P s 
 
 137 
 
 BV 
 
 J*jG 
 
LIBRAR^^ OF CONGRESS 
 
 I rxITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
GALILEO 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 / 
 
 J. p. JOHNSTON. 
 
 PITTSBURGH: 
 
 Printed by Mills & Brother, No 53 Ninth Street. 
 
 1878. 
 
 ■\ 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1P78. 
 
 Bv J. P. l<>H>»STON. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 To my friends, in particular, for whose perus- 
 al this volume is chietly intended, and to those 
 of the public into whose hands it may chance 
 to fall, a few introductory words may not be 
 inappropriate. 
 
 Tile production of these pieces was under- 
 taken, not in any sense with a view to book- 
 making-, but simply to gratify a youthful in- 
 clination in the direction of versification ; and 
 finding, by repeated experiment, that I could 
 spin a line with tolerable facility, I afterwards, 
 in the intervals of active life, continued the 
 diversion, until it resulted in the somewhat 
 variegated fabric which is here, in part, pre- 
 sented. The subjects chosen, at first, being 
 generally such occasions, either in my own 
 experience, or that of others, as furnished the 
 suggestion of a sentiment, or afforded an op- 
 portunity of embodying the characteristics of 
 some favorite author. Should the discriminat- 
 ting reader, therefore, discover in some of the 
 earlier pieces a decided flavor of imitation, let 
 him not be offended, but reflect that where no 
 originality is designed, the absence of it is no 
 cause for disparagement. 
 
 Of the most considerable in length of these 
 Poems — Leon, I would say, that it is an at- 
 tempt to portray the influences of Nature and 
 Lite on a mind of strongly idealistic and re- 
 flective tendencies, unbiased by any authority- 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 tive teaching- ; and to give expression to the 
 various phases of thought and emotion which 
 occur in all such minds in the progress of 
 development. The characters, as well as inci- 
 dents, of the poem are, of course, fictitious ; 
 being merel)^ intended to serve as material for 
 the embodiment of the thoughts. I had at 
 one time intended to continue the poem, 
 carrying Leon onward towards a sager 
 contemplation of those mysteries of life and 
 nature, than is here indicated. But it is now 
 more than ten years since it was thrown aside 
 in its present form, and it is not at all probable 
 that I shall undertake to complete the task. 
 
 In Galileo 1 make no pretensions to be 
 strictly historical; endeavoring to regard the 
 great astronomer as a representative charac- 
 ter in the Conflict between Religion and 
 Science ; and to suggest a possible key for the 
 solution of their difficulties, namely: A more 
 complete recognition of the mutual relations of 
 the Religious or Symbolical, and the Scientific 
 or Literal, both in Language and Nature. I 
 also endeavor to relieve the name of the illus- 
 trious philosopher from the odium which at- 
 taches to his Recantation. An odium which 
 (since this poem was written) I have heard, 
 with very great dissatisfaction, attempted to be 
 enforced by a certain prominent historical lec- 
 turer. In this I hope the motive will be par- 
 doned, however the logic of the attempt be re- 
 garded. J. P. J. 
 
CONTENTS, 
 
 Galileo, 
 
 Phcf.bus: a Photograi)hic Myih, ■ 
 Lfon — Part I, 
 Part II, 
 Miscellaneous : 
 
 Invocation, 1876, 
 
 Gathering of the Gods, 
 
 Southern Centennial Hymn, 
 
 Custer, 
 
 Cuba, 
 
 The Poe Monument, 
 
 Epitaph for Poe, 
 
 Lines on the Death of an Artist, 
 
 Sonnet To a Lady Singing, 
 
 To , 
 
 Sonnet To , 
 
 Lines, 
 
 Lines, 
 
 Desolation, - 
 
 The Crown of Fire, 
 
 Stanzas, - , 
 
 Lines, 
 
 Shall We Meet, 
 
 Lines, 
 
 To , 
 
 To the Ohio, 
 
 To , 
 
 Lines on Hearing the Cathedral Chimes, 
 
 Parting, 
 
 Sonnet to M , 
 
 Lines, 
 
 Photography, 
 
 David's Lament, 
 
 FACB. 
 
 I 
 12 
 22 
 38 
 
 56 
 58 
 60 
 63 
 65 
 
 66 
 66 
 67 
 68 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 70 
 
 7' 
 
 72 
 
 74 
 75 
 76 
 
 77 
 78 
 79 
 80 
 81 
 82 
 83 
 S3 
 84 
 86 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Sleeper, ..--.- 87 
 
 Sonnet: Truth, - - . - - - - 88 
 
 Sonnet : Light, ------ 89 
 
 Tempest, ------- 90 
 
 Lines, ------- 92 
 
 Lines, - . . . . - 93 
 
 To , ------ 94 
 
 To , 94 
 
 "Who Cares?"— A Reply, - - - - 95 
 
 To , ------- 96 
 
 To Cora, ------ 97 
 
 Love and Sorrow, ------ 98 
 
 To , 99 
 
 To , ------- 100 
 
 Sonnet, ------ loi 
 
 Sonnet To , ------ 102 
 
 Sonnet to Julia, - - - - - - 103 
 
 The Fiend, ------- 104 
 
 Sonnet to Edna, - - - - - 106 
 
 Sonnet To , ------ 107 
 
 The Token, ------ 108 
 
 A Valentine, - - - - - - 109 
 
 Enigma, - - - - - - no 
 
 The Ailing Potter, - - - - - -in 
 
 Buttermilk: A Parody, - - - - - 114 
 
 To •, With a Rose, - - - - - 116 
 
 To , - 116 
 
 To a Male Chambermaid, - - - - - 117 
 
 Moonshine, - - - - - ■ '^^ 
 
 Swinburne: An Imitation, - - - - - 120 
 
 Byron, - - - - - - - 122 
 
 O, Bobbie Burns, - - - - - - 123 
 
 We Met, ------ 124 
 
 Sonnet, ------- 125 
 
 Sonnet: Death, - - - - - - 126 
 
 Sonnet : Life, - - - - - - 127 
 
 Sonnet to Mary, - - - - - - 128 
 
 To , 129 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Separation, ...... I'jo 
 
 Renunciation, - - - - - - 131 
 
 Revocation, - - - - - - 132 
 
 Malediction, - - - - ■ ^Z}, 
 
 To , 134 
 
 O, Who Would Not Love, - - - - IjS 
 
 To , 136 
 
 To , 137 
 
 Stanzas, - - - - - - 138 
 
 To , - - - - - 141 
 
 Stanzas, - - - - 143 
 
 To , ----- - 144 
 
 Enigma, - - - - - - 145 
 
 A Sketch, ------- 146 
 
 We Meet, ..--.. 147 
 
 Lines, ....... i^g 
 
 Farewell, - - - - - - 150 
 
 To , .--.-.. 152 
 
 To 
 To 
 
 153 
 
 154 
 
 Inscription for a Skull, - - - 155 
 
 To Harriet, - - - - - - 156 
 
 To a Young Lady, - - - - 156 
 
 Epitaphs, - - - - - - - 157 
 
 A Fragment, - - - - - - 158 
 
 Immortality, - - - - - - 160 
 
 Ode, 161 
 
 From the Potomac, - - ... 163 
 
 The Absent, - - - - - - 165 
 
 Valedictory, - - - - . - 166 
 
 In Memoriam, - - - - - - 168 
 
 The Appeal, - - - - - - 169 
 
 One of Many, - - - - - . 170 
 
 Ellsworth, ....... lyi 
 
 Stanzas Written on the Appearance of the Emancipation Proc- 
 lamation, - - - - - . 172 
 
 The Liberty Bird, - . - - . - 174 
 
 Farewell, Beloved Harji, - - - . 176 
 
DEDICATORY. 
 
 Illustrious Name ! whose uneclipsed beam, 
 Ere I had wandered in forbidden ways, 
 Or blindly followed Love's bewildering blaze, 
 Allured my soul with energy supreme, 
 I hail thee now — no disembodied dream. 
 
 Since linked at last with my familiar scroll — 
 Bear widely forth this language of my soul, 
 Too long the sport of Fame's illusive gleam : 
 ' That, whether Hope her smiling brow display. 
 
 Or cold Detraction share my shrouded lot, 
 Still confident in Truth's refulgent sway, 
 
 I rear, unmoved, my shrine of sceptred Thought ; 
 Secure in this — from sage experience past : 
 The Soul self-centred wears the crown at last.' 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 Lone, dark, and still ! — I recognize the glow 
 Of yonder taper, burning dim and low ; 
 Cloaked by the vapor of these dungeon walls, 
 That rises when the night-dew round them falls. 
 I know not if I slumbered; yet I seem 
 Scarce now awakened from that vivid dream, 
 In which ni)- soul, unfettered and withdrawn 
 From this worn frame, was speeded on and on 
 Through boundless space, toward a superior star, 
 Enthroned amid the central heavens afar. 
 Years seemed to pass, and yet my visioned flight 
 Was onward still toward that celestial light, 
 As if within that orb my spirit sought 
 Its final refuge, and its goal of thought. 
 Borne by some secret strong attractive force, 
 Suns, systems, stars, I passed in rapid course ; 
 Like white birds soaring in the voids of night, 
 They circlin^^ swept, and disappeared from sight. 
 As I approached the bright and blest abode, 
 Surpassing splendor on my vision flowed, — 
 Then sudden sunk, and vanished into night, 
 And I awoke to this sepulchral light. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 Such hath my life been ; — from my earliest youth 
 
 I have obeyed the guiding star of truth. 
 
