^^S^mm^^m :.?^f''fe. I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ■ Shelf. ..Hi 3 IINI'^D STATES OF AMERICA ov li^r:;*^ -tmrjiiy-^t iilBi^' \y£' S' iir:*-^ cVV •9 \^^''^ T lEI E women's congress AND OTirr.ii POKMS. ]JY / MARTIN HEATHCOTE SEP 29 1884y nAI/riMOUE, IMD. : FlBlisiiki) by the Baltimore ruBUSiiixc co. (k'vcfeKKOrn to John B. Viet <(• Vo.) No. 171 West Hai.timokk Stuket. 1884. 1 ntoroil noeor.linp to Act of Congi-ess, in the year 1884, by JlAli TIN HE A TIWOTK, in tlic offloe of the liibrarian of Congress, at "Washington. It is Willi some (lilTidoiu-o lliut tlu' luitlidr oilers ihU volume oE poems to the ]iul>lic. He is aware that some of the pieces do not; come up to the poetical standard. They arc somewhat I'aidty, both in rhythm and in sentiment. At the time when they were wrilteu there was no intention of ever sulnnitting them to the i)ress. A number of them were written lor friends, without nuicli thought or consideration ; and it is at the re([uest of friends and acipiaintances that he has at last decided to j)ublish them. Some of his effusions, however, liave from time to time appeared in newspapers, but the most of them are now given to the imblic for the first tim^. "The Women's Congress," the longest piece in the book, was written but a few months before the ])ublicatioa oi this volume ; eonsetiuently it has not had that careful revision that any poem, l>eforc publication, should liave. Concerning this poem, opinions may vary. In it may be found expres- sions, which by some (who, jjcrhaps, arc over-fastidious) may bo considered inelegant phrases; but it is hoped that a small •amount of humor, if not instruction, may be found in it, by ,thoso who are willing to give .it a careful iicrusal. Some of the expressions may appear too strong; yet, when it is con- sidered tliat they were put forth by persons to those of their own sex, with wliom tliey were intimately acquainted, and on subjects uppermost in their minds, it may be ([uestioaed if .their language would not have })een much stronger than that. .hero attributed to them. (Ill) IV PREFACE. The smaller pieces, indeed, all the pieces, were written in the midst of other cares and employments, principally on subjects and events that were transpiring at the time. It is needless to enter into a detailed description of them here. The perusal of them is the best way to judge of their merits or demerits. The author's object has not been to transport his readeis into an ideal world, far above the scenes and surroundings in which we find ourselves, but to depict things as they appear to ordinary minds. lie is not one of that class of persons wlio look only on the dark side of life, and who are continually wailing and mourning about things over which they have no control ; but believes in ever looking on the ■"bright side of a picture," and making the best of everything. True, at times he is thoughtful, sorrowful, and even dejected, as some of his poems show, but always endeavors to shake off "Dull Care" at the earliest opportunity, and to look forward to the future with confidence and hope. With these few remarks he is willing to let his writings go forth, to be approved or condemned, as may suit the feelings, wishes, or inclinations of the public. Freelaxds, Baltimore County, Md., August, 1884. C03iTTEn^TTS. PAGE. More Poetry Coniing, ....... 9 Reflections on Brandywine Battlefield, - - - - 11 The Song of the Emigrant, 13 The Woni mi's Congress, 13 The Tournament, - 121 To an Intimate Female Acquaintance, - - . . 126 Retreat from Care, - - 137 To Banerolt's Weavers. ------- 129 To a Co juette, 130 ]5ianily\vine, ---- 131 Summer Evening Musings, - 133 Banks of Codorus, -------- 140 Old Fritz, 141 To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 1, 153 Xiines Addressed to The Authoi', . . - - 154 To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 2, 158 To Rev. J. A. Ramsay, No. 3, 160 The Two Little Dogs, Brandy and Frisk, - - - 164 Brandy's Lamentations on tlie Death of Frisk, - - 169 Rejoicings on the Return of Spring, - - - - 170 On the Indians, - -- 171 I'll J5uy a Farm, ----- .-. 170 To J. S. Ro!)inson. - 178 A.ddress to Fairmount, - - 179 .Grief, 181 •On Old Bill, 183 The Corn-llusking Party, 183 Two Lovers, -- 187 ■Old Barlow, ------_. «i 95 (V) VI CO:STENTS. PAGE. The Death of My Sweet Kitty, 198 The Fisliing Party, 200 Th3 Fashionable Wedding, 203 M R 's Address to His Native Land. . - 211 A Reverie, 214 Going to Camp, __--_-_- 215 Musings in a Village Graveyard, _ . _ . - 218 To Charley, My Good Old Horse, . . - - 220 Elegy on the Death of Old Charley, - - - - 221 Old Mack, the Miller, 222 Written in a Lady's Ilynin-Book, ----- 226 The Czar and the Turk, 227 The Whip-poor-Will, 235 In a Drought. 236 The Missionary's Appeal to tlie Indian, - - - - 237 The Indian's Appeal, 237 A Comparison Between Ancients and Moderns, - - 238 On a Passionate Woman, ------ 240 On a Tattling, Mischief-Making Woman, - - - 241 On America, or the United States, - - - - 243 To John S. Robinson, ------- 244 To Mr. , 248 The Poor, Half-Famislied Quail, - .... 249 The Aged Turtle, 250 Suggested on Viewing Fishing- Creek Valley. - - - 259 You're Getting Bald and Gray, Man, - - - - 260 More Snow, More Snow, ------- 261 Written on a Cold, Winter Night, - - - - 263 To a Young Miss, 264 The School-IMaster's Stool, 265 A Hot Day in Harvest-Time, 270 The Land of My Childliood, 272 CONTENTS. VII PAGE. The Biittlo of Gettysburg, 273 The Gettysburg Battlefield, 274 Beneath an Oak, 275 Mrs. Curses the Fleas, 270 Mary's Disiijipointed Hopes, --»._- 279 Miss Rejoicing Over Her Single Blessedness, - 280 Home, Sweet Home, ___._-_ 282 The Tide of Emigration, 283 •On Two Fine Horses, "Jim and Dandy," - . _ 285 Lord 's Farm, 287 Memories of the Heart, --_-.-_ 288 Social Love, 289 The Lonely Lover, . - - 290 On Woman's Fascinating Powers, . _ . _ 391 What I'd Do When I Became a Man, - - - - 291 I'm Getting Tired of Poetry, 292 Soldier Johnny's Farewell to His Mary, - - - - 293 The Ways of Mankind, 295 The Cricket, 296 The Rose, 298 The Homeward Journey, ------- 298 The Mother and Her Sailor Son, - - . . 299 Written When on a Visit to Painter's Bridge, - - 301 On a Huge Heap of Rocks, ------ 302 The Bird's Nest, 303 On Seeing a Hungry Mouse, ----- 304 Surveying on Timber Branch, ------ 304 Meditations, --------- 305 Tlie Soldier and His Lady, 307 To Lewis Lees in England, 309 A Dream, 313 The Courtship, 314 Tin CONTENTS. PAGE. 'The Gypsey Fortune-Teller, --_.._ 316 Miss Mary and Her Beaux, - 317 The Gypseys Are Coming, 319 Jesse and Nancy, 320 My Grandmother's Days, 333 The Song of the Little Bird, Whittle-Dick, - - 324 Tom Daiighei-ty, • . - 335 The Hen and Her Brood of Ducks, - - . . 420 The Last Days of Summer, 338 The Butterfly, 339 The Greatness of America, 33I The Poor Indian, 334 To Mr. Philo, 335 Elegy on Poor Little C.-esar, 336 On Poor Bush, 338 The Laborer, the Farmer and the Merchant, - - 339 lleflections on the Above, --.... 344 Aia, 345 Beautiful Frances, -----___ 34(5 Where is Buzzard's Glory? 349 A Reckless Youth, ----_.._ 350 An Old Maid's Soliloquy, 351 Advice to J. S. R., - - - _ . . _ 353 ]New Market, - 354 The Tailor and His Spouse, --,..- 355 The Dying Maiden, 357 Wishing for a Quiet Retreat, 358 Come Back, Ye Happy Days, - - - - - 359 <^n Life, 359 On Death, ------_„„ 3g0 MORE POETRY COMING. ^^^ORE poetry coming — more poetry coming, ^^^ Hand in your bids and be smart; ''It Is fen dollars bid — is Jive dollars bid — Is one dollar bid for a start? It seems to be naught but a worthless old drug, dear ! and cannot I give it ? — Well, no wonder that nobody wants it; — To tell you the truth, I would'nt have it. What Avonder our poets should torture their brains. To make such invaluable stuff; For years they've been at it, yes, cent'ries even. Not knowing the world has enough. They are writing the same thing over and over, — Love, romance, and ev'ry vain notion : They're like those vain dreamers who lose all their wits, In seeking perpetual motion. I, too, a vain dreamer have been, I admit. What a fool I have been in the past! I never could have believ'd it before, lUit the proof is convincing at last. So, now my young lady and gentlemen poets, 1 tell you what soon you must know ; When you get to be forty or fifty years old. You'll find what I tell you is so. (9> 10 MDIIK I'vJK'l'KY COM 1 NO. ]\Iy wilV ofli'M (I'lls iiu', jiiiil sure 'tis llio triitli, 'riiJit I uiii 11 silly ohl <^0()si\ For wasliiiij: my liiiu' ;uul my I:iKmi(s l\)r naught. On what, is, in tnitli, of no mso. "0 yos," will she suy, "you silly olil dotainl, \'ou"ro liko an old rickety gate; You'll soon bo too old and too crazy to write; A'ou're toothless, and bahl is yonrpate." }^o i;ive us no more of this frivolous folly — Of all the poor trades, 'tis the poorest; l?etter butt your old head against a stone lonce, Vov that, would be sai\'st and surest. I've seen silly poets who'd stay up at night. Huruing oaniUes until they got drowsy; I've siH'u them again at Poverty's door, Mmaciale. ragged, and lousy. Then wlui'd be a }>oet — a senseless old poet ? — You'd better break stone on the pike, Or go through the streets, the alleys, and lanes, Singing, "old rags," "old bones," and the like. i) my! what a wonderful world do we live in ! I low tickle the freaks of the Fates! While some, high at\il dry, in luxury lly, Others are grovelling and raoking their jiates. To hum, or to drum, to chirp or to sing, 8ome llimsy, degraded, oldtlitty: — Wilt thou not, poor old dotard, give it up? Not yet — dost thou say? C> dear! what a pity. RKFLKCTIONS ON HRANDYWINK !'.ATTI,HK1KM). HlpKlIK day is dcrliriiti;];, tlu; Him, nv(;rciiH(, wsw IV'Meiilli llio horizon liiiH huhI< ; II 'I'lio toils of the day at Icii^tli aro all past. And th»; fowls to thoir ioohLs havo bIiiiiU. I't'lisivi', 1 wander, to inhale tin; hrcczc, liy IJrandywino's clear, ripidin/^ stream; The wind is whistling throu[^h the verdant tret'H, And on tiw! waves the lij/htnin/^s f^'hiani. iiike 0(Oin-waves, with iinahiiteut all their thrusts were parried. 17. (leorgo shook his head — to John he said, '•These women beat the witches; Dear birds they are, you may be sure, They run away with riches ; A man may slave from dawn till dark, To buy false teeth and switches." John. IS. "Yes, Ueorge, you're right — what fools mon are, To jump right into trouble; For when one's married to a wife His cares come on him double; Though for some time they move along, They soon begin to dribble. Ill II MAIDS AND HACll IOI,()i;S. l7 111. " Now, Mu'i'f'H oiii' Tom, |)oi)r silly in;iii, II(' Ii'I'IuikI wi'iil lo Dovci-; Mud li(« hill. .sliiyM id lioiiic wil.li ns, lie iiiiu;lit. liavi' livM in c^lovor; r>iit liki' soiiit' muro iu' <^oL ;i wilo, Ami tlii'ii liis IVcjiks wciH* oviM'. 'iO. "Ami nil thai. Mionoy now in j^onc, Which he kepi in u pilchcr; Ami iiDW his wife rcproaiHirs him, iIoi;aii;Hi he is not richer ; Early and late he lahors haril. As hanl as any »lil(^h(>r. yi. "She says 'lis his had nianaL';t'm('nl, Maki'S thoni so poor ami needy ; I'll il. he's so slow in all his aets, Slio never saw him speedy; He'd dull of mind, always behind, And more than that, he's greedy. 22. '■ 11" she hilt had the iiinnat/ciiK'tU ! (She thinks she's such a honey) — 'I'he fact is that she iii(tii(t'";(' oould havo i^ot a !>cite-r man : Rich turn had inado advanoo^, Uut (ov poor Ton — i^oov plod ih'ni} Tom- 8ho gave up all hor ehanoos I I novor road tho liko bol'oro. In noYols or romaneos. "OS. " What had .s7^'?' Not ovon a Vi/, Nor plate to put a pio on ; A poor, low and lonoly maidon, That no ono had an oyo on: Ihm was ton timos too good for Ac'r, This faot she can rolv on. OM) MAIDS AM) HACIIKLORS. Ill 39. "How vuiii, liovv silly is iiertiilkl "I'would sicken one to hear her; No wonder Tom is end and mute, Whenever he is near lier; Iler twaddle sickens liim, I'm sure, lie cannot lovc^ or fear her. 30. '' Tom was no lunatic or fool, Ero he wed that wife so (litinfi/ : He was respected for i^ood sense, And he had money plenty; And lie had female friends enongh, I could count you over twenty. 31. " Xot good enongh ! Not rich enough ! How silly — how conceited ! 7'()i)i w'iia the loser — and not ttlie, lie is the one was cheated. ^\'hat did he get ? A loifc, that's all. His ruin was completed. 32. " She thinks she is a diaiiiond, One of the purest w'ater ; lUit who was she, or what was she 'i She was old lUimper's daughter ; Brought up in poverty and rags. And no good sense was taught her. 33. " l\re she in malice and revenge, AVould cast her vile rellections, Lot her look luck upon the past, Her parents and connections; Let her but read her pedigree, And raise no more objections. 20 'iiiK nvomkn's coNiiUK^s; oil, ;>l. ' 1 ooiiKl lu'lp Tom in luany ways, 1 1" .) in wore not so crazy ; I'll givo liini that young .lorsoy cow, 'rimt's jn-otty as iv daisy; Unt Jin wouUl ncithor too il nor milk hor. Sho's so oonl'onmlod lazy." or>. Thus (ioorgo and John woro Hinging dirt. At Tommy's wifo, poor .lounio! And sho wouUl lling it back again, '['hough soarooly worth a ponny, I'oor as sho was sho oonhl not stand it, Slio was vi[>orisli as any. 'M>. Voov donnio lioard all that was said. And nioro was addod to it ; i-'ow words thoy said, few aots thoydid. Hut presently she knew- it ; And sho doolar'd she'd pay thom back, Whonevor sho eould do it, oT. Molly, and Hot, and l>olI, and :Sno, Pass'd by tho I'arm and through it; And thoy wove arrant gossips all, PoYoting thoir time to it ; It seoju'd they'd notliing more to do, Ov else thoy did not do it. oS. '.I'hoy often mot at Tommy's house. To talk thoir matters over, Compare their notes, exchange their news. Or comment on Sail's lover ; " lie was a simpleton," thoy said, *' Yet ho was far above hor." OLD MAIDS AND I! A ('II lll.OltS. ^l :J9. " I've lioiird," says Doll, ''Miid 'Lis :i Hict, — Alretuly they're engiigetl ; " "Wliiit does lie wuiifc with her'' ask'd Sue, " So ugly, poor ;ind uged ? " *' Why, he's too young to hiivc good sense," Says I'x'ily much ciinigi'd. 40. " () dear, O dear," Miss iMolly said, With eyes and mouth distorted ; "Two crazy, crack-brain'd fools like them About to be consorted ! Another pauper family, Ere long to be supported ! "' 41. " Yes, yes," says 'roinniy's wife — "poor Sam — I |)ity him most siuvly ; lie iloes not know what a prude she is. Ah ! she can speak demurely ; She's given him low drops 1 believe, And he is llxed securely. 4'i. "lie us'd to be a mopish cha}), Hut now he seems so zealous; Hut (), some d;iy his pride will fall, l'\)r who on earth can tell us How many other love affairs She's had with different fellows V " 43. Next, other topics were discuss'd. Without deliberation; ]5ut they agreed and urgetl the need, Of wiser h'i:'Jslation ; And more might be expected of The rulers of the natio.i. 2,3 riiF womfn's oonuhess; ou, MoUij. \\. "Thoso gontloiiuMi at "\Va!?hiii_i:;ton l>o littlo tor sooiotv ; 'Vhc bills thov pass, the tiino thov wa^to, Aoi'oiil not witl\ sobriot Y ; Tlioiv rovolrv aiul ^lutionv WouKl oviMi s^luH'k propriety. ■tr*. " ^Vbo oannot i^oo thoir objoot is Tlioir own base sollish passions V 'l\> got tlio monov, drink and snioko. At loi;islativo sessions? Whon woniou ask tor thoir jnst rights, 'I'hoy talk oi' prido and fashions. 4r.. "Tho women onght to havo t\\: rnlo, Wlio'ro tit tor logislation; 'Tho /;/(// havo bliindor'd long onongb, At\d tii\kor'd at tbo nation; Tho ii\'intu utr and not tho nwHy Tho lords of tho oroation. •17. " Womon aro and always wore Movv^ aotivo and sagaoions ; Mcn\'i i)iinY it h inditVoronoo, As thongh thov were not hnnian. oil) MAID.-l AND IIACIII'LOUS. 23 I'.l. " I'd iiiiil<(! :i l:i\v to tux lliosc incii Wlio'rc! i-icli iuid will not iii;irry; I'd lay it on Mkmii thick iiiid heavy, Ah much as they couhl carry, If they persisted stubbornly, In hachelorrfliip to tarry. r)(). " I'\)r iii.staiice, Kiicli an (ieori^cs and .John, Who thus far have resisted All Cupid's wiles and Venus' smiles, To h(! in wedlock listed: — 'I'hey could ad'ord to keep Icti wives, ]{iit they are too close-fisted. ;")!. " The crusty, fusty bachelors — Thoiii;h ask'd they ne'er consentetl ; Tluiy could have married lon^ ii;,'o ; They surely are demented. J low can they live without a wife, How can they \w contenteil? r)2. "They're in the slou^di of i^rini despair, And still arc sinkini; deeper; They do not want a wife, they say. Nor even a housekeeper. Without a wife, or woman help, They think they (!an live cheaper. f);}. " Tlie liible says a man hliall have One wile to love and cherish ; And he that disobeys (Jod's laws Mternally shall perish : So there is no eternal hope, Though in this world they llourish." 24 THE women's cokgress; or, 54. George thought lu^ could have answered them, If he had only heard them ; He could have quoted Scripture, tco, He could to Paul referr'd them ; He could have beat them out and out, From more attacks deterr'd them. 55. When told about their vile attacks. He laugh'dand shrugg'd his shoulders; " Such creatures were not worth a tliought, TJiey were but common scolders ; They were the jest and laughing stock Of hearers and beholders. 56. " They Avere a jolly team," he said, " But they wouldn't pull together; They zig-zagg'd and they see-saw'd. They bit and kicked each other ; They were not worth their provender, Nor e'en their harness leather. 57. " Who'd want a woman of that stripe, To live in purgatory ? He could not live in peace with her. E'en on the upper story: Hang all such scalawags, I say. And let them go to glory." George. 58. George went to tell the news to John, AVho in the woods was hewing; " I told you, John, I thought there was Some devilment a brewing; That female team is down at Tom's, And what think you they're doing? OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. 25 59. " They have a women's congress there, Are plans and schemes contriving; They've lots of business on their hands, With whip and spur tliey're driving; They're passing laws — oVr head and ears, In finances they're diving. 60. " Old bachelors like you and me, Are under high taxation ; There's no appeal, there's no redress, No reconsideration ; And crazy rattle-brain'd old maids. To be pension'd by the nation. 61. " What do you think of such a law ? jHiat looks like business — dorCt it? 'Twill make a ranting, roaring stir. Among old maidens — won't it? 'Twill lift them up high as the moon. And many a league 'beyont' it." JoJui. 02. "If they want men so badly, George, Why don't they go and get them ? If foxes can be caught in snares. Why don't they go and set them? I think they must be run ashore. Or that old Satan's met them. G3. " But all the laws that they can pass, I do not care a fig for ; Believe me, George, the best of them I would not give a pig for; And all the pensions they will get. They'll have to go and dig for. 3 X'O I UK nvomknV roNi;ui-ss; ou, lU. ••C\n)>;iiss indivd— tho hin;itio3 — What era/.y lit has soizoil thorn? Is tho luoon at full — in* are tliov drunk. ^Vh:^t tritlo has dispU\is\l thoni? 'I'hov'iv wovjio than oatorNvauliui;- oats. Porhaps sotno \vaij lias toasM thoni. 65. " O doar '. doar ! tho sky is oloar. And do 1 hoar tho tliundor: A «*()m«'»V (Vm/r«'><>\N' in Tours oabini Tho >Yorld is full of wondor I llavo 1 hoard you rio;htlY, (>oorgo. Or havo I niavlo a bluiulor? OO. '• * Tis Tom's moat tub thoy aro after, George, That causes this uivat splutter ; As hungry ohiekons at the call, Come ruujiiuii' in a tluttor: And Tom's wife's green enough to give Ihr ohildron's bread and butter. 07. "She'd out hor throat or break her neck, Tnn\bling over tho benches ; ShoM pawn hor ;?tove, and looking-glass. 'I'o IVod those hu-.y wenches; She'd bog or borrow, cheat or steal. To till thoir empty paunches. (58. "She'd starve hor children, and poor Tom. To food tha^o worthless cattle ; And !i:iH>nd her precious time beside. To hear thoir senseless prattle. If I'd a wife that would do that, Tm sure thore'd be a battle. oil) MAIDS AND ItACIIKl.OKS. 27 0'.>. "81ie innst liiivi' jam, utid j^'lly (Mkes, ('amlietl fruit, iiml poiiclica ; The best is lu'vcr ^ooil onoiii^li, To stiiirtlioso luiMf^ry looches. 'Twoulcl bo I'iir wiser if she would (io patch luT chihlron's hrwches. 70. "Tlioy'iv oft at. Toin't!, tlu' whoK' ship's crew, lioaling, oatiiii; aiul driiikiiii^ ; \\ lull 1 CTQ to the spring to drink, 'riu'v'io bockoning and winking. 1 tell you, (ioorgo, it makos nio mad — ]VJo woiulor Tom is t-iiikiiig, 7J. "Th(>y'll eat him out of house and home, As sure as his name's Tommy; I woiuk'r that he harbors them, To be called a simple dummy. I'd pull the house down, so I would, Before they shouUl o'ercome me. 72. " We see where is the miniKjoiieiil — Why 'i'om is not more wealthy; 'Tis her fault, so it is — not his — She's wasteful and she's stealthy. Half-fed, half-clothed, hard-work'd and poor, How can the man be healthvl" 7;?. As .lohn had said, they had a feast, ^Vllich they ileclar'd was glorious; And still their tongues went rattling on. In Bedlam style, uprt)arious ; CVer fear and want they thought they were Triumphant and victoriou--'. 38 I'liH womkn's coNcins^; ou. 71. The tliouglits of juMisions liUM their hejuls, — Witl\ those they wore ehiteil ; Tliey womler'd what Une things they'd buy, And long they cogitated ; Cats, and carpets, and iUnvor pots. Wore straightway ilosignated. 75. Tom >vas a ninny, in their eyes, lie was no good provider ; lie ought to build a larger house, Longer, higher and wider; lie had no organ or piano, Ho had no wine, nor cider. 70. The day was il rawing to a close, Sol was about retiring; How could these ladies all got home — They Avere alVaid of miring; They had no beaux to escort thom liomo. And this was uninspiring, 77. There wore no pavements and no lamps. As in a populous city ; Alas ! that "Lords of the creation," Far sighted, wise and witty, Should bo in such prediciiment I 1 1 was a grievous jnty. 7*^. Those dreary woods, and brakes, and swamps. How could their nerves endure thom? Their shoos and bonnets would be spoU'd, And no one would insure thom ; And mad dogs might attack thom, too, And Jacks with lanterns lure them. OLD MAIDS AM) It A (11 KLOKS. 29 70. "() (U'iir! " says Sue, " there is no moon, To light us through the bushes; Jn sIeo])y hollow there are snakes, Coiiceal'd among the rushes; An I on the hill are savage bears, That instantly may crush us." 80. O had you heard their wild complaints. Their wails and lamentation, You must have pitied them to see Their fear and trepidation. They almost Tainted then and there, dear, what desolation ! 81. Those legislators, wise uiid brave. An hour ai^o were cheerful ; 'I'he scene is changed from mirth to woe. And ev'ry eye is tearful. had they but one man along They would not feel so fearful! 82. If (ieorge and .Tohn were only men That car'd for frail humanity ! If ask'd to see them o'er the hill. Perhaps they'd say 'twas vanity; Perhaps they'd meet them witli rebuffs, Abuses and profanity. 83. Tom had no cnrtain'd feather beds For their accommodation ; This was to them a poignant grief. To Jin a gre;it vexation. She cast a withering look at Tom, And thought of their low station. 3* 30 'iiiK womkn's ('i)N(iUK>s; oi;. SI. "'I'\v;is lucky tli.it 'Voin hiul no beds; 'I'his \v;is to him no sorrow, WluMi \\o t.lioii<:;ht of the feast thovM liud. Ami Iho sliirvinj; time to-morrow. Wlioro would his brojikfiist como from? llcM Ikivc to bi\i^ or borrow. S'), His MU'iitiUid broad woro all coiisiuu'd, All thai tho hoiiso alVorilod ; Althoiii;h tlu'yM passM some wholesome laws, Which they thought were well worded, Yet when that glorious feast was servM They left them unrecorded. J^i), Alas! poor Tom! What will you do I-* ^'our cares are on you hea}>ing; ^'ou have no peace of mind or body, Working, waking or sleeping; You're racked and ruined sure enough — ^'^)u'd better quit housekeeping. ^7. ^ our family's increasing, Tom, Your larder is no fatter ; Your wearing out your body, 'L'om, Your purse is getting Hatter ; \ou'd better nick your jugular, And that will end the matter. 8S. Yes. Tom and Jin, I'll tell you what, (Uutyou may think it funny,) If you don't know it I can tell, It takes a mint of money To run a congress such as that. And feast on cakes and honey. 01,1) MAIDS AND I5ACII i:i.Di:S. 3 L 89. Those two poor hands of yours, T.jin, Can't keep tho thing ugoing', Unless you ^o to robbini^ banks. To keep the money flowing; If you can bring it in in loads, You'll be a chap wortJi knowing. 'M). What i-) Iho use of working hard. What use in your frugality? ^'(jiir earnings are not great enough, 'J'o be a man of quality ; 'Tis but a visionary notion, Tom, You'll find it no reality. 01. \'our wife has got strange notions, Tom, I think she's superstitious; She hopes to gain a name and fame; She's proud and she's ambitious: IJut those women are as proud as she, And perha])3 more capricious. 02. She feeds that host of parasites, Who otherwise would shun her; Can such as those, who're poor as she. Heap fame and wealth upon her ? She'll find herself old, bald and gray. Still waiting for her honor. 03. "Would I have such a lot of drones On my food gormandizing ? You'll never be much richer, Tom, Willi your economising. I tell you, Tom, they'll keep you down. You'll have no chance of rising. 32 I'liK wjmfn's congress; oh, di. Ikit whiit befel that " Jolly Team," All sighs and tears and blnslies, We left at Tommy's house lamenting About the snakes and rushes, And hungry, ravenous boars, that might Devour them in the bushes ? 95. l>id those obnoxious bears devour them ? O no, they did not want them ! Did frightful goblins catch them all? Did Jacks with lanterns haunt them? Did they get safely tlirough the mire. And dill their beaux gallant them? 90. no — they knew the way full well! They foar'd not elves and witches ; They all tucked up their petticoats. And p;uldlod through the ditches, All railing at the worthless men, At bachelors an J riches. 97. They vow'd that when they met again, In legislative session. They'd make a law that would be felt, And make a deep impression ; They'd punish stubborn bachelors, For every transgression. 08. Next time the women's congress met A keen north wind was blowing ; The ground was cover'd o'er with snow- This did not stop their going; The day before Tom kill'd two hogs — What chance had they of knowing? OIJ) MAIDS AND I! ACIIHI.OUS. 83 1)9. Tlie congress was quite hungry, too, And long'd for some good eating ; And therefore at the sliortest notice They cali'd an extra meeting. Fresh pork and sausages were on hand ; Some laws requir'd completing. 100. Miss IMolly stated from the chair, That in this very section, Some glaring facts had come to light Of a widespread disaffection ; Therefore, prompt action was requir'd, To prevent an insurrection. Miss Mull I/. 101. " Honorable members of this congress, I would call your attention To a matter the most important, A ciise of wide dissension ; The bachelors are ready to revolt. We must find some prevention. 102. *' Of all the stupid bachelors, Old George and John beat all; But George is getting worse and worse. He's like a Hint-stone wall : Therefore, on George, and not on John, Let our displeasure fall." Miss Sue. 103. " What sort of men are (Jeorge and .lohn ? How is it they're so curious? I never saw two men like them, So selfish and penurious ; For woman's charms and suasive arts', Hut make them inad and furious. 34 THE women's congress; or, 104. " They still reject Love's overture3, And women they despise ; Set our authority ut naught, As though we were not wise ; AVhat shall Ave do to bring them to, AVhat plan can we devise ? 105. " We ought to ofler some great prize, To capture George and John ; Or one, at least, 'twill be a gain, 'J'o capture even one ; For this will disconcert their plans — The victory will be won. 106. " We've tried mild measures long enough, But these were all discarded ; We pass'd a law to lay a tax, And this Avas disregarded ; Now we must bring our largest guns, Their fort must be bombarded. 107. "Like Avolves or other beasts of prey. They must be hunted down; And anyone who captures them Shall have a myrtle crown. A noble chance for maidens, this, To earn themselves renown. 108. " I do detest old bachelors, As I detest old Harry ; They're enemies to womankind, Because they will not marry. How many noble matches do, On their account, miscarrv. OLD MAID5 AND BACHELORS. 35 109. ''Methinks it strange that two old men Shouldcause us such alarm ; We would not notice tlieni, did they Not do us so much harm. They think they have a right, no doubt, Because they own a farm. 110. " Honorable ladies, you all know How shamefully they treat us; They call us Avenches, witches, elves ; Do ev'rything but beat us. If we do not bestir ourselves They surely will defeat us." Miss Dolly. 111. " Hold on. Miss Sue — do you call them men ? Why, that's a wrong expression ; I never saw a man before Made after such a fashion ; What man that really is a man For looman has no passion ? 113. "But George and John, for aught I know. No feelings have in common With other men — I've wonder'd oft If they are really human. It seems they can't be civilized, So little they care for woman. 113. *•' Old George is such a strange old chap, So odd perverse a creature, Contrariness and stubbornness Are wrapp'd up in his nature ; He differs little from a mule, Except in form and feature. 36 THK womkn's coxouess; or, 111. " But 1 can't speak on such !i theme, My hoiirt with uiiger overflows; — Miss Molly — she can tell you more, For no one better knows ; This same old Ceorgo, I nmlcM-staiul, Is one of her old beaux. 115. " iSlio's had rxporioiico in tiiese matters, She's been to conrting school ; She's learn'd the art of conjuration, Anil making love by rnle. She eai\ contrive some plan, to tame A donkey or a mnle. 1 1 (J. '• Miss Betty has not spoken yet On this important matter ; She knows a thing or two of John ; No woman here knows better ; And she no doubt could capture him If yon would only let her. 117. " Why not at once commission her. For she's the one can take him ; She'll run him down, I'm sure she will; She'll bridle him and break him ; Old as he is she'll conquer him, And tame enough she'll make him." Mi\^s Bctfi/. 118. *' Miss IXilly seems to intimate That I'm wa-app'd up in Johnny ; If slie thinks so she's much mistaken. I'd like to have his money ; But for himself I care but little. He is so thin and bony. OLD >f\lDS AND R.VCHELORS. 37 119. "He courted me — or I courted him — About twenty years a^o; I then had hopes of whiiiina; him, Have I never toUl you so ? I think perhaps I was too fast, Or else lie was too xJoir. 120. " "We used to meet by accident, And I walk'd by his side; And I thouf^ht I felt his heart throb. Like the flowing of the tide. At length it ceasM to beat for mc — T ne'er became his bride. 121. "I think 1 might have gotten him If not for his old mother ; She bitterly oppos'd the match, And so did George, his brother ; But I was independent, and thought I soon could get another. 122. " They had something in their noddles, Which they refus'd to tell us; They told hard tales about me, too. And tried to make John jealous; They said I was a vain coquette, And had too many fellows. 123. "John, as you know, was always slow, And this was aggravating; T could not get him to propose ; He needed stimulating; Sol thought I'd let him know I'd other fellows wjiiting. 4 38 THE women's congress; or, 124. " And thinking this would spur him on^ For he needed spurs you know, I some-limes walk'd with other chaps, I'd many a smart young beau. For 1 was young aiul pretty then, And made a charming show. 125. " Though this was but a ruse of mine, It wounded Johnny's feelings; From that time forth he sulk'd and frown'd. And we had no more dealings ; He flouted me — he would not hear My reasons and appeal ings. 12G. *'And all the other fellows left. They dropp'd off one by one ; I found out wlien it was too late, I ought to have kept John ; Though he was slow, yet a slow coach Is better far than none. 127. " I niiss'd the mark — I must confess I acted indiscreetly ; By flirting with too many beaux, I fool'd myself completely. had I linU'd my fate with John's- We could have liv'd so sweetly. 128. " I lov'd John then, I think I did. And tliink I still could love him ; Though I treated him unkindly, I never thought myself above him; 1 often feel remorse and shame That I to madness drove him. OLD MAIDS AND H AC II R LOUS. 39 139. " This inconsidcr.ite not of mine Seem'd to affect his mind ; The tender passion died within him, To love he was no more inclin'd; It rous'd a spirit of revenge Against all womankind. 130. " My heart tells me 'twas all my fault, My fickleness and folly, Had wrought in him so great a change. And made him melancholy; For he was once like other men. Cheerful, brisk and jolly. 131. " His mother at length began to sink, The doctor could not save her ; Poor creature, tliou^h I hated her, I tacitly forgave h t. When she died would have besn my chance. Had I then been in favor. 133. "But silly creature th it I was, I made another blunder; While John was overcome with grief, I might have brought him under; And that I did not try, at least. It is the greatest wonder. 133. " ITad I known then what I know now. And steer'd my course according, I would have work'd for George and John, Though T got naught but boarding; They like a woman that can work, And one that's fond of hoardinof. 40 TiiK avomkn's coxgress; ou, 131. "Jolm luis 11 mint, of money s;ivM, Anil money is most luuuly; 'Tis good he did not spend it jill On lager beer and brandy ; I hate the name and the sight of A spendthrift, fop or dandy. 135. *' I've seen enongh of snch vain fops, And been bamboozl'd by tliem ; If you don't know it yon'll ilnd ont. You only trnst and try them ; They lie and cheat— you'll be deceiv'd, As sure as yon come nigh them. 130. "Now, huiies, pray don't injnro .lohn, In body, wind or limb; That was a romping lie 1 told, ('Twas but a foolish whim,) When 1 said I'd like to have his money, l?nt did not care for him." Miss Molhj. 137. " These two hard cases hitherto. Have baffl'd all our skill ; Ami various measures we have tried, But they del'y us still. I never saw two men like th?m, or such a stubborn will. 138. "I have myself tried various mean?. Old George to captivate ! I've acted seriously, and I Seem'd solemn and sedate ; But all this did not in his heart A sjiark of love create. OLD MAIDS ANTD ItACIIKLORS. il 13'.). " I've sprcjul my beauties all abroad, As pea-fowla spread their feathers; I've feii,ni'd to admire his cows and calves, And prais'd his ewes and wethers; I've been well plcas'd to see his hens, And lambs and calves in tetl)ers. 140. " With laws and statutes 'tis no use For us to try to beat them ; They only mock and lauf,rh at us — By such means we can't cheat them; And we mu^t try severer means, As outlaws we must treat them. 141. "With you, Miss Husic, I agree, We must adopt some plan To silence or to subjugate These two obstreperous men. Were two such rebels ever known Since first the world bagan? 142. " Miss lietty seems to pity them, And thinks they're not to blame; But I don't pity them a whit; It really is a shame, That none of us can have a beau, But they must know his name. 143. *' Then they must tell liow old we are, How many beaux we've had, As if it were their business; 0, is it not too bad ! If they can scare the beaux away, It seems to make them glad. 42 THE women's congress; or, 14-i. " What is their object — I would ask, Can any of you tell us ? They will not have us it appears, Then why should they be jealous? Why should they mar our prospects then By driving off our fellows ? 145. " I have no patience with the fools ; 'Tis enough to make me curse; As age comes on they ought to mend, But they are getting worse; They're like the dog that would not eat ' The corn, nor let the horse. 146. *' ladies, isn't this a hard world For women like you and me ? Nobody knows what trouble we have, But those who've been to see ; Who ever pities poor old maids, Or listens to their plea. 147. " Because we have no husbands To cherish and protect ns. We're left to grovel on our way With no one to direct us ; While those we meet look coldly on. And few indeed respect us. 148. " How diff'rent is the face of things When one begins to fade ; Tiiough in her prime she brightly shone, She's now cast in the shade. I've oft been called e'en to my face, A wither'd cross old maid. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 43 140. '' They say T'ni like a faJed flower, My hair is getting gray; They say I'm cross and crooked grain'd ; And what do they not say? If I am rro.'^s I have a cause, Which you will know some day. 150. "'Tis not my ftiult that I am single, Or that 1 have no beaux ; 'Tis not my fault that I am old, ihn so this vain worldgoes. If not for fickle men we might Be married I suppose. 151. " Perhaps I was too choicy, for I miss'd some splendid chances; Young fellows us'd to look on me With wistful eyes and glances; Ah, had I but accepted them, IIow chang'd my circumstances. 152. " But trifling with and waiting for Old George, my prime was past; I kept my virtue all for him, And thought to hold him fast ; But oh, frustrated were my hopes, He jilted me at last. 153. "He'll marry me yet, do you say? wouldn't that be sport — Not likely though, for he is not One of the marrying sort. I'm sure ten years is long enough For any man to court. 44 TTTK women's congukss; oil, 154. "I lov'd him tenderly :iiul long, As woman only can ; I did not sport witli other beaux, 1 had no other man ; lUit at the last he was no nearer Than when he lirst heijjan. 155. " ^'et tlu)ii,ii;h 1 h)vM him tenderly, And blindly iloated on him, lie won hi not have mo after all The kindness I had shown him ; I'm sure some ^reai calamity Some day will Tall ui>oa him. 15(). '■ Now i^ it any womlcr ladioii, If I am sour and cros?, Consid'rinjj; how he treated me, Antl thinkini; of my loss ? Ah, my aUbctions were misplac'd, And look'd on as but dross. 157, "My precious time was sacriliced, J\ly love was thrown away; My hopes became a complete wreck, And now the })eoi)le say I'm old and cranky, sour and cross, And getting bald and gray. 158. *'This tattling, slaud'ring, lying, 1 hate it and I dread it ; How many vain upstarts there are AVho'd tell a lie and spread it ! But Avith all their malice they can't say A word to my discredit. ()1,I) MAIDS AND 15 A CHI'; LOUS. 45 159. " W'c have no husbands and no men To protect 113 and provide ; To shiehl ns from the sland'rers ton<^ue, H'rom impudence and pride. Ah, siiif^Ie women sucli as we, Must row 'gainst wind and tide. IGO. "Perhai)3 like mc you're weari'd witli This world and all its care ; To be neglected and traduc'd Is more than I can bear ; For e'en young ladies proud and vain, Turn up their eyes a*id stare. 101. "At times, when brooding o'er my fate, I've been so mor tilled, I've thought of hanging, drowning, poison, Pistols and suicide, To end my inisery at once. And lloat off with the tide. 10::^. "Life is to me a burthen now. And I am sad and wi'ary ; As far as I can see ahead. The way is rough and dreary, And how can I endure the (oil ? Alas! this is a query. 103. "Society has lost Its cliarnii, .My happiness is gone, Some of my old :ie(|uaintauce8 Have partners of their own ; While I am doomM, it saenn to me, 'i'o travel on nloiie. 4C TlIK WOMKX'S COXGUESS; OR, 1G4. "0, lor A homo upon the mount, A peaceful home up tiiere ; Where I mii^lit live in solitude, Away from strife and care, Amid the wild vomantie scenes, To pass my days in prayer. 1G5. *' It seems to me I could enjoy The riv'lets murmuring sound, The crai]:gy knolls, the tow'ring peaks, And rugged scenery round ; Nor fear the bear^ and catamounts, That near me might abound. 160. "'Twould be an earthly Paradise, To live without regret ; If all the sorrows of my V\l\\ I only could forgot ; But, as you say, there is the rub. And that's what makes me fret ion. "Ladies, it is a well-known fact, We have our share of sorrow : Our anxious days and sleejiless nights, The same hard fate to-morrow. 'Tis not because we are in want. We need not beg or borrow. 168. "Our foes are many, and thoy would Destroy our leputation ; All sorts of lies and calumny They put in circulation. What have ur ilone to rouse thoir ire. Or deserve thoir execration.'' OLD MAIDS AND HACHELORS. 47" Miss Dolly. IGi). "Miss Molly, do not talk so long In such H dolerul strain ; It makes us sad and sorrowful To hear you thus complain ; You mind us of the blissful days Wo ne'er must see again. 170. " F.ut ladies, let us not forget The object of our mission ; What are we met for — is it not To better our condition ? Why should we then consume our time, ]i\ sadness and contrition? 171. " AVe need not talk of sympathy, And thus unstring our nerves ; No, each must stand up to the rack, And woe to her who swerves ; Her constituents in their wrath. Will treat her as she deserves. 172. "So rally round the standard all, Kight down to business go; We've trifled long enough, so far Our movements have been slow ; All single women look to us Our energy to show. ]7'3. "1 have a long jietition here, Whicli has just come to hand ; Its diction and its })enmanship Are excellent and grand ; Its language is the plainest Saxon, That all can understand. 48 THE women's congress; or, 174. *' Please pass it round, Miss Sasip, For it will bear inspection ; That's women's work and no mistake, It needs not much correction ; And all they ask of us is but A laAv for their protection. 175. "That the document is genuine, Admits of no dispute; The petitioners, as we all know, Are women of repute; We must do something for them, We must strike at the root." Tommijs Wife. *' Please let the document be read. Let the clerk read it." Clerk Beads. "To the honorable, the members of the Women's Con- gress, now in Congress assembled at Scagg's Hollow, in the county of Baltimore and State of Maryland : " Whereas, woman owing to her being the weaker vessel, and owing to the present state of society, and present custom, labors under great inconvenience for want of a surer and more effective method of uniting her destiny with the other sex ; "We therefore ask your honors to consider our petition : " A man has the privilege, according to present cus- tom, of paying his addresses to a woman ; of courting her, of winning her affections, and of marrying her or not as suits his convenience or his caprice. Many of them abuse this privilege, and after winning one woman's love and confidence, and setting her on the highest pinnacle of hope abandon her without a cause and pay OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 49 their addresses to others ; thus blighting poor women's hopes and breaking their hearts and entailing misery on them during the remainder of their days. Now, as the chief end and object of women is matrimony and ma- ternity, and the vigor and well-being of their progeny depend in a great measure upon early marriage, we beg that a law may be passed to promote these objects. ""We, your petitioners, being all single ladies, of ages ranging from 30 to 50 (though this is a secret between us and you), owing to the fickleness and vacillating policy of the other sex, are in great want of husbands. Therefore, we would acknowledge ourselves greatly in- debted to you if you would pass the following law or one similar to it, viz.: That any single woman of this realm being of sound mind and sound body be em- powered and authorized to make advances toward any unmarried man, being of sound mind and sound body, and of a proper age, and also that she be empowered and authorized to make proposals, to form alliances, and to do all acts relating to matrimonial affairs that men have a right to do, and we will ever pray, »S:c." To the above petition was attached a long list of names of illustrious females, some forty or fifty. Jliss Dolly. " This is a noble document. The petitioners ask for a law the want of which has long been felt. There is nothing unreasonable in it. It meets my views ex- actly. I can endorse it with all my heart and I do not suppose it Avill meet with any oppo- sition. Had there been such a law in vogue long ago we might perhaps all of us, now be well married, and have our children around us to bless us in our old age." 50 THE women's congress; OB, Miss Betty. " 1 also heartily approve of that bill. I will go for it "with all my strength. And I know that if we pass it we shall bj honored as long as we live. And no doubt our constituents when we get home will carry us on their shoulders in triumph. Let us call for the yeas and nayp, but 1 am sure there will be no nays." Tommy's Wife. "Ladies — let us not be too hasty in this matter; and let us do our business sjstematicall}-. I am not going to oppose the bill. I will vote for it for your sakes, and for the sake of all unmarried ladies, but as to myself tiie bill, if it becomes a law, Avill not help me in the least. I know who I must have already. I married when I was too young to have good sense. If I had my time to live over again I am sure that I could do better, but that has nothing to do with the bill now before us. But before you proceed further with this bill, have it drawn up in regular form, so that it may be distinctly under- stood, not by ourselves alone but by everybody else. Heretofore we have been doing our business in such a loose and careless way that we have become the butt and jest of all bacbelordom. So I say let the business be done up right this time. I don't pretend to know much about legislation, but I know that a bill, when it becomes a law, must be entered on the statute book and must also be published." All agreed that this suggestion of Tommy's Avife was a good one. Accordingly, Miss Molly, Miss Susie and Tommy's wife, resolving themselves into a committee, and putting their heads together, drew up and reported the following: OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. Dl "Be it enacted by us, the Women's Congress, now in Congress assembled, and it is enacted by the authority of the same: That any single woman of this realm, being of sound mind and sound body, be empowered and authorized to make advances towards any unmar- ried man, of sound mind and sound body, atid of a proper ag-s to make proposals, to form alliances, and to do all other acts relating to matrimonial affiiirs that men have heretofore had a right to do. Done at Scaggs Hollow, in the county of Baltimore, and State of Mary- land, this day of A.D., 18 " 17G. The law was pass'd without delay, And withont opposition; For all agreed it was the thing 'J'o better their condition; And force the grim old bachelors To yield in tame submission. 177. You bachelors look to your props, And look out for your bacon, You who despis'd the female sex. And call'd themcrack'd and shaken, If you expect to evade this law, You're woefully mistaken. 178. Under this law the old maids have The right to fall upon you ; Hard will you fare if you resist, They'll have no mercy on you ; But if you peacefully submit. No injury will be done you. 52 THE women's congress; or, 179. You need not fear — ;f you submit — Their treatment "will be tender; But you'll be eaten up alive, If you do not surrender ; If a woman waits upon you, Don't you dare to offend her. 180. You've oft been warn'd by words and sign?, You've had your warnings yearly; 'Twill serve 3 ou right if they catch yon, And treat you most severely — You crusty, wrinkl'd bachelors — For you deserve it dearly. 181. You saw your error long ago, And yet refus'd compliance ; You've had your opportunities. To form a close alliance; But you despis'd the women's powers, And set them at defiance. 182. You've had your day, but now 'tis past, And clouds and storms impend ; 'Tis a long lane that has no turns, A long career that has no end ; But in a storm the tree must break. If 'tis too stiff to bend. 183. Alas poor George! Alas poor John! You long have run the plough ; You've done it for yourselves alone. But what will you do now ? Though you are rich and well-to-do, Y^'ou to this law must bow. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 53 184. The bond of union you have form'd, Is not to last forever ; Unseen events are coming on, Which you have thought of never ; The " witches " soon will be let loose, Your partnership to sever. 185. Great preparations are on foot, For a glorious campaign ; You'll be assail'd by such a host. The fight you can't sustain ; They'll try their tricks and stratagems, They'll try, and try again. 186. Of sharp engagements you will hear, Of captures all around you; Of brilliant victories fought and won, The rumors will confound you ; The captures of your bachelor friends, Will grieve you and astound you. George to John. 187. " What will become of bachelors now ? dear, there is no telling ; Will they have any farms to till, Or have a house to dwell in ? Will our new rulers stop our work, Our buying and our selling ? 188. " Under this new order of things. Will apple trees bear peaches ? Will men be women and women men, And who will wear the breeches? Will women do the ploughing too, As well as make grand speeches ? 54 THE women's congress; or, 189. '-'Tis said the bachelors' doom is seal'd, Their whole tribe must go under; They'll be assail'd on ev'ry side, AVith lightning, fire, and thunder; If any of their tribe escape, 'Twill be a mighty wonder. 190. " What do you think of these affairs. What's your advice dear brother ? AVe own this farm — we've work'd hard here. Assisting one another ; And by our own industrious thrift. We've scrap'd some cash together. 191. " We never ask'd for fee or favor, Of any of the women breed ; We've never done them any harm, In thought or word or deed ; Why should they then make war on us ? Is this their moral creed ? 192. "If disappointments they have seen, In their lascivious wooing; Or if some lecherous fellow is The cause of their undoing ; W^iat's that to you and me dear John ? We'd no hand in their ruin. 193. "Shall we give up our farm and house, To let them rummage through it? And dig a hole in yonder hill, Like rabbits crawl into it ? Or shall we stand in our defense? I feel iticlin'd to do it." OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 55 Jolm. 194. "Don't be alarm'd at their wild threats, Don't be in such a fluster; They're nothing but a bag of wind, And all their talk is bluster; They cannot rout a Hock of geese, With all the force they muster. 195. " That congress! What an institution! And can't they do some talking ? But when it comes to active work, There'll be jostling and balking; They'll fret, and sweat, and faint, and fall. With half an hour's walking. 196. "They'll eat us up alive 'tis said ; Why that excites my laughter; They'll eat our bread and pork, perhaps, And that's what they are after ; They've eaten Tommy's up, you know. And Tom is getting dafter. 197. " Who cares for their laws and statutes. Their nonsense and their speeches ? They're only sorry they have no men, That they might wear the breeches. Lord ! if they had wealthy men, ^ What lessons they could teach us. 198. " pshaw! old maids go a courting — And force old baclielors fo marry ! What do they know of such affiiirs y Eeally they beat old Ilarrv. What vain pri'sumption and conceit! lint all their pl.ms miscarry. 5G THE women's congkess; or, 199. " They must think men are silly fools, That they must crouch and tremble, When crack'd old maids in wanton freak, In congress do assemble; And if they point a wooden gun. Old bachelors must tumble. 200. "But Where's the man, though made of dough, That would be such a flunky. As yield to them in tame submission, And show himself a monkey ? I'd think myself a pretty fool, And folks would call me donkey. 201. " The devil's in that party, George, As sure as you're a sinner ; They are a wily, wiry set, And Molly is the winner; And I am not well pleas'd with them. For eating Tommy's dinner. 202. " 'tis a sin, a burning sin. That Tom should feed so many ; They ought to be asham'd of it, But shame they have not any. what a pity that poor Tom, E'er married such a granny. 203. "That wife of his invites the imps, She harbors them and feeds them ; She gives them all her bread and meat, When she so badly needs them ; Though they are silly fools yet she In silliness exceeds them." OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOUS. 57 Miss Betty. 204. "Is it possible that George and John, For all thelove we've shown them; Are still revengeful — while we are Bestowing favors on them ; And has the law we've lately pass'd, Into a tremor thrown them ? 205. "They treat us still with disrespect, With irony and scorn ; They slander ns — they mock and sneer, As though we were base-born ; And will they never change their tune, And will they never turn ? 20G. " Blind mortals — as respects this law — They cannot e'en see through it ; This law is for their benefit, If the fools only knew it; We do not wish to injure them ; If we did, we couldn't doit. 207. " Our motives they have misconstrued, As Tommy's wife foretold; Our object is to hunt stray sheep. And bring them to the fold ; 'Tis for the good of bachelors, That they should be controll'd. 208. "But George is thinking of his farm, And wond'ring how to save it; And that stocking full of money. As if he thinks we crave it; And John is somewhat frighten'd too. Though he may try to brave it. 58 THE avomen's congress; or, 209. ''They think our object is to kill, And that we'vo fonn'd a ])lot To wayhiy them and cut tlieir throats. And take all they have got; But this is far from our intent, For we will harm them not. 210. "We don't deny but 'tis our aim, To capture their whole nation ; Not by force and deadly weapons. But love and moral suasion. Somebody ought to tell them so, To allay their agitation. 211. " But 'tis perhaps the best tor us To let them rave and grumble ; For when their passion is blown off, They'll be more tamo and humble; And from their airy llights ere long, They'll come down with a tumble. 212. "It tickles me and makes me laugh. To think that they're so frighten'd ; I hope that by this circumstance. Our prospects may be brighten'd ; And that our burthens iind our sorrows, By these means may be lighten'd." 7'o»iniifs Wife. 213. "Ladies, one and all, let me speak, And mark you well each sentence, I ought to know a thing or two. From thirty years' acquaintance; For thirty years of married life, Has brought me to repentance. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 59 214. " I've got a man you say ! that's true, — And this you think a blessing; But mind, there's more in married life Than kissing and caressing; Just try it once and you'll llnd nut There's something more distressing. 215. " .fust get a half a dozen brats, (Jrunibling, whining, squalling, Or thundering round the premises, As if the house were falling; And some poor women have a dozen ; — Lord help them how appalling. 21G, "And children must be car'd for too; Potatoes must be planted; Bread, meat, coffee, sugar, butter, rice, Olo'Jnn:;-, shoe?, and hats, are wanted; You have no iv iiDvvledge of the wants; And cliildreii can't be scanted. 217. "None but a mother knows or feels. The harrowing cares that rend her; What does the father care about it, What help doss he e'er lend her ? Slie tugs and toils day after day, AVith no one to befriend her. 218. "The man can plough an hour or two. And then com3 home to dinner, While she is struggling with her cares W^ith all the powers in her; Then he lies down and goes to sleep, Like any other sinner. 60 THE women's cokgkess; or, 219. "Yon ladies — I'm surprised at you, That you should be so foolish ; That you should be in your old age, So babyish and 'pulish;' You know but little of the men, They're stubborn, mean, and mulish. 220. " I tell you ladies, married life, Is not what you may think it; You'll find it is a bitter draught, — But you're not bound to drink it; Avoid it as a leaky ship. And let the water sink it. 231. *' You'd better be in purgatory, You may depend upon it. Sure as you marry you'll be sorry ; You'll wish you hadn't done it; If I were single as you are, How I would shake my bonnet." Miss Dolly. 222. " The time for action has arriv'd, Now is the time or never ; So put forth all your energies, And use your best endeavor; Prepare yourselves for this campaign, With bow and well-fill'd quiver. 223. " Let roses bloom upon your cheeks, And powder hide each wrinkle ; Let red lips smile their sweetest smile, And let the eyeballs twinkle ; Let false hair wave around your necks. And with rose-water sprinkle. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 61 224. " Let us invoke the goddesses, Minerva, Juno, Venus, To aid us in our enterprise, And from all danger screen us ; And let us brave all obstacles, That may spring up between us. 225. " This great reproach of maidenhood, That long has rested on us, Must be wip'd off without delay, And wicked sprites that shun us, Will court our friendship and our favors, And honors confer upon us. 226. "We must respect tlie married women, AVhose heads are bow'd and hoary, But let them not discourage us. With such a woeful story, Telling us that if we marry, We'll be in purgatory. 227. " We doubt not that some matrons have Their share of care and sorrow ; But we believe that some of them One-half their troubles borrow ; Yet we know some who've lost their men, AVould wed again to-morrow. 228. "A dozen children, we admit, Is one or two too many ; But none of us need have that number ; Indeed will we have any? But if a hen can scratch for ten, And no more she's a zany, u 62 THE wo.mkn's congress; or., 329. " tell us not of single life, It's joys and satisfaction ; If we believe all that we hear, 'Twill drive us to distraction ;. So let us cease this foolish talk, Let us proceed to action. 230. ''(>ur time is short — we can't atljnl,. To pass the iiours unheeded ; 'J'he games afoot — we must be up; Alore ])ronij)titude is needed : Let Jennie talk, but let our course,. No longer be impeded. 531. " What's a woman without a man ? A helpless, aimless creature ; And what's a man without a wife ? An oddity of nature ; A shiftless, thriftless, selllsh churl, A boor in form and feature. *^3v\ " Ijudies, kt"s get our business done,, Let's get our laws completed ; And not be trilling with our time,. And not remain here seated: If we do not bestir ourselves,. We'll surely be defeated." )lo'i. The hours Hew o'er the western hills,. On golden wings so fleetly ; The sun had set. — the stars pe.^p'd down^ And smil'd on earth so sweetly ; The Congress took no note of time, lUit lost itself completely. OLD MAIDS AND It Ad IK LOUS. G3 23 i. And now they'd had a lively time, Of mirth and recreation ; They'd m^t with little opposition, In their deliberation ; Though Jin threw water on the fire, It burn'd without cessation. 235. Well pleas'd were they with their days' work, They laiigh'd, they jok'd, they ranted; Exulting o'er the law they'd pass'd, And privileges granted; Not d()Ml)tii)g they would now obtain, What they SO long had wanted. 236. Old maiden? — and youmj maidens too, Need only beat the bushes, And they could catch the crafty birds, Linnets, larks, jays, and thrushes: The bachelors though cold as clods, Could not resist their blushes. 237. Ere they adjourn'd it was resolv'd. To buckle on their armor ; And like knight errants to go forth. As soon as days got warmer. In search of wonderful adventures. With forester or farmer. 238. But 'twas agrecMl among themselves, (So birtld and crickets tell us,) That each should single out her man, And no one should be jealon,«, Lc3t they 8lioMl(U|uai're! with each other. Or fight about their Hfllowp. 64 THE women's congress; or, 239. Molly should try her arts on George, And Betty hers on Johnny ; And Doll and Sue, two fellows knew, Two fellows who had money ; And if they did not catch them both, They'd think it very funny. 2-40. Tliey'd leave no stone unturn'd, they said ; In ev'ry way they'd try them ; They'd lie in ambush, they declar'd, And wait till they came by them; By arts and tricks and stratagems. And blandishments, they'd ply them. 241. Anticipating sure success. The congress was quite merry, Not thinking that old bachelors, Might prove to be contrary. Though George and John had fears at first. Yet these were momentary. 242. They plodded on as heretofore, And fed their sheep and cattle ; They threshed their crops, and sold fine calves. And sav'd the precious metal ; They car'd not what outsiders did. They had no fears of battle. 243. No preparation for defense, They ever thought of making ; By night or day they felt secure. Working, sleeping, or waking ; When they went in and out, no arms They ever thought of taking. OLD MAID8 AND BACHELORS. 65 2-4 L No bastions, no wall, no trenches Did they deem necessary; Xo sentinels were posted round ; No sleepless watch-dogs wary Did tiiey procure as body-guards, For they were so contrary. 245. I know not if they were aware Of what was passing round them ; Perhaps they thought they were secure, AVith woods and swamps to bound them. But e'en in this secluded spot, The cunning elves soon found tiiem. 246. Old Sol in his diurnal course. Was daily mounting higher ; Old winter in his shaggy coat, Was ready to retire ; Noon shadows were diminishing, The Equinox drew nigher. 247. 'J'o Boreal regions far away, Wild geese had wing'd their flight ; The birds in all the hedges round, 8eem'd merry and polite; The frogs from out their dormitory, Had come to seek the liglit. 248. As George and John stroll'd out to see If cattle were encroaching ; Or if the sportsmen were about, Intent on theft and poaching, They were elated with the prospect That spring was fast approaching. 66 TiiK womkn's oonukess; or, y l'.». Tlioy Iviu'w lliat. by (lioir watch fill U03S, Tlioir iufrosl w.'is proiuotiHl ; Vot tlioii_i;h llu'v wiTo so vigihiui, Ami (i) tlu'ir farm ilovotoil, Soino ])atha tiiul trucks across thoir ryo, And in tlio sinl thoy noted. 250. Jjiko ('rusi>i\ .K>lui bocaiuo alannM, At tootpriuls so niystt'rious; And (k>orgo though often irritated, linjnilaivo and iinporiou?, Could not iuiiiiriuo what this nioant; It uiatlo hiui sad and serious. '^ol. What sort of creatures could thoy be, Tliat made those tracks so curious? !Not savages — not eauuibals — Not Indians, wild and furious — Nor burglars sure, that prey u\w\\ 'Phe rich and the luxurious. 2o"3. "Those are not Indian tracks" said (lOorge, "Nor white mens," .lohn replied: *' The footprints are imt large enough, Nor long enough the stride; And Indians wear no shoes you know, Theii- feet are long and wide." !v5o. "They must be nymphs" said (George, '* or naiads, That come here uninvited ; " " Or more likely /'(f/r/VV said John, Uecoming now excited : " Oh 1 if such creatures bo about^ Our /•//(• will sure be blighted." ()I,I) MAIDS AND IIACIIKI.OUS. fJ7 ;^51. " /'(f ivies'' — siiid (JoorKf^ — " I'vo Iminl of llicin," Now Hpciikin;^ mom (Iciiiiircly ; "In Ircliuid, I'm told, Uwy pluy kiicIi pniiiks, And roam iilxtut w^niirely : II" llicHo iiro of tin.' Irinii brcod, 'I'lic (IcviIh in tlicm .surdy. 2!}'}. " Unt John, ciiii'L wo conlrivo to cuich ono — In triip or Huiin) — or troo it ? And ou<^(3 it in somo open 8i)acp, Wlicrc ;dl the, rcHt cim sco it? Wonld thiit not lVi;;litcn them jivvuy V If you tliink so — so be it. yr)(i. " ( )r coMldn'L we hIiooL oik; and nail it up, A;j;ain8t the barn orHlabIc? Or hat)^ it on a pole or saplin^r, High up upon the kiJ^'jI^S Ah W(; \\;u\f^ liavvkH, mai/-(( thieves, and crown, That are not lit for table ? " ^'57. "<>1 says .John," if I (ronld only Kce one ! lint they're i-o shy and (Minning, I fear we can't ^(d, near to them. They beat old scratch at running: They only lan<^h at trapa and snares, There'd be no ns(! in «^unnin;^'." 258. IJiit they resolv'd by hook or crook, If ])088ible to ront Ihem ; Ye8, if they conid tlujy surely would, liy 8om(( means ^'ct without them ; — Th()u;^h they had not jind never had, l'i8tol8 or guns about them. 68 THE women's congress; or, 259. JUit be they naiads, nymphs, or fairies, Or be they animals, Or beasts of prey, or savages, Ciypseys, or cannibals, They should not come upon their farm To hold their carnivals. 260. One balmy morn, when Sol's bright rays O'er hill and dale were beaming, As John went out to salt his sheep. In moody humor scheming. With nympths and fairies in his noddle, Of which he had been dreaming. 3G1. The fairest creature was approaching, With light step and elastic. Plump and rosy as a lie be. With hat or flat fantastic, With modesty perch'd on her brow. And air far from bombastic. 262. Quite dignified her motions Avere, Her gait was spry and sprightly ; On her approach she bow'd to John, Addressing him politely; Which caus'd a flutt'ring in his breast. She beam'd on him so brightly. 263. Two such bewitching piercing eyes. Ne'er beam'd on John before ; And such a rosy countenance, And such gay dress she Avore, It stirred emotions in his breast, E'en in its inmost core. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOUS. 69 2G4. lie did not think of traps and snares, lie was so overcome ; IIo didn't attempt to drive lier off, lie was not quarrelsome ; For fear and rev'rence akin to love, Had render'd liim quite dumb. 205. As she passed on o'er field and fence, John stood and gax'd and wonder'd : Is that a nymph he ask'd himself — He ask'd himself, and pondcr'd ; lie seom'd to be as much confus'd, As if he'd seen a hundred. 266. Ah ! that was Hetty, sure enough. Hut Johnny did not know it; She had a splendid bran new coat, And she was proud to show it ; 'Twas of the latest style and pattern, With tuck and flounce below it. 267. And George hal sei.Mi a fdiry too, AV'hen he was going for water; lie saw her lurkiiii,'' near the si)ring, Iler curiosity had brought her. And George, had he not been afraid. Could easily have caught her. 263. Had he but had his spectacles, And closely scrutinized her. He might have known she was no fairy, Aiul might perhaps surpris'd her; But she was dress'd in silk and lace. And her blue veil dissruis'd her. 70 THE womkm's congress; or, 269. Miss Molly ns'd to hang around, AVhen John :ind George were ploughing ; She'd dodge behind the fence or hedge, To see what they were doing; And then she'd peep into the house. To see the dirt accruing. 270. She wish'd that she wa^ mistress here, The lady of the manor ; She'd keep all things more tidj', for She thought she was a planner. IIow pleas'd and hap])y would she be. If George would only win her ! 271. She'd come some day and talk with him, For negligence upbraid him ; Perhaps she could prevail on him, Perhaps she could persuade him. How well 'twould be if he but had, A frugal wife to aid him. 272. The farmers all around were busy, Some planting, and some sowing ; The wheat and rye look'd green and fresh. The apple trees were blowing: And nothing pleases farmers more. Than to see their crops a growing. 273. Bat Ceorge and John could not rejoice. For good luck seem'd to shun them; Their rye was poor — in consequence A sadness rested on them ; Wiiere'er they went the fairies had Their rirgus eyes upon them. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 71 27-i. ISwcet creatures met them in the fields, Who tripp'd along so neatly ; Who bow'd io them so gracefully, And smiled on them so sweetly ; Which disconcerted all their plans, And turn'd their heads completely. 275. Tiiey could not drive their cows to pasture. Upon their old gray mare. But some of these gay creatures met them. Sometimes one — sometimes a pair — Witii rosy lips which seem'd to say, Come /liss me ii' you dare. 276. All round the lairies were abroad. And artfully enchanted tliem ; They must have wonder'd what it meant, Why all the spirits haunted them ; In ev'ry corner of their farm, The cunning creatures taunted them. 277. I'oor fellows! now they had their troubles. Too numerous to mention ; Visions by day, and dreams by night, Distracted their attention ; They could not work as heretofore, So great their apprehension. 278. Nor could they rest in peace at night. Though rest they so much needed; Their's were no common troubles, To be lightly pass'd unheeded ; No sooner was one goblin past, Than others more dire succeeded. 72 J HE women's conqress; oh, 279. They'd almost given up all hopes or driving thoin tiway : As summer udvanc'd the fairies grew More am'rous ev'ry day ; And bolder too, as if they were Kesolv'd to come and stay. 280. They hold their pic-nics and their frolics, Beneath a gnarl'd oak tree, That stood upon a gentle knoll, Where CJeorgeand John could see, And hear their antics and their shouts, And witness all their glee. 381. John was the first to notice them. For he could plainly hear them. As he was hoeing cabbage beds; But dar'd not to go near them. Although he ground his teeth and mutter'd, Yet he had cause to fear them. 282. He hid himself behind the fence. He knew not what they wanted ; They shouted, scream'd, and laugli'd and sang, They frolick'd, romp'd, and ranted. And danc'd around the white oak tree, Until they sweat and panted. 283. When overcome and out of wind, And llush'd with animation. They sat them down and wav'd their fans, To stop the perspiration ; And turn'd their eyes with wistfulness, On Oeorge and John's plantation. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 73 284. Then they began to chat and talk, Debating without order; Discussing ])hxn3 and schemes of war, As thougli on Canaan's border, About to take the promised land — This but increased their ardor. 285, Had John but heard one-half tliey said, lie would have been aniaz'd; And George would in his grumbling Avay, Have said they all were craz'd ; For love and marriage was the theme : 'Twas this their spirits rais'd. 280. IIow shrewd some women are, and sly ! In strategy how cunning! They'll dodge behind the rocks and trees, Like sportsmen out a gunning; Or like a hound upon the trail, Exhaust themselves with running. 287. In love affairs, in plans and schemes, Miss Susie is sagacious ; When talking on this topic, she Always becomes loquacious : Although on other themes she's mum. On this she is vivacious. 288. She could put on a sober face, When occasion requir'd it ; She could be serious as a judge, Whenever she desir'd it ; But when the theme of love was up, IIow greatly she admir'd it! 74 THE women's congkess; or, 289. Her person is symmetrica], Not corpulent but portly ; Her speech is of the purest type, Plain English, but not courtly; A sailor could not speak more plain, Nor chip his words more tartly. 290. Thus she began her sly remarks, As though she had been reaiding ; Or like a lawyer at the bar. His legal cases pleading ; Regarding not the clamor round. Nor interruptions heeding. Miss Susie. 291. "To die an old maid is a sin — Do you hear me Miss Molly ; And to remain a bachelor. Is the extreme of folly ; But your chances for George are good^ Don't die with melancholy, 292. "T pass'd by him the other day, A slow tune he was humming ; But he started up with great affright. To see a woman coming. As if some evil forebodings. Were in his ears a drumming. 293. " I do believe you'll get him yet. You're winning his affections ; I hear you meet him out at times, (But folks will cast reflections;) Hang to him IMolly — that's all right And mind not their objections. OLD MAIDS AND liACHELORS. 75 294:. " The other day when you stopp'd to drink, When that merry freak was on you, He brought a goblet to the spring. And sweetly smil'd upon you; But what he said I could not hear, — I know he did not shun you. 295. " Old bachelors are liard to catch, 'Tis true — I always knew it; But patience and perseverance. At last will bring them to it. I've got my fellow safe enough To jilt me he dare not do it. 296. " Miss Betty, John's a sly old fox,— Do you see him yonder peeping — He's now repenting of his lot, He's tired of housekeeping; I'd like to see him baking bread, Washing, ironing, sweeping. 297. " He has a weary time of it. You may depend upon it, Baking buckwheat cakes on that old stove. And frying bacon on it; He would be glad to have a woman. If he would only own it. 298. *' While he is cooking he can't be farming, It cannot be expected; If he must spend his time that way. The farm must be neglected ; Don't you think he's overwork'd, — He looks fad and dejected. 76 THE women's C0NGUE5S; OK, 290. *' Yon recollect one ilay last spring, You pass'd him near those bushes; That was the time he was impress'd ; You charm' (1 him with your blushes. Ah then his heart went after you, With all sorts of kind wishes. 300. "He was dumbfounded at the time, He thought you were a fairy; And he and George were quite alarm'd, Which was unnecessary ; And ever since they've been so crack'd, They cannot tend their dairy. 