 Each feeling ere it rise ; 
 He sees each struggling tear, 
 
 He hears its sighs. 
 
 He know's each blessing's worth, 
 He knows each trial's power, 
 
ISO ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Sustaining strength imparts 
 In sorrow's hour. 
 
 Through every scene of life 
 His guardian care extends, 
 
 Nor with this fle eting breath 
 His kindness ends. 
 
 For when the fluttering pulse 
 
 And closing eye, 
 In the last mortal hour, 
 
 Call man to die, 
 
 If in this lower sphere 
 He has performed his part, 
 
 Fulfilled his Maker's will 
 With single heart, 
 
 He bears his spirit hence 
 
 To realms above, 
 Where it will flourish in the beams 
 
 Of everlasting love. 
 
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTHDAY, 131 
 
 In his protecting care 
 
 May I confide, 
 And all my future life 
 
 0, may he deign to guide ! 
 
132 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Sweet babe ! too quickly snatched from our eiii- 
 brace, 
 
 0> is indeed thy gentle spirit flown ? 
 0, linger yet with us a short, short space ! 
 
 T is vain ! so soon thou hasten'st to be sone. 
 
 o- 
 
 Whither, bright cherub, hast thou winged thy flighty 
 And left us all so soon that flight to mourn ? 
 
 While yet we gaze, torn from our aching sight, 
 Departed, never, never to return. 
 
 What fairy visions Hope's swift pencil drew 
 Oi future joys thy presence was to bring ! 
 
 Thou camest, but, ere yet our welcome knew. 
 To brighter worlds soared, on a seraph's wing. 
 
ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 133 
 
 Yes, for ourselves we yet may heave the sigh ; 
 
 0, not for thee ! who bade adieu to earth 
 So early, called to yon bright sphere on high, 
 
 An angel from the moment of thy birth. 
 
 Brightly arrayed in innocence divine. 
 
 And spotless robes, 0, could we see thee now I . 
 (jreat as our loss, we never should repine, 
 
 Nor one fond wish recall thee here below. 
 
184 
 
 HOPE 
 
 What is Hope ? The sages tell us 
 'T is a vision soon destroyed^ 
 
 Painting life in glowing colors 
 Never meant to be enjoyed ; 
 
 Oft deceiving careless youth 
 
 With many an idle, vain presage, 
 
 Maturer years still flattering on, 
 Till disappointed by old age . 
 
 Yet, if hope smooths 
 The rugged path of life, 
 
 And kindly soothes 
 Woes else 't were hard to bear^ 
 Successfully opposes fell despair. 
 
HOPE. 
 
 135 
 
 And conquers in the strife, 
 0, may hope attend us still, 
 Support us under every ill ! 
 
 But know, hope founded on the rock 
 Of ages calmly meets the shock 
 Of nature, brightly gilds the tomb, 
 Nor then deceives m painting joys to come. 
 Exulting, points to brighter worlds on high, 
 And with celestial voice instructs us how to die. 
 
 C^^^ 
 
136 
 
 ON THE LETTER 0. 
 
 In gods and in demons "t will ever be found, 
 Wicked men it will shun, but in good men abound. 
 Yet on woman attends, as vibration on sound. 
 On the surface of ocean its presence you see, 
 And 'tis always contained in an old hollow tree. 
 In hot and cold countries 't is destined to dwell, 
 On mountains, in forests, the anchorite's cell. 
 It never inhabits the halls of the great, 
 But a cottage prefers to grandeur or state. 
 With the Pope it however has always remained, 
 And in Rome has for centuries past been detained 
 In the Catholic's claims it has openly stood. 
 Though in justice it aims at the general good ; 
 
ON THE LETTER 0. 137 
 
 It ever has proved the support of the crown, 
 In the Hanover line has been always passed down ; 
 Our famed London without it Avould nameless be- 
 come, 
 And its loss would be nearly as fatal to Rome. 
 
138 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 WHO HAD SENT THE WRITER A LOCK OF HER OWN HAIB, 
 WITH ONE OF HER LOVER'S. 
 
 I WRITE, dear Eliza, in doleful dismay, 
 
 I have had such a loss, — 0, forgive me I do, pray I 
 
 The lock, the dear lock I — William's hair ! — 0, 
 
 'tis true, 
 I have lost it ; 0, will you forgive me ? pray do ! 
 