 Books, men, and things I scanned with earnest eye, 
 
 And questioned Nature's self for my reply. 
 
 Through weary years of unremitting toil. 
 
 And ceaseless vi/'gils o'er the midnight oil, 
 
 I gleaned what high Philosophy had shown, 
 
 And claimed her treasured secrets for my own. 
 
 Made all her arts the vassals of my will, 
 
 Then turned to that which baffled all her skill. 
 
 'Twas this : — amid this labyrinthine plan 
 
 Of tangled worlds which meets the gaze of man, 
 
 To grasp the method, and unwind the clue, 
 
 And pierce the maze of mingled motion through. 
 
 To yield the Sun his crown of sovereign worth. 
 
 And prove the homage of the willing Earth. 
 
 Long was the quest, — but whence the answer given ? 
 
 It flashed upon me from the face of heaven ! 
 
 Dark penance for a boon so fondly sought ! 
 Amid the gloom of this unhallowed spot. 
 To waste the remnant of my feeble years. 
 Where but one beam my lonely vision cheers, 
 And that my jailor's gift — I know not why — 
 Except to watch me with a closer eye. 
 Tney dare not trust me even in the dark ! 
 ■How have I learned to love yon shining spark, 
 Whose beam reminds me of that midnight hour 
 I first unfolded Light's mysterious power. 
 Through what unbounded fields of barren thought 
 The soul may roam, nor find the gem she sought, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 Then backward turn, licr fruitless journey o'er, 
 
 And find it sparkling from a dungeon floor ! 
 
 Like fate was mine, — when years, which could not tame 
 
 My spirit's strength, had somewhat marred \\\y frame. 
 
 It chanced, while pondering o'er a lettered page, 
 
 By Time retrieved from a forgotten age, 
 
 I interposed, to aid my failing sight, 
 
 A crystal lens. The theme was : "God is Light." 
 
 A fragment, doubtless, of an antique rhyme. 
 
 Penned by some cloistered saint of olden time. 
 
 " Far in the region of the rising sun 
 
 There dwelt a King, a High and Mighty One; 
 
 His throne was wrought of crystal bright and pure, 
 
 Whose beam no human vision could endure. 
 
 And as He sat thereon, a wondrous light 
 
 His form enwrapped, and hid from mortal sight. 
 
 There dwelt a youth in distant realms afar, 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the western star. 
 
 Who longed to bow before that mighty King, 
 
 And gems of offering and rich incense bring. 
 
 And there was one, a servant old and gray. 
 
 Who, ere he journeyed on his toilsome way. 
 
 Gave to his hand, his wanderings to control, 
 
 A crystal talisman, and mystic scroll. 
 
 Whereon most wondrous characters were traced. 
 
 My son, said he, in distant ages past, 
 
 A mighty prophet was inspired to write 
 
 This guide for pilgrims to the Throne of Light. 
 
 The scroll is written in such mystic guise, 
 
 That none of mortal birth, however wise, 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 Its hidden secrets e'er may hope to scan 
 Without the help of this strange talisman, 
 Formed of a portion of the throne of Light. 
 This used to guide the erring sense aright, 
 No more the words a shapeless maze appear. 
 But filled with meanings wonderful and clear." 
 Then, on the margin, something which mine eye, 
 But for its aid had passed unheeded by; 
 Minute the text, and difficult to scan, 
 I persevered, and thus the tracery ran : 
 "If God be Light, what greater thing can be 
 Than Light, — -for Light itself — is it not He ? 
 Heaven's wondrous volume is the scroll unrolled 
 Where man may read His meanings manifold. 
 Thou I favored mortal, hast the crystal key 
 Which shall unlock the sevenfold mystery. 
 Invoke the power which to thine eye unfolds 
 On this dark page the mystery zvhich it holds ; 
 Transmute its wealth, and make its treasures thine ; 
 Dark is the symbol, but the sense divine. 
 Up ! make thee wings whereby thy so7d may rise. 
 And tread the portals of the starry skies." 
 Strange meaning flashed from out the ancient line ! 
 Heaven's maze was mastered, and the clew was mine- 
 Refraction's power. Time's latest boon to man. 
 The means whereby its furthest depths to scan. 
 
 I toiled alone at my self-chosen task ; 
 No help I. had and none had dared to ask, 
 For fear the minions of that cursed shrine 
 Which dares on earth to mimic things divine. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 Should track me out, and — as those records tell 
 
 Which they from vulgar vision guard so well, [shine, 
 
 Lest on men's darkened souls heaven's light should 
 
 As from great Nature's book it hath on mine — 
 
 Should raise, by superstitious madness led, 
 
 A new Ephesian tumult round my head ! 
 
 They call it magic, and denounce the doom 
 
 Of heresy 'gainst him who dares presume 
 
 To claim that God's great volume of the skies 
 
 May be interpreted — had men but eyes. 
 
 Strange proof they wrest from out the sacred Page 
 
 Of language suited to a simpler age, — 
 
 The sun and moon stood fast! — so they perforce 
 
 Must stop the sun of Science on his course ! 
 
 My task complete, I did but watch the hour 
 When I should prove its space unfolding power. 
 I had no need to bring it forth by day. 
 And so might wait the night's propitious sway. 
 Alone upon my lofty turret's height, 
 Secure I marked the day's declining flight ; 
 The sun went down and left a cloudless sky, 
 And one by one the stars appeared on high; 
 While, just above the western horizon's bar, 
 Bright overall shone forth the Evening Star; 
 More pure than wont her radiance seemed to fall ! 
 I leaned my tube upon my turret wall, — 
 With expectation trembling, and my sight 
 Its course directed towards that isle of light. 
 Strange transformation ! what till now had seemed 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 A shining flake, a silver crescent beamed ! 
 Next Mercury appeared, in differing phase : 
 Then Jupiter, to my enraptured gaze, 
 Begirt by circling orbs, at once betrayed 
 The solar plan, in miniature displayed! 
 Nor this alone ; where'er my glass I turned, 
 New glories trembled and new splendors burned ! 
 For that lost Pleiad, mourned so long in vain, 
 Not one, but many, joined the shining train. 
 A thrill of transport swept my being through, 
 All doubts were ended, and the heavens were true. 
 
 Prophetic glance ! which opened to my thought 
 Dim gleams of triumphs which shall yet be wrought, 
 When those faint beams of intellectual light 
 Long lost in darkness of a priestly night. 
 Beneath the power of Thought's compressive sway 
 Flash into orbs, and shed a golden day. 
 What sovereign virtue must inhere in light. 
 Yet undiscerned, which thus, undimmed by flight 
 Of myriad years, can still its power retain 
 To yield new impulse to the toiling brain ! 
 Who dreams what tidings Time may yet unfold 
 Of those far worlds thus given us to behold ! 
 Truth shall not always be compelled, as now. 
 At Falsehood's shrine to veil her burning brow ; 
 Nor Knowledge, brooding in his darkened den, 
 Conceal his treasures from the eyes of men. 
 These unrestrained shall wander through the land, 
 And shrines and temples crumble at their hand. 
 From this small germ, this faint device of mine,' 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 New growths shall rise, and pillared structures shine; 
 From vaulted domes collossal optics gleam, 
 And crystal orbs condense the scattered beam. 
 Whence ponderous Thought, with wide expansive eye, 
 Shall nightly gaze, and sweep the spangled sky. 
 To those far heights on Being's furthest shore. 
 Where Thought's faint pinions scarce can hope to soar, 
 Art, taught by Science, shall uplift her gaze, 
 And paint in Light the history she surveys ; 
 Till Form, Life, Beauty, all we see or seem. 
 Be new created from her living beam. 
 
 I could not shut my secret in my breast ; — 
 
 It must go forth ! Then came the swift arrest, — 
 
 The masked Inquisitor in robe of black, — 
 
 The scourge, the dungeon, and the torturing rack ! 
 
 Such is the logic they are wont to use ; 
 
 And stern the soul that could such proof refuse. 
 
 If such they find whom terrors could not shake, 
 
 For him the torch, the faggot, and the stake ! 
 
 Truth has no need of victims such as I ; 
 
 Nor was it fear that prompted my reply ; 
 
 But rather that supreme contempt which flows 
 
 From Learning's lips when girt by bigot foes. 
 