301. " If I were you I'd go right in — Walk in take ofi' your bonnet, And go to work and cook as if. Your life depended on it; Go in take charge of the whole machine, For you're the one can run it. 302. " Behold, there lies the promised land. That Hows with milk and honey; You and ]\Iiss IMolly take possession, And help to spend that money; And each of you if you have luck, May have a little sonny. 303. "Embrace this opportunity, Now is your time or never: Then John and George will change their ways, And both become quite clever ; You need not fear the rubs of life, Your love will last forever. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 77 304. *' Tben if that house should be too small, You soon can build another ; Besides you can divide the farm, And still assist each other ; Ah! what a blessing will it be, To hear your children call you mother." Miss Dolly. 305. " Why Susie you talk like a preacher, You are quite eloquent; But I think you speak too plainly, You'll make the ladies faint; Behold! they blush and hang their heads. But utter no complaint. 306. " But ladies, do not be afraid, No gentleman is near us : Ah! wouldn't it be an awful thing, If John and George should hear us; They'd call us fairies then, I'm sure, And with good reason fear us. 307. " Ah ! when you get those two old men, But won't you make them bustle ? And won't they have to stand around ? You'll surely make them hustle: But I would have a better house, Or else there'd be a tussle." John. 303. " I tell you George they're getting worse. We've got them all around us ; 'Twould seem as if the buzzarJs all, In this broad land have found us; I mean the fairies — they're resolved. Entirely to surround us. 78 THE women's congress; or, 309. " Oh that we could contrive some scheme, Some plan to get without them ! They're hanging round us day and night, And noting all about them; Some day no doubt they'll pounce upon us, If we don't try to rout them. 310. " dear but something must be done I Their visits are unceasing ; AVhere do they come from, for I'm sure Their numbers are increasing ? Shall we leave the farm ?— I've often thought Of selling out or leasing. 311. " Did you not see them on the hill, In their full force encamping, L'ke troops of horses young and restive. Their bridle bits a champing, Neighing, wheeling round and round. Shaking the ground with stamping ? 312. " I tried to count them but I couldn't, Tliey kept coming and going; I tliought there was a regiment Their evolutions showing ; How many were behind the hill, I had no means of knowing. 313. " I was afraid — I did not know. What harm the fiends might do me ; As from behind the fence I peep'd, A horrid thrill ran though me ; I durst not show myself to them. For fear they might pursue me. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 79 314. " Jf we could see the witch-doctor — He'd tell us all about them ; I'm sure he could devise some plan, Or tell us how to rout them; What a blessing it would be, George, Could we but get without them. 315. " You know we've had bad luck enough, AVe've lost a Cotswold ram ; Tiie brindled cow gives bloody milk, Old Jewel's getting lame ; A turkey, and a goose, are gone, And the yellow chicken dame. 316. "'Tis those sly fiends, have done it all, Those fiends we both detested ; I mean the fairies, nymphs, or witches, By which we are infested ; The pests — I wish they'd go away, And leave us unmolested." Ocorge. 317. " Yes, John, I do believe you're right ; "Who knows how soon they'll scalp us ? The witch-doctor or fortune-teller, I have no doubt could help us ; We must do something, or the fiends. At one mouthful will gulp us. 318. *' But how to see the witch-doctor, I'm sure I know not, Johnny; Old Jewel's in a dreadful plight. She's poor and lame and bony ; And it will cost five dollars, sure, Xot less — and that is money. 80 THE women's coxgress; or, 319. " But / would be afraid to go, And yet afraid to stay; And if you go they might catch me, And hang me while you're away ; They're hov'ring round like Yultures now, All watching for their prey. 320. '' If they find out that you are gone, I'm sure they'll be about; Unless I barricade the house I cannot keep them out ; And even if I should do that, They'll burn the house, no doubt." John, 3"21. " If you can't go, if you say so, I'll go myself io-morYO\f ', I'll try old Jewel anyhow, I do not like to borrow ; Yet if anything should happen her, 'Twould break me down with sorrow. 322. "I cannot stand this any longer, I'm getting sick and weary ; This place was once a Paradise, But now a desert dreary ; When mother liv'd 'twas never so, But all was blithe and cheery. 823. "If we but had a woman here. We would not have this trouble; She'd chirp and sing while we were out, The smoke would rise up double; She would not mind the fairy tribe. More than she'd mind a bubble. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 8i 3'2i. "0 those were happy days you know. And no such ills befell us ; We're bound to do something at once, Our troubles now compel us: What's five dollars, the folks will say To two such rich old fellows ? " George. 325. <' no, no, John, I do not want To have a woman near me ; For, all the neighbors far and near, Where'er I went would jeer me : Women are as bad as fairies, I care not if they hear me." JoJin. 326. "I do not want a n'oma/i either. Except for our protection ; If she could keep the fairies off, I've not the least objection ; If you say so I'll get you one ; I'll make a good selection. 327. " But let us not be wasting time. Arguing in this style; Just say the word, I'll get a girl. To stay with you awhile ; If nothing else she could at least, The weary hours beguile." George. 328. " never mind the other sex, But go without delay; See the witch-doctor by all means. Be quick and do not stay ; But cover up your tracks, lest they Should catch you on the way." Si THE women's congress; or, 329. Next morning early John was up, Had shav'd his grizzly beard ; And long before a gleam of light, In the Orient appear'd, Had fed old Jewel — got his breakfast. And the table-cloth had clear'd. 330. But when he went to saddle Jewel, How great was his surprise ! She'd left a portion of her feed, Was down and could not rise ; It seem'd to him this had been done, To thwart his enterprise. 331. "Some more of the fairies work," said John, " They've had her out all night ; There was nothing wrong with her at all, Last night she was all right. Now look at her panting and sweating, A pitiable sight." 332. But John was notto be delay'd. He must be expeditious ; If possible he must be gone. The time was so propitious ; If he could but elude the imps. It wouW be so delicious. 333. Though it was raining, he must go Before the peep of day ; With George's help he rais'd old Jewel, And rubb'd her down with hay. And started on a secret path Towards the great highway. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 83 334. But John and Jewel had a trounce', The way was long and weary ; It had been raining all the morn, The roads were deep and dreary ; And John was wet from head to foot, The prospect was nncheery. 335. He pitied Jewel, and would not Fatigue the beast with riding; But led, or drove her on before — She needed little guiding; The poor thing being without shoes, Was plunging on and sliding. 336. Though John was splash'd from head to foot. By this time he concluded. That he was safe from fairies now, For no one had intruded; And he rejoic'd that he'd at last Their yigilance eluded. 337. And musing as he trudg'd along, And chewing his tobacco, Like a genuine Mahometan, On a pilgrimage to Mecca, He thought he heard a voice somewhere, Though it sounded like an echo. 338. It was not light enough as yet, John could not see him fairly; "IIo! John, where now — to Baltimore? You must have started early," As John came near who should it be, But that old huckster, Charley. 84 THE women's congress; or, 339. John did not like his questions much, Was vexed but did not show it; 'Twas nobody's business thought he; They only wished to blow it ; For he was on a secret mission, And wanted none to know it, 340. Jewel was doing her very best, Yet wags and nags all passed her ; And John heard many slurs and jeers, Because he didn't go faster; And many innuendoes vile, Of bones, and lafJis, and plasfer. 341. " Why don't he feed his horse," says one — " The old hard-hearted sinner ; A stingy miser he must be, An old close fisted skinner; AYhy don't he stop at some hotel, And give his horse a dinner ?" 342. " That poor old horse won't stand the trip," They whisper'd as they pass'd him ; " That sack of corn won't see him through, Those buckwheat cakes won't last him ; 'Twill take a week to get to town," And leering looks they cast him. 343. It really was too bad — the way That John and Jewel were scouted ; The nags and wags look'd down and laugh'd ; The ladies sneer'd and pouted ; The hucksters as they pass'd them by, PuU'd oflf their hats and shouted. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 85 '.\\ I. lUit tiewel nnd John, went toddling on, Their scofTs and sneers unheeding; What was the use to mind such fools ? Tlioy had no hotter hreeding; Jolin did not think them very wise. With all their novel-reading. John. 345. " lUit you have seen the day dear Jewel, When upstarts didn't jeer you; When no proud nag or silly wag, — ■ Could pass you or come near you, When e'en the jockeys on the turf, Had cause to shun and foar you. 310. "And even now old as you are, You could show some light gambols ; If the mean fairies hadn't lam'd you, In their nocturnal rambles; By riding you like maniacs, O'er rocks and bogs and brambles. 347. " Who ever heard of such a trick ? 'Twas bar])arous and 'twas cruel To treat a poor dumb creature thus. So innocent as Jewel ; No doubt they would have burn'd you up. If they had had dry fuel. 348. " J^ad luck upon those cruel fairies, That took you from your stable ; I wish you'd kick'd their teeth out, Jewel, And rendor'd them unable. As the donkey served tlic savage lion. We read of in the fable. 86 THE women's congress; or, 340. " I can't forget such cruelty, I feel for you, my lady ; No wonder you seem weak and weary. No wonder you are jady ; But I'll do all I can for you, Though I've done much already, 350. *' I hope our evil days are past, And happier days are coming ; When we can rest our weary limbs, 'Neath apple trees a blooming ;. To listen to the merry birds, And busy bees a humming. 351. " When we shall no more hear or see^ A witch, an elf, or fairy ; Or see or hear of blighted corn, That's caus'd by winds contrary; Of midnight prowlers and assassins,, That waylay the unwary. 352. " The witch-doctor will set us right,, If we do but obey him ; I've got some money in my purse,, And well I mean to pay him ; I would not cheat him if I could,, Nor will I e'er betray him." 353. John told no one his business. And no one could compel him; Though unacquainted with the roads. He ask'd no one to tell him ; And some adventures did he have, And some mishaps befell him ; 0LI3 MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 87 35-i. For sev'ral times he miss'd the way, And wearied with the distance, Jewel, poor Jewel, went limping on, Yet offered no resistance ; And several times she tumbl'd down, And needed John's assistance. 355. And ev'ry time she fell, it was More difficult to raise her; For she was getting weak and faint, And though John still would praise her, He must have thought if she perform'd The journey, 'twould amaze her. S56. They were not yet half way to town, So slowly they'd been going; And John could hear a murmuring sound, As if of waters flowing, But could not make out what it was, 'Twas dark — the wind was blowing. 357. They'd gain'd the summit of a hill. And now they were descending; John stopp'd — into the darkness peer'd, llis body forward bending, Fearing, trembling and wond'ring, What evil was impending. 358. He fear'd some great calamity, Was now about to follow ; The floods were wild and frantic, The fording was not shallow; And m my an accident had happen'd, In crossing Wildcat Hollow. 88 TiiK women's congress; or, 350. Toor Jewel had to feel her way, And often did she stumble ; !Not more than halt way ilown the hill, She had another tumbli"; l^'or she was not as she once was, So sprightly, brisk and nimble. 'SCO. There lay the mare, the noble mare, With nostrils wide extended ; No further could she go that night, Here her ilay's work was ended ; John iried in vain to raise her up, And all his strength expended. ^{01. Poor .lolm was troubl'd and alarm'd, To t-ee poor Jewel lying Fo lii'lpless in the public road; lie stood beside her sighing; For ho I'ear'd and half believ'd, That the poor beast was dying. 'M'Z. And linding all his efforts vain, Uegan his lamentation; " Jewel ! J ewel ! he cxclaim'd, In a state of desperation; "Where can I go! AVhat can 1 do! In this land of desolation ? " Joliii. ;5G;'. "It grieves me to the heart, dear J.nvel, To see you so distress'd ; I hop'd when we got down to town. To give you two days' rest : The fairies tried to ruin you, They did their Vv ry best. ()l,l) MAIDS AND I'.ArllKI-OK.S. 89 3G4. " I5iit I'll staml by you lo ilu! lust, Don't think tlnit I'll deocivo you; You've (lone your very best, ject was Of all life to deprive you ; And now I fear your race is run, And I'll not long survive you. 368. "0 Jewel! Jewel ! how sad 'twill be, When I think of returning. With the sad intelb'gcnce to George I what a time of mourning! And the fairies all around us, Our sad condition scorning!" 90 TiiK women's congress; or, 3G9. Poor John was all alone with Jewel, And not a soul to cheer liim, Jle thought that if he call'd for help. No living soul could hear him ; In his despair ho little thought, 'JMiat succor was so near him. 370. A geutlenian who liv'd near by — Whose wife had with him pleaded To rouse himself and don his boots — Now to the scene proceeded ; They'd heard a scrambling in the road. And thought some help was needed. 371- He helped fo raise ]ioor .Tewel up, And oller'd Jolin a stable; Thinking, perhaps, a good night's rest Would render her more able; And urged on .lohu to take some food, At his hospitable table. 373. Nor would he a^k for any fee. For he was always ready, To lenil his aid to man or beast, When tired out and jady; This really was a gentleman, And his wife a true lady. 373. John was not sorry that he stopp'd. The night was dark and gloomy; The Hoods were roaring down below, The roads were deep and loamy ; And Jewel was well hons'd and fed, In a stable dry and roomy. OLD MAIDS AND MACIIICLORS. 91 374. Seated before a good bright fire, John's clothes were drying on him; His host and hostess were so kind, They sceni'd to doat upon him; lie couldn't express his gratitude, For all the favors shown him. 375. And they inf|nir'd about his health, And ask'd about his brother; And if they still possess'd the farm. And liv'd alone together ; And thus a pleasant social chat, They had with one another. 370. In all his days, and all his travels, Whether on foot or riding, John had not seen so fine a couple. So gen'rous, so confiding; He heard no angry words between them, No bick'ring, and no chiding. 377. John did not fail to tell them how The witches had ill-us'd them ; Though James and Jane were sober folks, The story quite amus'd them ; They laugh'd — they couldn't help but laugh, But freely John excus'd them. JoIm. 378. <'Now, Mr. James, and Mr?. Jane, You've heard my entire story ; Would you advise me to go back, To live in purgatory; To be tormented by the witches, Who revel in their glory ? 93 TiiK womkn's congress; or, 37;>. "And I must try to rescue George, And from his troubles free him; ] must Jind out the witch-doctor, For I'm prepar'd to fee him; And Cicorge will ne'er be satisfied, Unless I goto see him. 380. " Perhaps you know old Dr. Wiseman, Who is well vers'd in science ; It seems all folks speak well of him. And on him place reliance: lie drives all plagues and witches off, And sets them at defiance." James. 381. " yes, I've heard of that old man, lie lives down near the water ; My neighbor yesterday went down, To consult about his daughter. She disappcar'd — tliey couldn't find her, Though for a week they sought her. 38:^. "Leave Jewel here till you return. Perhaps she will be stouter ; IMeanwhilc I'll take gooJ care of her, Don't fret yourself about her ; And you can go to town on foot. Quite fast enough without her." Jaur. 383. " You ought to get a woman, John, — She'd drive away the witches, One who could make your shirts and sew Your buttons on your breeches; By saving all the odds and ends. She would increase your riches." OLD MAIDS AND nACIIKLOKS. 93 384. Next morning early John was u\). But Jewel was no better; lie couldn't imagine how it was, Nor think wliat was the matter; Yet ho knew she would be car'd for, His host would not forget her. 385. With tearful eyes and deep regret, He with his Jewel parted; And with his bundle on his back, lie on his journey started ; Reeolv'd at once to see the doctor, Nor have his purpose thwarted. 38G. Quite steadily he trudg'd along. Though his shoos requir'd repairing; For the nods and jeers of those he met, Not one bit was he caring; Nor did he heed the many eyes, In doors and windows staring. 387. Some time before the sun was set, In Baltimore he landed ; Not having met with one mishap, Yet his journey was not ended; Before him lay a weary search, On which his luck depended. 388. All sorts of people mot his eye, I'lack and white, brown and yellow; And oft he heard the sly remark, " There goes a country fellow ; " They thought he was a curious chap, And scarcely ripe and mellow. "94 THE women's congress; or, 389. From street to street he wander'd on, Casting his glances furtively; In hopes to find Dr. Wiseman, But seeking him abortively ; While Jews, Gentiles, and ladies fair, Were eyeing him quite sportively. 390. In Pratt street, and in Harrison, He made but short slow paces ; He often stopp'd to read the sign?, And view the curious places; But no witch-doctor could he see. Among the many faces. 391. The clothiers thought him giddy-headed, He look'd so strange and funny; One took him by tlie button hole, " VaJh in de shtove,frcnt Slwnnij, I'll sell you a coat so goot and sheap. As you can buy for money." 392. " no," said John, " I want no coat. That's not what I am after ; The witch-doctor is what I want." " Vat," said he in a burst of laughter, "Deres no such cattle here my frent You vas looking for a rafter^ 393. The Jew then sent him to a shop. In which were none but women; In which hung corsets, hoops and skirts. Gay ribbons, lace and trimming ; But when he mentioned wiicli-dodor, They thought he must be dreaming. OLD MATDS AND BACHELORS. 0& 39-4. " never mind the witches, John, But buy your wife a bonnet; See here's one of the latest stylo, With flowers and ribbons on it ; " " I have no wife." " yes you have. Don't be asham'd to own it." 395. " Then buy a necklace or hoop skirt, And give it to your lady; " " I have none." '^ Now John — don't tell a fib — No use to keep it shady ; — Well then wait a bit we'll find you one, Y^cs, here she comes already." 396. " iVIiss Sallie let me introduce you, To my country friend Johnny," She with a kiss saluted him, And said 'twas sweet as honey; John did not know what to do or say, Their conduct Avas so funny. 397. He did not wish to be uncivil, Nor did he wish to grieve them ; But wanted to pursue his search. And said that he must leave them ; But they begged of him to stay awhile, Of ennui to relieve them. 398. ** don't go yet — sit down and talk, 'Tis lonesome here without you ; You live up in the country, don't you, And have ducks and geese about you — if I only was up there, The witches shouldn't rout you." 96 THE women's congress; or, 31)9. Hut John was thinking of his troubles, These runklM in his head ; lie either did not nnderstiuul, Or heard not what she said ; For no reply lie made to her, And no attention paid. 100. It sceni'd he knew not where he was, He never was in such a store ; Such finery and flashy goods, lie never saw before; 'Twas like a royal palace, this. With carpets on the floor. 401. "I'm in the wrong ]ilaoe now," thought he, '* Tiiere's no witch-doctor here ; I must get out, or the police, AVill i)rosently appear; If I had been aware of this, I wouldn't have come near. 403. "0 that moan Jew wlio sent me here, That told me such a lie — I might have known 'twas but a trick, By the twinkling of his eye; If I could only catch the chap, I'd beat him or I'd fry. 403. " He only sent me here, I'm sure, To get me into trouble ; If I could catch him out of town, I'd make the fellow hobble ; I wish we were in Wildcat Hollow, I'd bend him tiiroe times double. OLD MAID.S AND HACII KLOUS. 97 404. " Whiii do I want with lincry, Wliat do I want with trimming? I have no use "for such fine things, They're only fit for women ; It is enough to bewilder me, And set my licad a swimming." 4 )j. liut those gay ladies — five or six — Some plump, some tall and slender, Came round him with kind offers, Their services to render ; Though to each other they seemd uncivil, To .lohn their words were tender. 400. Quito eloquently did they talk, Of the joys of country life; Compar'd with city business, IIow free from care and strife; Especially how sweet 'twould be. To be a farmer's wife. 407. And didn't John want a wife, one asked, She look'd so cute and funny; She spoke all kinds of endearing words, And call'd him Love, and Honey; Perhaps she thought that John was rich. But she wouldn't marry for money. 408. John might have thought them all in love with him, They sniil'd so sweetly on him; They secm'd to vie with one another, As if resolv'd to win him ; Had he been young it must have stirr'd, A gentle passion in him. 9 98 THE avomen's congress; or, 400. Thus for some time, John was delay'd. These ladies kept on chaffing; And wlieii they were out of his* sight. They did their share of hiughing; Miss Sallie to conceal her mirth, AVas almost cliok'd with coughing. 410. But John must seek his lodging?, for The night was drawing nigh ; Already had the sun gone down, — How swift the moments ily ; He turn'd his face towards the door. And cast a wistful eye. 411. The ladies wish'd him not to go. '' Do stay a little longer," Said one and all. " J>o stay," said they. Their pleadings getting stronger; " AVe have plenty of meat and bread, To satisfy your hunger." 412. "0 no, dear John, you must not go. Don't be in such a hurry ; 'Twill be too bad to leave us so, We shall all be so sorry ; Do make yourself at home, John, Be cheerful tuul be merry." 413. " 1 thank you for your kindness ladies. You know I cannot stay ; I must pursue my search, you know, Uus'ness calls me away ; Indeed I cannot stay to-night, I'll call some other day." OLD MAfliS AND IJAOHKLOUS, 99 414. At length some customers cume in, Which stopp'd the conversation ; And Jolin had time to look around, And view tlio situation; The ladies talk'd so much, anSvvamj)oodle, Where many things astound him. lot rill'; womi'n's conokkss; ok, ■\'MK 111' |);ish'(>s clmrclu'S, fjiclorii's, schtiols, MaiKsums, sloros Jiiul Iwilla ; Aiul trios l.o spoil ti\o fiinoy niunos. Oil tiwniiigs, iloors jiiul wiillt^. A voico is hoiiril mM'ds.s tho stroot, — 11(> listoMS soino Olio calls. •110. " .lohii — ,h>liM -ho John — I'omo ovor horc— (\)nio hcvc u iiiiiuilo or iwo - (\)ino ovor horo — tloii't bo afraid — 1 want to spojik lo yon." On i'ounws; oloso, .lolin foMiul ho was A ooiiiit I'vman ho know. •1 II. "(uH»d liu'k," s.ivs .lohn — how ploasM ho is, 'Vo liiul A IViond so trno! \\c (oils his (alo in oonlitii'noo, Aiul I ho oinl ho has in viow. " ()." said his friond, " I'll tako yon (horo, I'm (>n my w ;iy I horo loo." •I rj. ,U>hn thoni;'h( (his was a "^onorons olVor ; It was aoooplod gladly ; I'or at'lor wand'rinj:; all day lonj^, Aiul hoiiii]^ foid'd so sadly. This was a j^roat roliof io him ; A (Vioiul ho nooilod badly. 1 t,'>. How s(rani;t^ lo (oil— jnst down (ho stroot, A sijnaro or iwo, not inoro. Was soon in plain lary;o lottors brii:;lit. And posted noar the door, " 1>K. J.VUKZ AVlSKMAK, AsTKOl Oil KIJ. Ih" srviKS. i.v.v'v iivNP, iiiiKn fi.oou." OI.I) MAIDS ANI» l!A<;iM:i,()ltH. -105 44 1. Willi Honio ^'ropiii*,', and Komo .sliimUliii^;, A(, leii^'Ui llicy (iixl tlio |)l!iO(! ; 'J'lie doctor on Mic landing,' Hl.undH, And inoclH llicni faco to I'.ioc; Ilc'd licard thcin (!ornin|^ up the Btairs And /'(-(M'tH tlirin with a f^ra(;(!. 445. " I'IcaH*} conic in,^'(!ntH, and take a seat." — "An; ijoii, the witch dmlur Hir?" — "No — I'm no witch-doctor l)iit I'm Thi! man you're. looking for; I'm an aHtrol()j((M', yon know, A fc;^; II lar profcSHor." •11'). .lohii th()ii;^ht lie w.iH a ciirioiiH chap, And yet he was polite ; Ills head wa.s bahl — 'hin forehead hif^li, His beard was nilv'ry white; His face bore markH of many vvintcrn, 1 1 is ey(!.s were; dark and brifjht, 417. With coHtly fiirnitiin! tlu; room WaH not HO Well Hiippliitd ; 'TwaH of a very common jjattern, J)iHplayinj( little j)rid(^ ; A i)lain deal tabic, and some old chairn, Arran^'d on either Hid-. 44M. Hut 8oon the doctor calJiMJ him np;^ Thia check'd bin olwervation ; \h\ needa mnat ^Mve his biatory, J I is name and occupation, .lohn tohl a plain nnvarnish'd lale, Without e(|uivocation. lOG THE women's congress; or, 449. For years, he and his brother George, Had liv'd as mortals ought; But hitterly their phms and prospects, Had all to grief been brought. Some unknown power had marr'd their peace. And had much mischief wrought. 450. John having told his doleful tale, And having paid his fee ; On a large blackboard upon the wall, By aid of Astrology, The doctor soon worked up the case, With unerring certainty. 451. Letters, signs, and figures, he wrote. In a mysterious hand ; Hieroglyphics — which none but those Initiated understand. It seem'd as if the Solar system. Was under his command. 453. lie turn'd his orrery around, As if he wish'd to know. The true positions of the planets, And whether high or low ; And the moon's track in the zodiac. If she was fast or slow ; 453. Talking to himself in an unknown tongue. In which such sounds were heard, As syzygy, apogee, perigee. And many a stranger word ; Which would to some illiterate folks, Seem foolish and absurd. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 107 The Doctor to John. 454, " You surely are mistaken, John, 'Tis but a wild vagary ; I've no belief in such a thing, I never saw a fairy, 'Tis but a myth — the term is not, Jn my vocabulary. 455, "The creatures that you speak about, That caus'd you such alarm. And that have haunted you and George, In all parts of your farm, A.re witches sir — but never mind, They'll do you no more harm. 45G. " If they should come about again. Their orgies to renew. Do not attempt to drive them off. For that you cannot do ; Make love to them— be affable — 'Twill please them if you woo. 457. " To keep them from your stable-door, Nail up an old horse-shoe ; Turn the heel down and the toe up — A rusty one will do — And Jewel can laugh and switch her tail, Defying the whole witch crew. 458 "To keep them away from your house, In the cellar make two fires Of hickory wood and sassafras; And as occasion requires. Throw on old shoes, wet straw, and cobs. And also brush and briers. 108 THK woman's congress; or, 459. "In good green piistnre put your calves; This will increase their bulk ; And give your cows bran-niash and saU, Their hides will sliiiie like silk ; And 1 can well assure you, John, They'll not give bloody milk. ■I (.!(>. " And feed your hogs on good fresh corn, ir you wish to have them nice; A dose of charcoal now and then, Will make them smooth as mice. Then if you wish to sell your pigs, You'll get a fancy price. 401. "Again, to make your poultry fat, Cive them plenty of meal dough ; Mix in it chopped meat and pe]>per; 'Twill make them lay and grow. Your roosters too will be so proud, They'll (lap their wings and crow. 402. "That sack of money whicli you have, You must bury in the swamp, When the moon is in apogee. And the night is dark and damp: Cross two witch hazels on the grave, And put on it your stamp. 463. "Don't you forget these rule.^, friend John, l^ut con them o'er and o'er; If my instructions you obey, As I have said before, Those cunning creatures you have nam'd. Will trouble vou no more." ()M» MAIDS AND I! A (.'II KI.OIlH. 10!) 4.<>l. .John Wiis well jjIcusM with liis success, And now liis cares wore o'er; lie hurried out without dohiy, Nor thought of troubles more. Was ever morial so ehited, Or e'er so l>lf'Ht Ijeforc ? 405. Jle's now upon his hoinewurd truck, All cheerfulness and smiles; JIc passes iiucksters on his way, Nor stops to count the miles; lie finds his Jewel well and hearty, irniiarnrd by witches wiles. 4C)i). He thuiik'd his host and hosiers kindly, And well he would have paid them, ]Jut they refus'd all recompense, And all the offt^rs made th(!m ; •"Twas but a friendly act," they said;— A kind good bye he bade them. l')7. The hucksters did not i)ass him by, For Jewel was not lame ; ►She did not hop and iiobble on, As she did when she came ; Young ladies didn't look down on her, With pity and with shame. ■/o/in /() JcKU'l. 408. "Pear J(!wel— I'm glad that you can travel, Without fatigue and pain; I was afraid you'd ne'er get better, J'ut always lame remain ; But never mind — the witches freaks Shan't cripple jou again." 110 tup: avomen's congress; or, 4G0. John thought of nothing now, it soem'd, lUit future happiness; IIow he and George and Jewel would spend. Their days in peace and bliss. Did he but know the happ'nings at home, It must his hopes depress. 470. While John was on his fruitless search, Not knowing what to do, Almost distracted with his trouble>\ Fool'd by (^lentile and Jew, Disappointed at ev'ry turn, — George had his troubles too. 471. Each week the huckster came around. With a sack full of money. To ask if George had aught to sell. Calves, butter, eggs or honey. Tills huckster lik'd a merry joke. And sometimes he was funny. 472. "Ho George," says he, " I have some news, Some news that's worth reporting; JMiss ^lolly's coming round some day, To do some extra conrting.^^ But not a word of this was true, The man was only sporting. 47;3. " She says she's coming to stay with you. Not for a few hours only. But for a week, or month, or year, — She thinks you must be lonely — She'll come to cook, and milk your cows. For she is stronsj and manlv." OLD MAIDS AND UACIIKLOKS. Ill 474. Next dny the huckster s;iw Mis3 Molly, Behind her wheel a spinning; "0 now," thought he, " I'll have some fun, I do not think 'tis sinning; I'll tell her that George wants a wife. And he's a man worth winning. 475. " John is tiway, George is alone, Now is your time to catch him ; Although he is a sly old fox. Yet you're the one can match him; Go over there and try your arts, .lust flatter him and watch him." 47G. ]\[iss Molly took the hint at once. Left her wheel and llax upon it; She washed her face with toilet soap, And donn'd her gown and bonnet; And o'er the hill she turn'd her steps. Humming an old love sonnet. 477. She boldly walk'd into the house. Where George was busy baking ; But he ran into the cellar, AVith fear and anger quaking; Yet 'twas not long ere he return'd, Still trembling and shaking. 478. But he w.s grum and wouldn't say A word about housekeeping; Molly meanwhile went through the house. Into the corners peeping ; And then took up the broom and said. The rooms all needed sweeping. 113 THE women's coxgrejs; oh, 470. Tlioiigh Goori:;e protestod — 'twas no use, She help'd to bake his bread ; She milk'd the cow and stvain'd the milk, The hogs and chickens fed ; At supper time she help'd him too, The table-cloth to spread. •iSO. As yet she could not see that she "Was making an impression. But since she'd got a good foothold, She'd try to hold possession ; But it requir'd some tact, she knew, To bring him to confession. •4S1. Next changing her tactics, she ask'd Of him some aid to lend her ; And "would not he go home >Yith her, She'd no one to attend lier ; I'or if attack'd by tramps or beasts, Or ghosts, he could defend her. 4Sv. As it was dark, (leorge was afraid, Yet did not wish to wrong her; He would not be afraid, he said. If he were ten years younger; So he agreed to let her stay, At least a little longer. •iSo. "0 now" thought she, '' now is my chance To do some 'extra courting; ' I cannot hope to win him o'er. By llirting or by sporting; But I will try to gain my point. By pleading and exhorting." OLD MAIDS AND UAClIEr.OKS. 113 Miss Molly. 484. And thus she spoke: " Now George, you know, You ciiunot get ulong ; You've too much work, iiiul too much worry, Ami ev'rything goes wroug; You need some help to do your work, You know you are not strong. 485. "I always lov'd you, George, and still Love you as much as ever ; I take an interest in your welfare. And always will endeavor To do you all the good I can. And I'll forsake you never. 486. ""\Ve both are getting old, you know, We both are past our prime ; In long courtship, and long delay. We cannot spend our time ; To wait and dally longer, George, AVould seem to be a crime." 487. Thus Molly's heart was full of love, Which made her talk so sweetly; She did not yawn and hang her head, But acted more discreetly ; Her arguments had such effect, George was o'ercome completely. 488. Next day the bachelor was seen With ;Molly in a carriage ; The neighbors as they pass'd, all said It was to be a marriage. To see CU^orgo with a woman aboard, 'Jhey wonder'd at his courage. 10* 114 THE women's congress; or, 489. Young men and maidens on the way, And old men too seem'd jolly ; They lipp'd their hats and bow'd their heads, And greeted George and ]\[olly ; But George did not enjoy the sport, And wonder'd at their folly. 490. Miss Molly ask'd the way to Parson Grey's, And how far it was to it. While George sat back and hid his face. As if asham'd to show it; how he wish'd the day Avas o'er, For all the folks would know it. 491. AVhen John got home he found the house All silent and serene; No smoke rose from the chimney top, No living soul wa? seen ; The house was in good order though. The rooms all neat and clean. 492. " What does this mean," he ask'd himself, "And what has been the bother. O dear and liave I now come home With good news for my brother. To find the house deserted, and ]Ie gone, I know not whither?" 493. But Betty now comes o'er the hill, And as the house she nears. Old Jewel in the lane she sees, And John's loud voice she hears ; It startl'd her, at first, a little. And caus'd some doubts and fears. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELORS. 115 494. Rememb'ring Avhat the doctor said, John would not disobey ; He wouldn't attempt to drive her off, Whatever she might say ; lie wish'd to know what had happen'd, While he had been away. 495. George and JMolly had gone away, She said, and her cheeks burn'd — She had been here and bak'd the bread, She'd clean'd the house and churn'd. And she had come to milk the cow, And stay till they return'd. 49G. But now since he had come back home, And as 'twas going to rain, And he could do the work himself, She could go home again. She said he did not need her there. And she would not remain. 497. John did not say that she should stay, Nor did he tell her go ; lie was not now afraid of women, As he was some time ago; But he was much surpris'd to hear, That George had acted so. 498. The change in him since he return'd, Betty's attention drew; He seem'd more friendly than he was, He was more patient, too ; She wonder'd that he did not swear, And make a great ado. 116 THE women's congress; or, 499. Bat she, unmindful of his presence, And thinking not of going, ^lilk'd the cow and fed tlie pigs, Nor did she think of wooing. But now and then she took a peep, To see what John was doing. John to Jeivel. 500. *' Dear Jewel : wliat has become of George, We left him sound and well; He's gone away — will he come back ? AUxs, we cannot tell ! If he were here to share our joy, We could in safety dwell. 501. " The witches now must keep away, AVe need not fear them more ; I'll nail this horseshoe up just now, Above your stable door ; Anil make a fire with sassafras. Upon the cellar floor." 