 Your gift arrived safe, but I searched for in vain 
 My other lost treasure, again and again ; 
 I had hoped the dear relics together to twine, 
 But this sweet consolation can never be mine. 
 
 If, however dear girl, you will try me once more, 
 I will guard it as close as a miser his store ; 
 Send me in your next letter a lock as before. 
 Farewell, dear EUza, believe me to be 
 Your sad but affectionate friend, 
 
 F. E. B. 
 
139 
 
 LINES TO AN OLD LADY, 
 
 ON HER PRESKNTING THE WRITER WITH SOME WALL-FLOWER 
 ROOTS, WITH THE OBSERVATION, THAT THEY WOULD RE- 
 MIND HER OF HER WHEN SHE WAS REMOVED TO A BETTER 
 COUNTRY. 
 
 My dear, my valued and respected friend, 
 The flowers I 've planted you so lately gave ; 
 
 Deep and luxuriant may their roots descend, 
 And winter's rigorous season strongly brave. 
 
 And may these fair remembraucers of thee 
 in many a future summer brightly bloom, 
 
 And 0, may'st thou their annual beauties see, 
 And taste the fragrance of their sweet perfume 
 
 Yet, if the Power Supreme who decked the earth 
 With flowers, and bade the verdant landscape 
 glow, — 
 
140 LINES TO AN OLD LADY. 
 
 To whose creating hands their mutual birth 
 Nature and man ahke their being owe, — 
 
 Should call thee hence to that eternal home, 
 That better country, where thy treasures lie, 
 
 Where spring shall flourish in immortal bloom. 
 And time, and age, and pain, and death shall die, 
 
 These fair mementos, grateful to the eye. 
 To memory shall their pleasing aid impart ; 
 
 But these frail flowers may wither, fade, and die, 
 Not so thy sweet remembrance in my heart. 
 
 Yes, while they lived they might soothe my regret : 
 Their fragrance would recall thy piety ; 
 
 Yet think not I can e'er thy worth forget, 
 Or need their aid to love thy memory. 
 
141 
 
 THE THREE AGES OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Childhood, careless age, farewell 1 
 
 Thy scenes have passed away, 
 And it makes the heart in my bosom swell. 
 While thus I sing thy parting knell, 
 And think of thy joyous day. 
 
 Youth, thou art speeding on thy course. 
 
 And art gliding swiftly by ; 
 Each hour augments the rapid force 
 With which, like a torrent from its source, 
 
 Thy rapid moments fly. 
 
 Age, with the silver locks art thou 
 Destined my fate to mark ? 
 
142 THE THREE AGES OP HUMAN LIPE- 
 
 Cheerless and sad thou seemest now ; 
 Thy vrithered cheek and thj wrinkled brow 
 Unlovely are and dark. 
 
 Life, thou art ever changing, still 
 
 Fleeting from goal to goal, 
 With the stealthy pace of a trickling rill. 
 For eternity's boundless sea to fill 
 
 Thy fair, but fragile, bowl. 
 
 
143 
 
 THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT 
 
 Mild, effulgent orb of night, 
 Gleaming through my window bright, 
 How many may, with calm delight, 
 
 This moment gaze on thee ! 
 Some chastened child of sorrow's train. 
 Perhaps tossing on a bed of pain 
 And courting balmy sleep in vain, 
 
 May turn her eyes to thee ! 
 And in thy softened, soothing ray, 
 Inspiring hope as bright, she may 
 
 Thy Maker's goodness see ! 
 
 Haply the lover, far removed 
 From her most fondly, truly loved, 
 Thy sympathetic beam 
 
THOUGHTS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. 144 
 
 May hail, recalling joys long fled, 
 In memory cherished still, and, led 
 By fairy fancy, largely shed 
 
 By thy sweet influence, delightful dream, — 
 May see the loved one shed a tear 
 For him, may hear her breathe a prayer 
 For his return ; and ah ! how dear 
 
 That tear, that prayer, would seem ! 
 
 And Cynthia, ever thy pale ray 
 Is dearer than the blaze of day 
 
 To minds of thoughtful mould ; 
 While lesser fires, a numerous train, 
 Around thee glitter, banish vain. 
 
 And glorious thoughts unfold. 
 