 And so, to guard my citadel of thought, 
 
 I flung them forth the boon for which they fought — 
 
 My recantation ! phrased in covert scorn 
 
 And pity of a world which long had borne 
 
 Their cursed sway — " // docs not inovey — Alas ! 
 
 Too true the words. Had I not seen men pass 
 
 For deeds like mine, to ^ccd the surginjj flame ? 
 
8 GALILEO. 
 
 My crime, perchance, like punishment might claim. 
 My crirpe — 'twas this : I taught men to explore 
 Heaven's boundless realms, and wonder and adore ! 
 
 Word-juggling tricksters ! ye are baffled still ! 
 My cunning answer mocks your boasted skill. 
 Ye cannot read the riddle of my thought, — 
 The world — it moveth — yet it moveth not ! 
 All things are not, but as they seem to be ; 
 And are not as they seem, — to those who see. 
 Immensely great is infinitely small ; 
 The central atom is the sum of all. 
 The universe, that atom multiplied ; 
 That centre — where ? Diffused on every side. 
 End nor beginning hath the circle none, 
 But ceases always where it is begun. 
 However far the outward barque may roam, 
 The furthest track is still the journey home. 
 Motion is rest ; for 'tis by rest alone, 
 Relation, distance, space and time are shown. 
 And rest but centred motion's swiftest phase ; 
 The schoolboy's top the paradox displays 
 Of rest in motion, — long as motion keeps 
 Its circling sway, the mimic planet sleeps, 
 The insect, poised upon that little world. 
 Beholds the earth in giddy motion whirled. 
 
 Relentless still, and tireless to insure 
 Their sordid gains, and keep their craft secure — 
 Half doubting of their conquest, and in fear 
 Of further harm, they pent me captive here ; 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 In these dark walls, remote from every gleam 
 
 Of sun or moon, or star's beloved beam ! 
 
 Till, by the scarce intruding light of day, 
 
 Or lonely night-lamp's solitary ray, 
 
 I have recorded on my dungeon wall 
 
 Ten annual rounds of this terrestrial ball. 
 
 Alas ! I did not think to linger here 
 
 So late and long — no comforter to cheer. 
 
 Awhile I dreamed their late remorseful thought 
 
 Might yet assuage the hardness of my lot. 
 
 And Hate relax the rigor of her reign. 
 
 And I might breathe the air of heaven again. 
 
 Their rage denies me this — and be it so. 
 
 Yet, triumph not, thou proud remorseless foe. 
 
 Which dares in God's own sacred courts to wait 
 
 With incense kindled at the shrine of hate! [heaven, 
 
 Prcsumptous Power! which boasts a league with 
 
 By which exclusive trade in souls is given, 
 
 And spurious all and contraband proclaim 
 
 Save that which bears thy number and thy name ! 
 
 How wilt thou tremble when the burning share 
 
 Of vengeance lays thy ghastly mockeries bare, 
 
 And to thy lips is placed the flaming wine 
 
 And fierceness, mingled by a hand divine ! 
 
 But I forget ; my Reason stoops to wrath ; 
 
 And Wisdom wanders from her chosen path. 
 
 Let those denounce who tremble at her hate ; 
 
 My cause is safe, for mine is leagued with Fate ! 
 
 Her doom was spoken by the voice from heaven, 
 
 When he, to whom the Apocalypse was given. 
 
lo GALILEO. 
 
 Beheld the earth in radiant beauty rise, 
 New clothed with Light 'neath new created skies. 
 Heaven's will but waits the predetermined hour, 
 Then moves at last with a resistless power ! 
 That hour approaches, be it swift or slow ; 
 But something tells me — whence I do not know — 
 When rang the bolt which barred my living tomb, 
 Fate struck that hour the tocsin of her doom ! 
 Unthinking fools ! they could not cage my mind — 
 They snared the bird, but left the brood behind. 
 Like white-winged carriers, borne by every gale. 
 My books still wander, and repeat the tale. 
 And from the seed which hath been mine to sow 
 In Europe's breast, long ploughed by priestly woe, 
 Shall grow a harvest for the help of man — 
 A living force in the eternal Plan. 
 
 My life is not all darkness ; I behold 
 
 In this lone cell what day could not unfold. 
 
 Here, wrapped in gloom and silence, I have wrought 
 
 To perfectness the fabric of my thought. 
 
 My mental eye inverted and withdrawn 
 
 From outward symbols, I have gazed upon 
 
 The mighty problem till it hath become 
 
 A luminous chart, — where I can trace the sum 
 
 Of varied motion to its central source ; 
 
 And watch the tireless planet in its course; 
 
 And track the wandering comet in his path ; 
 
 And read the working of the law which hath 
 
 Evoked each form from out the mass of things. 
 
GALILEO. 
 
 And name the primal force from which it springs. 
 The single impulse which alike controls 
 Vast sun, or satellite which round it rolls; 
 The acorn dropping from the parent tree, 
 Or world that wanders through immensity. 
 And in the Power whose footsteps thus I trace. 
 And in the Splendor which illumes all space, 
 God's glory shines, and I behold His Face ! 
 
PHCEBUS: 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC MYTH. 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 In the structure of the following poem, I have endeavored, by the 
 use of material drawn from Grecian Mythology, ( as far as my memory 
 and very imperfect knowledge of such matters would serve me,) to 
 represent an eclipse of the sun, and the effects it might be supposed to 
 produce on the inhabitants of earth, according to their ignorance or 
 more enlightened views of it. 
 
 Phoebus, I have endeavored to portray with a dignity corresponding 
 to his lofty celestial character. An apparent objection to this may 
 perhaps be found in the manner and materials of the construction of his 
 dark chamber, which indeed may seem somewhat unworthy of the god. 
 My first intention, in coincidence with that of Vulcan, was to send him 
 to the cave of Hermes. But, had I done this, I concluded it would 
 have marred the sequence of events which culminated in his eclipse, 
 which was certainly more reasonably accomplished by the intervention 
 of Diana. And since, to carry out his project, he must needs be secluded, 
 I have used her robe for that puipose. 
 
 At first, in casting about for a chemical assistant, I was somewhat at 
 a loss. And, since the sentence of Prometheus, (who might have 
 served my purpose,) for tampering with the celestial fire, was final and 
 irrevocable, I was compelled to assign that office to Vulcan ; and by 
 giving him an occupation very much in accordance with his ancient 
 pursuits, I conceive I have done no very great violence to that worthy. 
 Electro I have introduced on my own responsibility, as the modern 
 personification of Intelligence. 
 
 How Phoebus once, along the heavenly way, 
 Drave with wild speed the chariot of the day, 
 Lashed into flame the fiery flying steeds, 
 Nor wrath of Jove, nor prayers of mortals heeds, 
 
PIKE BUS. 
 
 Till men, and beasts, and every living thing 
 Grew scorched with heat, the ancient poets sing. 
 What Phoebus did in our more modern time, 
 Attend, and learn from my unpolished rhyme. 
 No common deeds mj- trembling strains rehearse, 
 And heavenly themes demand immortal verse. 
 Thou ! mighty master of the flaming lyre. 
 Aid while I sing, and all my notes inspire. 
 
 'Twas now the month from great Augustus named, 
 For conquering force and warlike genius famed; 
 By Jove assigned to generous Ceres' reign, 
 Who swells the ear, and fills the teeming grain. 
 And joys to view the yellow harvest reaped. 
 And flowing garners with rich products heaped, 
 And hear by swains the gladsome chorus sung, 
 'Neath bending trees with ripening fruitage hung. 
 While Phoebus' rays their mellowing warmth bestow, 
 And shed from high their most meridian glow : 
 "Hail, Phoebus! lord and source of light and life! 
 Whose golden beams, with living essence rife, 
 Send force and vigor o'er each moving form. 
 And yield their fire the pregnant earth to warm. 
 Who kindly now, since past thy youthful day. 
 Hast somewhat curbed thy once too fiery sway, 
 And, grown the patron of each peaceful art, 
 Partak'st the joys their blest pursuits impart. 
 When from the glowing cast thou tak'st thy way. 
 How Nature smiles beneath thy glad'ning sway! 
 Thy radiant face, transforming all the skies, 
 Dispels the mists which from the night arise. 
 
PHCEBUS. 
 
 From murky clouds the genial shower distils, 
 And melts the snows to glad the thirsting rills. 
 Still, as thy beams in widening circles spread, 
 New life and beauty spring beneath thy tread. 
 Till, swift descending to the western main, 
 Thy form recedes and darkness comes again!" 
 