502. Miss Betty was passing by just then, — A smile was on her cheek ; She wouldn't disturb his reverie. But waited to hear him speak; At last he inquir'd of her. What had happen'd through the week. 603. yes, the ice is broken now — She tells him all the truth, How Molly had come there to drive The witches off forsooth ; They borrow'd a carriage and elop'd. Like giddy-headed youth. OLD MAIDS AND UACHELOIIS. 117 504. John seem'd a little vex'd at first, To lieiir what Molly had done, And yet he could not help but smile. When he was left alone; Instead of driving the witches off, ITer own witch-craft she'd shown. 505. Though John for years had hated Iktty, He felt no ill-will now; She'd been so kind — had clean'd the house. And fed and milk'd the cow; They soon became as sweet as doves, — I cannot tell you how. 50G. 'Twas after dark an hour or two, When George and Molly came; They both look'd happy as two doves, — Molly had chang'd her name — And John was glad, and Betty too, Was in a pleasant frame. 507. They had a glorious feast that night, For Betty had prepar'd it; And Doll and Sue and their two men. Were there in time, and shar'd it. Beside the dainties, they'd tea and rum, And none were there who spar'd it. 508. And Tommy and his wife were there, And children half a score; All were so happy and so full. That they could hold no more. That house in all its days ne'er saw So merry a time before. 118 THE women's congress; or, 509. Nexb night the Calithumpians came, (The old custom they obeyM) Who with their splendid instruments Some glorious music play'J ; The entire neighborhooi was arous'cl By the melody they made. 510. When they were gone Betty says to John,- But looking rather shy — " How happy George and Molly seem ! And can you tell me why ? If two old souls like them can love, Why cannot you and I ? " 511. Again, in that old house was heard. Ere long, a merry din ; Another feast, another frolic, Had drawn the neighbors in ; For John and Betty thought t'was time, A new life to besrin. 51"^. And now the two old bachelors, Are bachelors no longer ; And in respect to womankind, Their confidence grows stronger; And frequently they tell their wives, They wish they'd married younger. 513. John did not bury that sack of money, It was not necessary ; Molly and Betty took care of it, And not a witch or fairy E'er ventiir'd to come near the place. The women were so warv. OLD MAIDS AND BACHELOllS. 11& 514:. Their pigs grew finer ev'ry day, Their poultry were not slighted ; They laid and cackl'd morn and eve, They seem'd so much delighted. Their rye and corn, and wheat and oats, Were not mildew'd or blighted. 515. The cows gave good sweet milk again, As they were wont to do ; Jtwel far'd well — she was a pet. And was well tended to; Tl:o women always rode or drove her, To pay their visits due. 516. In the appearance of the farm, A wondrous change is seen ; Tiie fences are in good repair. The hedge-rows neat and clean. In spring the meadows and the fields I'ut on a lively green. 517. The hous3 is painted and repair'd, Both outside and inside; It looks so well that George and John Look on it with great pride ; They never grumble at expense, Rut in their wives confide. 518. The rusty stove has been remov'd, A new one's in its place, Whose genial warmth and shining black, ^Fuch admiration raise; The smoke ascends in graceful curls, As in their mother's davs. 130 THE women's congres?, etc. 510. They have a new and stylish carriage, In which all four can riile; And Jewel us she trots along, Seems proud and dignified. To see her harness, now and then Slie turns her head iiside. 5v0. Days, weeks and months pass by in peace. The witches do no harm ; And unmolested George and John Can work upon their farm. When they come in the meals are ready, The house is always warm. 521. And Betty has a })retty boy. The sweetest little creature ; And maids and matrons come to see him — You know it is their nature — They say he is John's very image. Like him in ev'ry feature. 522. And now we leave old (Jeorge and John, Enjoying happiness ; In all their business atl'airs They meet with sure success. And they admit the luckiest thing Was that Old Maids' Conjrress. THE TOURNAMENT. ■ -- • ■ ■ ■" i HEARD of chivalry when I was young, And many a tale, and many a song ^p Were told and sung, of ladies gay, and peers. And gallant deeds perform'd by chevaliers. I listened to those stirring tales and rhymes, And wish'd I'd liv'd in those chivalrous tim3S, That heav'n had granted me the privilege To share the honoi-s of that glorious age. With zeal the tales of Robin Hood I read. And that brave band of bowmen which he led, Their deeds and gallant exploits I admir'd, With laudable ambition I was fir'd. The roving pipers songs, their minstrelsy, Their ancient ballads, had a charm for mc; While some proclaim'd the fame of Robin Hood, Or sang the songs of warriors brave and good, Some sang the fame of some courageous knight, AVho battled in the cause of truth and right ; Among their praises female beauty had its share, As all deeds noble are connected with the fair. They sang also in patriotic style, Of those heroic men in Britain's Isle, Who under Richard First such laurels won, Against the Saracenic ruler, Salad in. U (121) 123 THE TOURNAMENT. Then those briive warriors who were not slain. Came home to fight their battles o'er again, In presence of the Eoyal family, And lords and ladies of a high degree. " What mighty deeds were done I^y those heroic men ! Such deeds the glorious sun Shall never see again." So sang the bards of other days, Nor were they lavish in their praise. For deeds of valor in a knight, In cause of liberty and right, Are worthy to be celebrated, And Avorthy to be imitated. Old Maryland may claim the honor. Whatever faults be laid upon her, Of having a strong sense of right ; Here, chivalry is not dead quite. E'en Tournaments, extinct elsewhere. In all their pomp still llourish there; or that fine species large and grand, Once found in Britain's happy land. I saw one with these eyes of mine, One that was really genuine ; None of the dwarfish sickly breed, But vig'rous, lively, strong indeed. New Market on one summer day. Had donn'd her Sunday clothes so gay. Had starch'd her ruffles, gauze and lace,. And smooth'd the wrinkles in her face. THE tourn:ament. 123 Her chivalry were arm'd for fight, With spur and lance and helmet bright; On steeds of noblest mettle mounted, Whose deeds of fame could not be counted. That was indeed a glorious si<2:ht: A troop of knights in armor bright, As they rode to the field that day, Their brilliant exploits to display ; Succeeded by the Cornet Band, Far-fam'd and known throughout the land ; Who play'd their liveliest airs and best. Their silver horns ne'er stopp'd to rest; They seem'd to shake tlie very ground. The welkin echo'd with the sound. Now soon the contest was begun, A noble prixe was to be won ; It was a crown of jewels rare, For the loveliest, fairest Queen to wear. Those knights display'd such gallantry, Such skill and such dexterity; They flew like swallows on the wing, And scarce a knight e'er missed a ring. I doubt if e'er was seen before, In Gaul or on IJrittannia's shore. Or even in the Holy Land, A spectacle so glorious and so grand. The knight of Marmion won the prize, Which tlil'd with wonder and surprise The lords and nobles of the nation, And gain'd the ladies' admiration. 124 TllK Torn NAM EXT. And now a shout oi' triumph rose, And liats went up from friends and foes; Hurrah for i\[armion was the sound, Bring forth jour huly to be crown'd. THE CORONATION. The crowning of tlie Queen, A soul inspiring scene, Fill'd all beholders with delight; She sat there like a dove, Beside her gentle love. Her courteous, generous champion knights The chaplain — if so call'd — "Was not an old man, bald ; But voung, robust, and sprightly; With voice distinct and knul, lie first address'd the crowd. And then the (^ueen, and maiils, politely. AVhen she received her crown. She did not pout and frown, — Like some rude ladies we have known ; 1 saw her bosom ebb and How, And her cheeks with radiance glow, As she sat there upon her throne. And ev'ry critic must concede. That she looked beautiful indeed. With rings and ribbons, gloves and beads ; And each and ev'ry vanquish'd knight, SeemWall enraptur'd with delight, As they sat on their uiettl'd steeds. TIIH 'JO'JifNAMENrr. 135 Ami of this (V'ronaf.imi, All sliowM their approbation, And pledg'd their fealty to their Queen; Not one dissenting voice, Was rais'd against the choice; And not a murmur heard or seen. Deny the fact whoever dare, That she's tlie fairest of th(^ fair, The noblest and tlie best of (Jueens ; And may she long tlie sceptre bear, And rule hca* subjects with great care, Xot rigorously, but by mild means. Three maids of honor, to(^, were crown'd, And styled the greatest beauties round, By those brave knights who crown'd them. I thought t'woulil try tlicir nerves a little, But no, they minded not a tittle. The gazing crowd around tliem. And now the ^rournament is past, 'Tis hop'd it may not bo the last; But many more such may we see. The closing of the day is spent, In social sports and merriment, And not in rioting and revelry. T TO AN INTIMATE FEMALE ACQUAIKTIKCE. ■ II Y should a youth so young as I, SP^ His skill iu rhyming jingles try? And why dost thou this task impose, On one who scarce the Muses knows ? However Miss, to try my skill, I will this painful task fullill; And as my thoughts dwell most on thee, Thou shalt, my dear, my subject be. Full well I recollect the time, AVheu thou and I the hills did climb. To 'scape the city's jarring sound. And view the scenery around. When underneath some shady bow'r, We sat and spent a joyful hour ; All care and toil were then forgot, ^0 pleasant was the peaceful spot. then how sweet to hear the birds ! 1 low sweet thy soft expressive words ! How sweet to hear the gentle breeze, Ivustling through surrounding trees! But autumn's most ferocious pow'rs. Deprived us of our peaceful bow'rs ; His chilly breezes kill'd the leaves, They fell like droppings from the eaves. (I'JG) UKTItlOAT I'ROM CAUK. 127 And now calm summer's o'or and gone, And stormy winter's coming on; Alas! where shall we now resort? Where shall we find such pleasant sport? JUit why should we, my dear, complain ? Sweet pleasures we shall soon regain ; These storms of snow and chilly frost, In radiant sunshine shall be lost. Bleak winter soon shall pass away, And spring return in splendor gay; 8weet birds again shall swell their throats. And tune their most melodious notes. And vernal flowers shall spring anew, And we again our walks pursue. And gentle heat and copious showers. Again repair our ruined bowers. RETREAT FROM CARE. S^SOW soft and sweet, this calm retreat, Wk What comfort here I find ; *,,'t .■„• 'Ij'^ Wliat sweet repose this bower throws, 0.1 my perturbel mind! What mortal man, or woman can, More pleasure find than I; Waen 'neath this bow'r, with gentle pow'r. My Muse I find so nigh ! 138 RRTflRAT FROM CAKE. Unliarassod by tlu> yoll ami cry, "Which niankiml iiovor cease ; Vvcc tVoin all noise, how sweet my joys, ^Vheu 1 can muse in peace! AVliile on iliis log, no tronbles clog, ]\ry thoughts which rnn so free; Here I may sing, till echoes ring, Eeclin'd against a tree. lovely ]\luse, with rhyme infuse, This head of stupid brains; And thoughts that glow, and gently flow, Unfettered with chains. let all cares, of world affairs. All vanish in a dream ; And let me brood in peaceful mood, Upon my fav'rite theme. When storms infest tlie human breast, And c'louils and tempests rise; All joy and peace, are sure to cease, And ev'ry prospect dies. Yet soon subduoil, in solitude. The storms wliioh lately roarM ; All tumults cease, and sink to peace, And calmness is restorM. when this breast, witli care's oppress'd, (,>r angerc\l with feud, ]\liil ]iassions llame, I still exclaim, How sweet is solitude. TO BANCROFT'S WEAVERS. pM^E lovely young s'l'ls, y^M Ye rubies iiiul pearls, Ye beauteous creatures divine ; ]\ry thoughts I'll express, ]\ry love I'll confess, h'or your features on me still shine. when I reflect, 1 still recollect Your beauty, though I'm far away; I've not yet forgot, The charming sweet spot, AVhere girls are so cheerful and gay. charming sweet lasses, There's scarce a day passes, But often I muse upon you ; And oft in my dreams Your grace on me beams, And attends me all the niglit througli. But Avhen I awake, And find my mistake, 1 sad and disconsolate feel ; Sweet visions then flee, But with cruel decree, Destroy all my joys and my weal. (12!)) 130 TO A (HH.)r I'.TTK. k-'cMiiolimos lailios bright Appoar to iny si,!2;hl. Whoso bcjuiiy (luite piircos me through; Yet none can I find, f~>o gontU' and kiiul, ISo nuHloiit, so art loss, as you. had 1 (lio powor, ^Fy mind I would scour; That suitable words I might cull ; Your merits I'd sing, Your virtues I'd ring, Hut ah! I'm loo slow and too dull. 1 now end my lay, No more can 1 say ; The subject I now lay aside ; Vet ne'er can forget, ISo lively a set Of girls, nnatroctod ^^ith ]n"ido. TO A COQUETTE. jl^P^ll inaivlon I but the art fill glow, iA-''*^ ^Vhioh now adorns your face; ■jj^'riie liiiery — external show, Which does your iier^ou grace, No more my foolish heart can oliarni. No more my frigid bostuu warm. O BIIANDYWINK. l'3i III vain your wilcliing smiles you cast, In vain your arts employ; For now tho (icklc clays are past, And now the time's {^onc by, When I, a simple beardless boy, Forev'ry coquette heavM a si^'li. And thongh you have a sounding chink, Of gold at your command, in vain you sigh, and nod and wink, And beckon with the hand; Too mu(;li I've; heard, too nnich I've seen. Too well I know what you liave been. Your gold is iiauglit but worthless trash, Your neeclii'ss liuery too; Pshaw ! what care I lor all your casii, What do I care for you V You've many Faults and notions green. Which all your nu)ney cannot screen. BRANDYWINE. W^ '^li^^'^YWINR, thou shining stream, WM 1 now return to thee again ; ^IP And lind thee still in all thy pride, •*■• Rolling thy waters to tho main. Jiong may ye flow, ye waters bright. And n)ay your beauties never lade*. And may your (i.sh ne'er cease to swim Nor cease to flounder in tho shade. 132 BEANDYWINE. Brandywine, I love thee still, I reverentje thee as one divine; And oft when all have sunk to rest, I muse on those sweet charms of thine. Oft do I dream of by-gone days. And scenes that never can return ; But when I wake my joys depart, And grief and care my pleasures spurn. Brandywine, oft have I sat Conceal'd beneath some shady tree; And heard sweet birds above thy banks, Chanting their songs of liberty. I was then in youthful prime, And nature then was in full bloom; But all ! such times have now gone by, And left with me a mournful gloom. Brandywine, oft have I stray'd Upon thy brink in cheerful glee ; And pluck'd sweet flowers on my way, That bloom'd so beautiful and free. Their fragrance then so sweet did seem, I thought there was naught half so fine ; But now the taste for such delights, Has left this wretched heart of mine. Brandywine, oft have I bath'd Myself in thy cool stream at night; And like a duck I swam about. Sporting myself with great delight. But Ave must part — my cheerful friend, I'll take of thee a long farewell ; And shall we ever meet again ? Ah ! Time or Fate alone can tell. SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. 133 Brandywine, I'll ne'er forget The pleasures I with thee have had, Till this frail body cease to move, Or in a shroud this form be cla 1. How frail is man compar'd to thee, How fickle are his works and ways ; But thou, an everlasting stream, Pursu'st thy course and ne'er decays. SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. ^jlsjjWiVS on one silent summer eve, ^!^ When I began these lines to weave ; ^W^ The hay-maker had left his toil, ^ And trudging o'er the mellow soil Was hastening to his bosom friend, In hopes the night in rest to spend. The water wheel had ceased its rounds. The shafts and cogs their rattling sounds ; The shuttles then no longer flew Across the web ; the spindles too Had ceased their buzzing — and all din Was hushed, and still as death within That edifice, long, high and wide, That stands upon the river side, AVhere was not many moments past, So great a bustle, noise and haste. 13 134 SUMMER EVENING MUSINGS. Those lovely girls that late were seen, Each busy with her own machine, Had gone to this or that neat cot, Where toil and care were soon forgot; AVhere the mother prepares the urn, And smiles to see her children return ; All seemed to enjoy the happy hour, As under some kind angel's power. Not so wit!i me — my brain was rife With thoughts and cares of factory life ; And though I'd also left the thread. The buzz of cops was in my head, And being in a pensive mood, I longed to be in solitude. I car'd not for companionship, For I was sad and weary ; And while the old enjoyed a pipe, And the young were blithe and cheery, I rather chose to be alone, And with my own thoughts to commune. Silence, the Poet's noblest friend, From whom his best effusions tend, And by whose aid his lines are penn'd. Presided o'er the peaceful scene ; All wore a loveliness serene. High in the west fair Venus shone, In all her majesty alone. Until the starry host appear, To decorate the hemisphere. SUMMER EVKNTINO MUSINGfJ. 135 On such an eve how sweet, wlien young, To make up some poor silly song! And e'en in manhood, joys revive, And contemplating minds derive Much benefit, much consolation. To spend an hour in meditation. Oft do I dream of by-gone days, "When scenes like this my soul did raise; A sovereign balm for ev'ry wound, In nat'ral scenery then I found. But ah such joys — to hope is vain — Can ne'er return to me again ; The joys of youth long since have flown, I feast on memory alone ; And visions of my early days, Keturn to mock me and to raise Repining at my present lot. Which though I strive I can repress it not — Reminding me — my peace to spurn — Of scenes that never can return. Attend my Muse my kind behest, Thy sweet protection I request ; Around my drooping spirits, low, Thy garb of consolation throw. Let no machin'ry's rattling noise. With hateful jumbling here arise; Nor grating gudgeon's screeching sound. Approach this spot of peaceful ground; No banging, thumping, crashing, shaking, Of power-looms jarring, snapping, breaking ; 13G SUMMED EVENING iMUSINGS, No bitter pangs of cankered life, No petty brawls — no bustling strife ; These are the things 1 hate and fear, The things which make my soul so drear. Dispel all troubles from my mind, Let them vanish before the wind ; Lot me forget each circumstance, And muse upon the great expanse ; The vast, etliereal, azure sky. The hcav'nly bodies raised on high. Oft when the sun has gone to rest, In the vast Iris of the West, lUit left his golden tints behind. Have I witli rapt'rous joy resign'd ]\Iy daily toil — my daily care — "Wliich oft ])rovoked me to despair — And wander'd forth in cheerful mood, To some wild spot in solitude, Among the rocks, above the plain, "Where peace and stillness ever reign. There oft on nature's works I've gazed, And oft their striking grandeur praised. The various hues the sky displays, The clouds and vapors in a blaze, Which charmingly ailorn the Wist, Then faithfully inspired my breast. Their brilliant tints, green, purple, blue, Contirmed my soul in rev'rence due ; Did charm my eye and captivate My heart, and tempt me to relate The feelings which they did excite. Of heartfelt pleasures — sweet delight. SUM.MKIt K\1':NIN(! ML'SINflS. 137 O Muse string up my dull-toned lyre! With lively sounds my breast inspire; And in my sterile fancy raise Just estimation of their praise. that I could the stars behold, And planets in their orbits rolled, And all the fiery orbs on high, With pleasure, as in days gone by ! But oh my youth too swift has llown, To manhood I too soon have grown, And finding each succeeding year Fresh aggravating cares appear, With deep regret I now review The time when 1 to manhood grew. that I were again a boy ! Dreaming of innocence and joy ; Gamboling, frolicking, frisking, gay. Careless of anything but play ; And running wild o'er gaps and stiles, Or scouring plains in wanton wiles. Or plucking flow'rs with yellow heads. That bloomed upon their verdant beds; Or strolling by the rippling brook. With rod and line the fish to hook ; Or paddling o'er the roaring floods, Or seeking birds-nests in the woods, — 0, all things were so pleasing then, — Kow diff'rent from the affairs of men! In youth, few cares our hearts e'er seize. But ev'ry trifle seems to please. 12* 138 SUJIMKK KVEXING .MUSINGS. F;iin would my mind from duty swerve, Fain would my memory preserve Each simple thought, each sweet perfume, AVhich did my youthful pastimes plume. Where's the man with soul so drear, Who does not view his youth's career, "With feelings joyous, holy, true, And would not run the race anew ? Yet otherwise our Fate ordains, Spurns all our wishes — mocks our pains. 'lime, with resistless force appears, Consumes our days, our months, our years; To )nanhood youth becomes a prey, And manhood to old age gives way. All things are fated to decay, And man at length must pass away, Be laid beneath tiie earth's cold crust, To moulder into silent dust. "When musing on this solemn theme, 1 startle as though from u dream ; Such thoughts as may not be expressed. At times are lurking in my breast; A meditative conscious blast. Informs me that I'm sinking fast Beneath the overpowering sway Of fate — and soon must pass away. But come what will, may I ne'er pine, But cheerfully myself resign To nature's never erring course. Until my being end its force; SUMMKH EVKNING -MUSINGS. 139 Or till the Fates' o'erpoweriiig sway, Consign me to the silent clay. Then after their dread rage is spent, may I lie and rest content Beneath the ever-blooining turf, Or 'neath the billowy ocean's surf. ^'^o matter where — to me what odds. Beneath tlie ocean or the clods ? There, may each grief — each piercing woe. Each heart-felt pang, and throbbing throe, Which sometimes sting my heart full sore. Into oblivion sink and ne'er oppress me more. Muse! thy gravest tone assume — The loud), the cold, the silent tomb, To which 1 have before referr'd — What thoughts embodied in that word! The final resting-place of all. The proud, the humble, great and small, To which all flesh is hast'niiig fast, To which all men must come at last ! Behold the city of the dead ! Yon lone church-yard before us spread ! What man can view it and not feel A reverential awe, reveal The story that he soon must die, And in that lone church-yard must lie ? We have some friends before us gone, And our own course will soon be run ; E'en now the fatal moment ncars, A few more lleeting, transient years, And all of us with things long sped, ^lust then be numbered with the dead. 140 BANKS OF CODOKU.-:. ]5ut after death — what then — the soul survives- There hangs the mystery of our lives ; "We know not whither we shall go — To bliss, or to eternal woe. But then the virtuous need not fear ; — Happy the man who's lived well here, "Whose life has not been spent in vain ; For he may hope to live again. Now mark the man on virtue built. Whose conscience is unstained with guilt; AVith joy he liails his coming end, Meets death and greets him as a friend; He longs to reach that blissful shore, Wiiere cares are felt and feared no more, Wiicre he shall meet his long-lost friends, And dwell in bliss that never ends. Where's the mortal wretch so blind, AVho does not hope some friend to lind. Or relative, who's gone before, Upon that sainted heav'nly shore ? BANKS OF CODORUS. HOW pleasant to live in this lone little cot, With a bright lively prospect before us ; Where neither strife nor noise, disturb our harm- less joys, On the lovely green banks of Codorus. OLD FRITZ 141 tliis lone little cot is a paradise to us, And comfort and contentment lly o'er us; We harbor here no sot, and sorrow is forgot, On the lovely green banks of Codorup. if strife should arise and our harmony disturb, Bright Venus soon to peace would restore us ; But strife we seldom hear, for love is ever neiir, On the lovely green banks of Codorus. S)mo folks pretend to say in this [)1 ice they ne'er could live, And the town's busy hum is more sonorous; Yet lovely are the charms, though rugged are the farms, On the lovely green banks of Codorus. surrounded by woods and lofty, craggy rocks, Where the birds twitt'ring songs are most canorus ; Here let us live and die, and let us never sigh. On tlie lovely green banks of Codorus. And after we are dead, let us rest beneath yon shade, And let old Evil Ilorney never gore us ; ]iut let us rest in peace, and concord never cease, On the lovely green banks of Codorus. OLD FRITZ. iLD Fritz is tall and stout; sW lie has a turn'd-up snout ; Ip Long legs and toes turn'd out. A stranger fellow. With biain more shallow. You never saw before. 142 OLD FRITZ. His hair is brown, And hangs straiglit down All round his crown — His forehead is broad and low ; His eyes set wide, One on each side Of what seems like a roll of dough. But as to his eyes Their color and size, 'Tis useless to describe, — I'll refer you to the bleating tribe. His mouth is large, his lip hangs down; His beard is rough and gray. Which reminds one strongly of The animals that bray. His bf.ck is like the Indian's tree, So straight it leans the other way. His paunch is like a still When fiU'd with swill: But who can describe the nature, Of so wonderful a creature ? I come now to his mind ; 'Tis fickle as the wind ; His freaks and foolish whim?, Are numerous as the hymns Found in liis well thumb'd hy.nn-book. What a giddy-headed soul ! One hour his thoughts are soaring high- Yes, higher than the sky — Next, groveling in a mud-hole. Of hypocrites he is the winner, For sure he is the greatest siini3r, OLD FRITZ. 143 That ever kneeled before the forms ; lie stjics himself an angel bright, A saint, a guide, a shining light, To all benighted earthly worms. In short he bawls like a bull, When turn'd out to grass; He bleats like a sheep, Or brays like an ass. And as to grimace, He makes the ugliest face ; No monkey e'er could beat him ; lie opens his mouth. And stares north aud south, As if old Nick would eat him. Ills Wjfe. AVould you believe that such a man lias got a wife ? Yet he has one — A puny, haggard, wither'd creature, One of the oddities of nature ; The color of a pumjikin pie, Low of stature as old Fritz is high, And quite as shallow in the brain, And if possible still more vain. A mop of friz/.led hair rough and red, Eyes set in the top of her head ; A mouth all pucker'd like a purse, Of irritable temper, of course ; Gray beard upon her upper lip, Bow-legged and twisted in the hip, In motion rocking like a ship. 144 OLD KlUTZ. Sometimes licr clapper goes ding-dong; At other times she gives no one her tongue ; But like Ji luMi in the nook she eits, IS'ursing her vvralli for poor old Fritz. Poor Soul ! he gets more than his due — Well might the hcn-peck'd fellow rue 'I'lie lucklegs day when he did wed, Or night he went with her to bed. Would you believe that she is jealous or Fritz, the ugliest of all fellows? lias she occasion for it? O no — Yet no woman could bo more so. Whene'er he goes from home, As that he sometimes must, For necessity impels hin), But doesn't she raise a dust ? And doesn't he hear the thunder ? If not, post it for a wonder. Ills lIou&K. A heap of logs — a poor dilapidation — Which once had been a habitation : Some former occupant had liv'd at ease, Surrounded by sweet shrubs and shady trees. But Fritz and ugly Bets, Had no energy or skill To build or to repair. So liv'd or rather liiijcrd on From year to year. I'ut why should they be line or proiul, At such a lonely place ? For seldom did they see — Save their own — a human face. OLD FUITZ. 145 Ills Kn'CHi:^. The ilirty pots and kettles Liiy all around the room — Which never saw a broom — For dogs and cats to lick them. His PKoaiONY. 'I'lieir progeny— they even have some heirs, The bad luck of increase is theirs— Poor ragged sfiualid tallow-faces, The strangest of all human races, Unadorn'd by any of the graces. Ills Fa KM. -But Fritz has got a piece of land, Though 'tis encumber'd with a bond ; With farms it scarcely can be class'd. It's agricultural days are past; 'Tis a wilderness'of stunted bushes, Briers, fern, poverty-grasp, and rushes, ' With here and there a sassafras Of dwarfish growth. Can he cultivate it? did you ask ? yes, his strength is equal to the task : Formerly he us'd to^drag the plough, But he is far above that now. A donkey would have laugh'd to see him, The task undergoing, ])ragging,'pufling, blowing, While ]5e(sy holds and mocks, Crying, " Wlioa haw, l^VitzI " AVhile he poor soul submit?, Like a silly plodding ox. 13 14.G OLD FRITZ. Fritz ne'er was fated to despair ; lie perseveres, is free from cure ; (live him a batch of meal, It will so raise his weal, IleMl think himself in Paradise, ^0 rich is he to enjoy a slice, And fearless he of ill or harm — But once more to his farm — lie still hoi)'d to improve it By bnildinga hog-pen, and now and then to move it ; Letting the hogs plough, root and manure. A bright idea — the plan was sure. A bright idea! yes indeed — But it produc'd him naught but weed, Instead of more substantial seed. lie at length abandons it and goes to work With Buck a yearling raw bon'd sturk; He makes a plough of a hickory bough, His genius ne'er did fail ; And for a yoke, he needs no oak, But ties a grape-vine to Buck's tail. With Bets to lead him by the horn, Strong hopes has he of raising corn. But oh, poor Fritz! Hard was his fate. His corn was wilted by the heat. And scarce an ear brought forth; The sheep and hogs broke through the fence, — Thus all his labor and expense Were lost, and of no worth. Now he goes to market with a sled Loaded with fruit — hoping to make his bread In this new station By ppeeulation ; Orj) FHIT/. I41J' And so lie may— we wish him luck, IJecause he has unconquerable pluck. All things prepar'd his home he quits; The next wo hear of our old Frifz, Is in the market among the sellers; The buyers make wry faces— turn up their smellers, And cast on him a roguish eye ; But none of his fine fruit will buy. Bad luck to you, d'ye want his fruit for naught, Which he has from so great a distance brought? At length a group of urchin boys Flock round— and each employs 8ome trick to get poor Fritz's apples; One snatches some— and when Fritz grapples At the thief, another pulls his tail, And all attempts to catch them fail. 'Tis thus they trifle with the man, Till all his stock of fruit is gone. He's nothing left but Buck and sled- Again " that I ne'er had wed." Well might old Fritz be vexed ; But what will he do next ? He's now upon his homeward track. Invoking blessings on the wicked pack; While Buck his steady course pursues, Kegardlessof his master's views. Till passing by a rich man's croft, He twirls and Ihrows his tail aloft; He smells the sweet, the new-mown grass, And being hungry is loath to pass : "" So starts off at a rapid rate, Making a rush for the open gate. 148 OLD FKITZ. Pjor Fritz was in an awful way ; His rimless hat far in the distance lay; His locks were waving in the wind; The fragments in profusion lay behind, A troop of dogs came out and bark'd, And such horror in his phiz was mark'd ; You never saw a droller show, Pritz crying: "Whoa, Buck! Whoa, Buck! Whoa!" His wheelless vehicle strikes a post; Like a shipwrecked sailor on a desert coast Poor Fritz imagines all is lost. "Mein Gott," says he, "I'm killed, I'm dead;— How will my children get their bread ? ?\'hat will become of my poor boy, Mein Yawcob, oh mein darling toy ? Mein Cott, to die so fiir from home, With none to lay me in the tomb ! I'm ftir beyond recovery now ; How shall I e'er convince mein frau How well I lov'd her, though she ns'd me ill ? How will she ever find my will, Which on the loft long since I hid? (^'Twas when we had a squabble, and to get rid Of her importunities I told her That 'twas burnt — and thus contioll'd her,) By which I will her my estates — Sly farm and all — if she can pay the debts." The story of Old Fritz's death, Was wafted far and near ; With lightning speed it flew To Mrs. Fritz's ear. Or.I) KKFTZ. 149 Then such a dreadful mourning You ne'er before did hear ; — " Och, mein Friederich — mein Friederich — Afein lichcr Friederich, dear." liut Friederich did not die — Some kind Samaritan found him, Kill breathing freely and unhurt, With all Ills traps around him. His skull unbroken was, His brains were in their place — If brains he ever had any — No scratch was on his face, His eyes were in their sockets, For he cast a vacant stare, And ask'd the man who found him, If still his eyes were there. 15ut Frifz began to groan, His teeth began to chatter. Which made his benefactor think Tliat something was the matter. His benefactor then, who prov'd to be A black man of some merit, PuH'd out a bottle from his poke, To raise poor Fritz's spirit. He sets the sled to rights, And puts old Fritz upon it. And starts him on his way again Not telling who had done it. Fritz dreams he's on his way to heaven, For sure he'd done no evil, When opening his peepers wide, Jle thought he saw the devil. 13» 150 OLD FRITZ. " Good Devil," says he, " for God's sake, I>jii't take me down to hell ; I never was a wicked man, 1 am no inGdel." lie had not gone much farther on. When off the sled he falls; And Buck goes on towards his home Eegardless of his calls. I'nknown it is how long he lay In this delirium deep, When a painter and a barber came And found him fast asleep ; Who seeing he had got the blues. And of a grotesque mien, The one unto the other said "Let's shave one-half his head, And paint the other green." So with razor and box, They shave one-half of his locks, And half of his grizzly beard ; Then half of his face, And half of his pate, And half of his breeches. An I half of his coat. With paint are streaked and smear'd. Then they turn'd him o'er to the sun to dry. And left him alone in his glory ; And he really look'd fearful and grim, Like a tarred and feather'd tory. "When Fritz awoke from his long deep sleep, In great bewilderment and doubt ; To call himself a man, or beast, lie really could not make out. OLD FRITZ. 151 He gaz'd around — he knew not where he was; He felt and fumbled for his head ; AVas he still in the land of the living, When he thought that he was dead ? One thing seem'd certain to his mind — For still his thoughts on goblins ran — 'Twas plain to him he'd been transform'd, For he was not the same old man Strange metamorphosis, indeed ! He does not know himself; But 'tis indeed no wonder, lie looks so like an elf. " But I'll go home and see " says he, " Perhaps mein frmi can tell ; And if I am the same old Fritz Then all may yet be well." Old Bets and all her little brood "Were sitting round the fire ; The lean lank dog sets up his bristles, The little brats draw nigher ; When long-lost Fritz comes stalking in, Much wearied and outdone. But at the sight filTd with affright, All helter skelter run ; E'en his own faithful dog don't know him, But furiously comes running to him ; He flatters him but 'tis no use, .So Fritz is forc'd to leave the house. ^'Well, really now I don't know what to say, 'Tis not myself, that's plain as day — K 'tis I'm in another skin. For none will' own me, friends or kin." 152 OLD FRITZ. Poor Erilz what will he do for sleep ? He £ces and nestles with the sheep ; There in the litter long he lay, Quite anxious for the dawn of day. He thinks the world is at an end, So long does seem the night ; And ev'ry move and ev'ry sound, Seems to increase his fright. The sun seems rising in the West, But all his warmth is gone; The stars are peeping through the thatch, At Fritz, a wretch undone. In vain he tries to hide himself, To shun their piercing ray ; In vain upon his hunkers, he Does stretch himself to pray. For 'tis no use all Bedlam's loose, And Buck begins to bellow ; The rooster crows, and flaps Fritz's nose. Which makes him roar and halloo. At length the day begins to dawn, And consciousness returns ; The blue-devils cease to gore him And peacefully draw in their horns. And Bets at length becomes convinced, That 'tis her dear old Fritz ; She takes him in for pity's sake, And all abuses quits. TO KEY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, XO. 1- 153 And such a meeting as they had, Such waste of sobs and tears, Such hugging and such bussing, You hav'nt seen for years. Thus ends the story of old Fritz ; 'Tis useless more to say ; So be content with this, kind friend, Until some other day. TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 1. mi^IIE city gents and ladies gay, ^e^j Who dress in satins ev'ry day, ^P May pass their idle hours away * In promenades — or visits pay. Perhaps they rise at eight or nine. And feast themselveson dainties fine; Perhaps they quaff imported wine. And on a downy couch recline. Perhaps at niglit they go to pUiy, Or gaming house across tlie way ; At midnight with an aching head. And heavy heart, they go to bed. lUit Joe, such habits we have none ; We are content with our homespun ; We soundly sleep — rise with the sun, And w'len lie sets, our work is done. 164 l.lNl'N ADDKKSSr.l) lO TUK AUTHOR. Are wo not. lumpiiT at our toil, When turning up the mellow soil, Or gnth'rincj in our plenteous crops, Than audi viiin plea«uro-8oekini; lops? We envy not tlie ujillionaire. Whoso mind is racked with anxious care ; We've wealth enough— our wants are few, And we ean " row our own eanoe." Hui wi" at times ean take our jileasure, And eourt the Muses at our leisure; i-'or rural arts and rural tliomes, l>i ing happy thoughts and })leasant dreams. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR, By Rev. Joseph A. Kamoay. S|i^O\\ oltvu when tlio sun was low, sl^m~ W ith gentle Fan I've driven slow, 'tp Along the roail anil winding hill, ^^ That leads to Martin Ih-atheote's mill. That hour well suited is to take A survey of the beauteous lake. That guards the entrance to the hills, Wluvse Alpine pomp the vision tills. What makes the mill so i>eaeel'nl look Lnb'ring all day beside the brook ? — The one from fragrant meadows borne. The other jrrindiuir out the corn I LINES ADDRESSED TO THK AUTIIOU. 155 Wlmt nuikes all nature's beiiutcoua luce Still lovelier, but our Father's grace ? "Pis this that eanctilic'S the pile. Where Martin's little family smile. No time he spends in what abuses — • He reads his books, and courts the Muses; He pours the llowing wheat from bags, And round the corn and chop he drags. Of hill, high-rising from the stream, 'J'o kiss the morning's early beam ; Of rock that plants its hoary root IVIow the bed where torrents shoot ; Of streamlet's How, of leafy bower. Of frost-born lily, hare-bell llower. Of what the robust summer forces, His IMuse in pleasing lines discourse?. "Old Fritz" before our minds is placed. With droll conceit, in story chaste, — And so his comic powers prevail That one must laugh who reads the tale. 'Tisrt lono s])ot by hillocks bounded, Where fox and hare have oft been hounded ; No doubt the space beneath the wheels The scene of many a death revealt-\ Where the dark night with starry eye Saw huntsmen through the valley (ly. With trooping dogs to catch the fox That sought the covert of the rocks ; 156 LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. Where chimney-fire gives out its glow, And cheerful lamps through windows show. Here did the forest's wild beasts roam — Upon the spot — now Martin's home. And many an upland villa's site, If't could its history indite, AVould tell of quarrel and of feud More dire than any solitude. I turn me from the thought. Where blooms The sweetest floAver the sun illumes — Beauty and putrefaction wed — The mouldy earth by death was fed. In halls where lights and pleasures mingle. Where music makes each brain-pan tingle, Insatiate death surveys the throng And swells the notes of gayest song. If this be true that bony death Breathes on the happiest scene his breath. Mixes with air the element That from the darksome land is sent ; If he infuse on joyous face, Disease that robs it of its grace. And sad and slow the form assume, A constant progress to the tomb ; If still we know that every hour, Some friend is conquered by his power — This truth our musing souls should learn That death with life, must have his turn. LINES ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR. 157 And if 'tis true that lie we must Beneath the valley's silent dust, — Is there no life succeeding given In the felicities of Heaven 'i Does nature sleep a sleep so sound When wintry winds are roaring round That from this sere and death-like chain She never more shall wake again ? She, when the morn of spring recruits, Revives in blossoms and in fruits ; But man^whom God's great angels keep, Fools sa}' — remains in endless sleep. Come, Martin I Let us step aside Where yonder brooklet's waters glide; See how the stream hastes to the wood, To join its strength with Bee Tree's flood. Xo drop that flows o'er rocks and fields, But a poetic grandeur yields, Still laughing as it murmurs on, Where Parkton's deeper currents run. For five years past, o'er hill and dale, I've sought this sweet sequestered vale, From Purkie's heights oft scanned the scene — The house below, the lake between. The mill, industrious night and day; The barn, new-built, that flanks the way; The garden at the mountain's base ; The waters hurrying through the race; M 158 TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 2. The back-ground packed with rocky steeps. Where moss abounds and ivy creeps ; Where spring unfolds her lovely store, And winter's saddest dirges roar ! And yet in five years' sauntering hours, By woodland, lake, where mountain towers. Few spots than this more sweets disclose. Where Heathcote's silvery brooklet flows. TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 2. ^PAKE up, thou Muse, nor longer sleep ; .MMl Another song is asked of thee ; ^r* So let us have it right or wrong, Without regard to harmony. 'Tis winter now, and drear the scene Around our home appears; The songsters of the sylvan grove. No longer greet our ears. From base to summit of yon hill, No vegetable life is seen ; A sheet of white enshrouds the ground. Which late was deck'd in gree7i. The brook that late in merry mood, Skipp'd onward with quick pace. Is bound in icy fetters now And wears a sadden'd face. TO REV. .TOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 2. 159 But why should this onr minds disturb ? It is no cause of sadness ; Let thoughts of other scenes prevail, And fill our hearts with gladness. We'll button up our overcoats, A skating we will go ; Or in our sleighs we'll dash along Like lightning, o'er the snow. We'll pay our visits to our friends, And not forget friend Joe ; For if he liv'd ten miles away. We'd not neglect to go. Though in a mansion he resides. His wealth is not his care ; No pride, nor pomp, nor vanity. Can find a lodgment there. And what a privilege it is To have a friend so kind ; To instruct, admonish, and unfold The treasures of his mind ! O were I but with power endow'd. Could I but emulate The wisdom and philosophy That's treasur'd in that pate ! How few, indeed, are gifted with The powers which he possesses. That are not vain, or proud, or lewd, Or subject to excesses I 160 TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 3. But all the bad influences, By which my friend's surrounded, Can ne'er corrupt the principles On which his faith is founded. At times the minstrels, and the poets. Do occupy his time ; For he has climbed Parnassus hill, And well can spin a rhyme. He's travell'd, too, by sea and land. And much he's heard and seen ; And men and manners he has read, Wherever he has been. Besides, he has a virtuous taste For nature's works sublime ; High mountain peaks, majestic lakes, In this, or other clime. The thunders roar, the lightning's flash. The orbs that deck the sky. Have charms for him, and elevate His thoughts to worlds on high. TO REY. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, No. 3. *-^- ^*nAD I but the power to write Some sterling poetry ! "iy Vd dedicate a page or two To Joseph A. Ramsay. TO REV. JOSEPH A. RAMSAY, NO. 3. 161 I may be thought presumptuous, For I am not a bard ; If like my friend I could compose, I'd spin it by the yard. Now, Joe lives on an eminence, Where he can see the sky ; While I live in a hollow dell. Where owls and foxes cry. And he's a man much honored In good society; While I am but a blund'nng wight Of humble pedigree. Yet, as the cricket loves to chirp, And sing his little song; ►^''o I will chirp, though Joe may chide, And think my verses long. But he's none of those curious chaps, Unsocial and unkind ; He in the common scenes of life Can sweet enjoyment find . romantic scen'ry he enjoys. And lakes and brooks admires; E'en solitude has charms for him, And inward thoughts inspires. So come, friend Joe, and let us stroll, O'er hill and dale together; To see the fruit trees blossoming; So pleasant is the weather. 1C3 lO JJI'.V, .lOSKlMl A. KAMSAV, NO. ;i. Ami iis Ave luisa jmioiig the fceiies, Uoinaiitic luul 8ubliino, We'll moral ixe on luunan lifo, Ami spill a vorso of rliyino. in ])assiii'll view tlio lamlscapo o'or; 'I'lu' brooklet, ami (lie little lake, Which we have viewed before. We'll visit too, that lovely s]>ot Where I'risk aiul l>raiuly playM, Ujioii that hapi>y siinimer day, As we sat in the shade. Kilt Krisk, that lailhCiil little do^r. His short cari'er has run ; \'et l>randy lives to tell his tales Of sports and p!e:isiii-es j;one. And now let fancy wander back '.ro days and scenes scone; ]]^ Ai^ain iti)i>ii (ho hills luid i)hiins, Tlio Wiivinjj; ,u;r:iss trimnphiint roigns ; Aguin uiiou till' shrubs uiul trees, (^roeii loavos aiv wiiviiii;" in iho brooz-e ; Again swoot llowois raise tlioir heads And bloom upon their verdant beds ; Again sweet birds do ligblly rove And sing sweet carols in the grove; Again the catilo in Iho tiold Theniselves I'roni want and hunger shiold; Again the horse in wanton mood, — "No longer shivers I'or his food ; — lie siuUls, and snorts, and swings his tail, And trots with lleetness through the vale. The harmless sheep upon the hill. Are nibbling by the ripjiling rill ; And sjiorting lambs, while mothers graze, Are IVisking 'mid the sunny rays. The turkeys, too, a num'rons train, Are strutting o'er the grassy plain ; All led by craving appetite, Devouring insects with delight. The streams now mildly How along, Exulting in thoir peaceful song; (v;o) ON r\lE INIMAN.-'. 171 On wings of rrt'cJoin lit,'litly home, No more in icy chains tlioy mourn. No nioro ;;rini winter tcrrilies Tho bee, that Ironi iiis prison llics; All blooms and buds siie kindly greets. And kissing tlicni, extracts tlieir sweets. 'The butter ily in gay attire Now spreads its wings with sweet desire; Vv()\\\ llow'r to flow'r it lightly flees, And llutUu's in tlu; zephyr bree/e. The puny insects on the wing, With pleasure hail the sweets of Spring; In clouds and swarms they fill tho air, And sweetly do they revel there. Jn short, all living creatures burn "With joy to see sweet Spring return ; Save jnan, who from his Kinful nature, l*oor, frail, undone and wretched creature ; No solid comfort does he know. Nor lasting happiness below. ON THE INDIANS. jHlgiaj SAD is the tale, and mournnil the lay, ^ftS^ That a race so iiobh; are passing away I fp They're going to tlieii- homes — 3carce a r^-iiiiiant remains Of thaL race that once roamVl o'er these mountains and {)laiiip. 172 ON Tin-: INDIANS. 0, could sonic Indian bnivc, liise up from the grave, Some chioCtain or sachem that live! long ajo, With ■wisdom endowed, lnde]KMulent and proud ; Wluit facts coukl he tell and what feats could he show ! i[ow surprised would he be, What a change would he see .Bn the land of his kindred and race ; What a tale could he tell Of the fate that betel Tlie braves that once led in the battle or chase! With what interest we'd listen, And eee his eyes glisten, When relating true tales of (he past; And the joys unexpressed. That once were ]iossessed, By the tribes that inhabited this country so vast I From the North to the South, From the source to the mouth Of all the great rivers then unpolluted; From the East to the West, The Indian possessed Ivery foot of the land undi^put'il. IT is head was erect. His ardor uncheck'd ; He feared not the face of a friend or a foe ; The beasts he allurM, — His food was procureil, 9>y the sure steady aim oC his be \v. OK TlIK INDIANS. 173 If his squaw and papoose (iot woary ol" moose, Anl desired u more delicate dish ; Away would he haste Through the forest and waste, To the water to catch them some lish. How his bosom would bum, When on his return, With the fruits of his labor or sport. His equaw cam-i to mx't him And lovingly greet him, O'erjoyed at his cheering report. O, each was a lord In one sense of the worJ, But without the insignia of power ; No monarchs had they With unlimited sway, To sit on a throne and their substance devour. In the forests they hunted. And found what they wanted; In their wigwams they slumbered at night, Un harassed with sorrow, And cares of the morrow ; For their hopes and their prospects were bright. Though sometimes grim war. Would call them afar. Yet they looked upon this as but glory; And if they should die. They breathed not a sigh, For they firmly believed in the story, 174 ONf THE INDIANS. Tliiit hcyoiid tlie blue wave, Prepared for the brave, Was an island with game in great store, AVhere the Urcat 8})irit dwelt, Where want was ne'er lelt. And wars and eonunotions would ojipress them no more. lint oh ! as they say, There eanio a dark ilay. And the hail and the lightning beat on them ; 'JMiey dwinilU'd away, Like the dying ol" day, — Distress, destiuetion and death came upon then). Kow tluir hearts are depressed, And tlu'ir souls are distressed, As the While JMan appioaelies still nigh ; They see their sad doom. In the darkness and gloom, When clouils come together and darken the sky. Ah I well nniy they sigh For the days gone by, Ere the Whites came acrois the great sea; When the lied Alan's leign, On mountain and plain, Fx'ended its sway o'er the bravo and the free. 'J'hese vales and these mountains. These brooks and these fountains, Could they speak in an audible tone; They would discourse upon The scenes that are gone. When the Indiana ruled here alone. ON TllK INDIANS. 175 Tliose cities of ours, OF their weult.li ami llicir powers, And refinement and wisdom may boast ; These churclit'S and .schools, With lheiretliic;il riilrs, Know not wiiaL the Indians liave lost. Ah ! soon they'll he ^one, — Of the race not one Will be left to relate the sad tale ; Then historians will say The Ked Men passed away, Like the leaves swept away in a gale. I'L'rhaps 'twill Iju said, 'Tis well they are dead, That their barbarous customs should cease ; They defied our laws, Made war without cause, — They would'nt live in amity and peace. And children yet unborn Will lisp their name in scorn, "Without doubting or disputing the story ; And exultingly will boast, That all the heathen host. Fell victims to tlu-ir own thirst for glory. No monuments will rear, Their heads high in the air. As memorials of this fallen race; Their graves will be unknown. With not a stump or stone, Or slab, or tablet to designate the place. 176 1 1,1- lU'Y A l''AKM. No Iviiidi-rd will he IrCl, To moiini wilh iho beivl't; No sympjidii/iii!; IViciuls to sluirc lluMr j^ricf; No ornlor ((» Icll, 1 low ^^lorioiisl V tlicy Icll, Til tlicir husl s(nini;U' for tln'ir r;iinilitv>4 niul cliii'f. ^Vllll(. liistoiuui will I'ViT Hi" HO ii;iM\('roiis uiul clever, Tiicif virliuvs Mini brave deeds (o rehearse? No I loiner will appear, ()!' genius bright and rare. To fliaiii llieir praises in lieroii* verse. I'LL ^^UV A FARM. 11' t IM cock with shrill Ihongh ehetM-fiil lay Proehiinis (he near approach of day ; Wliilo yet i:;ray twilight's spread iirouiul. While yet the moisture I'lotlu^s the i;rontnl \VhiK> Yt"l the snn tlu> kin;:,' ot" day, Has ventnr'd not to show his ray; While Y«'l tht> sln<:;L:;ard siu>rin<; sleeps, This watehtnl erealnre vii:;ils ket^ps. J, list'niiii;', raise my slni:;<;ish head. Shake oil' my slnmbers — leavi> my bed ; And Avaniler forth to lake mv ease, Andsnnirthe fragrant mornini;- breeze. I'jJ. IIUY A KAUM. 177 Tin wooilinun'H n.\(^ rcikIh loitli ji Hoiitnl. stroke iilirr stroke echoes uroiiiul ; The forest trembling iit eiicli ntroki', Cras'i ! fall the liiokory mid Uut onk. There goes the thrasher with liis Ihiil, His (log behiiiil liiin wags his tail ; The whisiiiiig teMiinlcr on I Ik- load, Is l)Oiiii(l to market with lii.s hci/I. The. fanner's siii'e, a liappy man, I'll l)ny a fiirm soon as 1 ean ; I'll live an indejiendent life, And ((iiit the noisy fact'rys strife. VAIN WAG THK HOPE, Vain WHS the hope, illiiHivc wu.s the charm; l<'or itidependence sake I honglit a farm ; — Farm did i say — 'Tis hardly worth the mime, 'Tis hut a piece of gi'oiinok's inoroasiiig, growing into oash ; — Hut what's tlio uso of C(rs!i boliind tlio plough ':* With that. I havo but littlo troublo now ; Mv barn is full, almost to vnorllowiiig. And othor crops luxuriantly aro growing. ADDKKSS 'lO I'A lU.MOtlN'l'. 179 HiiL wluiL 11 i)iLy, I've (;uL down l-lie IjiihIich, And left no hIuuIc for hliickbirdH, Jays and tliruslics; MV'ii the opoBHiini and tlio Hly raccoon, Discnss llie propriety of leavinj^, Hoon ; IJnt, lian^ them, let tlieni go to 8atan'H denH, YvH, \\nu<^ lliciii all, llicy steal my (IiicKh and iiciis. Tile rii'L^ro lliat I hind lian inn away, Hut what caie I, I'll liav(! no ont; to pay; Jn short, the Hoythe, the harrow and tjje plongh, Knga<,'o the moat of my attention now ; So Unit's the way we do at Sinntner Jiodge, ]''arewell, old friend, farewell — 1*11 make a dodge. ADDRESS TO KAIRMOUNT. 1 y II Fairmoiint! still my irHMn'ry oft 'J'hy ph'iigin;,' charms reviews; '■^ And on thy scenes and breezes soft, How often do I muse I Thon'st many a lovely sight at hand, (^nite charming to hehoid ; Thy sporting images so grand, (Jf su{!h a perfect monid ; Thy waving grass, thy verdant trees, The visitor entice ; Their foliage, lliitt'ring in the breoz?, Minds me of Taradisc. 180 AI>1»KKS> TO K.VIKMOUNT. Ill suimiuM-. wluMi ojipri'ssM witli licat The townsmiin seeks to lleo From noise and bustle ol' the street, Ijet liiin but turn to tbic. The niiin lU' bus'ne8s here may liiul A sale retreat from care. To ease his oft iKM'plexed mind Of jvriefs he's doom'd to bear. \ou, \i\fs and hner, \oo, may linil, Knjoyment sweel for hours ; (h\ eatided walks, or if ineliu'd, Henoath the elo^e-sereen'd bow'rs. Then if these lovidy seenes below iShould cease to plenso you more ; Vp to the reservoir yon e^o, I'^resb beaut it>s io adore. There IMuhulelphia yon behold, •Stretched far before your sight, Where sunny rays to you unfold, The steeples tow'rinj:; bright. N\>\v turn your eyes ai;ain below, To SchuylkilTs rolling tide ; Heboid the sloop and light bateau, That beautifuUv glide. ^is ^ vir- GTWKF. IKIKI'' — Hiiya Mic Hii^n^ — l.luil; moiiHlroiiH ciciiliin", la nowlii'i"*' l() I) iii^^lit, ^>hen at a husking spree, j^^ The moon was shininj^ clearly, 0, ^P And girls and boys with mirth and noise, Convers'd and sung most cheerly, 0. Tl)e corn to husk was laid in rows, An'l iieoi)le roundabout it, O, Were sc^uatted down behind the pile, Who merrily did clout it, 0. They were, indeed, a jovial squad. All hiiddl'd down tof^ether, 0, As blithe a set of merry chaps. As ever wore shoe-leather, 0. 184 THK COKN HUSKING rAKTY. Ami many a fat okl Dutchman there, Ihvd tootli like iron skewers, 0, Ami oft a rare olil swii;' of grog, Each to himself eeeures, 0. Snm "Whiskey stood among the snuail, With oiieeks like lumps of liver, 0, Tobacco spit run o'er his chops. Like water down a river, 0. Old ]\lonkey-l'\u'e was likewise there, As smart and blithe as any, 0, AVith striped yellow bed-gown on. Belonging to his granny. 0. CMd riiilip, too, among the rest. As merry as a cricket, 0, Was hacking his tobaeeo quid, And eagerly did liek it, O. Old Knmp likewise with conic hat, Was gu/.y-ling at the whiskey, 0, And strutting round and stutt'ring loud, As he became more frisky, 0. Ourang-Ontang, (he wrang'er. Was gaping 'mongst the party, 0, And curling np his upper lip, With snarls and sneers most hearty, 0. Cronch'd in the corn sat Swallow- Pown, A staunch old whiskey-sucker, 0, And with stentorophonic voice, lie bawlM and sut 'twas /vv?/ /o/v, in all its purity, AVhich elevates the soul and sets it free From harrowing cares, and from all worldly strife. And gives a zest to all the joys of life. TWO LOVERS. 191 What were all cjirthly pleasures hero below If love in liuinan breasts slioiiKl cease to How ? Without true love, who ooukl this life endure ? For cv'ry c;rief and heart-ache 'tis the cure. In vain tiie earth might all her charms display, In vain the sun ilhuninate the day; 'i'he lights that deck tiie lirmament above, J\light shine in vain (o hearts devoid of love. The llow'r miglit bloom in all its gayety, The bird might sing his carols on the tree. The forest and the Hold, the hill, the dale, Might ileck thi'mselves in living green, und f;iil To charm the heart of man. Let love appear, The scene is changed — the worhl looks bright and fair. Now, let us verify these low remarks, By reference to the time, when, like young larks, So sprightly, gay, and happy, did we roam O'er hills and dales around our native home. Or, on a summer ev'ning, on tl;e green. We danc'd with lovely maidens of sixteen, Or 8i)ent the hours in innocent delight, Until the twilight lost itself in night. We now are past the noon of life, and yet Those happy days how can we e'er forget ? And that passion which animated us, Still animates the young. 'Tvvas ever thus. thou sweet love, that banishes all pride. That turns the darts and stings of life aside, That casts a glow of beauty, bright, serene, A halo of enchantment o'er the scene ! 193 TWO LOVERS. Our two young friends had left the plains and rills, And had arriv'd at those romantic hills That horder on that stream — that classic ground, In hist'ry and in story nmch renown'd. At ev'ry step new beauties they behold ; The very stones seem emerald and gold; Enraptnr'd do they note each sight and sound — Love gives a charm to ev'rything around. Old Brandywine was in his calmest mood, And with majestic flow his course pursued ; The tiny wavelets on his dini])rd face Were twinkling in the light — and with a grace As they were passing by they bow'd their heads. And chas'd each other o'er the grav'Iy beds; O'erjoyed at having pass'd the rocks above. They kiss'd the pebbly shore as if in love. And here and tiiere were seen a spotted trout ])isporting on the Avave — He, too, no doubt AVas happy then — what animal was not? All nat'ral objects round the peaceful S])ot Seem'd to rejoice on that auspicious day. And all their charms and loveliness display. There rocks precipitous and steep and high, Whose tow'ring summits seem'd to touch the sky ; There woods far as the eye could reach were seen, And fertile fields array'd in living green ; And there extensive vales reposing lay, Adorn'd in their magnilicent arra3\ The varied scenes presented to the eye On either bank of that bright stream defy TWO LOVERS. 193 The genius of the artist to portray; How vain the poet's efforts to convey A true conception of tlie beauteous sights, That met our lovers' view upon those heights. As in tlieir wanderings they still advance, There is a loveliness in cv'ry glance; A tenderness in ev'ry word express'd, That show'd the kind emotions of the breast. And many a cosy resting-place they found, Beside the fountain, or the rippling brook, Avliose sound The sweetest, most delicious music made. As o'er the mossy stones the wavelets play'd. Now 'nealh an elm that has for ages stood, Unscathed by thunderbolt or storm or (lool, Whose wide extended branches form'd a bower. Close-screened and Cvool — excluding Sol's Derce power, They sit conversing on a mossy knoll, While far below the murmuring waters roll. Hero tales of love in earnestness are told ; 'Tis here the youth his bosom does unfold, To which the maiden lends a list'ning ear, And blushes modestly his tales to hear. And ere the sun had pass'd meridian height, The day was uam'd that should their hearts unite. To this young couple then how sweet was life, How charming seem'd the names of man and wife, And as they stroU'd, or sat on mossy beds, The birds that sang so sweetly o'er their heads, Oould not have been more joyous or more blest So buoyant were the hopes that fill'd each breast. n 191 TWO I.OVEUS. At length tlial iKippv dnv aiuw to :i closo, Aiul boasl. ami bird and llow'r goui^lit reposo ; Tim sun unnoficod liad ivtii-'d to rest. In crinison-cuiiain'd coueli far in tlie West. The twiliglit ,i;ray did s?ih'ntly ap}>eai-, Knsliroiulini; all the landscape fur and nrar, Assiniilatuii; earthly things sublime, Hro they poreeived the rapid tlight of time. And as they homewjird turuM tlu'ir foolsli^ps, they, Still interested, linger'd on the way; And when ihey parted 'twas with great regret, That that bright day was gone, and !Sol was set. did such days not jiass away so last ! could such hapjiy days unceasing last I what a world of liappiness wore this, And what a Paradise of joy and bliss I N"o weeping and no wailing wouUl we hear, Hut peaee and harmony would grace our sphere T'hen i'rom tlie pnljiit would no nuire be heard, That ol't-re})eateil te\t — that di>lel"ul word : "This is a. world of sin, woe, antl tlesjiair, And man the child of sorrow and of care.'' OLD BARLOW. ThG Model Schcolmaster of tho Oldcn Time. j|ij)SniI) I'.jirlow WiiH ;i (diiclicr luiicli rciiowiiM, Jh^-3 "'■ vviis tlio wotulor of tlio country roiUKl, "Tp N()ii(3 liii'l ti betUii- iiiiiul, or cdiiciiiion ; 'I'o LluH lio iniiinly owed his elcvutioii. IA)r yciii'K lie lu'pl ;i, scliool in Hiiilcy Wooil, AiHlcv'ry urchin in Mic nei^^liborliood, Yt'H, old 1111(1 youn^', of cither sc\, by ruU' (/ould tell the wuy to ]i;irlow's furnouH soliool. A vast iiinouiit of Icurnini,' lie po.sscs.sM, ^Vh!lt iirt.s or scicncea could bo oxprcss'd Thiit ho was not riiuiiliar with ? For knowlcd c, l!o was a university or a coliof^c Anatomy, I'hiciljoloniy or blccdiuL', IMiilosoiihy, l'hih)lo^y and rcadin;^, (htho^^raphy, ()i-thoc]>y and Crannnar, — All thcKo ho (a>\j^ht, nor did ho boast or clamor. Aritlnuctic waK notliinii; but divcurion, ][(! rattled nnnd)ers oil" without exertion, Mensuration, l-'luxiona and Algebra, Were all as jjlain to him as b-a-ba. Enginecrinj^, (hanging, (Jnomics and all that, If(i had at his lingera'ende, plain and pat; TiOgic and eloquence, he understood, IJi'sidei", with words and signs ho could stop blood. (i!»r.) 196 OLD BARLOAV. Oeograjjliy was but a common item, He knew it better than those men who write 'em ; The islands, continents, and seas between them. He could describe as well as those who'd seen them. And History — both sacred and profane, Ancient and modern, was stored within his bnnn, Chronology was in his spacious noddle, That head of his which was indeed a model. And languages — the living and the dead, These, too, were found to occupy his head ; Hebrew, Greek and Latin — all these he knew, IJesides Egyptian, Babylonian, too. At times when not engag'd in school with Grammar, He could be seen prospecting with his hammer; Geology to him was plain as a-b-c, The world's great age, he in the rocks could see. Fossils he found — remains of shells and bones. Where other eyes discover'd naught but stones. Keen were his eyes and sharp their penetration, Their perceptive powers peer'd into all creation. A wonder of wonders — a puzzle — a riddle Was "Old B.irlow"— But he'd ne'er fool and fuldle With things of no account — But "will it pay Is the important question" — he would say. Astrology possess'd great interest. This art or science seem'd to pay him best; The planet's motions and their elements U 'Voal'd lo him the future — good or bad even's. OLD BARLOW. 197 Tlie occult sciences of olden times, That once prevail'd in Oriental climes He'd studied well — those practic'd by the sages Of ancient Egypt, in fur-distant ages. When mighty megatheriums free from harm, Roani'd on the earth, which then was green and warm, Before a pyramid had rais'd its head. When mankind toil'd not for their daily bread. This art " Old Barlow " practic'd at his leisure, Principally for profit— sometimes for pleasure, And hundreds came to him from far and near, With strong desires tlieir destiny to hear. All classes came to see and hear his word, And stay'd until iluir fortunes, they had heard, Some came at early morn, and some at noon, And some were lighted thither by the moon. So great a run of customers had he. They wearied him at times to that degree He could not sleep in peace — not e'en on Suiiday; The same routine eonimenced again on Monday. Young ladies met him on his way to church, Perhaps their beaux had left them in the lurch. And he must try his arts to bring them back By consultation with the xodiac. In short, there was not such a genius found In all the parishes and shires around ; Oft would he frown and scowl, yet pleas'd within, To see the shining shillings rolling in. lOS I II I". i)i;,VTii o\' Mv ^\vi';i';r kiity. SoiiU'tiiiKS n j;\'n(l('iii;m aiitl huly ,i!;r:nul. Would liiy a goldon sovcMvijjfn in his hand, l<\n- si'ltinj]j all thoir anxious foara lo roai, Thai. Mu\y should yoi havo lu'irs to oaso the brt'iiat. \U\l now he's jj;oni> — his usclnl days !Ui' o'or; lie's " p.'is.sM the honni "we'll never se(> him nioie Till wt> arrive npon the olher shore: — what a loss of nielaphysic lore I TIIK DKATII OF MY SWKKT KITTY nJtlSH^i rO(^ks and hills and llow'ry dales, 5r^^^ Around this infant city, '^Ij Oft have 1 roam'd o'or your bri<;h( seetu-s, With my sweet, lovely Kitty ; But listlessly, 1 view you now, I'm overwhelm'd with sadness, Your scenery, thouj^h bright and fair, (Vmvoys to n>e no gladness. (ilen IvoeU was (uu'e a lovely plaee. And nil Avas blithe and cheery, "When Kato and 1 so lightly rov'il, Our feet were never weary; But now, alas! how sad the tale ! My Kate, my brightest treasure, Will never more aooompany mc, To sluuv tny joy a!»d |>U>asuro- TIIK I) K A '11 1 Ol' MY SWKKT KII'I'Y. '.)'.) Oil Kiiic, wliy (lid'Hl. IIh)II Ic;iv<' iiic I!iiih, In deep diHl-iCHH (,0 ponder ! And (Mil* ihcm vc^rdiinl, IiHIh and (IuNm, In lotiolinoas lo wnndcr ; I Inirdly can n^prcHJ a Iciiir, My heart licaveH vvil.li enioliDU, Wlicn on l.liy virluo I rellfcl. Tliy failli and lliy devol/ion. When I.ikI, we. pai'led, h;de and Kl.ron^', Mniajil.nr'd and (hdij^'hled, Ah I liLUe iiii-; ivvsiiioNAHM-; \v 1:1)1)1 N(i. Sweet lovd whom nil tJic world lulmirt'.^, WImt kiiul ('ino{i()iis ^ vain. IM liUc to (I'll you souu^lhiiii;- luoiHi ( M' I host' sly Jiria love has in store, The preeioiLS i^laiicet^, (|ui]).^ ami wiK'«, 'I'lic wiiiUs, aiul blinks, aiul nod-^, and smile 'i'hal. ai\imali> Ihe very sonl, And W'.irnis (he air irom pole to pole, The (H)ldestr hi'art. cannot, resist, llcr wiles and arliliee^ to b(> kissM. TITK FAGIIIONAnLK WKPniNG. aHll I'i hiii)piesf of tlu'ir courl'ing-days were i!;one, J^^ Vet one more happy day was oonrmg on, y 'Tis to their weddini^-diiy 1 now ullude — Now, let ns witness this and then eonelnde. Hilt weddin<^ days are eommon thini';s at best., NVith some exeitinn; little intx'rest. " 1 will not hear it," says a wrinkled maid, "'Tis nothing;; but the shadow of a. Kshade." Unt hold, thon sour mi.-;anthropist, awhile, ('ompose thyself, for once i)ut on a smile. For such a wedding, Miss, you never saw, Your conniion weddings are not worth a straw. I'lIM hASlllON A 111,1', WI'liDINi;. l^iOiJ 'J'lic (lay liiid doiiiiid il8 lioliday ullirc, Tlic clrnicnls Imd Iiiid utiidc! Ilicir ire, To vvilncHH so iriiporlaiiL an ('ar'il in nil Iicr liiu ry, The fi;rooni wuh there iiiul those of hi^Ii (!(\j;r('(', The ('dil(! of tlic lovvii were present then ; And hidics ^^i,y, and hi-ave und ^^aUant men. A vast iiiTiiy oreuuehe.s lin'd the way, And Hleeds of ^loHwy bhick und da,p|)rd ^ray, Whoso hides were srnootli lis tlioso ol" inolea and really Their inime.s and tails were ornainenled ;^iiily, With ribbons and ro.settes and garhindn liunLj Around their necks, in vvhi(!ii l)ri<4ht llovv(;rs were f^lrnn^; 'i'liey rais'd their h('a,dH and Ifowcd Ilicir iic(d\H and l)run(;M Ah on the road so swil'ily I hey ad v. meed. I'l'Diid were (hose hIcciIs and w