145 
 
 LINES TO 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL, BUT VAIN YOUXG LAI>T. 
 
 Your request, my dear girl, is a delicate task : 
 Pray what would you wish me to say ? let me ask. 
 Must I tell you your eyes are of heavenly blue V 
 That your face and your features are beautiful, too ? 
 Must I tell you all this ? Nay, more, must I say 
 These serve but your sweetness and sense to dis- 
 play ? 
 No ! a flatterer might tell you all this, but a friend, 
 Believe me, will ne'er to such meanness descend. 
 
 A beautiful person, we constantly find, 
 
 Is not always adorned by a beautiful mind ; 
 
 And though a fair face admiration excite, 
 
 The effect it produces is transient and slight ; 
 10 
 
146 LINES TO . 
 
 Disappointed, we turn with contempt and disdain 
 From a form, though angelic, if heartless and vain ; 
 But if mind and if heart correspond with the face, 
 To love and esteem admiration gives place ; 
 'T is the mind which alone can illumine the whole ; 
 Beauty attracts the sight, but sweetness wins the 
 soul. 
 
147 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 CHECKERED life ! though numerous ills 
 
 Traverse thy varied scene, 
 Still virtue's bright, exhaustless store 
 
 Casts her fair hues between. 
 
 The high resolve, the noble glow, 
 
 Of energetic youth. 
 The generous heart, the open brow, 
 
 Of unsuspecting truth, — 
 
 What though if disappointment chill 
 And check that generous glow, 
 
 If falsehood and deceit too soon 
 Oft cloud the open brow ? 
 
 Still, though experience sees dismayed 
 The frightful hues of vice. 
 
148 LIFE. 
 
 Tried steadfast virtue to behold 
 Is surely worth the price. 
 
 Virtue presents an angel's mien. 
 Whatever garb she wears, — 
 
 In prince or peasant, court or cot, 
 Joj, sorrow, smiles, or tears. 
 
 In youth 't is lovely, lovelier still 
 When sorrow dims the page ; 
 
 Reverence and love at once it claims 
 When dignified by age. 
 
 To feel, to suffer, yet o'ercome. 
 The adverse shafts of fate, 
 
 And gratefully enjoy the good 
 We find in every state, — 
 
 Virtue like this gives life true zest. 
 Wards evil powerless by. 
 
 Brings joy and peace to every breast, 
 And proves its source on high. 
 
149 
 
 ON POETRY. 
 
 Spirit of poetry, 't is thine 
 To soothe, exalt us, and refine ; 
 Yet 't is not when thy numbers chime. 
 Like tinkUng bells, in changeless rhyme, 
 Unmeaning words, though sweet their sound, — 
 'T is not by these thy temple 's crowned ! 
 No ! sentiments that easy flow. 
 Enriched by genuine feehng's glow, 
 Or sparkling with wit's vivid fire, 
 Or, boldly daring to aspire 
 On nobler wings and loftier, verse 
 To higher themes of virtue nurse. 
 With Milton following, soaring fancy's flight, 
 Singing of chaos and eternal night, — 
 Of rebel angels cast from heaven's high state, — 
 Of bliss, to the utmost verge of hell's most dread- 
 .ful fate, — 
 
150 ON POETRY» 
 
 Of Diaji's creation, happiness, and fall, 
 Through Satan, the dire enemy of all, 
 Yet most himself since when he vainly thought 
 To ruin what the Godhead latest wrought ; — 
 His vile design against Heaven's favorite, man. 
 Was overruled by that amazing plan 
 Which ages after was fulfilled on earth 
 In the glad tidings of the Savior's birth ! 
 And, while transcendent mercy was extolled, 
 The guilt on Satan's head was recompensed ten- 
 fold ; — 
 Or, with immortal Young, in night's still silent reign j 
 By reason's steady light pursue a train 
 Of solemn thought, which nature's sleep inspires. 
 And, gazing upward at those glorious fires, 
 In azure hung by Him whose single might 
 At first divided darkness from the light, 
 Exclaim, adoring his most awful state, — 
 " A Godhead truly reigns ; and, 0, that God how 
 
 great ! " 
 If these, sweet syren, animate thy lays. 
 They weave for thee a wreath of never-fading bays. 
 