 It chanced that now, as on his car of state. 
 In splender throned, the radiant monarch sate. 
 Electro, winged god, whose flashing steed 
 Jove's swiftest messenger could far outspeed. 
 Through crystal wilds his shining way pursued, 
 Till in the presence of the god he stood. 
 Here, for awhile his panting steed he stayed, 
 And, to bright Phoebus heavenly greetings paid. 
 Revealed (since, honored by almighty Jove 
 To bear his orders from the court above. 
 From time to time to distant orbs he wends, 
 And bears abroad the monarch's high commands) 
 How late to earth an embassy he came, 
 To bear the secret of that heavenly flame. 
 Long time denied, but now by Jove's assent 
 Designed, when with the potent forces blent 
 Which Phoebus sheds, to yield, in brighter birth. 
 New forms of life, and fairer scenes on earth. 
 Him Phoebus questioned of the realms below, 
 And what of strange their pregnant records show 
 And what the secrets of that mystic art, 
 Which Jove's immortal wisdom deigned impart ; 
 To all in courteous phrase the god replies, 
 Then swift as light he cleaves the vaulted skies. 
 
PI ICE BUS. 
 
 Much Phoebus pondered o'er each wondrous tale. 
 
 How mighty ships, devoid of mast or sail, 
 
 Could skim the slumbering ocean's glassy breast, 
 
 Or safely ride the foaming billow's crest, 
 
 How monstrous tubes could hurl with thund'rous roar. 
 
 And seething flame, vast globes of solid ore. 
 
 Which through thick walls, that leagues at distance lay, 
 
 Could rend their course and crash resistless way. 
 
 How ponderous engines, like a fiery steed. 
 
 With foaming snort could course in headlong speed, 
 
 Through wood and plain their devious pathway wind, 
 
 And leave the baffled whirlwind far behind ; 
 
 While lashed to each extends the lengthened train, 
 
 With armies laden, or the golden grain. 
 
 How men with cords could belt the earth around, 
 
 And trace the mighty ocean's deepest sound. 
 
 Through which the lightning, reft of wrathful force, 
 
 Should speed their thoughts in swift and secret course. 
 
 All this Electro told, and vastly more. 
 
 Though much, 'tis true, had Phoebus heard before. 
 
 But, marveling most to hear the god relate 
 How men could fix upon a wondrous plate. 
 By chemic art, each living form and face. 
 Whose image time nor change could scare erase, 
 Phoebus, inspired with emulative flame, 
 Bethought himself how he might do the same. 
 
 Not long the problem vexed his mighty mind, 
 For gods all forces to their wills can bind. 
 He chanced to find amonsT the treasured store 
 
1 6 PHCEBUS. 
 
 Of wise Minerva, skilled in ancient lore, 
 
 The glass which once had served Adonis' turn. 
 
 The hunted stag at distance to discern. 
 
 Adon, rash youth ! who scorning Venus' love, 
 
 Whose soft delights even Mars had deigned to prove, 
 
 Through trackless wilds the panting boar pursued, 
 
 In headlong chase till, with fresh rage imbued. 
 
 He turned at bay, deep in his wounded side, 
 
 His fangs transfixed, and drank the crimson tide. 
 
 The lens, removed from out its lengthened cell. 
 
 He found would serve his present purpose well ; 
 
 And searching further, joyfully he spied 
 
 Pandora's box — his camera this supplied. 
 
 And here, perhaps, the reason may be found 
 
 Why photographic ills so much abound ; 
 
 Since what the gods have done or do must still 
 
 Affect mankind's affairs for good or ill. 
 
 A tripod next, from Delphi's mystic seat 
 
 Secured, he deems his outfit quite complete. 
 
 The task his chemic mixtures to prepare 
 He yields to honest Vulcan's ready care. 
 Bold Vulcan ! who, aside his anvil thrown, 
 Blacksmith no more, was now a chemist grown. 
 No more compelled at menial task to toil. 
 New joy his labor crowns, and worthier spoil. 
 His forge, transformed, presents a curious show; 
 Here, crucibles in burning embers glow ; 
 Alembics there the secret juice distil. 
 And spiral coils condense the vital rill. 
 From seething vats the clouded fumes escape, 
 
rncEBUS. 
 
 And leave behind the gleaming- crystal's shape. 
 While, circling round in orderly array, 
 The laden shelves a varied store display. 
 Here, potent drugs to cure each deadly ill ; 
 There, charms to thwart the dread assassins skill; 
 And pungent essences to banish pain. 
 And yield oblivion to the tortured brain; 
 And searching liquids, whose corroding hand 
 Not even Jove's tempered armor could withstand. 
 
 But long the task each toilsome step to tell ; 
 Enough, that he performed his labors well ; 
 Spirits from Jove's ambrosial tide he drew; 
 The same, distilled, supplied his ether too; 
 Some seaweed, which had caught in Venus' hair 
 When from the wave, a goddess fresh and fair. 
 She sprung, by chemic force was made to yield 
 The vital germ its fibrous folds concealed. 
 Sulphurous tissue, from the garment wrought 
 Which Nessus wore — a rare and precious lot — 
 These duly mixed, the amber liquid form 
 To catch the beam, and snare its fleeting charm. 
 A silver crescent which had once entwined 
 Fair Cynthia's brow, her virgin locks to bind, 
 (Whose second use the haughty maid disdains, 
 Since, oft renewed, an added charm she gains) 
 In shining flakes his changeful sway confessed; 
 These, steeped in water from the clouds compressed, 
 Within a vase which gentle Hebe gave. 
 Composed the bath, the sensed film to lave. 
 
PHCEBUS. 
 
 Bright emerald crystals from the rusted ore 
 
 Where oft he toiled and sweat in days of yore, 
 
 With juice distilled, of sour and acrid taste, 
 
 From purple grapes by jovial Bacchus pressed, 
 
 To force the slumbering image into day, 
 
 When formed in secret by the pregnant ray. 
 
 Potassa too, the clouded film to clear, 
 
 Drawn from the ashes where, each hundreth year, 
 
 The Phoenix, wrapped in glowing flames expires, 
 
 To rise a new creation from its fires. 
 
 And last a polished looking glass he brought 
 
 From Venus' private store, which oft had caught 
 
 The sweet reflection of her form and face, 
 
 Nor of her charms retained the faintest trace; 
 
 Destined, when these their subtle force impart, 
 
 To glow resplendent with diviner art. 
 
 All these, and more, made ready to his hand, 
 
 By Vulcan's care, await the god's command. 
 
 Phoebus, in haste his novel task to try, 
 
 Looks round a fitting subject to descry. 
 
 And here at once the kindly fates conspire 
 
 To aid his cause, and further his desire ; 
 
 Diana, now, returning from the chase, 
 
 Appeared, arrayed in all her virgin grace; 
 
 Fairest of heavenly maids, and chaste as fair! 
 
 Destined for aye the vestal name to wear. 
 
 Her outer robe of yellow silk was flung 
 
 Loose o'er her form, and from her shoulders hung. 
 
 The hunting o'er, her bow, allowed to slack, 
 
 I 
 
r I HI: BUS. 19 
 
 And empty quiver dangled at her back. 
 Nor she alone; her bright and sparkling train 
 Of nymphs attendant filled the heavenly plain. 
 These at her word shun PhcL-bus' ardent gaze, 
 While she, more bold, her wonted homage pa)'s. 
 Her Phcebus pressed a little to remain, 
 And grant him space her imaged form to gain ; 
 And her bright garb of yellow sheen to yield. 
 From wanton beams his virgin plate to shield. 
 (Vulcan erewhile a safe retreat had sought 
 Remote in depth of Mercury's secret grot. 
 Where not a ray of light intruded, save 
 The glimmering lamp which burned at lo's grave. 
 To this the god demurred ; for, to be just, 
 He feared that sly and pilfering youth to trust.) 
 The maid consents; the robe was quickly wound, 
 To form a screen, the tripod's length around. 
 Where, safe removed from every harmful ra\\ 
 The chemic stores in needed order lay. 
 Here Vulcan entered at his lord's command. 
 The plate prepared, and yielded to his hand, 
 Closed in a case of richest sandal wrought. 
 From Circe's isle by great Ulysses brought. 
 This Phoebus placed within the centered rays. 
 Which, drawn to focus, Dian's form displays; 
 The shield removed, and to her beaming face 
 Exposed its sheen a momentary space; 
 And. now, to work the mystic charm aright. 
 Beneath the robe withdraws himself from sight. 
 While those without, in breathless wonderment. 
 
20 PHCBBUS. 
 
 Await the issue of the strange event. 
 Yet, ere from out its secret rest he drew 
 His precious change, he covered from its view 
 His matchless face and brow's transcendent glow, 
 From which alone actinic virtues flow. 
 Beneath a mask by cunning Hermes worn, 
 When on some raid of secret mischief borne. 
 Not long he tarried; soon he reappeared. 
 And in his hand, triumphantly upreared, 
 With joyful pride the magic plate he bore. 
 Which on its face fair Dian's image wore. 
 