;hts that you can see, Drink good cluimpjigne, with lords and ladies dine. Then in the best socii'iy you'll shine. And, after (his, when yon come home to settle, You'll ever be esteem'il as ]irecious metal, The thoughts of those bright days "will leave yon never, ^'onr love will never die, but last forever. And now you ask wlu>re is that church. Where hai>jiy coupK's can be join'd ; You i>rate and say that if you search The world around you'll never iind. l^nt you are much mistaken, Mit-'s, i"\ir I can tell you where to Iind it, "Pis not above ten miles from here. It has a shady grove behind it; Now what 1 am about to say is this, If you wish for matrimonial bliss I can direct you to the very spot, Where you can tie a good, lirm knot:. Besides, without delay, you'll get A genuine certillcato Without a blemish or a blot, At other places you cannot; If you should marry here, You'll always be sincere. Tlir, I'ASIIION A Kl.K W 1:1)1)1 NO. 301> Your in;irri:ijjf{i will be Viiliii, Your mipiiul vows be solid, You never will regret it, You never Ciin forj^et it, As long as you druw breath. You'll live a bai)i)y life, Free IVoiu all care and strife, And die a liappy deat.li. You'll ride in your own carria.i^e, And have many another nnirria^e, In nuMii'ry of that f^reat event, 'J'lie day when to that cbureh you went; At five years' end you'll have a iroodcn wcddinf^, Your friends will brin mt^ I A REYERIE. m NAT boaiil(^ (he ohimnoy jairib, r^, AbworbM in rov'rio (l(>i'|); I gii//(l upon tlio einbera brii^^lit, 'riml fi'll upon llio licnp. Tlio ('iiilirii;- Kiiioko hscciuIcmI liij^li, And VHiiousi roriiia uaaninM, A spoctnil piijroiintry arose All bonneted and pliiin'd. They ligiir'd for a little while in all their pomp and pride; At- lenujtli a j^reat. black cloiid rose up, And jostled them aside. 'I'hey'ie gone, t-aid 1 ; but, still I musM I 'poll the (•liaii<;in«^ scone, And woiulor'd what would next appear, And what all this could mean. I''ii\st caiiu> a calm and then a storm, 'IMie tempest lo.ir'd and rear'd, Then calm and peaeo ])rovaird agiiin, 'I he j^racefnl curia appear'd. 001 N(i TO (;a,mi'. 215 A Ins, tliou<,'liL J, lliese varying acenos Are all euggestivt; llienu's, This kitchen lire may he coinpar'U To human actH antl whiiiiH. Tlu! con(|iieror in all liia pomp, With legions in his train, Sweeps o'er the land like locust swarm, Desolating all the plain. He in hia turn is swept away, And forc'd to yield to late; Thus (Joths and Vandals, Ihins and Turks, O'erran the Roman State I'.iit these could not their places huhl, They in their turn gave way, And other trihes as riule ami wild, Devour'd them as their prey. And so the strong ()'ei'(!anie the weak, As large lish eat the snuill. And so the tide is flowing on, And Time's devouring all. GOING TO CAMP. fOIN(J to camp, going to carjip, Horseman, footman, gentleman, tramp, Carriage, wagon, and don key- cart, On th(! way, or about to start. 2\(i GOINO TO CAMP. It sooins ivs if oncli homoatoiul rouiul, l^r milos Jiiul leagues has caui;ht the fouiul, And pouring out its occupants: Thoy'ro moving swiftly on like ants. Hoth lualo and t'oniale, ohl and young. Join in to swcdl the happy throng; WhiU> all along t'ach thoroughfare, The clouds of dust float in the air. InipoUM by some attractive law, All to a common centre draw ; The living tiile is flowing in. And still they come through thick and thin. The farmer, thin and bow'd with toil, With face the color of the soil ; And city gents, both vain and ju-oud, ^li\ in the heterogeneous crowd. And gay young ladies, neat and clean, All smiles and glances here are seen, In robes of silk, bright, rich and dear. And ribbons llutt'ring in the rear. How beautiful, how gay, how neat! Kose-buds were never half so sweet; How nimbly do they trip along. Threading their wiiy amid tlu' throng! What gentlenuin of royal blood, Could ever think himself too good, l*'or such fine ladies as these are? Thev're brilliant as the morniuir star. OOI Nd TO <'A Mr. 217 I'lii InilicH, i.s il> iiol. loo bail, 'riiul. yon, HO rich, and i^Mily clad, \ViUi Hucli imworl.liy beaux .should \v;illv ? hou'l. (h) il- ladicH lollvM will (a-lU. Would I lix up HU(!h frillH and collara. Would I buy poplin at two dollar.s, And in ono drc>.s,s put Ihirl.y yards, To siiliHly Huch n;;ly i)ard.s'i' Would ever I make sindi a I'uhm, And Hjiend my liard-iMrnM money thus, On eilke, ribboiiH, and fancy cofits, 'l\) lead such hairy I'-illyj^oatH ? Would 1 e'er pUiil, and wcenl, my hair, And wear such hals to kcoj) me hiiry Novor — for such Imiry mon as those, Whilo ^niss j^m'ow.-? jijreen ami water (low.''. I'd hav(! a man that's ri lofty lulls, ye iielils of outf?, And lleUls of biirley, Put on your W(>eils and mourning coiite, l'\)r noble Clnirloy. Monin, Fan — O do not toss your IumuI, Mourn, i^'an, your noble coniraib"'s dejul, 'IMie same witb whom you always IVd, I'oor Charley's gone, Who in plough or wagon always led. And brought you on. OLD MACK. THK MILLER. '^Pr^\\' odd (dd elui|) as e'er yini saw, 0^ is this old Maek, llu« miller, IT stern, resolule, sly and artful, As .lack the (Jiant Killer. 'riiough onei> a mongrel ol' a woman — A red-haired, IVeekly soul — Outwitted him by her sly arts, And ke])t liim under her control. She first seduced him ami he mu"ried^ To save himst'll" from jail, She bi)und him to her aprou-stringa 'I'o follow in hor trail. ()i,i> ma(;k, 'iiiK Miij.Ku. 2^;^ At loiif^tli lio was (Iciennincd No longer to Hiibriiil., WIkmi bIio cut him looHt; iiiid cast liiiii olT, So li(j wiiH I'orcM to Hit. 11(1 wiiiKJoiH now from place to place, Like Hoinn lo.st ,s1k'(;i) Ibrloiii, "Without a inotjier to briu^ him milk, Or wife to grind his corn." J'oor Mack ! 'Ti.s hard indeed to bo To Huch a I'ato (;()nHi/^ne>tigh melinm clear Life's hut a span. f-C.)\((.>^^g)/l£>-3 TJIK CZAH AND TilE TURK; Or, Tho Boar and The Turkey. (1834). Mf^i N I'lin'Opi^'K Northern rcgioiiH dwelt, ii lifiir, •Jyi 'I'lx' nioiiiircli ofiill bciirH, bhick, wlii'i- iir hrowii. If Known l)y tJio dii^nil'KMl tit.loof C/.ir, Who IVoin his li;uinl,H 'ini; lie vo.ved he'd eat him eitlu r cook"(l or raw, .!i37) 2;2S 'Illl", C/AH ANI> 'I'll 10 TUKK. So .U)lniny Bull Jiiul John (-riipiMii might Mnuiip The board but. ho woiihl iiiakc the 'rmkoy jiiiup. IWiL hoKl, Kinj; Ursiis, whither nre you bound With such 11 lont:^ luul hoteropjonous (rain, Know you not that you iiro on IbrbiddcMi <;roundV You must be cra/.y, nmd, distractod in the brain, 'Vo think that you can or his own stM'vice, in course of time they (\uA\ The neigboring barbarous natives of the North, And e'en the (! reeks do they com})el To take their yoke, (irecians of noble birth — M'en now they'd spread their doctrine o'er the earth. •Illi: C/.AIt AND 'I'll I'] TIIItK. 220 " (), (Jr('(;iiiii8 ! (Ircciiuis ! one mow. clloit- rniil<(! I*\)r l*'io('(l()m — Ho IVec uh were your uiuiciit sires — W(i nndorliikc, this Htrii^glo for your siiko; Wo iiiccl (he Hiibrea and the Sultan's fires III hopes to cruali llieir creHcciil.s uiid l-heir S[tire8, And t.licir hclliwh i(h)ljiLry to wliuko; Who(^ver roads their history, acquires A li!itr(Ml for them — Awake ! yo (J reeks, awake ! And on these (U)f^8 a tcnfohl ven^^eatiec take! '* 'J'he country once was your'n and ou^ht to be n^'din, Unjustly did the; wild barbarians soizo Upon it your iioblc! Hires were eitlwir slain ity Hvvord, by fatnine, or by ^riin disease, Or (IooiiumI (o bondage, deH[)ite their pleas Fov mercy -On yon, their sons, tlie chain Of Hiav'ry still (danks, and (!an you H'si at ease, When one who loves you is now upon the plain, b'eady your long-lost liberties to regain?" Why, who is that who'd fniedom advocate;? Is it old NieJiolas the autocrat? What will nut, ambitious man to (dc^vate Himself allciinpt? That old eliap will doll" his hat To poor degradeil slaves -Wag his head and chat With those whom Ik; inwardly (l()(%s hate; Iv'eininding owe. of the mouse and cat — Willi great pretcwisions, he would gull your pate, l>ul. in the end a dcu^per slavery must bo your fate. Whoever heard tin; like? Heli(;ve him not Ye (Greeks. 'Tis naught but vain hy[)oy tlie greatest tyrant on land or sen; JIad he tlie power, there's not one spot Of earth were free, lias not he the liberty Of the Poles destroyed ? Yes, 'tis now their lot. In Siberia's barren wastes to rot. Ask Poland's fugitives, for well they know What was the fate of their once happy land; AYhat "was the cause of their untimely overthrow ? The tyrant of the North with ruthless hand O'erpowered them — Her valiant sons, a faithful band Were butchered without mercy by the foe, For bearing arms under their own King's command, Her cities overrun, ransacked, laid low, There's scarce a vestige of her former greatness now to show. Or ask Kossuth, for none can better tell What kind of monster is that same old Czar; Ask him what sad catastrophe befell Ilis brave Hungarian band. 0, the car Of despotism came rattling from afar Like Juggernaut, to crush them — or compel Their tame submission to the God of war. Who every spark of liberty would quell — King of the unlioly alliance, whom Satan could not e'en excell ! The Turk with quicknass musters all his force, Who courageously are standing on their guard. And bid defiance to Czar's foot and horse, And Johnny Bull, and John Crapeau have bent the vard THE CZAR AND THE TURK. 231 For Euxine, the Turks integrity to warJ; Are screaming till their lungs and throats are hoarse, To fright the'shag:^y bear — Threatening to bom'jard His strongest citadel, and raze the source And headquarters of all his intercourse.* The cry of war was heard throughout the lani ; Nick makes a halt on the Danubian shore, Eyeing and mana3uv'ring on the fertile strand. The Sultan by the Holy Prophet swore, Ile'd drive them back, or never fight them more. Omar Pasha assumes the head command, Who with his little valiant band did pour Their bullets and missiles on every hand. Until the Ursine host could not the shock withstand. But Czar declares he'll not give up the sport, E'en when his forts and fastnesses are gone; He'll serve them like he served old Bonaparte, If they should penetrate and follow on To Moscow's walls — For want of shelter they shall run And frost, and lead, and steel, shall make them smirt; The wolf shall feed upon the carcass and the bone — But, will the allies on such a campaign start? No, Czar, thy projects surely they will thwart. "But," says the Czar, " we yet can beat them all. The Cannibals to take advantage thus. For Uncle Sam will aid us when we call. With nil his force — His men are valorous. And if they'll keep John Bull's bull-dogs in use. There's not a post round all my coast shall fall. With their cohorts they cannot conquer us, * Subastopol. 232 THE CZAH AND TH K TURK. For Sum can make their JUill to bawl. And I, the Crapeaii, and the Turk will gall." An tiVort now he makes with all his host; With Menchikoff and others in the lead, With a view to drive the British from their post. Now every man and every sword and steed Come rushing on with secrecy and speed ; Now Bull, despite thy everlasting boast, Thou must give way — Thy valiant men must bleed^ And e'en the troops thou vainest the most, In this severe encounter must be lost. But no, they stand their ground Avith tlrmness still. And fixed determination not to yield; Although the forts the Avild barbarians till, No socner landed than their doom is sealed; Not one of Johnny's sons wo\ild leave the Held. O, Menchikoff! they batlle all thy skill; Thy JMuscovites although their breasts were steel'd, Could not drive them— Behold the Britons pierce and kill. The Cossacks fly — Come on, ye French, with right good will ! " Well done, my gallant soldiers — well done — Bravo! bravo! " is Lord Baglan's cry; •' The victory, my noble lads, is won. Now follow on, and shoot them as they fly; Chastise them well for their temerity, Mercy is folly — Onward! onward! on! Though thousands of your noble comrades die. Old England shall reward you, every one, And honor you when you are dead and gone ! " THE CZAR AND THE TURK. 233 O, Czar ! 0, Nicholas ! recall the threat Thou at the onset made — Can'st thou believe That thou'rt unconquerable, invulnerable'yet ? Vain boast, vain thought — That thou can'st still retrieve Thy many irreparable losses — And achieve New victories. Ah, no, thou shalt regret Thy I'ashness, and eventually perceive Thy folly — for thou shalt find thyself beset With diiliculties thou shalt not soon forget. At Balaklava the Bears are beat, And on the heights of Inkerman, too. At Kertsch they also suffer a defeat, On land and sea reverses now ensue; But still Sebastopol held out, and drew The gaze of all the world. And many a feat Out of the contumacious contest grew. " You shall not have it," says the Czar with heat; " You can not take it," says Sam's press on every sheet. " But we will try again," says Johnny Bull, "We'll take it yet," with zeal, says John Orapeau, Bombs, rockets, shells, a dreadful story tell, Deal death on every hand and strew Destruction round. And mangled carcasses do show The horrors of the scene. Each trench is full ; The cup of rage is made to overflow; The clank of arms goes on without a lull, And fiends infest and furiate the skull. But hark ! in midst of all this strife— when drums Are beating to the charge, and horrors still increase, 20* T>\\ 'I'll !•: c/.A i; A N I) Til !■; i im;k. Wlu-M ] ('111 oil pciil rcHoiiiulH, uimI ilt'iully hoinl)9 \vo llyiii^ in (lio iiir liko Hocks of obo, In coinoH tlio liilc of Nii^lioliis' iUhiohso; Oil li<',lilMiii!^'rt wings i\\v iiirornmlion (M)inos, "I'is |10slt'(l lo lliul IVo, tl si'Ml (>r ])(oiir jovM, iind vnin tlit> ninsir's (oiu', As llio old cock crows, so crows (lie ynni!; one. Another Cziir is dcviitcd to llu» llironc, Tlio great eiogo of Subiistopol ^oos on, hcspilo llii> wish of princes ])ro and c(ni ; A tVi ^^h impt'tns is ^i\cn to the stone ; And now with shot and shell tliey tail n|n>ii Tiie poor devoted hand, and alill unknown Tilt" result all thon«',hls of peact* have llown. Mut scarce a t welv<-ni(>nlh i^[' th(> new leii'^u is past ; The clanking sound of niins h:is died ; '1 h(> storm is o\m\ no inon> is heard the war trump's 1>1 ast All's isiihsided as the ehliin;' oi' the tiile; The ii.Mii!',hly (' ;ir wiioni iirroi-anct* and priih> Had elevated hi<',h, is now tlowncast. Seliastoptd, the wonder of all nations tar and wide, The uucoiupioralde lortres-i is fallen mI last. And lu's in ashes now a ruined wasti>. " ^"^'^^^^ 'li)S> THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. l^pAUK! tlie Whip-poor-will, *^-^ Willi voice so shrill, Has returned to us again; Our solitude to cheer. To tell U8 spring is here, To plough and sow our grain. Welcome, welcome, bird, May thy sweet voice be hearJ, In the calm eventide, When seated at our door, Our daily labor o'er, All cares are laid aside. But whither hast thou been, Through the long winter scene? Hast seen the land ol" canes ? Hast seen the blacks With naked backs, Lab'ring on the plains? (2:i5) it IN A DROUGHT. AY uftor diiy, eve after eve, 111 hopes to see some rain, Intently have I gazed upon The clouds, hut gazed in vaui. I've seen them floating to and fro, Blue, purple, green or red, Of every variegated hue. And every shape and shade. Some light and ileecy, gently horn^ Like smoke hefore the wind, And others of great gravity. Like craggy rocks hehind. Some dark and heavy, tunihling forth, As sluggish in their motion. As heavy-freighted Indian ships, Hard straining on the ocean. Rut all in vain, tliey bring no rain. They roll, tumble, llutter by, With all their hopeful tokens fraught, To mock the gazer's eye. 'IMie earth hcrself's submerged in dust, All vegetation's sighing, VVither'd and drooping is the earn, The herbage all is dying. The world is gasping for a shower. (•im\) THE INDIAN'S APPEAL. 237 THE MISSIONARY'S APPEAL TO THE INDIAN. ('OME along with me, my poor Indian brave, L*^ come along with me — will you come — iP To the land of the Whites, beyond Atlantic's wave. Where the stranger finds a welcome and a home ? Where sciences and arts — instead of missiles and darts — Are well understood and taught in our schools; Where happiness and peace, grow, flourish, and increase,, Where everything is done in order, and by rules. leave your forest home, leave your savage life, And never shall you want for comfort or for friends : The war-whoop's ne'er heard, nor combat, nor strife, But harmony and love o'er our land extend. THE INDIAN'S APPEAL. Wishing to Return to His Native Land. pg STRANGER in a strange land, whither shall If O carry me back to the land of my birth ; 0, white man ! 0, white man ! your trumpery and show Have no charms for me — Tiiey'ro trilles of no worth. 238 A COMPARISON" BETWEEN You're welcome to them all, I envy you not, Give me back my wigwam, never more to roam ; No waters are so sweet, no venison so gODcl, No scenery so beautiful as round my native horn 3. I had a young squaw of so symmetrical a mould, Like a water lily, so beautiful and cha3te; What would I not give once more to behold The mate of my boyhood, these arms have oft embraced. And shall we ne'er again have th3 happiness and joy. Each other to embrace as we did long ago. Or chase the bounding fawn, or buffalo decoy, Beside our native stream where water lilies grow ? A COIPARISOI BETWEEK IHCIEHTS IKD MODERNS. pl^OU praise the Ancients, as if they alone ^^ Knew all that ever was, or could be known — T| To underrate their talents, we forbear, But will they with our modern geniuses compare ? Let us for once inquire — First their commerce To narrow limits was confined — Averse Were they to leave the shore — And if by chance Their bark was driven from land their fears for utterance Were great. They grop'd back their devious way Like mud-turtles on a sammer day. They shunned with fear the climate of the North, As inhospitable to life, and of no worth. The Torrid Zone to them aho appeared ANCIENTS AND MODERNS. 239 Unfit for mai), and so was shunn'd and fear'd. The art of printing was unknown ; and steam A trifling vapor in their eyes did seem : They knew naught of its giant strength, The many purposes it has at length Been applied to by the Moderns. What have the Moderns done ? You well may ask. Much — Which, to describe would be a tedious task. The art of printing is one of their acts, By which books, papers, pamphlets, and good tracts Are printed, and throughout the land are sent forth, Enlightening every corner of the earth. They found and proved the wondrous powers of steam. Of which the ancient sages did not dream; They found and peopled the Western Hemisphere: They're adding new discoveries ev'ry year. 'Tis strange to see how fast the world is going. At what a rapid rate human genius is growing, What wonders man in modern days has wrought! A plan's conceived 'tis done as quick as thought. What would the ancients think — Would they not stare To see our balloons sailing through the air. Or floating castles whizzing o'er the ocean. With lightning speed, to lands of which they hud no notion ? How could they e'er believe their eyes to see Our iron horses in this land of liberty Whizz by them like a hurricane of wind, 340 ON" A PASSIONATE WOMAN". With Eev'ral hundred tons of freight behind ; Or thousand passengers to land in distant town, As if shot from cannon, and unharmed laid down ? Again the telegraph among our modern things. Outstrips all animals with legs or wings ; A man in Boston hails his friend in New Orleans, Asks how cotton sells, or how the market is for beans. OK A PASSIONATE WOMAN. |HOU woulds't not deem it possible, That beauty of a woman, With flowing robes and gaudy dresses. With rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, Could have so vile a tongue. Thou woulds't esteem her as the pink Of purity and virtue — For lo ! Her heart — which is as black as ink — Appears as white as snow. The slightest touch ignites her passion. The slightest breeze will fan the flame, Which threatens total destruction To her corporeal frame. 01 A TATTLIIS, MISCHIEF-MAKIKS WOMAH. ^|i^H AT now ? What's wrong with that crazy woman ? ^^ There's something in her surpassing comm )n ; tf Her brain she racks — Her tongue she tasks with labor, To blast and villify some peaceful neighbo ■. For when she hears a story, To magnify it is her glory ; A fly with her becomes a crow, A mouse into an elephant will grow. And hillocks small into large mountains grow, And rivers large from small fountains flow, And such a pride has she for telling, Give her a wink she'll leave her dwelling. The public organ of scandal and lies, How she creates, is a matter of surprise ; She ne'er was yet at the end of her wits. And like the sponge, she nothing pure emits. Her eye and ear materials supply; Her fancy fabricates the lie ; A larger stock is nowhere to be found; Her restless tongue peddles the stuflT around. What man who comes within the range, Of her displeasure and revenge, That does not hear his name defam'd. And all his virtues, vices named. 21 (241) 243 ON A TATTLING, MISCHIEF-MAKING WOMAN. If he's industrious, and inclined to save, At once she calls him rogue and slave; If free and sociable to womankind, A fornicator, adulterer, or both combin'd. If he to some Christian Church be join'd, He's a hypocrite of the most flagrant kind ; But if not in the Church's catalogue, Why he's a cursed heathen dog. If, on the other hand, he walk erect, And Siren's wiles have no effect To corrupt his morals, or to shake his faith, Or to draw him out of virtue's path, E'en then, he can't escape her curse; He's a selfish churl or something worse. And woe to her wlio may her Highness vex, She has no mercy on her tender sex ; Though harmless as the babe unborn, the maid, All sorts of sins to her charge are laid, And thief, liar, adulteress, all these Drop from her tongue with perfect ease. Whence comes it that her feelings are so delicate. Is she the offspring of the rich and great, That all like slaves should bow the knee. And crouch like spaniel dog at her decree ? As regards her eyes — they might as well be blind, They see things falsely — misinform the mind ; Her ear — it might as well be deaf, Eor 'tis the medium of a false belief. ON- AMERICA; OR, THE UNITED STATES. 243 Her tongue — it might as well be dumb, For 'tis, of all things, the most troublesome ; 'Tis so unruly 'twill not tell the truth, Excepting by mistake, forsooth. OH AMERICA ; OR, THE UNITED STATES. (1854.) SlORIOUS country of the West ! e^#, Fortunate country, above all others blest It With political liberty — Wise institutions. Free from intestine troubles and pollutions. Thou hast a never-failing source Of wealth in public lands — Thy intercourse With foreign lands augments^thy income, too, Which, with economy, all purposes may do. Thou'rt not obliged to tax the industry of thy sons, And drain their hearts' blood despite their groans. To maintain in majesty thy sway; Or prop a rotten peerage — or display An unrivalled splendor in thy courts. Thy sons are valiant, intelligent and wise, Proud of freedom — ever ready to chastise Their enemies. They need no monarch's frown, Or bugbear, to frighten them to keep them down. They worship their Maker as they see fit. They're not oppressed — Kor will they e'er submit To superstition's law — Nor in reverence bow the knee To stocks and stones at tyrants' mad decree. 344 TO JOHN S. IIOBINSON. We're blessed with plenteousness throngliout our land, Prosperity and peace go hand in hand. In literature — The sciences and arts, We're not behind the world, or those of foreign i)arts. Our statesmen ever have great honors sharM, With those of other lands may be compar'd; Our public works are on the grandest scale; Our locomotives lly through every glen an! dale; A proposition's made — 'Tis hoped it may not fail, To connect the two great oceans with iron rail. So we may well sa}*, '' Go ahead." mt» «- TO JOHN S. ROBINSON. ^p^IlEN we were in our teens, John, 'M^' The times were not as now, jf Then, matrons plied the spinning-wheel. And farmers drove tlie plough; And maidens thought it was but play To feed and milk a cow. 'Twas forty years ago, John, Ah ! how the years roll on ; As constant as the ocean waves, ■ They follow one by one; Ere we can designate the spot, Like meteors they are gone. Those glorious times are pass'd, John, We'll never see them more; Yet it behooves us to look back, TO JOHN S. ROBINSON. 245 As oft we've done before, Upon the rugged winding paths, That we have travell'd o'er. While we are on the heights, John, Ere further we advance, Let us sit down and rest awhile. And take a backward glance; — But doesn't it make you dizzy, John, 'J^o view the vast expanse ? Away off in the distance, John, Behold yon spot so green. With here and there a mansion grand. And dewy meads between. And shady walks and flow'ry dales. Which beautify the scene. There's where we spent our youth, John — Ah ! Nature then was young; Our days pass'd over rapidly. As merry as a song ; Like two young lambs we knew no guilt, Kor dreamed of right and wrong. In front of that old mansion, John, That green bank do yo.u see ? — There's where we used to romp and play. And laugh so merrily ; Gymnastic exercises, then, Were sport for you and me. Old Brandywine still flows, John ; — His waters clear and bright 21* 246 TO JOHN S. UOBINSON. ]\lcamler tlirougli the valley still, As when they first saw light ; Tliere's no impression made on liim, By Time's resistless fiight. There's where we bath'tl and boated, John ; There was onr chief resort; 'Twas there we learn'd to swim and dive ; — Ah, that was pleasant sport — And there we fish'd for eels and trout And fish of ev'ry sort. In winter time we skated, John; And proud of that were we, For ladies young and beautiful. Were sometimes there to see; And when we tumbl'd on the ice, They laugh'd right merrily. But where is tliat old mill, Jolm, A\^e work'd in many a day, Among the black and greasy wool ? — They told us it was play, Yet, though it was not heavy work, We long'd to be away. And when the water-wheel stopp'd, John, We laid aside all care; And that old mill was soon deserted, And not a soul was there, For belter skelter out we rush'd. To breathe the balmy air. Is that old mill gone down, John ? I see it not — dost thou ? TO JOHN S. ROBIKSON". 247 Put on thy specks and look again — Dost tliou not see it now ? "Ah, no I " — I fear'J it was gone down; All tilings to Time must bow. There's where our journey started, John ; Ah ! what a tramp we've had ; Through highways and through by-ways, We've tugg'd and toil'd, my lad ; But so far we've got safely through. And may we not be glad? Some chums who with us started, John, Grew faint upon the way ; IIow loath were we to part with them ! But oh ! we could not stay ; They begg'd of us to leave them there, We'd meet some other day. But oh ! we have not met them yet; Shall we meet them evermore ? Ah ! something tells us that we shall Upon the other shore, When our long journey's ended, John, And all our toil is o'er. TO MR Instructing Him how to Gain the Affections of the Idol upon Whom He had Fixed His Love. |» ALli her the prettiest, *7l rAlso tlie \vittiest, Of iill the hidiea you have seen; (Jo to her si<:!;hinriiiht ^^'J^s luy $lioll. nnd fiw tVom tiUh. or dirt, And shono bright a^ u bran now ov>ppor kottlo, Or like a dinner boll of burnished metal. Nor. did I loaru till voars had OvMno ai\d >:ouo 1 was the otV-isprins? of an ejij:; hatched in tl\o jsun. 0. happy days I 8o little caiv 1 tVU ! In innocent security, 1 dwelt. That vale \v;vs thou a forest, wivlo and iiroon. Of stately oaks, and smaller lives botweon; And balmy and rolVoshiug' was the broo.'.e. That iTontly siiihod amid those verdant tives. How plo;isant 'twasi when in the heat of day, I foujul a shelter tVom the sun's llorco ray I The Ked Men often made it their retreat. And 'neath the brauohiuii- boughs thoy drossM their meal Oft held their councils, on mv pasture iirouuds, About thoir battles or their hunting bounds. And many tales of love could 1 unfold. About young maidens and youuij Indians bold. AVho came to bathe themselves in (hat clear stream: They wove as cheerful as the mornini:^ beam: But, like myself, thoy wore too frolicsome. To dream of darksonu^ days which soon must oome. As aji'o came on, as years ii\croasod, thoy brought Fresh cares, experience many a lesson taught; Much strife took place between Ked Men and White. And numbers wore o'erpoworod in tight. The Jn/iiATi ha/} avtrr \>*tftn my fr'ihrA; Vrom li'tm I hwl uh hurrn Uj apf.r<;h';n'J ; My nyrnp'^^hy wan on thn lU-zi Man'a fcid*-, i'tut iha Whiter carrifj on with quick, j(igantic itrid^, >A«! pMrwi of rain and hail corne rti*,h'iTi(/ \>j, i'f)f>r Indian, at U;ui/ih, wni>. farcM Ut fly. Yhi thofjgh rhftulpM, tin(\nautM, rjndi«may->;th, hia t^/rnahawk hfe sh^xA, Tcnaciorj/j)y di/iputing ^;vorjr inch of ground, Jjf/Jging fronj tr'y^ to tree till in the Ahianaa H'xfA th<* Jtound. And wh';n in affc/jr y-arn h*- cam'; to vic^' '/')]'; ^'/x-ne?, of earJy daya, and rcvVence do To hia c^/tnirtitilom' prravcn, ha talked of fights And crrjcl wronga he HuiP-.r'-A from ih<: \Vhit/;?». At length a stranger carne and bought thi.? land, WhoH'; habits I ry^uld never under«tand, A T()nu(i-i''A('jA man wan he, who jahb'ir'd rnach, In a hinguage which aft/;rwarda I found wa^> l)a'/;h, A iuUi hanj^ from hi« rnouth, long a;i your arm, Which he 'Ji;jplayed in ev'ry c^irner of hia farm; II'; burned th*; iogfj, the nmoke a«c^;nded high, And many hair-brea'lth^ eneafje^ ha/i J. F';)f,y Am»pa^;iior, f.»r that waa hi« name. And KixU;, li'iH/raw, tugg'jd hard the wilda to tame. With axe and rnatt/x;k, with oxen and with plow, TJntil the gweat in drop« hung on each brow. 22 So* THE AGED TURTLE. In some few years they laid the forest low, Those stately oaks that made so fine a show : The sight of such great havoc made me sad, I pitied the trees, and thought the Dutchman mad. I slyly watched him with a sullen frown, In hopes to see the hills turn upside down ; It made me quake to hear him halloo, " whoa !" And the sound of his axe, did frighten me so. It would have been the wisest plan and best Had I but emigrated to the West; My truest friends, the Indians, were gone, ""Twere madness now to emigrate alone; And obstacles precluded ev'ry chance; Could I elude the White man's vigilance ? Which way soe'er I turned I saw the smoke Ascending high, and heard the axe's stroke ; And when at last my vain attempt I made, Though fervently to the Great Spirit I pray'd, With all my secrecy and all my haste, With these short legs I could not travel fast. However, I sustained but little loss, Till at a creek, which baffled all my skill to cross ; Here was a dreadful fix — Should I retrace My footsteps, to run my earthly race, And end my days where my first breath I drew ? ►I liked this not, but what else could I do? My ill success constrain'd me then to mourn ; Yet an inward monitor seemed to say "return." But even this impracticable seem'd. Until a lucky thought upon me gleam'd, AVhich was, that if there was no other way, J'd travel in the night, and hide myself by day. THE AGED TURTLE. 255 But even this like other projects failed ; Oft in my hiding-place was I assail'd, And as a spy falsely was I accused, And roughly handled, too, and much abus'd. One man enslaved me — And to prove his claim Carved on my shell the initials of his name: But, thanks to Providence, one lucky day While he was gone from home I sneak'd away. Still, was I baffled by contrary wind, And for some years and seasons could not find My home. On one occasion, I recollect, Crossing a brook, when I was a' most wreck'd. This was upon a sultry summer day; My course was o'er a fallen tree, which lay Bridge-like across the brook, from side to side, Where numberless mud-turtles sat astride. Prepared by force my passage to dispute: — I fought them hard, but they were resolute. I must confess I was completely beat — Some half a dozen seized me by the feet; Alas ! with such a ducking did they treat me, And so enraged were they I fear'd they'd eat me, AVith their success they seemed so much elated, But I shut my shell, and all their plans frustrated. But, oh, my fears in such a situation — I cannot now express my agitation. Had they but killed me then and set me free, Insteal of torturing me so cruelly, It would have been a great relief to me. X56 THE AGED TURTLE. It makes me shudder even now to think TTpon that dreadful day — the final link Was well nigh cut — Such weight was on my back, I really thought this shell of mine would crack. And oh, the awful horrors of the deep ! The shrimps and wiggle-waggle tails that cree]). All at this dry land Turtle came to peep; 0, it grieved me so I couldn't help but W3ep. In such an element I could not long subsist. It seemed as if I was in a suffocating mist; A dreadful rumbling noise was in my ear3 ; My eyes grew dim, I was oppressed with fears. There, helpless in the awful deep, I lay, But how long, I know not e'en to this day. Ten thousand strange presentiments did gore me^ Ten tliousand hideous spectres passed before me. Until a deep unconsciousness came o'er mo. At K iigth, I felt a most tremendous shock, Like the explosion of some mighty rock ; And opening wide my mouth, my ears, my eyp, I found myself on terra firma high. A fiftlier boy, whom I shall e'er adore, Had dragged me up and cast me on the shore. I thanked the fellow o'er and o'er again. For the great kindness which he did me then. I minded not the dreadful shock he gave. Since he had sav'd me from a watery grave. And from mud-turtles, shrimps, and crawling things. From long, lank, legless birds, with speckled wings. THE AGED TURTLE. 257 ]iut of all beasts I ever saw or met, The vile mud-tnrtle I shall ne'er forget; And ne'er will I till 'neath the clods I'm cold, With such infernal pests communion hold. AVith many more adventures did I meet; Long did I wander ere I set my feet A^ain on Felty's place — And when upon it, All was so changed — I never should have known it. The rocks were there, but the hills were bare ; And that clear stream — Thank God, there are no snap- pers there — Still rolled along as beautiful as ever, Winding its course towards the mighty river. Now, on this place for many years I've been. And many changes in its ownership I've seen ; And many incidents could I relate. Both of an early and a later date. Felty Amspacher left it long ago, But what became of him I do not know. Seigfried Snyder next lived here prosp'rously, And raised a much respected family; But ah ! so many years since then have fled, I fear that both these gentlemen are dead. And next I recollect one Yawcob came. But he was weak, and couldn't hold his claim. The sheriff came and served him with a writ, The farm was sold, and Yawcob had to quit. And then Lorenz Strayer took the thing in hand, And no one better knew the worth of land ; 23* 258 THE AGED TURTLE. He dug the scrubby oaks both high and low, To give the forest trees a chance to grow. John Miller next lived here for sev'ral years; He was a thrifty farmer, as appears : He raised good corn without manure or bones ; Folks said he cover'd it with sods and stones. But Christy Wolf I'm sure succeeded best; He made more money clear than all the rest; But this was done by butchering calves and sheep^ And I've been told he always bought them cheap. So, Christy lived an independent life; — He had no family, except a wife. But he had a sort of foster son called Jerry; — This raw-bon'd lad was seldom in a hurry. But Jerry was a safe and steady boy, As Christy ever had in his employ; I pitied him because he was so slim: And Christy was not always kind to him, I've seen him walk as if he were asleep; Then he would tell his troubles to the sheep ; And oftentimes I heard him sob and sigh. But then I did not like to ask him why. That Christy whipped him I had cause to fear. For Christy was both sullen and severe. I always had a great respect for Jerry, And when he left I was extremely sorry; For he was ever sociable to me, Oft played with me when Christy did not see ; And many a pleasant chat had we together About the growing crops and pleasant weather But Christy had no great respect for me; ON VIEWING FISHING CREEK VALLEY. 250 Nor did I care for him, for I was free, He had no cause to treat me thus with scorn, For I was on this place ere he was born. When I first saw you resting in that shade, I thought 'twas Christy, and I was afraid. And now, friend Martin, I have told you more Than e'er I told to any one before. Thanks to your kindness, and your patience, too, That you could bear so long an interview — Perhaps the last — My course is well nigh run ; Probably when the present season's gone, I shall go to my long, last sleep — " The sleep That knows no waking" — But none will weep When I am gone. Farewell, my friend, farewell, I've outlived my contemporaries. SUSSESTED OK YIEWINS FISHINS CREEK YALLET, From a Point near Sterrett's Gap, Perry Co., Pa. ^^^Y eye from mountain-top surveys ^^ The winding vale, with rugged sides, tr The brook that skips along and plays. Increasing as along it glides. Imbibing riv'lets, fountains, springs, Till after num'rous meanderings. Its waters in the Susquehanna are toss'd Thence in the Atlantic Ocean are lost. 2()() YOll'ltl'; (IICniNO ItAII) ANI> OKAY, MAN. 'Tia ('iiit)Iiuii!it,i(!al of inorliil luiiii ; 1m iiol. Ik* i)r(»<>rcasin;^' Hpiiii hy Hpiiii, IiuncHHiiig ill ciipaciLy, Till swallowed in eternity r* » ra t— »- YOU'lvK GKTTiNG BALU AND GkAV, MAM. T'^jliffoU'lkK L't'ttiii;' baltl aiul i'vay, niaii, And well yoii know 'tis so; JiiHt let nio cull thoao few white Imirp, To hIiow you tlmt tlu^y grow. Yon'ru blooniinij; Tor the grave, man, A fact you also know ; Your raven locks arc* turning white, V^our saiulH arc getting low. Your fai;e ia getting wrinkU-d, man, 'JMie bloom ban h^ft your cheek; Your head is bowing down, man, Your lega are getting weak. Hut such is i'ato — Age will come on, So grieve not o'er the theme; I, too, am dooin'd — Together we Are gliding down the stream. =^^*^^^^ MORE SNOW, MORE SNOW. ^^I^OllE snow, more snow, what mighty heaps of snow ;. ^^p" The skies like darksome mibts appear, t| The Hakes pervade the atmosphere, There's an extended sheet of white below. The orb of day from mortal man is hid. The skies seem sullenly to weep — All nature green is covered deep Beneath the feathery bed. No carriage-wheels I hear — No mortal souiuf Breaks through the stillness of the morn, The feathery tribe are mute — forlorn — O'er earth prevails a seriousness profound. The fruit trees, and the stately forest tree.?, A melancholy aspect wear, Naked, exposed, save here and there A solitary leaf is trembling in the breeze. From rural cot behold the curling smoke ascend,. Which speaks of warmth and life within, And inmates ready to begin Their toils, and with their destiny contend. The rustic swain in homespun habit rude, Goes plunging through the depths of white. To where his beasts through the long night, Shiv'ring, have stood in humble attitude. (201) 263 MORE SXOW, MORE SNOAV. At his approach iVoin stable and from stall, Issues a low, expressive sound, The quadrupeds with joy profound, For their accustomed provender, do call. The frugal housewife comes forth now, Ever smiling in the midst of cares, A milk-pail and some meal she be:irs, Intended for some fav'rite cow. The hens come cackling, one by one. Anxious to have their wonted feed. The snow, however, retards their speed, Their gait is half a lly and half a run. The schoolhouse at the corner of the wood, Solitary and alone does stand. Where sits the tutor like some monarch grand, Secure from cold, or storm, or ilood. The schoolboys, aye, on play and pleasure bent. And often prone to disobey. Though urged to hasten, are lingering on the way, And sporting with the feathery element. Methinks it were a happy task, To train the youthful mind, In rural district unconfin'd; What humble man could higher callins: ask? ^^'^^M®;^^^)/^^ WRITTEN ON A COLD WINTER NIGHT. HE stars look cold to night — piteously cold; And fancy sees a tear in each one's eye ; The Queen of night is hid behind the clouds Black and dreary, which seem to hurry by With great velocity, as if to seek A shelter, in some quiet nook. The winds are howling o'er the snow-capp'd hills, And yelling in the dismantled forest trees. As if holding a high carnival ; Attacking every unlucky animal That ventures forth. Pity the poor lone fux ! Whom hunger has compelled to leave his hole; And yon screech-owl, whose doleful scream I hear. The stranger, too, whom fate has driven forth, If any such should be abroad to-night, O cruel winds! intermit your wrath ! Happy is the man — and he hath ample caus3 For gratitude — who hath a shelter now, llude thou it ba, if comfortably warm. And happy are the conies, which under ground Do burrow, if hunger do not pinch them, And happy is the beast that is well housed, AVith well-filled crib of provender to champ at. (263) •2G4 TO A YOUNG MISS. ]3nt, oh, tlic wcatlier-beatcn mariner, Whose lot it is to bring ns merchandise From foreign climes ! Whose fate exposes him To all vicissitiules of heat and cold, And storms, and raging billows mountain high, How fares he now ? Not very well, I fear. Where now is Dr. Kane and his bravo crew, Who two years back adventured to the North — Leaving their happy homes — in search of that Unhappy man of Kngland's favor'd Isle? John Franklin, where art thou, and where are thine ? The soughing winds give answer with a moan, " They've pass'd the bourne from whence no trav- eler returns/' TO A YOUNG MISS. |jj||EAlt little miss, why dost tliou talk Z^Ei ^0 much about thy beau, tj And llirt about with lively air, And joys that overflow? " 0, yes, I have a pretty beau; lie's novv to college gone ; I lis iigure tall — his graceful smile — My little heart liave won. " My mamma said I never should Associate with boys ; But, oh, 'tis cruel thus to talk. And thus destroy my joys. THE SCHOOLMASTEU'S STOOL. 