151 
 
 ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 " Behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock in Horeb ; 
 and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it 
 that the people may drink." — Exodus xvii. 6. 
 
 Great is the Lord, and great his power ! 
 
 His mercy great, — mighty to save ! 
 On Horeb did his glory shine, 
 
 Gushed from the rock the roUing wave. 
 At his divine, omnipotent command, 
 
 His rod the prophet took, — 
 0, wondrous act of the Almighty's hand ! 
 
 Forth issued from the flint a bubblmg brook ; 
 Nature the God of nature's fiat hears ; 
 What once seemed adamant, a stream appears. 
 
152 ON THE MIRACLE AT MOUNT HOREB. 
 
 His chosen people faint with thirst, 
 
 A dreadful lingering death in view ; 
 Exhausted in the wilderness, 
 
 Their Maker saw, and pitied too. 
 Anguish, and pain, and deep despair 
 
 Seized every tortured soul. 
 " Ye are the objects of my tenderest care ; 
 
 Fear not, my people ! — be ye whole ! 
 Smite thou the rock ! " Jehovah said. 
 A river flowed, as Moses prompt obeyed. 
 
 Type of that spiritual Rock 
 
 Which after ages should behold. 
 From whence a stream should issue forth, 
 
 Refreshing the chief Shepherd's fold. 
 That Rock was Christ, — that saving stream 
 
 Was life, and health and peace, 
 Which all his church derive from him ; — 
 
 That stream shall never cease. 
 " Smite thou the Rock,'* Jehovah said, 
 And Pilate all unconsciously obeyed. 
 
153 
 
 LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW. 
 
 My dearest Elizabeth, at your desire 
 
 I exert my poetical vein, 
 And if not the Muses, let friendship inspire, 
 Although not a spark of the radiant fire 
 
 Of genius embellish the strain. 
 
 We've been cliildren together, — now childhood 
 is past ; 
 
 The spring-time, the dawn of our years, 
 'T is gone ! and our summer will vanish as fast ; 
 0, let us remember that youth will not last, 
 
 Nor sigh when gi-ave autumn appears ! 
 
 We've been school-fellows, playmates, companions, 
 and friends ; 
 May time our affection improve ! 
 May we rival each other in laudable ends, 
 
154 LINES TO AN OLD SCHOOL-FELLOW. 
 
 While, matured by experience, our judgment com- 
 mends 
 Our early attachment and love ! 
 
 Companions are numerous, friends are but rare, 
 
 True friendship but seldom is found ; 
 'T is a delicate plant, must be cherished with care, 
 Requires showers and sunshine, warm soil and pure air, 
 
 While fenced and well guarded around. 
 
 The soft tear in sorrow, the bright smile in joy, 
 
 True friendship must ever bestow ; 
 Sincerity pure and unmixed with alloy. 
 While firmness must guard, lest the cold world 
 destroy 
 
 The heartfelt, ennobling glow. 
 
 The cold world, — ah ! yes, my dear girl, 't is indeed 
 
 Cold, heartless, and dangerous, too ; 
 From its snares and temptations, 0,may webe freed ! 
 Its frowns may we brave, with heaven for our meed. 
 
 When we bid it forever adieu. 
 
155 
 
 TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY, 
 
 BEING CHRISTMAS DAY. 
 
 Again, dear girl, with love sincere, 
 Your constant bard her carol sings, 
 
 Whilst another varying year 
 
 The merry season Christmas brings. 
 
 Is there a heart which does not beat, 
 And throb with feelings of delight, 
 
 When child and parent joyful meet. 
 And friends and families unite ? 
 
 When sparkling eyes beam with delight, 
 And mirth and happiness prevail. 
 
 Is there a heart which such a sight 
 To warm and animate can fail ? 
 
156 TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Pleasures as innocent as pure, 
 
 Yet bright and lovely though they be, 
 
 They only a brief space endure, 
 But Christmas gave a friend to me. 
 
 Hail ! precious gift, of value rare, 
 AYhat gold could never, never buy. 
 
 What gem with friendship can compare ? 
 What boundless treasures with it vie ? 
 
 Celestial plant, removed a time. 
 It buds and blossoms for the skies. 
 
 Transplanted to its native clime, 
 Matured in loveliness to rise. 
 
 THE END. 
 
LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 
 
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