 Thus far the god ; — but how shall tongue or pen 
 Portray the terror of the tribes of men. 
 Who, gazing up, beheld with wild affright 
 His lessening form recede from mortal sight. 
 Soon as he vanished, on their wondering eyes 
 A darkness fell, and covered all the skies. 
 Not even a friendly glimmer, piercing through 
 The folded robe, revealed the god to view. 
 The world grew dark; and in the gathering gloom 
 They seemed to read their everlasting doom. 
 Birds sought their nests ; and deeming day were done, 
 The beasts came forth in quest of prey to run ; 
 The forest slumbered ; and the waves, at rest, 
 Sunk down and slept ; upon the mountains crest 
 The eagle perched, with head beneath his wing; 
 Mute was the earth, and mute each living thing ; 
 Mute all save men ; some smote the air with cries, 
 Some hurled their curse against the darkening skies, 
 Some lifted up their white and trembling lips, 
 
 I 
 
r/IcEBCS. 
 
 And prayed the god to end his strange echpse, 
 For love of earth, lest earthly life should fail ; 
 Some wept and moaned with wild and bitter wail ! 
 All, all, in vain ! still deep and deeper grew 
 The gloom, transforming day to midnight's sable hue. 
 
 Others, less fearful and more wise than they, 
 Who long had owned the god's benignant sway, 
 And, by the beams reflected from his face, 
 Wrought forms of beauty and enduring grace, — 
 Who, in proud temples, open to the day. 
 Mysterious rites perform and homage pay. 
 While crystal orbs reflect the solar beam, 
 And censers glow, and burnished altars gleam — 
 These, Sons of Light, and skilled in optic laws, 
 Discern at once the trouble and its cause. 
 And, since the god had deigned their works to grace, 
 Nor feared his wrath, nor mourned his clouded face; 
 But deemed that he the patron of their Art 
 Henceforth would be, and great success impart. 
 
LEO N. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 In western lands, where, blooming in their pride, 
 A thousand cities flourish far and wide, 
 And all that skill can fashion, art can yield. 
 Adorn the face of nature's boundless field. 
 Behold the scenes which lately owned the sway 
 Of savage beasts, and men untamed as they. 
 Here late the wild primeval forest spread ] 
 Its vast expanse of lone and vernal shade, 
 Amid whose fresh and dewy depths there dwelt 
 A simple race, who lived, and loved, and knelt 
 In nature's fashion ; here, from many a rude 
 And savage breast, with nature's fire imbued, 
 Went up a fervent prayer to Him whose hand 
 Had formed and ruled this vast and bounteous land — 
 Their heritage, until the white man came 
 With arm of iron death, and bolt of flame. 
 To rear, amid the scenes of nature's youth. 
 The shrine of Freedom and the home of Truth. 
 Here, too, they warred ; the fiercely echoing whoop, 
 The lurking ambush, and the daring swoop. 
 
 I 
 
LEOX. 
 
 The bloody grapple, the wild cry of fear, 
 
 And the defying death-song, all were here ! 
 
 And these are gone — and what remains to show 
 
 The names, the deeds, of those who sleep below ? 
 
 No giant ruin, moldering dim and vast. 
 
 Tells its wild tale of warlike ages past. 
 
 No storied granite, towering to the sky, 
 
 Repeats their deeds of daring, fierce and high ; 
 
 But all seems fresh and lovely as the hour 
 
 When first these scenes obeyed creation's power ; 
 
 Closed is the writing of that bloody page, 
 
 And what shall speed the tale to future age ? 
 
 Vain doubter, cease ; behold the record here ! 
 
 Approach and read ; its traits are deep and clear. 
 
 Each hill, each vale, each spot of earth we tread, 
 
 Repeats some story of the warlike dead. 
 
 And scarce a stream whose name doth not betray 
 
 The simpler language of that elder da)'. 
 
 And many a fatal trace there lingers yet. 
 
 Where savage foes the stern invader met 
 
 In mortal conflict ; many a shapeless mound, 
 
 Unknown, unsculptured, marks the verdant ground, 
 
 And rude mementoes of their savage skill 
 
 In that chief art of man — the art to kill ! 
 
 Stone tomahawks and arrowheads of flint — 
 
 Some perfect yet, some bearing many a dint 
 
 Of fierce encounter in that stormy strife. 
 
 Begun in hate, and ending but with life: 
 
 The moldering relics of a by-gone race, 
 
 Expert in war, and nimble in the chase, 
 
LEON. 
 
 In virtue rude, in action bold and brave, 
 Which ne'er produced that abject thing — a slave ; 
 Whate'er their vices or their crimes might be, 
 This praise was their's, — to live and die the free ! 
 
 But these are not my theme ; to me belong 
 A humbler strain and a more peaceful song. 
 Let Cooper's pen record each warlike deed, 
 The fierce who vanquish, and the faint who bleed. 
 Or Irving's no less faithful hand portray 
 The lurking ambush, and the midnight fray. 
 No savage chieftian's name unknown to fear, 
 Nor border hero's, finds a record here; 
 I sing of one whose gentler actions claim 
 No proud memorial at the hand of fame. 
 Yet who, perchance, in that more stormy day, 
 Had shown a spirit no less stern than they. 
 
 Amid the vernal freshness of a scene 
 Where sights and sounds like these had lately been, 
 Nor Art's rude hand had ventured to deface 
 The fairy bloom of Nature's youthful grace — 
 Whose fond, expressive features still disclose 
 Her inward life, her raptures and her woes — 
 Where every breath seemed freighted to inspire 
 Fair freedom's strength, the hero's heart of fire, 
 The poet's vision, and the lover's dream — 
 Young Leon dwelt; beside a crystal stream, 
 Whose sweeping waters, murmuring in their course 
 Of mountain clouds which vailed its distant source. 
 Seemed like the requiem of departed joys, 
 
 I 
 
LEON. 
 
 Whose memory time nor sweeping change destroys. 
 
 The deep prevaiHng sadness of that song 
 
 Had wrapped his hfe, and borne his soul along, — 
 
 A tide which swelled and strengthened hour by hour, 
 
 Till he had grown the creature of its power. 
 
 And seemed to hear in every murmured tone 
 
 An utterance fraught with meaning not its own. 
 
 A mournful chord, a sad yet pleasing strain, 
 
 Whose cadence swept and died and rose again, 
 
 And, mingling with his soul's prophetic sen.se, 
 
 Became a spirit brooding and intense — 
 
 Which yet at times burst forth in joyous flow, 
 
 As if it scorned to wander sad and slow, 
 
 And longed to lose, in tumult wild and vast, 
 
 The mournful spell which bound it to the past ! 
 
 And who and what is he who dwcllcth here ? 
 
 By fate transplanted to this newer sphere. 
 
 His stock had flourished in a gentler clime. 
 
 Not all unhonored in the olden time. 
 
 In each proud feature of his form and face 
 
 His soul's high lineage you might clearly trace. 
 
 The worthy offspring of an honored name, 
 
 Whose fathers, scorning tyranny's dull claim, 
 
 Had found a refuge in these wilds afar, 
 
 From factious hatred and intestine war. 
 
 Xor lost to him their tales of ancient day ; 
 
 Which his young mind in lingering to survey, 
 
 Learned, while such themes their fruitful impulse gave. 
 
 To hate a tyrant while he scorned a slave. 
 
26 LEON. 
 
 He was a nature born for better aims 
 
 Than the dull world from its vain votaries claims ; ■ 
 
 He was not of that tender type which bears 
 
 At every step a load of torturing fears, — 
 
 Whose faint existence serves but to display 
 
 How souls can bear a life of slow decay, 
 
 And crawl and crouch beneath the smiles of heaven ; 
 
 To him a bounteous hand had kindly given 
 
 The lofty bearing, and the brow of thought, 
 
 For deeds of worth, and contemplation wrought, — 
 
 An eye, whose deep and piercing glance bespoke 
 
 A soul unbowed by superstition's yoke; 
 
 An earnestness of purpose, and a zeal 
 
 To prove the truths which others darkly feel, 
 
 Yet dare not question boldly ; to his thought. 
 
 Life seemed a radiance from the Godhead caught, — 
 
 A visioned joy, a prelude deep and tender, 
 
 A faint revealment of the immortal Splendor ; 
 
 A quenchless beam— though quell'd and darkened here. 
 
 Not all unworthy of a brighter sphere. 
 
 He knew no lore but that which Nature gives ; 
 He had no volume save her mystic leaves. 
 And these he read and pondered, till his heart 
 Grew filled with love beneath their wondrous art ; 
 He marked each tint of bright and varied hue 
 In land, and wave, and sky, until he grew 
 A worshipper of beauty in her wild 
 And wayward aspect — Nature's favored child, 
 Who loved her crowning peaks and solemn woods, 
 And all her vast and silent solitudes. 
 