265 " My thoughts are on him night and day, Their frowns and threats are vain ; In vain they tell me not to love, My heart they can't restrain. " I5ut, oi), I dare not tell you what He told me at the fair, For fear my ma should find it out, And pa should scold and swear. "And such a show of gew-gaws fine, — The bracelets, ring and glove, He gave to me that happy day. As tokens of his love." THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STOOL. A Rough Planlc with Fcur Rough Legs. IP ONCE grew on a mountain's rugged brow, .*f^> Wiiere kindred timber stood, ll ^ And crows perch'd on my ev'ry bough. Whose cawing through the wood Reverberated, echoed, loud and long; And glad was I to hear The merry sound, and shook my branches strong, AVith merriment and cheer. And when tlie long, dreary season was o'er, And I waked from my sleep — Or half sleep rather — for 'tw is no more, I consciously did peep 2:5 XHU) TllK SCIUHM.MASTKIC'S STOOU At all nrouiul— ()n cv'iy Iwii^, onch bud Mxiiaiuloil liirgc aiul wide, Ami fewil't and smoothly lUnvcd my blood; 1 felt my youthful pridi'. With gnitituti,' did 1 inhaU' tho dows Of cv'iung and of morn ; And gentle showers diil oftentimes diiVuse Above me, to adorn My person with the foliage id' sprini; ; And little birds Hew o'er And rounil me, and sweetly tlid they sinj; (>f those they'll lov'd l)el'ore. In autunui, when all trees shouUl shed their fruits 1 seattered mine arouml. For pii:;s, whieh hungry eame, and destitute. With snouts upon the ground. C)ft dill 1 hit them on the baelc for sport, And laugh to hear them sfpieal ; And e'en the sipiirrel, tDo, did 1 supjiort, .\i\d give him many a meal. The erows e'en made their nests and raised their brood Ujion my highest limb ; And doves sat on my little twigs and coo'd, While swallows did o'er me skim. Thus did I live for ujany a generation, Nor felt, nor feared muel» }iain, While men who style themselves " L.irds of Creation," Hv mortal death were slain. l\u{ little did 1 thinU -O. silly fool! Kot more than did a stone. 'Ill \<] tiClIOOKM AHTICU M S'I'OOl,. 2(;7 'I'liiil- I nli()iil(l (I'cr he roiiiii'd iiilo ii alool, l^'or ji K'lioolnuiHl.cr's lliroiic. Hill. i.\w Jixomcii ciiiiKi with tli.^ir IooIh in liiuul, With iiiif2;(n" much iiilliUuM, To (Mil. ii'.(^ down — With l(';,^s iipurl, llrni did they .stiiiid. And nt my licjirt Ihcy iiimcd. 'riniH I, who'd \o\]i^ n'joiccd in my own ,stnuii";th, And oft witliwtood tlic /'[ale, Thi' niinM, jiiid pcKiii!,:; of tiic h;iil, :it h'nj^tli liiiy prostrutc mh .i (M)n<|ii(M"('d whiih\ <), wind, u tn>m('n(h)nrt nhoiik tluiL wuh! I I'cil like HO much Irad ; l\Iy Iind)H wcm'c .sluittcrcd drcud fully, :i1:ihI I thou^'ht 'twould kill nui dead. Stroke ai'tcr .stroke, !i.,u;ain the axe was plicMl, Until my limhn W(U"o lopped Oir IVom my trunk — 'IMiey noxt strippoil oil" my hiile. Which '{^ain.st my Hido thoy propped; While I lay tremhiini; on the fj;round, Womlerin^ what they wore about — Thoy, unconcornod, as is a n^ckless hound, Dovoid of rcolin^f, in or out. Thiia, nake(l did they Iciive me, uh 1 waH, Heneath the burning sun. Where weekH, yes, montliH, was I doom'd to ])msh, I )tla.pi(lated and undont^ I squirmed l)eiie:i.th old S )rH iie'er-ceasiuL^ bhizo, My Hid(\s were (U'acked and diied ; — Oil. did I wish ihe remiiunt of my daytj Were HWept oil' with the tide. '2(>3 THE SCHOOl.M.VSI'I'nt's v'^rOOL. Al length ,}oc ISykc;?, as if ihrou<;li sympathy For my sad case, forlorn, Came with liis team, as if to set me free, Ami dra^i^ed mo through liis corn; Nor did I think it iirudeiit to complain, Allhoiii;h ho tore me sore, By tlriigging mo o'er rocks witli his big chain; — All this, with fortitude, 1 bore. Hill thougli 1 did my lato condition hate — For trees look'd on me with scorn, As if they never thought to share my fate — I still had cause to mourn ; For .'oe had loft mc in the public road. Where 1 was jostloil much; And ev'ry team that })ass'd, though great its load, iNlust needs give me a touch. But here my thoughts were busily at work — Others of my kindred were there: Joe, now and then, would roll one up and jerk So roughly as to tear Big lumps of wood from olf their sides — Then raised them with a pry As if to grind them, on a frame that slides — 1 saw the powder lly. Finally, my turn came, aid what a IV ght Came o'er me at the time! lie ripped mo through — his saw did pinch and bite- As though I'd done som.i crime ; Hut after all my ])angs were o'er, and ccol, I did not mind it muali ; Ami when doo made of me, a handsome stool, llejoiced that I was such. THK sciiooi.mastich's STOOI,. UC'J You Hi'd I'vf i\')\. M, liiuidHoiiKi pair ol' I<';j;h, Ami lliiMi;;li my hnclc is H(|tliiro, I'm u (|iia(lni|)(Ml, uml IVco IVoiii Jiiiuiy |)I]i;^ii('H, Which Irccs ur() (hxtiiiM to Hhiini. The thiiiidciholl, wil.h all hi.s rai.scH his fcMMilf, or rod, "I'ia lau;^duihl(!, irnhMul, To 8C(! how , aud a-1) al», they drawl — The ouo who kuovvH it hcst Sings out the lirst -After which 'lis all l{ci>eatcd by tin; rest. I, loo, meajiwhilc am looking at the; card. And at cacdi little crcaturo ; Ami while tliu boyH aro studying hard, Tm learning linmau nature;. (Some little girls havu bright, black ey(;s, And hair ao nieoly plaited; 'Hi" 270 A HOT JJAY IN JIAltVESr-TIME. J3ut oilier i^irla iire otherwise, With liair iill ron;j;h uml iiuilted. Some buys look bri;4lif. ;iiul some look queer, While some are fresh tis roses; Some are well dressed, some not so well appear, And some have dirty noses. Uteres one, is ol' a drowsy temperament, Thereh one, is quick and active, To books his whole attention's bent. And learning is attractive. There's one, whose chief design's on wicked play, A mischief-making creature; I see him at it almost ev'ry day, Hut dare not tell the teacher; Far it might cause a roio in school. And that I do not like to see; liesides, at some i)ropitioiis time, the fool Might vent his rage on me. A HOT DAY IN HARYEST-TIME. ■ • l^pOW clear the sky — the landscai)c ] fi^ The silence how profound! ]iri{ how serene — profound! liright is the scene, liehold the distant vai)ors how they blend, (Quivering as they from the ground ascend. The sun is hot, the atmosphere is dry; No cloud within the compass of the eye; The cows retire unto the nearest shade. Or teased by gnats, into the brook they wade. A HOT DAY IN- IlAHVESr-riMF. 271 Yet notwithstanding the oppressive heat, The reaper sweats and swelters at his wheat; While city gents and belles in yon green grove, Are lolling in the shade, and loath to move. Hehold yon man, who drives at such a speed A span of horses, of the racer breed; Adorned in richest silk, a lady by his side— They take their pleasure, when they please, they ride. Fine horses those — fine equipage indeed ! And those are gentle folks, we must concede; JJut pray of what utility are they ? "Mere drones," methinks I hear my neighbor say. " They labor not, they toil not in the leasf, Hut on the fruits of other's labor feast," And one might think that they're a happy pair; But no, their joys are few— they have their care.' The man who daily swings his cradle round. With face and hands by Sol's fierce rays imbrowned. Is still more cheerful, though he's not so gay ; But he, perhaps, is happier far Than they. lie, with a keener relish eats his bread; No vain, ambitious schemes infest his head; lie sleejjs more soundly, when his work is done, And ]leasantare the dreams that in his cranium run. Tliat man is more contented with his lot; The gnats and buzzing files disturb him not; And those peculiar pests of idleness. No portion of his cranium possess. '1i7'2 THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. THE LAND OF MY CHILDHOOD. ||MH E hind of my childhood — the scenes of my youth — ,1^^ O'er which in my fancy I ponder ; "Tj Fain would I return, even in my old age, Again o'er those wild scenes to wander. Though years have gone by, and have left on my brow, Their traces of care and of sorrow; Yet thoughts of the pleasures of youth, even now, Do brace up my nerves for the morrow. O, could I revisit those scenes I rever'd, O'er dales and o'er moors would I ramble ; And pluck the red hips, the haws and the berries, That grow on the thorn and the bramble. That dear early home, with its cheering delight. Though 'twas but a small, humble cottage, There were comfort and peace and a sharp appetite, That could relish a mess of meal pottage. THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. ||^I|AIIK ! hark I Do you not hear that booming sound! ^^ Those frequent cracks so sharp and shrill ? 'll They rend the air — they shake the very ground; Hark! hark! Again — I hear them still! What can it be? the fearful folks inquire, Still they surmise and still they wonder — THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBUKG. 273 'Tis one continued roar both deep and dire, As though it were of distant thunder. 'Tis the sound of cannon and musketry, Not distant in a Western course ; Our army is engag'd with General Lee, And his entire Confed'rate force. For such a cannonading, one may twear, Is not a skirmish or a raid : Ah! volley after volley rends the air, And fearful is the havoc made! 'Tis sending orphanage and widowhood Throughout the land, from shore to shore; For in each volley, numbers shed their blood, And numbers fall to rise no more. With citizens of strange and fearful mien, Each thoroughfare is all alive; Horse and rider hurrying from the scene, As fast as whip and spur can drive. While in their wake, alarm and fear prevail, And ev'ry hamlet hears the sound ; And fancy sees the fo3 ufon his trail. And death anl carnage all around. ^^"^^ THE GETTYSBURG BATTLE-FIELD. Suggeeted on \'[o\viv.g ll^e Field a Few Daya After the Battle. '|PJ|lL(iIlv'lM, sliMiis:;*'!-, wlioovcr you may \h\ J"j^ ^rri'iul lightly on this sacroil ground; jj The valiant dead, far as the oyc can see, liie buried hero beneath each mound ; Side by side iliey lii>, as side by side (liey fouj^lifc; What thousands nobly foui^lil and fell! And lhou<:;h the vieL'ry was so dearly bought, \vi history of their ileeds shall tell. ^^leel), heroes, sleep, in these your gory beds, Let nought disturb your sweet repose; Your (Country yet shall \)la('e your valiant heads On softer pillows — Where no I'oes i5hall ever o'er your tleath exult again ; Nor foenien's flag be Haunted o'elf you ; Nor hunger's biting sting,^, nor pang?, nor ]iain, Nor balls, nor bayonets sliall gore you. AVhen tuiuultsoease — When tdash ofaruis is husli'd And peace ]>roclainrd throughout the land ; When this reb^dlion is forever ernsh'd, l\y i^atriot soldiers' brawny hand ; Then, generations yet unborn, shall tell Of this grtat. buttle, with exult mt i)ritle, And how their eouutryiuen fous^ht, bled and fell, So iioi'h/ fell on Freedom's side. (971) BKNKATJI AN OAK. |P^Iut further still, far as lh(! eye can view, The vap'rous laudscMpe wears a somber hue; And indislinet ar(' objeels to the eye, lu>y land is scarcer dihtiiii^uisheil from the sky. 276 MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. Nearer, the num'rons forests intervene, From the palest to the deepest tints of green, With here and there a spot in verdure gray, Where happy homes of prosp'rous farmers lay : And fields of grain, up to the mountain's height, Were waving in the breeze — a cheering sight To the industrious husbandman — I pass'd him by, His sunburnt face was radiant with joy. Again the country smiles with plenteousness. No fear is felt of famine or distress ; What man of sense can view the pleasing scene, And feel no sense of gratitude within? And yet I hear a murmur now and then From discontented, avaricious men. But Nature heeds them not — pursues her plan, Is ever bountiful to selfish man, Notwithstanding his shortcomings now and then, And his un kindness to his fellow-men. MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. |pi| ANG- the fleas — the pests," said she. And scratch'd her back and look'd at me- " My hate of fleas I can't express. And yet they hate me none the less. '* If I could catch them all asleep, Or had them all in one great heap, How glad I'd be to glut my ire! I'd make of them a ereat bonfire." MRS. CURSES THE FLEAS. 277 MR. REMONSTRATES WITH HER. " Fie! madam, fie — dont curse the fleas; Poor innocents ! altliongh they tease, Tliey only suck the stagnant blood, Which is their means of HvelihooL "As beasts were made to graze the field, 80 fleas their suction-pipes must wield ; And they must live as well as we — This, is the substance of their plea. "But do not pout and look so stern, You many a lesson, yet, may learn ; Ne'er mind the fleas — for what's the use? They'll harm you not, more than a goose. " When you lie down, like lazy sheep, 'Tis right, they will not let you sleep; You have no right to doze your time away In idle habits night and day. " You speak in jest, and why not own it? 'Tis funny when one thinks upon it, To see and feel their agile movements, As ladies show their late improvements. " They strut and dance — make much ado — They play and jump like kangaroo; Sometimes, solitary and alone, Sometimes, in Indian file one by one, Sometimes, like cavalry in a race. Or like a puck of hounds in chase. 24 278 MltS. CURSES THE FLEAS. •' Von, _c;entlemen and liidiesgay, Who seek for pleasure niglit and day, Who dress in cloth and satin fine, Wiio feast on dainties and on wine, Who tax your wits, in vain, to find b'onie way to drive the ennui from the mind. You scream to tread upon a worm. It shocks your nerves to see it squirm ; And if a flea but bite your back. You lidge as if upon a rack : But }on've not tasted half the pleasures. Nor have you dream'd of half the treasures roEsess'd by beggar?, poor and old — 'J'hey, would not part with fleas for heaps of gold.' MRG. BECOMES INDIGNANT. " Fools that they arc — and you're no wiser — Some si)i)j)le beggar s your adviser; ^'ou always copy from such fools. Or draw your thouj^hts from l*agan scliools ; You'd better read your Uible more — As I have told you oft before — • Or books of prayers and devotions, And lay aside such foolish notions." ^"^^-^ MARY'S DISAPPOINTED HOPES. jll ! Mary once was beautirul :iiul young, And like ix lark, so cheerful was her song; ITcr step was nimble and her heart was light, Her dreams were pleasant and her hopes Avero bright, Jfer bosom then was like a fairy bower, Adorn'd with wreaths of evergreen and flower; With no vile reptiles to disturb her joy; She thought, perhaps, that pleasures ne'er would cloy. Strong ho|)('s had she that spring would ever stay; The morrow be as joyous as to-day; That lloweis wouhl ever in their beauty bloom, To Ecent the atmosphere with their perfume; That birds would ever sing in cheerful glee, To cl)eer her soul with lively melody, That Sol's mild beams would o'er her ever soar, And light her pathway now, and evermore. Say, will you ever stiiy, bird, ilower, and bloom, To fill the air with beauty and perfume, To cheer her soul with melody and joy. And happiness untainted with alloy? Will blooming health, and teeming wealth, attend ller course through life, and pleasure never end ? Will smiling lip?, upon her ever smile, Will eyes of light, forever gleam the while ? (27U) 280 MISS H K.I O ICING OVER Will she be ever blest witli fairy dreams ? Will that bright sua forever cast his beams In miklncss on her? Will vernal showers fall, To beautify the huulscapo at her call ? "No," says tlie Sun, " that never can be so — I must fulfill my mission — I nuist go — I proniis'd faithfully, and must appear In regions of the Southern hemisphere:" "No," says the Bird, " I cannot ever sing — I only sing to cheer my mate in spring — And when the sun departs, I wing my llight To regions more congenial and bright:" *' No," says Ihe Flower, " I cannot ever bloom, To scent the air with beauty and perfume; When winter comes, as very soon it must, You'll see my drooping head laid in the dust." MISS — REJOICING OYER HER SIUGLE BLESSEDNESS. 1^ AM not married yet, *^» And I care not for that, tj 1 am free, independent and merry; I can live at my ea'e, 1 can go when I jilease, And as long as I please c.ui 1 tarry. You silly young girls, Who smile through your curls, HKIl SINdLK HLK-ISKDNKSS. 281 'I'o iilcjise some viiin lop or some other; If you should get married You'll wish you had tarried At home with your fjither and mother. l"\)r when you are tied, With a man at your side, Your troubles are daily increasing; You may cook, knit and sew. Like a gin-horse you may go In a circle, Ibrcver unceasing. You may talk of the bliss. And the sweets of a kiss, Married life is forever enjoying; Jiut, oh, 'tis a hoax, And most married folks Can toll you that this is annoying. I'll set up my bonnet. With gay ribbons on it. And to the vain gazers I'll show it; But by the "Old Harry" I'm not going to marry. Nor sell myself cheap, if I know it. But I've got a beau, That will have me, I know, Whenever I say I am ready; He has got sandy hair, lie is handsome and fair, Ho is lovely, and courteous, and steady. 2-J* 282 HOME, SWEET HOME. And the people all stare, Like a newly caught hare, "When sometimes we go out a walking; Well, I do not know, But that Eome day I'll go, And stop the vain tattlers from talking. HOME, SWEET HOME. |^|OMK, sweet home, how cheering is the name! g^^ In ev'ry clime and country 'tis the same; ^P Home of our childhood, that early home, "Which memory cherishes where'er we roam. Affection clings to it in after years, The picture ever bright and fresh appears ; Those faces bright, which we did idolize, "Which were like sunshine to our infant eyes, Are still remember'd as Time's stream rolls on, Though half a century since then has gone. The window-pane through which we first look'd out "Upon the beauteous world, and things about, Whose checker'd scenery and colors bright, Enraptur'd us and charm'd our infant sight; The hills and streams and open fields between, The orchard and the garden fresh and green. In which we gambol'd on a summer day, The woodland shade where hours were pass'd away, Tlie blazing fire, the ev'ning tale and lay, The social gath'ring on a holiday, THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION. 283 The walk to school, to fair, to church, or mill, Are images that live in mem'ry still. They follow us in all the walks of life. When jostling with the world's turmoil and strife. They lighten up our pathway with their rays. They guide our footsteps in our darkest days. THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION. H^HE New World from the Old receives supplies: T«*^ America continues still to rise; The tide of emigration Westward fio\vs,J As nat'ral as a duck to water goes. Ours ought to be a vig'rous race, indeed. If true the vigorous ever take the lead ; -Such is the case in Britain's Isle, at least, The enterprising still are leaving fast. If they can means procure to pay their fare, Unto the nearest seaport they repair, Unto a more extensive field to go. That their advent'rous powers they miy show. By far the most go to the Western shore, Whither friends and relatives have gone before ; In search of fortunes, hither do they roam. Or, some of them, to seek a happier home. The young, as they at maturity arrive, With their ambitious schemes are all alive ; The white cockade, red coat, or glittering sword, 3<]ntice them, they enlist, are soon on board. 584 THE TIDE OF EMIGRATION". The thoughts of cutting throats do in their noJdles reyel. They go to India to keep the Hindoos civil, Where, in a year, they invalids become. And then they'd give their all to get back home. iSome show their powers in another sphere, As though fame never could be bought too dear; Tliey to the rigorous Arctic regions go, To freeze or starve amid the everlasting snow. Again, some go to Afric's wilds and wastes, Jiecause in this direction run their tastes, • A hunting elephants, perhaps, where soon They die among the Mountains of the Moon. Some, less adventurous, or less bold, To El l")orado go to dig for gold, AVith kindred spirits who've run from home. Where wild, and reckless, and rakish they become. Enduring much privation and fatigue, Juggling, jostling, cliicanery, and intrigue, And wear and tear of body, mind and brain, At length they find their hopes and prospects vain. Inordinate desire for wealtii thus prompts them on, In blind pursuit of something on they run. Till their career is stopp'd — they pine and die, And in a foreign land beneath the clods they lie. Thus human warfare far extends its sway, And carries off its victims day by day; The proud, the humble, enemies and friends. Are brought to'dust, and here the contlict ends. OK TWO FINE HORSES— "JIM AND DANDY.' T S I went o'er to Stewartstown Upon a summer day, I saw two of the finest steeds That e'er were fed on hay. They drew a carriage, rich and granJ, 1'hat glisten'd in the sun. In which a gent and lady sat. And laugh'd to see tlieni run. They went like swallows on the wing, I thought they'd run away; I felt an apprehension for This gent and lady gay. But no, they sat and felt secure, "Wftliout a sign of fright, Although these noble blooded steeds Flew like a streak of light. So tractable to whip and rein ; Perfectly safe and sure I Naught on four legs could cope with them, Or longer could endure. "Were I the happy owner of This splendid pair of steeds, I'd show the gentry of the turf Some feats and glorious deeds. (885) 586 ON TWO FINE HORSES — "JIM AND DANDY/ AVitli these two liorses and this carriage, And this young lady gay, I would not wish a better fortune, Or a nobler display. I would not thank the President To be my father then ; I'd think myself as rich as he^ And happiest of men. It curls my wool to hear you boast, When you are soak'd with brandy; Your horses are but plodding steers, Compar'd with "Jim and Dandy." Hitch them before a vehicle, A buggy, cart, or carriage ; Just tickle them, and let them know They're going to a marriage. They'll bow their necks and prick their ears, And set the wheels a spinning; If they don't go, why tell me so, And I'll confess I'm sinning. Just try to pass them on the road. And you will see some fun, sir; You'll be surprised to see them move, So swiftly can they run, sir. The proud young sparks spur on their nags, But these fine steeds don't mind them ; >Yithout an effort on they go, And leave the jades behind them. LORD 'S FARM. 28T If you can catch a streak of light, Or bottle up the thunder, Then you may hope to catch these steeds, But then 'twill be a wonder. And do you ask of me, my friend, Their lineage to trace, sir? They're of John Gilpin's famous stock. That never lost a race, sir. Xow if you don't believe my tale, Lcok for yourself — indeed, sir. Their size and color, make and shape, Prove them of noble breed, sir. LORD 'S FARM. I^OME dwarfisli, stunted sassafras, ^^ AH o'er the place are seen ; Ij Some poverty-grass and sickly weedSy (irow in the space between. For years it has not seen a plough, A mattock or U hoe ; 'Tis going back to its wild state, As fast as it can go. 'Tis not a cultivated farm ; Nor is it forest land ; 'Tis neither one thing nor the other, 'Tis neither soil nor sand: •88 MEMORIES OF THE HEART. Nor is't a howling wilderness; No beasts of prey are there; A cricket here and there is seen ; lUit they are thin with care. The Katy-dids try hard to sing Their praises to the moon ; But oh 1 they tremble, falter, stop — They cannot raise the tune. l*oor things — they cannot get enough Of food to make a meal ; Starvation stares them in the face, And sad is their appeal. Ah ! sure the man that owns that tract, IMust be a flagrant sinner, "When grass-hoppers and Katy-dids Can't even find a dinner. MEMORIES OF THE HEART. ^]0||lIE heart has memories that never die, ^^^ And which this world's rough rubs cannot destroy; 'tp They are visions of home and early days, Of by-gone scenes and happy, harmless plays. There is the tree 'neath which the youth did play. And gambol'd on many a summer day; Yonder, the pond o'er which the swallows skim, The same in which he bath'd and learu'd to swim. SOCIAL LOVE. 289 There is the house, though somewhat worse with wear, In which he early knew a parent's care ; The lawn, o'er which he frolick'd like a hare, With sister or brother, long since, alas! Consign'd to earth beneath the verdant grasp, O'ershadoAv'd by the church's mournful shadi, Where his own mortal frame must soon be laid. And e'en the schoolhouse which, in early youth. Associated with long tasks, forsooth, Comes fresh again to his active mind, With its delightful memories behind. 'Twas there, perhaps, the spark of love Was kindled, or receiv'd a start; 'Twas there, psrhaps, he learn'd to feed The finest emotions of the heart. 'Twas there, perhaps, he first that being knew. For whom his passion strong and stronger grew; Who afterwards became his lawful wife, Partner in all the cares and hones of life. SOCIAL LOVE. Ij^jiOW sweet is Social Love — when e'en a smile «^^ Can ev'ry pang and painful thought beguile I [P When cires disturb, when sorrows wring the heart. Love's magic quickly heals the painful smart. What man, indeed, can e'er unhappy be, AVhen hearts with his vibrate with sympathy? Though dark and cold to him may seem the world, 86 290 THE LONELY LOVER, Though Late abound, and calumny be hurl'd, Though toil fatigue his limbs, and bus'ness his mind, Let him but change the scene, a solace shall he find, Within the ark of love. Affection's smiles, The voice of tenderness, liis children's wiles, All tend to dissipate, or lull to rest. The storms that lately rag'd within his breast. THE LONELY LOYER. Ijp^ ONCE I was happy and blest in my station, ^^ And oft with my Jamie o'er meads did I stray; Nor dream'd of the lonely and sad separation. Of which I now brood, and mourn night and day. Chorus — how can 1 sing, or be jovial and free, Or how can I join with the social and gay ; Or how can I dunce as of yore in my glee, Since he that I love is far, far away ? He's gone to the war that's late put in motion, To fight for his country, his country to save; The proud king of Britain, the monarch of ocean. Would rob us of Freedom, our country enslave. Chorus — Then how can I sing, &c. How dearly I lov'd him, how fondly I doated Upon his fine form and the beauty display'd I His heart it is true, and to me much devoted, Nor doubt 1 his faith, or tlie pledge that he made. Chorus — But how can I sing, &c. WHAT I'd do when I BECAME A MAN. 291 OK WOMAN'S FASCINATING POWERS. l^pOW can the sweet young creatures conquer, ^^ Or such stern hearts trepan ; T] How can they ever overcome That churlish creature man ? With baited smiles, and dimpled cheeks, And pearly rows of teeth ; And scented breath, and lily necks. And fairy forms beneath. With silks and flowing muslin robes — The best produc'd by looms — And yards of ringlets, black or auburn, And rarest rich perfumes. With pouty, pulpy, crimson lips. And crimson blushes, too; And whisper'd vows of constant love, They say they'll ne'er undo. WHAT I'D DO WHEN I BECAME A MAN HOP'D and vowed, when I became a man Great exploits would I do — I'd do great things — 'Tf^ I'd go to the farthest hill that I could scan, To see the moon, to know on what she swings. I'd travel round this little world of ours — Wliich I, childlike, consider'd flat and round — I'd take a vessel — submit it to the wind's strong powers, Where'er I ould not travel ou the ground. 292 I'm getting tired of pjetry I'd rock my bark against the vault of heaven. Prove by the touch of what tlie sky was made; To prove tliis doubt, oft indeed, I'd striven, I thought 'twas either pewter, tin, or lead. Tiiese things I'd do, and more, when old enough and grown ; Impatiently I waited and racked my pate ; Thus, on Idream'd, castles were built, and bubbles blown. Until 1 came to man's estate. Long since grown to man's stature, what have I done ? Notliing worthy of notice, as it seems — And my career will doubtless end as 'twas begun, In naught but visionary dreams. I'M GETTING TIRED OF POETRY. ^ 'M getting tired of poetry; "^ I sometimes think 'tis vanity; For much of it I know Is nonsense and profanity. One draws so fine a picture, Of his bewitching Mies; You'd think she was a creature Of the realms of bliss. Endow'd with all the graces, "Without; the least defect; pshaw! what airy castles The poet can erect. SOLDIER JOHNIIY'S FAREWELL TO HIS MARY. I^AREWELL awhile, my Mary dear, .^^*. I'm bound for Mexico, Miss; tp Don't weep for me, wipe off that tear, More fortitude do show, Miss. Let slaves and cowards who trembling fear To strike a resisting blow. Miss, Shrink back the trump of war to hear, And basely dread to go, Miss. What man of feeling can withhold, With passions flame to glow, Miss, While murd'ring weapons uncontrol'd. His countrymen lay low. Miss? Our country calls for vengeance, dear, Upon the murd'rous foe, Miss ; Heav'n grant a scourging power, sevire. To cause their overthrow. Miss. MARY'S LETTER TO JOHNNY. I gladly wish the wars were o'er, I gladly wish thee home again ; I gladly wish I could restore My Johnny ne'er to roam again. How sad and lonesome now I feel. When absent from my John, awhile; (2j3) 291 SOLDIER JOHNXY's FAUEWKLL to his MARY. It grieves my heart, it breaks my weal To think that John is gone awhile. O, that some kind protecting care, Might aid his safe retnrn again ! Then sorrow, grief, and sad despair, In gladness I can spurn again. I'ome home, dear Johnny, leave the wari, You've serv'd your country long enough ; To shield the eagle, stripes, and stars. Sure Taylor's army's strong enough. JOHNNY'S ANSWER. V cease, my Mary, to complain, That I of bliss bereave thee ; Sing not in such a mournful strain, Tiiough it may somewhat grieve thee ; And soon I will come back again — ne'er can I deceive thee — Aye, in thy presence to remain, And nevermore to leave thea. EEPORT CF JOHNNY'S DEATH-MARY'S LAMENTATIONS Farewell all hopes of happiness, 1 wander now forlorn, Destin'd through trying scenes severe, In widowhood to mourn. lie upon the cruel wars, And thund'ring cannons ro.ir ! They've murder'd my poor lovely lad — J^Iy Johnny is no more. THE WAYS OF MANKIND. 395 Alas! what sin and wickedness, \'ile mortals perpetrate; How great must be the punishment, Which waits the sinner's fate! God's Will be done — death must ere long llemove these bitter draughts; E'en now from wretched scenes of eartl^, I heavenward turn my thoughts. CONTINUED IN ANOTHER STRA:N. Come now, sweet Death, my eyelids close — I'm tired of life and all its cares, Since thou'st depriv'd me of my love — Who no«v shall shield me from lift's snares? I've now no consolation left, Since he is gone who once wa3 mine : This world has lost its charms for me, In grief I languish and repine. guide me where my John is gone. To heav'nly regions let me soar; 'Twas oft my wish, when life was sweet, To die when happiness was o'er. THE WAYS OF MANKIND. ^||HE ways and notions of mankind, . ^^. Provoke me to a smile ; T[ Whene'er I muse, upon their views. Their vain and useless broil ; I do declare, and almost swear. Such things did ne'er beguile 596 THE CRICKET. My simple jiate, since nature great, First rais'd me from tiie soil. Each fancies that he's much abus'd, And thus torments his pate With strange conceit — his passions heat To show his mortal hate. When round I scan, I hear each man. Express his doleful state. Lamenting sore, forevermore, His wo.s and sorrows great. THE CRICKET. M|ffAlvKI 'tis the cricket's shrill, small voice — -^^ In crevices does he rejoice I jP How cheerful are his little song?, Which he the livelong night prolongs! AVhat is the subject of his lay, Does he sing of his lady gay '? Or is he pouring out his soul, As he sits in that humble hole, In evening hymns and melodies? Or does he loudly thus jiroclaiin, Some mighty insect-warrior's fame? Or laud the name of some great sage, Whose wisdom far exceeds the age? Have insects their heroes, tyrants and kings. Orators, poets, and other nich things? Who can tell? THE CRICKET. 397 The lively cricket in the nook, As we por'd o'er some fav'rite book, Or view'd the curling sulphurous smoke, AVe well remember his cheerful song, As we sat amid the social tlirong. Father, mother, sisters, brother, Before to rest they retir'd €onvers'd of the little warbler, As a thing we all admir'd. But now the cricket and the nook, The battle-door, and spelling book. The humble cottage near the wood, The pleasant home of our childhood, Are swept by Time's resistless blast. Into the abyss of the past. And those who listen'd, where are they? Father, mother, sisters, brother — past away; They're scatter'd and parted by wind and wave, And some are buried in the grave. sad the memories, deep and strong, Jnspir'd by that cricket's song; It tells of happy days now gone forever; Of merry hours that can return, no never; It brings to view the furrow'd cheek, Of the living, the palsied, and the weak, And the pale faces of the dead. GK5\(^^^;®)/e)^ 298 THE HOMEWARD JOUilXEY. THE ROSE. ^^EHOLD that rose, with lovely hue, ^^ Unfold her leaves divine; tj To catch the sunshine and the dew, And show her beauties fine. Blow gently, winds — your force withhold; Blow gently on the rose, Let not thy strength and breezes cold Her leaves thus discompose. And such young lass, must be your doom; Your youth must pass away; Soon like the rose, your beauteous bloom, Must wither and decay. THE HOMEWARD .JOURNEY. ||I||HE night is cheerless, and the air is chill ; ^^ Icicles hang on ev'ry shrub and tree; V tf/ ^ly horse and I, go trudging homeward, on Amid the howling storm; wiiile cheerful fires Glare up against the vail in ev'ry house — Whose inmates sit in case; nor care, nor cold Gives them a pang. Some friends do plead with me to stay till morn; And fain would I obey — but thoughts of home Still urge me on — Sweet liome, how cheering is the sound! And blest indeed is he who has a hciue. THE MOTHER AND HER SAILOR SO^ST. 299- When filial ties endear him to the spot; What matter though it be an humble cot, Beside some grove or in some sylvan vale, If plenty smile, and want show not his face. Those pleasant homes and mansions which I pass, Kemiud me of the times at Summer Lodge ; And almost make me wish for their return. Methinks 'twould be a happier life — could I But gain a livelihood as once I did. By laboring on my own productive farm: — I rested safe and sound at night, And best of all I was content. But now — 0, loath am I to tell — I supplicate each passer-by. And call at ev'ry house to sell a book. Sometimes in vain: — And oft I'm doom'd to bear the sneers. The ruthless taunts, and cutting jokes Of thoughtless, heartless, unsympathizing folks. THE MOTHER AND HER SAILOR SON, ^^i^llO but a parent can reveal ^^ The sorrows which true parents feel, U Who mourn the absence of a son. That to a foreign land has gone ? If tidings come, they fear his fate; If not, anxiety is great; They fear they'll never see him more, Till wafttd to that distant shore. 