LEON. 27 
 
 He had not bowed himself at Mammon's shrine, 
 Nor deemed her sordid offerings all divine — 
 Nor dimmed the whiteness of his soul — nor sold 
 His heart's deep love and earnest truth for gold. 
 Why should he mingle in the heartless throng — 
 Why court the proud — conciliate the strong — 
 To win that all of life which these can give, 
 Or those display — the right to cringe — to live 
 Their fellow bondsman, to become the spoil 
 Of that which binds them in its glittering toil ? 
 Still could he feel and bless the master power, 
 Which ruled his spirit since his childhood's hour, 
 The wild desire, the wish to breathe alone; 
 To know no other comrade save his own 
 And nature's musing, — gladly to behold 
 Her face unveiled, to view her charms unfold, 
 And feel the beating of that mighty heart 
 Whose vital throbbings kindle every part — 
 The all-creating, all-pervading soul. 
 Which moulds each form and animates the whole. 
 
 He coldly shunned the busy crowd, nor sought 
 
 A refuge from his loneliness of thought 
 
 Amid their scenes of light and heartless mirth ; 
 
 Though born to mingle with the sons of earth, 
 
 He seemed a creature of a different state ; 
 
 A nature fashioned by a darker fate. 
 
 And if at times he mourned his severed lot. 
 
 In word or action he betrayed it not. 
 
 No outward sign revealed the inward strife, 
 
28 LEON. 
 
 Or spoke of murmur at his lonely life. 
 
 Tho' wrapt in clouds and tempest, well he knew 
 
 Above the clouds were clothed in brighter hue ; 
 
 And all the light and glory of the earth 
 
 From night and storm and darkness hath its birth. 
 
 Tho' calm his outward aspect, in his soul 
 
 There slept a sense which would not bear control. 
 
 A stern, defiant feeling, which could brook 
 
 No word of blame, or even a passing look. 
 
 A slumbering passion, which would yet awake 
 
 In wrath, his future years to mar or make. 
 
 He loved to gaze upon the troubled sky. 
 
 When mighty storms were grandly sweeping by, 
 
 And bearing in their reckless course afar 
 
 The shattered trophies of their giant war. 
 
 He seemed to hear a trumpet voice, which spoke 
 
 'Mid lightning flame, and volleying thunder-stroke, 
 
 As starts the soldier to the stirring drum, 
 
 To rouse and arm him for the strife to come. 
 
 And when at length their headlong fury slept. 
 
 And all the stars their constant vigil kept. 
 
 Oft would he wander forth again, alone, 
 
 Beneath the shade of Nature's boundless throne. 
 
 And breathe the impulse of that purer life. 
 
 Which flows undimmed above all storm and strife. 
 
 Yet even all these at times would not allay 
 His thirst of soul — even nature's bright array 
 Of sights and sounds and voices, and that sense 
 Of life and joy, pervading and intense, 
 
LEON. 29 
 
 Served but to fan, not quench the hidden fire 
 Which bade his spirit worship and aspire. 
 How had his spirit panted for the power — 
 The might of genius — that all-glorious dower — 
 The magic touch — the God-like gift — to string 
 The poet's lyre, and by its breathings fling 
 A softening influence o'er his darkened life, 
 To calm its waves of turbulence and strife! 
 
 And oft, in pensive musing, had he stood 
 Beside his boj'hood's swift and rolling flood, 
 When night had thrown her sable curtain o'er 
 Its winding stream, and rude and rocky shore. 
 And vailed those crystal waters as they swept 
 In wild delight, unheeding all who wept, 
 And gazing on those boundless realms of air. 
 The dreamland of the soul, whose home is there. 
 Had vainly longed for wings to flee away, 
 And, guided by yon pure celestial ray, 
 Seek what on earth had proved a fruitless quest — 
 Balm for the soul, and for the spirit rest. 
 
 Hath earth no essence in her secret store 
 Which man may drink and never thirst for more ? 
 No soothing balm, to still the wild desire 
 Which mocks his bosom with its ceaseless fire ? 
 Hath she no refuge in her wondrous breast, 
 Where man may sleep and wake, and still be blest ? 
 What * is this troubled life ? — it cannot be 
 An empty bubble on time's boundless sea, 
 
 •• The following lines, to the close of this section, are a versification of the bc.-iutifiil 
 prose poem by Geo. D. Trenlice, entitled Immortality. 
 
30 
 
 Cast up to float a little moment there, 
 
 Then sink to night and darkness and despair ! 
 
 Why is it, else, each high and glorious thought, 
 
 Those aspirations from the Godhead caught, 
 
 Which leap like angels from the templed shrine 
 
 Of Man's deep soul, though plumed with light divine, 
 
 And lit by love from the eternal throne 
 
 Still wander forth, unsatisfied and lone? 
 
 W^hy is it that the rainbow and the cloud 
 
 Wrap life and beauty in their misty shroud. 
 
 And passing, like a dream of heavenly birth, 
 
 Above the darkness of this lower earth, 
 
 Leave the sad soul, with feelings soft and tender. 
 
 To muse upon their vanished light and splendor ? 
 
 Are we not born for higher scenes than earth? 
 
 Hath not the soul a sense of heavenly birth ? 
 
 Shall we not find at length, amid those bright 
 
 And starry worlds that gem the fields of night, 
 
 Those vision forms that mock our being here. 
 
 And reign and revel in a brighter sphere? 
 
 Kow shall that moment, when the soul shall burst 
 The clanking fetters which so long have cursed 
 Its darkened life, but vainly strove to bind 
 The soaring pinions of the immortal mind. 
 In the deep fullness of its power transcend 
 What pen may trace, or thought with utterance blend ! 
 No more — no more — through endless years, to feel 
 The oppression of that power whose iron heel, 
 Upon the writhing prostrate spirit thrust, 
 
LEON. 
 
 So long hath held it grovelling in the dust. 
 Forever ransomed from the galling sense 
 Of weakness, pain, and fettering impotence, 
 And with a robe of beauty unsurpassed 
 And fadeless splendor o'er the being cast — 
 How shall the rapture of that moment throw 
 Its haloing radiance o'er past scenes of woe, 
 And crown the memory of long years of pain 
 With a deep joy, eternal in its reign ! 
 
 And Leon felt that passion of his youth 
 
 To pierce the heights and depths in search of truth ; 
 
 To pour the impulse of his mind afar 
 
 Beyond the radiance of each utmost star, — 
 
 To know what deeds are done, what spirits bear 
 
 The crown or curse of life and being there. 
 
 Why man is doomed to wait and wonder here. 
 
 The passive tenant of a lesser sphere, 
 
 While myriad worlds in vaster orbits move. 
 
 And woo his spirit to their realms of love. 
 
 What hand hath spread those glorious worlds abroad? 
 
 We own His presence, and we call him God. 
 
 He wrought their forms obedient to His will, 
 
 He by His power upholds and guides them still. 
 
 But who hath seen His glorious face, or heard 
 
 At any time His voice or spoken word? 
 
 Once he had deemed that man's aspiring mind 
 Might win from thought and search the powjr to bind 
 Creative wisdom in its little chain 
 Of words and creeds and symbols — but in vain ! 
 
LEON. 
 
 The spell dissolved before the kindling touch 
 
 Of mind's expanding power — alas ! how much 
 
 Of worth and wisdom, past our finding out, 
 
 Would life display, did man but dare to doubt ; 
 
 Nor blindly bow before the deadening sway 
 
 Of those dull things who prate, and preach, and pray, 
 
 They know not wherefore, save that each must needs 
 
 Be fed and pampered by the fools he leads. 
 
 And even 'mid scenes by Nature marked her own, 
 
 Dark Superstition rears her sable throne, 
 
 And spreads her snares with deep and cunning art. 
 
 To bind the judgment, but not wake the heart, — 
 
 And weaves her fancied tales of purchased heaven. 
 
 And sulphurous flames, and tortur'd ghosts,which,even 
 
 In childhood's trustful bosom, cause to swell 
 
 Such burning hatred and such fire of hell ! 
 
 Henceforth before no human shrine he knelt; 
 
 The spell was broken, and at length he felt 
 
 That he had solved the mystery of this life. 
 
 Now gazing upward, past all doubt and strife, 
 
 He owned the bright effulgence of that ray 
 
 Whose beam is life, whose glance is perfect day. 
 
 What though for him no blazing altar reared 
 
 Its crest, no bloody sacrifice appeared; 
 
 No angel Gabriel, with his flaming form; 
 
 No voice from out the whirlwind or the storm. 
 
 Enough for him that 'mid those orbs there dwelt 
 
 A central Power, whose mystic breathings melt 
 
 Throughout all space, — a vast and living Soul, 
 
LEON. 
 
 Which binds all being in its strong;- control. 
 To gaze upon the glowing heavens, and feel 
 That sense which bids all subject nature kneel 
 Before the kindling source of life, and own 
 That Power supreme, whose vast and awful throne, 
 Encircled by those rolling worlds of night. 
 Pours forth its radiance, filling all with ligjit! 
 
 The wild aspiring of his soul had wrought 
 
 Within his breast an earnestness of thought 
 
 More than on common minds the earth bestows — 
 
 That strong ideal energy, which throws 
 
 O'er all life's scenes its swift and piercing glance ; 
 
 The earth to him was not a mere expanse 
 
 Of land and wave and city, but a page 
 
 Whereon were written meanings deep and sage. 
 
 Which he would fain interpret ; he had striven 
 
 To trace the life which God to man hath given 
 
 Beyond the gathering darkness of the tomb, 
 
 And find its triumph in a life to come. 
 
 The grave to him was not a place of light. 
 
 And yet it seemed not like eternal night ; 
 
 But a dim region, where all .strife shall cease. 
 
 And man first learn the blessedness of peace. 
 
 The last long slumber which all life must take; 
 
 Yet who shall .say they nevermore shall wake? 
 
 And must this fate be his — must he be one 
 
 Of countless million* who have come and gone. 
 
 And left no record of their presence here. 
 
 Save that which marks their cold and silent bier? 
 
 IS 
 
34 
 
 The same dark tale of old mortality — 
 
 To dream that man may live, and then — to die ! 
 
 And is this all ? is there no life to come ? 
 
 Is all that dream of bliss beyond the tomb, [sigh, 
 
 That quenchless hope, which prompts the unceasing 
 
 The baseless fabric of man's phantasy ? 
 
 Though faith's illusive scheme of heaven and hell 
 
 Beguile no more, what mightier power can quell 
 
 That stubborn impulse which, from pole to pole, 
 
 Hath still sustained and still sustains the soul? 
 
 Hath He who wrought this universal frame, 
 
 Who formed us as we are, but lit the flame ' 
 
 Of hope within man's breast to lure him on 
 
 Through life's dark waste, till life and hope be gone ? 
 
 When Earth hath run her weary round of care ; 
 
 When Time hath laid her hidden secrets bare ; 
 
 When man hath searched her inmost wonders through, | 
 
 And wrought and finished all that man may do ; ; 
 
 When his desires shall find no further scope ; j 
 
 When he shall cease to hunger and to hope ( 
 
 For worthless aims ; when nought remains to raise l 
 
 Within his breast desire or dream of praise I 
 
 Or lust of glory — when from sea to sea, * 
 
 From peopled shore to shore, the earth shall be 
 
 A mingled mass of that which once was rife 
 
 With that unrest wdiich mortals miscall life ; 
 
 When all the breathing multitude shall be 
 
 A stagnant waste, a waveless, tideless sea. 
 
 Stirred by no storm and wakened by no strife, ^ 
 
 To mark the world of death from that of life, " 
 
35 
 
 Shall then His breath rekindle and relume 
 The faded ashes of earth's peopled tomb, 
 And bid the trampled dust arise, and be 
 Scions of life and immortality? 
 
 Vain search, vain question! Man ma\- not behold 
 Life's hidden page, nor fate's dark scroll unfold ; 
 Nor pierce the mystic veil whicli lies between 
 Life's little moment and the dim unseen ; 
 Nor with swift vision scan the doubtful wav 
 Through which the soul with devious route must stray 
 Vet. though no ray can pierce its soundless gloom, 
 I lope's fairest garland grows from out the tomb. 
 Then live to-day! enjoy the present hour. 
 Pluck, while we may, the bright and fadeless flower, 
 And from its bloom, no evanescent joy, 
 Extract a balm, a sweetness to destroy 
 The poison-minglings of the cup of life, 
 ,\nd soothe the anguish of the parting strife. 
 
 To themes like these his earliest thoughts were turned. 
 
 Nor these alone within his bosom burned : 
 
 His soul coukl bow to names of noblest worth. 
 
 The bright and glorious of the sons of earth. 
 
 And these, though slight his youthful lore, had thrown 
 
 O'er his young heart a mastery all their own ; 
 
 A deep and silent worship, which became 
 
 In after years the quenchless thirst of fame. 
 
 And rapt at times in that absorbing dream. 
 
 He wandered forth beside his boyhood's stream, 
 
 Sought out each scene to which tradition gave 
 
Some lingering memory of, the fallen brave, 
 Lived o'er again each legend strange and wild, 
 Or with such strains as these his lonely thoughts be- 
 guiled : 
 
 To THE AlLEGHENV. 
 
 O Allegheny! bright, and bold, and free! 
 
 From the dark grandeur of thy mountain home 
 Who rushest forth in wild, impetous glee, 
 
 Rejoicingly thy wayward course to roam. 
 
 Down rapids steep, 'mid rocks enwreathed with foam, 
 Thy current speeds, in swift, impulsive flight, 
 
 Between thy banks of fruitful yellow loam, 
 Which rise on either side to noblest height, 
 Or spread afar in landscapes blooming fair and bright. 
 
 Well do thy lustral waters bear the name * 
 
 Bequeathed thee by that dusky hunter race 
 Who once in savage freedom roamed thy stream. 
 
 Or skimmed in birch canoe across thy face. 
 
 And who, with oaken bow and spear, did chase 
 The bounding deer thy wooded banks along. 
 
 Ere yet the white man's boat had learned to trace 
 The windings of thy current ; while yet rung [song ! 
 The sounding war-whoop or the captive brave's death- 
 
 That race has passed ; all have been swept away 
 Like autumn leaves before the whirlwind's scorn. 
 
 Thy waves have hymned their requiem, for they 
 Had none besides thee o'er their fate to mourn. 
 Thy banks, of their primeval forests shorn, 
 
 * Allegheny— in the Indian tongue: Clear water. 
 
37 
 
 Have given birth to city, forge, and field ; 
 
 And now upon thy bounding breast are borne 
 Those stores of riches which the earth doth yield 
 To man, when taught aright her subtle powers to 
 wield. 
 
 These are th\- wealth — and more : still linger near 
 The silent shades of fame's immortal band ; 
 
 Tradition guards their deathless relics here, 
 
 And History graves them with her glowing hand: 
 Among tlie rivers of this broad free land 
 
 Thou hast a record which shall yield to none : 
 
 Twas here, even where thy minstrel now doth stand, 
 
 Thy stream had well nigh been the grave of one 
 
 The proudest of earth's heroes, our great Washington! 
 
 While but a youth — ere yet his star of fame 
 
 Had reached its height, in winter, bleak and cold, 
 
 His countr)-'s faithful messenger he came 
 
 Through pathless forests, till he stood where rolled, 
 Half choked with ice, th\' wintry torrent bold! 
 
 He launched upon a feeble raft — midway 
 
 His frail support was crushed — thy waves unfoKl 
 
 The dawning hope of liberty — to-day.. 
 
 Where had our freedom been had he been swept awa\'? 
 
 Jk- thou, O Stream, the emblem of my thought ! 
 Have I not listened to thy ceaseless song. 
 
 And quaffed thy crystal waves, till I have caught 
 The spirit of thy waters ? deep and strong, 
 Yet clear as mountain dew, thou speed'st along, 
 
jS LEON. 
 
 A thing untamed as thought, and wild, and free. 
 
 And in thy course what mingling beauties throng 
 So may the utterance of my spirit be, 
 A thing of light and life and glorious melody. 
 
 So pass'd young Leon's boyhood, till there came 
 
 To dwell beside those rustic scenes of fame 
 
 One, whose bright eye, and warm and changing cheek, 
 
 Proclaiming more than tenderest tones could speak, 
 
 Were destined o'er his youthful heart to sway 
 
 A power unstirred by song or poet's lay. 
 
 How could he hope to fondly linger there. 
 
 Nor breathe, amid that soft voluptuous air, 
 
 The mystic fervor cf that power which still 
 
 Moulds all of life and being at its will. 
 
 That power all human souls must still obey. 
 
 As suns and systems own its distant sway. 
 
 The same the attraction, and the same its cause, 
 
 When sun to sun or soul to soul it draws. 
 
 Doth this seem strange ? yet think, — the heavens above 
 
 We deem the home and source of life and love ; 
 
 And what hath man's deep searching found afar? 
 
 Sun linked to sun, and circling star to star! 
 
 Though in those realms wild comets fiercely run 
 
 Eccentric course around some central sun, 
 
 And seem to break its sway, but still return 
 
 At that bright source to kindle and to burn, 
 
 Till, fixed or blasted by the ruling sphere, 
 
 In bliss or ruin end their swift career; 
 
39 
 
 So errini; hearts, in this our lower world, 
 
 By love are throned in bliss, or into ruin hurled. 
 
 They met ; his words were few, but o'er his brow 
 There passed a sense unknown, unfelt till now. 
 A sense which seemed to speak of coming pain ; 
 He deemed it but some phantom of his brain. 
 That \oice within — alas! would we but hear 
 Its warning note when fate or foe is near, 
 How might we 'scape the deep and bitter sense 
 Of long despair and fruitless penitence ! 
 That warning voice — still heard abo\e the din 
 Of strife without or darker foes within. 
 But all unfelt, unheeded, when some strong 
 And fiery passion hurries us along, 
 To grasp the bitter fruit which tempting lies. 
 To mock the lips, but feast the dazzled eyes. 
 