300 THE MOTlIKll AND HEll SAILOR SON. Hear yen mother sorrowing o'er Her sad bereavement evermore; Iler thouglits are 0!i that wayward son — This is her thome, aiul this alone: "1 have a son, it' he lives yet, Of whom no tidings do I get ; I have not seen him for ten years," — And then again will ilow her tears. " I fear tliat some voracious beast, Long since of him has made a feast ; The tokens come on billows roar, That I shall never see hiin more. "What joy I felt when he was young, To hear his prattle and his song; Bright were my hopes that he would be A comfort in declining years to me. " Uut, ah I those hopes, as years roll'd o.i, Departed — For, oh, that dear lov'd son — As father did — to sea would go — 'Twas then real sorrow did 1 know ! " His f*ther, whom I dearly lov'd, — As since it lias been duly prov'd — Was swallow'd in the deep blue sea; That was a shocking stroke to me ! "And next my son would go — he left — Then, oh tlien, was I bereft! He kindly bid me not to mourn. And in a year he would return. AVRITTEN" ON A VISIT TO TAINTEIl's BRIDGE. 301 "And now, though ten long years I've monrn'd, He has not to this day return'd, And, oh, I fear he never will ; And I'm a widow — lonely still." But hush I oh, hush! he's coming now — AVhat man is that with sun-burnt brow ? joy ! it is that long-lost son — The warfare's o'er — the victory won ! Wealth has he gain'd — and now he's come To cheer that solitary home; 'J'o dissipate that mother's fears And comfort her declining years. y^v< WRITTEN WHEN ON A VISIT TO PAINTER'S BRIDGE. .''TT'J.ASI that once delightful home, Ador'd in early years; tj^ Before fate doom'd my stepi to roam — Alas! that once delightful home! A gloomy aspect wears. When doom'd to baar the bitter blast, On mountain-height or plain — I've dream'd that when all storms were pass'd 'J'hat I'd return and find at last The sports of youth again ! Ikitah! how strange! where are the charms^ The sweet and blooming flowers? Alas! the change my soul alarms, 20 302 0\ A HUGE HEAP OF ROCKS. The maid's not there with open arms, To welcome me to native bowers. ^ly earliest love, a beauteous maid, Was wedded to a knave; In grief she pin'd and soon decay'd, The bloom upon her cheek diJ fade, Ah, now she's in her gravel ON A HUGE HEAP OF ROCKS That Overhang the Traveler's Path near Harper's Ferry. mi HEY seem'd as though they'd fall, and crush ^ ^, The traveler in his path — 'y rrecii)itate their sides — One pil'd upon another. As if in an hour of wrath The hand of Nature thing them there, For tlie sport of wind and rain; For in a storm they seem'd to totter to and fro In threat'ning altitudes. But yet they've stood tlie test of ages — The efforts of the winds to throw them down Hitherto have fail'd. The wolves and foxes find a safe retreat From man, their enemy; The eagle, poreh'd uyton their rugged sides, Seems lonl of all. THE bird's nest. 303 Some stunted trees upon their shelving sidei Rear up their puny heads ; And some few beds of verdant moss May here and there be seen : All else, is dreariness of aspect, And strikes the traveler with fear. THE BIRD'S NEST. 8 that a bird's nest perch'd upon that limb, TMade basket-fashion and lin'd so neat and trim ? Why, what a curious piece of workmanship! IIow wast thou form'd; by whom; what tools had he That built thee? hatchet, gimlet, saw, all three? "No, nothing of the kind." Why, I'm surprise 1! How many years apprenticeship was serv'd By the architect of that snug abode ? "None at all — Natural instinct taught the moie." He must have had nimble fingers. "No fingers at all — Nothing but a beak." No tools! no fingers! Form'd by a little bird! It is the strangest thing 1 ever heard ! Can man imitate it, with a host of tools. And all the knowledge of our boasted schools, And twenty years' apprenticeship beside ? " I think not, sir." Wliat, not with Reason's guide? What! he who boasts so much of excellence, Pre-eminence, ingenuity, intelligence. And cannot make so small a structure ? What a wonder! ;i()i !-lK\K\lN(l ON lIMlll'.lt UUANCII. ON GEEING A IIUNGRY MOUSE. U IIOI lilllt" iiioiisc, iii\« yoii lluMf ^j*. l''rislviii^', caixTiiiij; ovim* llu' lloor ? Jl \ou si'cm to iiilijilo llu» IVt'sli uir \\ ill) ;i I'n'i'ilom unst'cn holorc: l'\'('(liii;^ (Ml crinults ol' 1m(\iiI, juhI iiumI, Wliii'li. no lUnihl, to you, is a iVnst ; Asi'v'rv hitter Ihiiiu; is.swcci, 'l\» iimi tlial's lmii;;;rv — mail or Ix'ust. Hill, liio away l»arl\, little mousi* ; "V\s liu'ky (Imt. puns is not Ucw; She's lalvin;:; ii stroll roiiiul the lioiido — On 111 let', sho is very sovoro. Hut, (>. I sie, vain is my plaint, llun«;er hus loi'i'M you from your retreat ; INeeessity kiu)wa iu> restraint, Aiul aiiimul Uiituro inusl out. SURVEY INQ ON TIMBER BRANCH. \K\\ (he lulls mul over the tlulos, T- - ("ivepiu^, (umhlinn, Hiul sliiliui; we i;"o; Teiirin^ our (rousors, mul soratehiui:^ our oye.i, Anioui;- the laurels ami roi'ks that hanpj t>'or tho cha^ni helow. Mi:i»ri'A'i IONS. :{Oft **()iil," cries l.lit> lender, "hriii!'; on your |iiiis." "Mie.k," " Hl.iKJk," ",s(iek," "hI.iic.1v," (niwjird iij^niii; "Where ill llii' world is Mud. (Iu'miiui ^'one, And where did yon .sliclv your l;isl, pinV" Lord li(d|» IIS to hejir our (roiihle iuid c;ire, I'lilieiitly, (iiiliiily, without (loH|tiiiriM;j; ; And li(d|> iiH out of thin wildenie.sH drear, All 1 oh, for/^MVu us lor Hweiiriujj; ! An! these the .sweet |de.i.siire,s and JoyH of Hurveyiii^ V Whiievcr sayH ho i.s a liar; ^V1||^ wouldn't rather he throttled oiitri/^ht, 'J'liaii liiin^ with agraiievin(! or hrior? MEDITATION ■ 4<)^ ^!\(!|']oii a f^'iitle, peai^'fiil Sal)h,itli day, .\k wiiiniiier ill her gladness ever l)r(^;i.th'd <)'er this didi^litlul earth I Htroll'd away To He(d\ a Hale retreat l''ar IVoiii tlii! liaiiiitH And pahuM-H of niini — and hold coiniiiiiiiioii With Nature's works, iiiii|;iiirK;ent and ^^'raiid. Some llei'Cy (doiids of lii/lit fantastic; shape AVero wafted slowly o'er the Uriiiaiiu'iit; 1'ho warhlin^ soii^^'sters of the wood wen; still, As if tiK'y, loo, were iiieditatiii^ on the S(;ene; Not e'en a cricket coiihl he heard to (diirp In I hat calm, solemn hour. Atiiiterv.ils A sound of j)raiH(! from the villa/^'e (diiirch (;ame irth, 30G MEDITATIONS. Which, dying in the distance, like distant waterfall. At times, drew baclc my thouglits to things of earth. llovv peaceful, then, tlie elements above I How peaceful all below I In that calm hour All things were hu3h'd. How great the contrast! The other night, loudly did the thunders roll. The lire of ether flashed from pole to pole la mad fantastic fury — as if all things Must be destroy'd, or hurl'd into the great abyss ; And mortal men who boast at other times, And utter ungodly oaths — quail'd at the sight. As birds of prey, sometimes do flutter in affright. O! God, may I once view the Universe, In its brightest aspect — its fairest light, As in its calmest mood exhibited ; When undisturb'd by elemental fury, Which sometimes does disturb its harmony, As furious passions mar mankind. The storms of hail, of snow, of beating rain; The rending of the elements, the throes The earth herself must sometimes undergo; The rushing of her waters, upheaving of Her surface, when earthquakes visit her; Jiet me o'erlook such ills — if so they may li3 call'd — And look on Nature when placid is her face. Such irruptions, upheavals, are doubtlessly ordain'd To purge the earth of all her filth — which would Otherwise become stagnant, and breed disease Contagious — And living animals 3Iust die of the insufferable stench. But Thy wise Providence has so ordain'd All things that hi, tint health and enjoyniMit, THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. 307 May be promoted in Thy creatures here. Not only man, but ev'ry living thing, lias reason to rejoice in its own being. There is variety in all Thy works, And all things harmonize beneath Tliy care ; The spheres pursue their regular courses still, Around the orbs to which they are attach'd ; The earth, likewise, is whirl'd around the Sun; The seasons come, dispensing life and health. In Nature's works there's also beauty great, To him who thinks and contemplates aright. THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. CP]RTA1N young lady, just eighteen years old, .,„> . Had many young suitors, both gallant and bold; tj And bright were her prospects and happy her days, As happy as a butterfly in bright, sunny rays. She had many offers and proffers to wed, How lucky the man tliat would get her, 'twas said, Yet none could succeed, till Jack came along, A blooming young fellow both hearty and strong. But on came the war — the war that is past — Great was the bounty — and men came in fast, To fight for their country, their freedom and laws, And ])eril their lives in the glorious cause. And Jack was as brave as the bravest of all, So he must go, too, and respond to tlie call ; 308 THE SOLDIER AND HIS LADY. He deem'd it his duty to hasten away, Though his lady with tears besought him to stay. lie follow'd liis general to meet the grim foe, And many poor fellows before him laid low; In twenty great battles he foremost was found, When horses and riders lay thick on the ground. And loud were the shouts and praises he heard, And great were the honors npon him conferr'd; His prowess, his brav'ry, his skill unsurpass'd, Insur'd h:s promotion to high rank at last. Thus time roU'd on, and four long years had pass'd, When peace was restor'd and brought him home at last, With his shoulder straps on and the wealth he'd amass'd, But the sound of his praises had come on the blast. He sought his young maiden to share in his wealth, But vain was the search — for care and ill-health Had carried her off — She lay in the ground — This, to our hero, was a dangerous wound. He wandered about — he grieved and he sighed, He wish'd o'er and o'er, in his heart, he had died On the battle-field, pierc'd, mangl'd and torn. For now he was lonely, and sad, and forlorn. ^^"^ TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. ^pOW many years have pass'd and gone — J^^ How swift the flight of time — jT Since we left Britain's isle to seek Columbia's favoi'd clime. Impressions strong and deep remain. And on our minds are trac'd ; Our early friends are not forgot, Nor early scenes effac'd. ]\ricklehurst Moor with her black heath, Buckton, "Warmton, Bagley Knowe, Mossley, Iioughtown, and Quick Hedge Brook Bottom, ^lossley Brow. And Tummion Lane, and Tummion Wall, Winter-hill, and Shadow's-lane, And Greenfield-rocks, and Pots-and-Pans, Our memories yet retain. We recollect old Dan-at-Brun, Old Jack and little Joss; And younger friends with whom we've stroH'd, O'er hill, o'er heath, and moss. The linnet, mope, and sky-lark's notes. The throstle and the thrush. And other songsters of your isle. That sing on twig or bush. (.•^OJ) 310 TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. Though in Glen Rock we hear them not, Yet we rejoice to know, They gladden yet, and cause the heart, With joy to overflow. But we have joys you know not of, Sweet music, too, we hear; We've Katy-dids and cricket3 large, Which e'en the night do cheer. We've bull-frogs, too, of gorgeous size, That bellow in the eve ; As well as herring-frogs that chirp, Night's dullness to relieve. The Whip-poor-Will, among these lines, *Tis requisite to note, In early spring, at eve and morn. With joy he swells his throat. The ploughman hears his merry voice. Before the twilight gray, Adorns the Eastern horizon To announce the king of day. In short, our hills, our dale?, our fens. Are full of life and mirth ; So yours is not the only land — The favor'd of the earth. Our fire-bugs, too, whose sparkling light. Enlightens all the air; Would frighten you, as Lantern Jack, Does frighten and ensnare. TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. 311 Besides we have a numerous host Of birds of plumage rare, And though they cannot sing like jours, For beauty they'll compare. And as to flowers, we have enough Of ev'ry form and hue ; Your pale and sickly things are not A circumstance to view. But if you wish to see a sight, Come view our forests wide, That crown our hills both far and near And flourish in their pride. And fields of grain on every side Are waving in the breeze. And Indian corn, the stalks of which Would compare with your trees. "What man could wish a better treat. Than on a pleasant morn, To take a walk to Fissel's Church And view the infant corn. Or fields array'd in living green. And peach trees in full bloom, And ajiple trees all deck'd in white Yielding their rich perfume. Or o'er old Shadrack's hill to walk, Between tall trees to pass, With Ilog-town vale before his eyes, And fields like panes of glass. 312 TO LEWIS LEES IN ENGLAND. With not a scrub, or rock, or stamp, The plough to incommode, Where labor is a pleasant task, 'Tis Plenty's sweet abode. And e'en Glen Eock has charms for those Who the sublime admire; Her tow'ring hills with lofty thoughts The thhiking man inspire. To perch on Mark's or Martin's rock 5, Away from noise and strife, He feels himself above all fear And ruminates on life. Anon, he sees the iron-horse Come rushing through the vale, As though destruction were his aim; — All trembles in his trail. But on our rocks were safe enough, We can defy his boast; So he may yell and scream and hiss. We fear not all his host. As eagles on a precipice, When winds do rave and blow. Look down upon the boist'rous sea And scorn the waves below. ^ity, my son, Tlioso good diiYS iiro i^ouc. WluMi !v wilV li!Vil a slu'op and a cow ; Sho oinild .spill. Knit and sew, And niako the work i^o. \\ liilo (ho luisbind was followiiii; liis plougli. *' I'Mit how is it now ? Will may wo ask how ; lUit 'tis no us.' to toll you, 1 soo, Marry ono of thoso llirts, \'on'll got your deserts, Uottor hang yourself first on a tree." THE SONG OF THE LITTLE BIRD, WHITTLE-DICK. |AV, have you never heard, that merry little birv], •S'i 11^' '^ '>^^ bigger than a mouse, 'IT And yet t he whole day long, he sings his merry song^ In front of Mr. Hurns's house As near as 1 ean tell, as well as I csm spell, • ris •• Whittlede-whit ! Whittle-de-whit! " lie ha^ a little wile, who's de.ir to hiiu as life. Their nest is on a shady tree, .\ud while the lady's hatching, the gentleman iswatching. Meanwhile he's singing elieerily. His lovely little song, it i.s not very long — •• Whittle de-whit: W'hittle-de whit '. " I'pon that shady tree, frvun all intruders tree. Their days it\ happiness arc spent. TOM DA 1(111 KK TV. .•J2.1 \'\u' Id, i(, Hliitm or lain, l.licy invir do (!()iii|»liiiii, I'lll, iilwayH Hnciii lo 1)1' CDiilriil, ; JIc iiopH from liinl) i.(> liiiii), il, in Ixii, play lo him - '« WhiLLle-de-wliit! VVIiiLUo-d.r-wliin " 'J'lio wrilcr of tlicHc; rliyiiKtH, was oviirjoycil al Uiiiob, 'I'o li(!iir this merry singer sin^, l''(ii- ill tiic rnoriiiii^(!arly, th(! bird would vvaki'liim fairif With iiis iiKriiy voio<;'H liii//; Jlc'd 0|)0 IiIh lilti(; hill, and then say lotid and Hhiill, *'Whil,I.I(;-d(;-whiU Whi(,l,lr;-dc-whit! " If" yoii'ic i»('i|»h'xrd vvil.h lioiihlc, iC harddiipH hciid yoB doiihic, ''I'wiil «'anr, your licart- and iiialu; you Hl-roiifi^, .Just at tin; hrcak ol' day, Homo pioaHaiit morn in May, To Hpoml an hour and hear thin hoii,!% I'm Hiiri' you'll not rc^M'ct i(, you iK'vri- can ("or^^ci if,: "\Vhill,h--d.--\vhit! \Vliitl.l.;-dc-vvliit!" TOM DAUGIIRnTY. aBpAST Sutnmor 'I'om I)aup;h('rl.y mow'd for mr; ,^^™ Ho mow'd with the youn/^ and tin; Htron;.^; tp And h(5 thoii^Mit ho could mow uh W(dl us the h<'^l, And could cndiin; lh<; lical, a'H lon^. Il<- iiad l)Oii;'|jt lor himHcdf a hran-ni-w Hcyllic, And hravf'Iy Ik; kept it a goin^'; And hf m\d that h*; hop'd for (he M'ixt ten ycarw, To l<-ad the yoiin;.^ (V-llowH al mowin;(. 3'2() THE HEN AND IlKIi lUiOOD OK DUCKS. l>iit wliore is ho now — can any one toll us? Will ho mow with that scytho this yoar? AVill he lau<;h ami joke and tell his line (ales? Ah no — the stout old man's not liere. He was seventy-seven, but ho thought lie was young, Anil fain wouhl lie have ns believe 'twas so ; But his lace was wrinklM, and his brow was lin'd, And liis hair was as white as the snow. Last Christmas a messens;er oanio in a hurry — When slush and snow bad travoliui^ made — With a summons lor Tom to come ibrtliwith ; A summons that Tom could not evade. He had breakfjisted early, and call'd for his pipe, And was ready to have a s;ood smoke: But his ohook turn'd i>alo, and his oyoi grew dim, And his tongue not a word more spjko. !So Tom will not mow for nio any more. With that scytho that he said would shav^'; For 1 holp'd to carry his lifeless romiiins, And 1 holpM to fill up his grave. THE HEN AND HER BROOD OF DUCKS. j||'i||AME Poulterer 'mongst her stock of hens, 'i^^ One noble hen had she; ^ Her feathers were a glossy black, !She strutted gaudily. And ev'ry time she laid an egg, ►She rais'd a sidutt'ring clatter; TIIK II KN AND IlKR lUlOOI) OF DUCKS. :}27 Tlje rooster Ciuiie a cacklin;^, too, To ask what was tlic matter. Slie made herself a downy neat, Beneatli one of tlie ricks ; liesolv'd that if all thiii<(.s went right, She'd raise a brood of chicks. J3ut when she got a dozen eg^js, All ready for her bed. Dame I'onlt'rer took them ont, and put Hig duck eggs in their stead. She sat npon them night and day, For four weeks, mon; or leas; When she began to crack the shells, How great was her distress. For lo — Tiicy were the 'or hor win^;; tiiul o.iids lu-r shv>rt o.iroor. J^uoh \V(i8 tho talo ot* lady b'siir, Sho too was ^iuuly, rioh uiul gtiy ; Anil for !V sotvson diil sho shiuv, Tho plo.'isuros ninl tho joys ()t" May, 1 loolvM n[K»n lur siiiilo iip(>n lior lailyship. IWit vcars hail llowii I lookM a.v;aiii — That blooiuiuj^i ohook wh.s thin ami \y,\\o'. That lair whito bn>w was wrinklM, thon, That graool'ul TorMi was bowM nuil frail. 'I'iio Knoly ilays of May liavl passM, Aiul with thoui nil hor ohanus hail tloil ; And liko tho butlortly, ut last. f^ho olosM hor ovos anion >• tho iloail. ^' (j:*^*:|y* TiiK ciiKA'i'iiK:::: OF amkhica. 'T^l^ll l')N(JI'l coMicH it LlmL Aniorica's so ^lea'/? ', '* ^ Nc'iT WiiH 11 NiilJoii, ufi IOiii|)iro, or a Htat/i tr So )»roH|H'r()UH — Of all Uio Nal-ioiiH on Lhin Hpliero, Ann ri(;;i, l.lic groatcfit (J(j(H ;i|)|)<'U1'. TJH hut two ccnturic'«, or llirco, ago, TIk! ti(J«! of ofiiip^ration 'gan to flow; Tliin continent wan then a wiMjind waste, Jnliahileij by Hava;^; man anu l»;ive a lino hat, a waist-coa*, or bootji. Or pants, that are decent, and lit you, Tlie wretcdied old Sots, the vile Hottentots, Are slinging their nasty mini at you. And then that old "Zigzag" — a plague upon him- Ilo writes a sheet of rib:iltlry ami slang; And has it. printed in 80!ne lilthy paper — The mean old sneak — I could see him hang. ELEGY OM POOR LITTLE CAESAR, My Friond'a Favorite Dog. ||^ S ('a's;ir ilead — when did he die? ,J'™, hush — prepare your.^elf to cry- |P lie was a creature of high price, 'Tis hop'd he's gone to I'aradive. ELEnV ON I'OOR IJTTLK CI'lHAU. .'137 Poor little fellow! What? W/io killM liiiii? Whoe'er ho was the devil willM him — The vile yoiini^ wretch — -how ooiiid he do it? It was a aiti — and sure Ik^ knew it. " lie died wiLhoiif, a ^^roati or hark ! " Who was the sexton ? *• Mr. Mark." Who preach'd the funeral fiernion ? "(y'harley" — So here's an end of little Snarhty. Draw near ye curs, and all ye dogH, That ever trotted o'er the ho^'s, And howl a dirge o'er this your brother ; iiike iiim you'll never llnd another. Ye rocks round Simon's Monument, And Sion, your lamentations vent, liikewise the Peak of Tenerilfe, Prepare yourselves to show your grief. Ye vales and dingles round (ilcn Rock, Prepare yc to receive the shock ; Ye ground-hogs — all ye cony race, Ife o'er encounter'J in the chase. Though oft ye ran to rook or port, IIo only chas'd for other's sport ; lie bore no malice — envy— nay — • But was kind-hearted in his way. (Jomc, view the grave where Cur^ar's laid, And plant ye flowers that never fade ; (Jome, pay a tribute to the dead, And place a tombstone o'er his head. Stt ON POOR BUSH. Another Favorite Dog of My Own. N^Jl^llA'J'! Jiiisli deud, too— my lavorilc pet? yilWs Don't shock me tliiia — don't makti mo iVet- Ij Who Hiiw liim dio!'' 'i\>m, you wcie near — Wlnit said ho of his past careor? Wlnit said he of the other worUl, To which ho suddenly was hurl'd ? THE DYING WORDS OF POOR BUSH. Ah, woo is me— no friends have I, I'm wantonly ooiuU-nmod to die; I'm wounded by the nuirksman, sore, I groan, and welter in my gore. The onl\ fivult my l\)ea could bring, Was sueking eggs — a trilling thing — While other dogs of greater faults,, Protected are from all assaults. O what a liekle creature, man I How inconsiderate is his j)lan I lie has no mercy on poor dogs, Nor rata, nor mice, nor toads, nor frogs.. O that I'd stay'd with poet Martin! It grieves me sore to think of j)arting; But when yon see him do not fail To toll him this, my dying tale: (338) THE I.AUOIIER, THE FARMKR, ETC. b39 Tom, tell him this, though I suck'd eggs, And oft escaped on my Hwift legs, lie's very kind, und will not blame, Bnt always will revere my name. Kind CiBsar's* dead, and gone before me, And (Jarlo hopes he's gone to glory; And I'm jtrepar'd to meet hi»n there. Where we'll be free from ev'ry snare. THE LABORER, THE FARMER AND THE MERCHANT. Each Complains of His Hard Lot. m N trav'ling o'er this Christian Nation, ^J t.' t^ome facts are learned by observation ; ir Some stubborn facts, in ev'ry place, Jielating to the human race. There's great commotion in the masses, A restlessness })ervades all classes, And great contention may be seen, In ev'ry place where we have been. You ask, what is it all about? There's something wrong without a doubt, Or why these sighs and groans we hear, All over this terraqueous sphere? • BubIj bud etrayed away from home, and learned bad tricks, and some -wanton youth vhot him. lie bad become acquainted with Cu^aar before ■that noble little dog's death. Hence hl^ allusion to blm. 340 THE LABORER, THE FARMER Hay after day the air is rent, AVitli oiulloss soiinils of discontent; Now, lot us hear their mournful tales. Their constant nuirmurings and their wails* The lab'rer on the turnpike road, As if weighed down with cumbrous load Of caro, in strains not much refin'd, Unburthens thus, his anxious mind: THE LABORER'S COMPLAINT. " I'm poor and weak — hard is my fate — From early morn 'till ev'ning late, I'm doom'd to toil and drudge and sweat, And but a pittance do I get. "Tiio easy farmer, rich and high. In splendid equipage rides by, "Who makes his thousands ev'ry year, "While I in poverty labor here. "He has all things that heart desires, !More than necessity requires; ! did I but ]>ossess a farm ! I'd live at ease and fear no harm. ""Why should the farmer e'er complain, "Who's naught to do but sow his grain, And reap and thresh and count his gains? No need has he to rack his brains." THE FARMER'S COMPLAI^'T. " No, that's a lie "—the farmer says, "As great a lie as you can raise; Crops sometimes fail, as you must know. And when they're //otx/, the price is low. AND THE MERCHANT. 341 " You think we lead an easy life, Exempt from labor, care or strife; But, try it if you will, and then, We'll talk the matter o'er again. "■• Hut for the present cease your clatter, Till you know something of the matter; ^'ou think our (jains of great amount, You fool — There are no gains to count. " Your vain complaints provoke my mirth, I'll ask — was e'er on God's green earth, A creature doom'd to earn his crust, "With greater toil than farmers must? ^* Great efforts, both of hands and mind, And great economy combined ; These, all are requisite, and more, To keep starvation from the door. ■"I've been a farmer twenty years, I've worked with hordes, mules and steers; The summer's heat and winter's cold, I've borne, and now I'm getting old. "And I'm a.s poor as 30U are, still, With all my labor and my skill ; I ride from home, sometimes, 'tis true — But that I am obliged to do. "If I, wlien young, had learn'd a trade, Or had I been a merchant bred, I might retire from business now. With health and sunshine on my brow: 3t\l TIIK I.VUOltKIl, THK KAUMKU '* Willi wiultli onou^li, ami soino to spire; 1 now iiiii;liL lay ns'ido all caiv, 'I'ho roiniiaiit of my days to spcnil, In ju'aco uiul lost, unto tlu' oiul." THK MEIiCHANT'J COMI'LAINT. *• Ah!" says tho inorcliant, " you'ro niist;ikon, For I've biTii tossM ami raokoil ami sliaken, 'Till there's but little left, ut length, Of lifi', or energy, or sfreni^th. " Years have 1 spent without success — (Ah! 1 couKl wish their nuniber K'ss). l>y day my energies were sti'aiiuHJ, Ami then, at night, my soul was paiuM. "Sleep o['l rel'usM to close my eyes, For stocks ami shares ami nierchaiulise, Ami ledgers, revel I'd in my head. And sleep was frigiited iVom my bed. '"01 the bewitching wiles of gain! 1 overtajk'il and racked my brain; For my chief object then wa? wealth, AVitlu>nt regard to riiK>s of health. •' I) had I ne'er to niercliandising gone, And earn'd ujy bread as you have done, Hy honest labor and fair dealing, Not by chicanery and stealing! '* I've handled lots ot" monev, surely, To set me up in lite securely ; l^ut circnmst^meos have been such, I still am far from being rich. AND THE MERCHANT. 343 **IIigh notions rul'd my family, They mix'd in high society; My friend, you'd be surprised to know, Whiit money's spent for foolisli show. " Of vanity there is no end ; The more some make, the more they spend ; Among the Elite, as they're styl'd. Extravagance is running wild. "Then, there are nps and dovnis in trade; I've known those of the highest grade, "Who long had flourished in their pride, And eail'd before the wind and tide, " As if they could defy the Fates, And ever hold their rich estates ; But storms and tempests drear and dark. At last assail'd and wreck'd their bark. **Ah \ fires and floods, disease and death. Attack the higii and stop their breath ; Thowgii penury the j»>oor man chills, The rich escape not other ills. " AVhen these * Ilird Times ' — so call'd — came on, Banks clos'd and confidence was gone ; The rich were seen about the town, Alarmed that stocks were coming down. " The Kailroad King and Millionaire, As well as merchants had their care; They had their trials, and in brief, From high positions came to grief. 344 HEFLECTIONS ON THE ABOVE. " They're even poorer now, by far, Than piiupcrs in the alins-hous^; iire ; For these, at least have peace of mind, lUif tliose, few pleasant moments fiiul." REFLECTIONS ON THE ABOVE. What I would Do if 1 had the Power. flJUl 11 ! liud 1 bnt tlie power and means to do it, .^S I'd turn my thoughts and wliole attention to it! jf I'd kindle the ambition of our youth, Inspire the skeptic with desire for truth. Vi\ clieer tlie heavy-laden on his way, And dress the maid in silk and satin gay; I'd conjfort those in trouble and in fear. And raise the lowest pauper to a peer. I'd raise tlie mendicant to power and wealth ; And give the poor sick jiatient strength and health ; I'd give the toil-worn farmer plenteous crops, I'd feed the hungry man and grease his chops. 'J'hen I'd be glail, and so rejoice, to see All ilisalleeteil classes on equality, And happy and contented with their lot; This sinful earth were than a lovely spot. l'\)r rivalry and iiunity would cease, Hiscord and strife, and war must sink to peace; And then mankind must cea5e their wrangling pother, "Nor longer rant and rail at one another. AIA. 5|i|?llEN Sol returns from the sunny South, ^^ Inwreuthed in smiles and gladness, tr His presence dissipates :ill gloom, And drives away all sadness. His sunbeams play on hill and dale, And peep into each hollow. And bird, and beast, a? well as man, Adore the great Apollo. Aia, then puts off her weeds, And all her charms discloses. The hills are gay with honeysuckles, Field flowers and wild roses. The trees put on their summer garb. And merry birds are singing Amid their foliage — while all around The herbage green is springing. The place, it seems, now teems with life. And all is now in inotion ; The pifus pilgrims come forth now, 'I'o show their true devotion. And lass and lover, arm in arm. Not minding bush or bramble ; Invited by Aia's charms. Come forth to lake a ramble. (315) SiG r.EAl'TIFUL FRANCES. They promenade in shady paths, Like gentle folks of fashion, The b.ilmy air and scen'ry round, Inspire the gentle passion. Xow liaving climbed the lofcy hill, Where all the sights delight them. The cosy nooks and mossy seat?. So pressingly invite them. IIow swiftly now the happy hours, On angel's wings fly o'er them ; The cares of life are all forgot, The future's bright before them. But the dewy eve is drawing nigh, The glowing clouds remind them 'Tis time to turn their footsteps homeward, And leave such scenes behind them. BEAUTIFUL FRANCES. t^y^ ^ll^HEX Frances was young she was sprightly and gay, */%^J At all merrv-makmgs was foremost in play; '£_^j ■^'•^ "" 1.H.H ,-.111.1^11150 r.110 n^i^i.i^.oi^ lu play tf < She needed no powder, no rouge, and no puffing, Her beauty show'd forth without padding or stuff- ins:. So modest was she that she blushed like a rose. At her own loveliness, and numerous beaux She drew to her side by her magical eyes, As magnet draws steel or a candle draws flies. BEAUTIFUL FRANCES. 347 At length self-esteem took root in her breast, And beaux were cast off in a freak or a jest; She fancied herself of all beauties the queen, As peacocks admire their blue, purple and green. But the course of the wind the weather-cock shows ; So the curl of her lip and the turn of her nose, Show'd plainly vain notions that stuck in her head ; She relish'd the flatt'ry with which she was fed. She talk'd of her virtue and never got through. She hated this thing and she hated that, too; Above all that she hated, she hated lewd women,. And never neglected to give them a trimming. And who was not lewd — in her estimation? She could not see virtue in high or low station ; Excepting herself, how few that were chaste! A model, indeed — for she ne'er wa? disgrac'd. lUit, oh, what a prude! her neighbors would say — What snares would she set, and what pranks would she play; Of her unseemly tricks 'twas a scandal to tell, The amours she had, oh, who could excel ? But the gist of the joke was the picture she drew Of the husband she wanted — no Gentile or Jew, No Christian or Turk — no man above ground Was ever so handsome, so rich, so renown'd. "Would some foreign prince but come with a carriage. To spirit her off to a Gretna Green marriage ! must such a flower so delicious and fair. Thus waste all its sweetness on the desert air! MS BEAUTIFUL PRANCES. But the chap that she wanted — the highest and best- Was naught but a myth in her fancy express'd ; Who was he — what was lie — where couUl he be — 'I'lie husband so lovely, so wealthy as he? But the fates were against her, 'twas plain to be seen, For many a maiden had become a rich (lueen, And sway'd a bright sceptre on some happy throne, Whose beauty could not be compared with her own. lUit she had the good luck to tirul one at last, An outlandish fellow that ne'er was surpass'd For ugliness, awkwardness, want of good sense; And his poverty — oh I don't say, 'twas immense! And this was the prince she'd been waiting to wed. So long, that the hair had grown gray on her head; And the compliment was— that she didn't like much- " Well, how is your jn-ince — and can he talk Dutch?" ller pride is now hunibl'd — her beauty is lied — 'Tis a pity, they say, but the truth must ba said ; Her palaces vanish'd like flashes of light, The castles she built, all fell from their height. a«\(^^i^fl^Sy^-i WHERE IS BUZZARD'S GLORY? A Church— So-Called. 4-"^it «!^=w gAY, liulies, where is Buzzard's (Uory., .^, Do any of you know it ? j[ Or is it but a wizard's story, To draw the ninnies to it? We're told it is a J'aradise, O'er which the angels hover; A heav'nly place, a safe retreat, For maiden, lass and lover. " 0, yes," says Bill, " 'tis even so; W you're disposed to doubt it, I'll prove it by Saint Nicholas— He'll tell you all about it. "Yep, gentlemen, I've just been there, Sweet-meats are cheap and handy; The prettiest maids you ever saw. Are eating sugar-candy. "And men are there, with badges on, To designate some order ; With stars and spangles of pure gold. And trimmings round the border, " I tell you, 'tis a lovely place, And all good saints revere it ; But do not call it Jiuzzard's Clory, There are no buzurds near it. 30 (^■tJv •5oO A KKCKLKSS YOUTH. "Besides, 'lis not its proper name — Some wicked wiif; so nain'd it — l^nt who it was, was not loinul out, For cv'ry one discluinied it. "Its jiroper nanui is Cliestnul (irove^ And deciMit folks so call it; ^fay (iod dcl"end it from all sinners,. And may no ill hefall i(." A RECKLESS YOUTH. )AKLING boy, he was his mother's child, ^ Obedient, not imperious and wild ; It ^ Ilis parents ibj\dly lov'd and doted on him, And lavish'd their praises and gilts upon hin>, Hut Iheir indiilgfuei' had a bad elVect, lie lost his character and self-respect; He sought the worst and wildest company, And mixed with charaeters of low degrei'. He revell'd in excessive s[iorts and gaiues, llis wealth he squandcr'd on vain fops and danus, For money ne'er would slay with him, 'tis true. It seemed to burn his pockets through and through. Hale fellows all, with appetites like hounds. Which carrieil them beyond discretion's bounds; Those accompanied him and drank an I tlinetl. For .lohuny was so generous and kind. AN 01,1) MAID'H S()I,II,()f/IJV. 351 The gayest belles, and beauties, rich hikI (iiir, His bounty juiJ liis company did sliurc, Felt greatly IioudtM with the favoi's siiowii tiiorri, And blusli'd like Nymplis if lie but sniileil upon tlicni. But ah ! this great extravagance at last iit alway.s did 1 treat th(;m well. 353 ALVICK TO J. S. R. *' Not married yet — not niarrleil yet — My griefs ami sorrows still accruing — For ev'ry beau niy ca}) I set, Yet nobody comes u wooing." HER CONDITION EX3ITE3 MY SYMPATHY IN HER BEHALF. Now, gentlemen, why don't you try ? Your baslil'ulness once throw aside; She swears by heaven she'll not deny; She'll make some man a lovely bride. She's got a house that's well fixed np. With furniture and pictures sleek ; Come, you beaux of matrimony sup, And blessedness immortal seek. For heaven's sake, this fair maid take. Let her no longer moan ; For what a pity, that one so pretty. Should tread life's path alone. ADVICE TO J. S. R. |B|IIY own accounts more strictly keep, ^^ And have a duo rogarJ, \W! That no man catch thee luU'd asleep, In negligence's warJ. Thy debts and credits all set down. And casli expenses, too ; In country, village, or in town. Keep all those rules in view. ADVICE TO .1. S. R. 353 Be frugal in tliy dealings all, He honest and be just; And though tliy wealth at first l)e small, This shall increase thy trust. f5uni up thy debts with certain guide, 'J he balance keep in sight; And take care lest the left hand side, t^hould overweigh the right. •Observe these rules — thou wilt elude, IMany hard thumps indeed; For mankind are so basely rude. They'd tram[) thee down like weed. Self-interest, or love of pelf, In cv'ry place thou'lt find; Many a man t'enrich himself, Would leave thee far behind. Yes, many selfish men there are, Who would on thee impose; And wage with thee a constant war, Which would increase thy woes. Mankind, the vilest brutes alive. Like wild beasts in a den ; J low hard they pull and tug and strive, Against their fellow-men! ^'^'^3 30* NEW MARKET. For Jonrae. By Re<;ue3t. |EW Markot is u i^iirjidisi* — 'Tis not a town o'orgrown ; "Pis l.'ir^io onouiih, and not tiH> lar^jo — Maoli bniKlini; siaiults aloiu\ Sho l\as two oluirohos, largo rtnil graml. And oaoh hjvs ijot a boll; Thivo stores, iiro likowiso iji tho pl.uw Uoj;idos. a lar^io hotel. A ploa^nnt i^laoo it is to livo, Vm not atVaivl to toll; Unt I livo just ont*!ido tho plaoo, Whoiv I oan hoar tho boll. Tho whivls of Time roll gontly on. All l'i\v from oloijs and cliains; Not rnniblinsj oVr tho Ov>bblosjtonos, As if thov'd eraok one's brain?. Tho hijih and low aro anni at chuix'h. All woi-shiping one iiod ; And all oan sinjj tho samo goovi song- l»ut this is nothin;,; odd. VSM) 'nil'; 'I A I i, iii:i Mi'on.sK. For Miimiiinii liiiH no Hiiliji'tilH Ikmc, 'I'liiit l)()W I lie kiK'c to liiiii; Or IIiiiimI llicif iKMrkK inlo IIki yoke, 'I'd Iki led l»y (iv'ry whim. So Icl, il, !)<■ I. •Lull tlir> TIIK TAILOU AND IIIC CPOUSE. mXA 'I'A I ''*^l( i">