 And what of her he loved ? She was a child 
 By nature fresh and winning, warm and wild. 
 A bright and* sparkling creature, pouring forth 
 Its wealth of light, and joy, and gladsome wortii. 
 Who, under purer teaching, might have grown 
 A boundless blessing, peerless and alone ; 
 But, schooled too early in the world's vain wile. 
 Had learned to calmly speak, and blandly smile. 
 To check each fresher feeling of the heart, 
 Ere from the lips in kindly tone it part. 
 To quench each warmer impulse, lest it claim 
 From frigid hearts and lips the brand of shame. 
 To gail\- move amid the thouiihtless crew. 
 
40 
 
 And claim their homage as her rightful due. 
 
 Such was lanthe — soon o'er Leon's heart 
 
 To prove the magic of her woman's art, 
 
 And rouse a slumbering passion, which would grow 
 
 Life's proudest blessing or its deepest woe. 
 
 Alas ! that one so wrought and formed to love, 
 
 Possessing all the softness of the dove, 
 
 The sweet low voice, the seraph smile, and all 
 
 That woman's form displays to mould and thrall, 
 
 Should prove a thing of cold and empty art, 
 
 Perfect in all things — wanting but the heart ! 
 
 She was no mate for him : and yet he felt, 
 
 As at that shrine of loveliness he knelt, 
 
 The dream, the joy, and all that might have been. 
 
 Were earth still Eden, she its sinless queen. 
 
 What though no love might kindle at that shrine 
 
 A mutual flame, an effluence all divine ? 
 
 He, born to worship all things bright and fair, 
 
 Poured all the incense of his spirit there, 
 
 A deep, wild passion, — for his fiery heart 
 
 Not yet had learned the world's corroding art. 
 
 He viewed her not as woman, for his sight, 
 
 Grown blind, and dazzled by her beauty's light, 
 
 Crowned her with all that mortal's deepest love 
 
 Portrays of saints or angels from above. 
 
 What is it that we worship with such vain 
 
 Yet quenchless homage? What must still remain 
 
 As it hath been, the soul's ideal sense 
 
 Of life and beauty ; Love's omnipotence 
 
I.EOX. 
 
 And infinite perfection — the vain tlrcain 
 
 Which haunts the spirit till its promptings seem 
 
 The voice of God within us ! Who hath felt 
 
 That first wild passion through his being melt, 
 
 Transfuse each sense, and kindle every breath, 
 
 Nor owned, with bitter shame, how far beneath 
 
 The full fruition of that fiery dream 
 
 Even love's most fierce and burning moments seem 
 
 The fatal truth young Leon had not proved : 
 His dream was this — to love and to be loved, — 
 To find in her who woke this wild excess 
 An answering passion — in each warm caress 
 To feel the thrilling promise of that hour 
 When each to each shall own the blissful power 
 Of manhood's strength and woman's softer charms, 
 And melt and mingle in each other's arms. 
 As streams which, separate, wander long in vain, 
 Unite at length, and, bounding to the main. 
 As still their waves in sweeping concert pour, 
 Fling life and fragrance round the smiling shore. 
 
 What wealth of passion and of jo\' he drew 
 From that mo.st living source, until he grew 
 Oblivious of all passing scenes, and deemed 
 The earth a heaven, nor wondered if he dreamed I 
 No more in lonely mood his da\'s were spent; 
 To each loved .spot new charms her presence lent. 
 Making each blissful scene more blest appear, — 
 Though loved of )'ore, }'et now more sweetl\- dear. 
 Could he be sad while she was by him smiling, 
 
42 LEOA. 
 
 With her sweet tones his sullen thoughts beguiling? 
 As side by side they wandered 'mid some lone 
 And lovely scene, with fairest flowers o'ergrown, 
 Or, when the long bright summer day was ending, 
 Marked earth's gay tints with hues of sunset blending, 
 Or gazed upon the lights which shine above, 
 But most of all on that bright Star of Love, 
 Whose moonlike radiance, in that sky serene, 
 Shone like the guardian spirit of the scene. 
 A vain, delusive splendor ! throned afar, 
 Still doth it beam, a bright but distant star, 
 And woos the spirit, when the heart is soft, 
 By tender feelings winged and borne aloft, 
 To burst the bonds that bind it to this clay. 
 And soar and mingle with its trembling ray. 
 
 Her heart was like the laughing summer's tide. 
 Reflecting aught which o'er its face may glide. 
 With fairy-like enchantment — bright, not deep. 
 Let but the zephyr's breath its current sweep. 
 And all had faded : his no trace would show 
 To outward eye of that which slept below ; 
 Let it but feel the breath of passion's hour, 
 It then betrayed the rushing torrent's power ! 
 Could souls like these in fondest union blend ? 
 Gaze on them now, and let such doubtings end ! 
 See her soft eyes beam forth their tenderest rays, 
 Mark how he pours his soul in that fond gaze. 
 Or softly presses on her lip and brow 
 The burning seal of passion's deepest vow. 
 And, while her bosom heaves with fluttering sighs, 
 
i.Koy. 
 
 To her sweet tones his deeper voice replies. 
 And now as eve's soft shades are gatherin<^ near, 
 Soothes with this bo)-isli la\' lier pensixe ear. 
 
 To I.VNrnK. 
 
 The sun has left the western sky, 
 
 And sunk to rest behind the steep; 
 The e\ening breeze floats faintly by; 
 
 The placid waters calmly sleep. 
 
 The trembling stars begin to peep 
 From out their azure bowers above, 
 
 While we, in blissful union, keep 
 The twilight tryst — the hour of love. 
 
 Soft sinks the shade on rock and tree ; 
 
 No moonlight sheds its silvery cheer, 
 And yet there is no night to me 
 
 While thou art smiling sweeth' near ! 
 
 Too wildly loved, too fondly dear ! 
 I ask no other boon but this, 
 
 To feel th}^ gentle presence here. 
 To taste thy soft and burning kiss. 
 
 O, max- no cruel fate dissever 
 
 Our lives, which now so closely twine ! 
 
 Those lips, where mine would cling forever, 
 That hand so fondly clasped in mine, 
 Ah, how — alas, could I resign 
 
 Var charms of less endearing worth. 
 And, having tasted joj's divine. 
 
 Stoop to the grosser founts of earth ? 
 
LEON. 
 
 Still may my being mix with thine! 
 
 Untouched by time, unchilled by art, 
 Still let me know thee fondly mine, 
 
 Though fate all other bliss should thwart. 
 
 O, ever to my life impart 
 The dream, the joy, the more than heaven, 
 
 And to my lone and wayward heart 
 The rest and peace which thou hast given. 
 
 Ah, happy state, which such delight can show : 
 Such blissful hour can come but once below. 
 That spell, once lost, can never be restored. 
 Thrice happy they, who, like the miser's hoard, 
 Nurse that sweet blossom of the soul's delight, 
 Nor let the world's cold breath its tender fragrance 
 blight. 
 
 Days came and went, and came and found them still 
 Unchanged — their hearts as yet had felt no chill. 
 Still brightly burned that soft and tender flame 
 In Leon's breast, and she seemed still the same 
 In heart and word as she had ever been 
 Since first he owned her as his bosom's queen. 
 Fond, trustful youth ! be happy while you may ! 
 Pluck that sweet flower ! it blooms but for a day. 
 Enjoy the hour whose brightness lingers yet ; 
 The time will come when thou, with vain regret, 
 Shalt linger o'er each scene of vanished bliss. 
 And curse the fate which marred so sweet a dream as 
 this! 
 
/.i:o.\. 45 
 
 It is the hour when twihght shadows creep 
 O'er hill and dale and mead and crowning steep. 
 Night sinks upon the wide and swarming hive, 
 And busy hands and brains forget to strive. 
 A more than wonted fragrance fills the air. 
 The very breath of heaven seems floating there ; 
 And earth seems sinking to that long repose, 
 The promised twilight of her pangs and woes. 
 O, who hath felt the softness of that hour 
 Sink o'er the soul with more than heavenh' power. 
 Nor breathed the wish that man might ne'er again 
 Awake the world to strife and toil and pain ? 
 Vain thought ! 'tis but the prelude of that hour, 
 Far distant yet, when earth shall own the power 
 And feel the fullness of that time of rest. 
 So long denied her worn and tortured breast. 
 
 The moon arose ; and Leon, by its light. 
 
 Walked forth to breathe the freshness of the night, 
 
 And lose, beneath that calm and peaceful ra\'. 
 
 The anxious thoughts, which, struggle as we may, 
 
 Amid the daily tumult of our life. 
 
 Still add their weight to the unequal strife. 
 
 Oft had he bathed him in that beam of bliss. 
 
 And felt its power, but never aught like this. 
 
 .So calm, so peaceful, it would almo.st .seem 
 
 The sweet reflection of some quiet dream ; 
 
 Save when the gentl)' rippling wavelets dash 
 
 Against the shore with faint and murmured plash. 
 
 Or mournful calling of the whippoorwili 
 
46 
 
 Sounds wierd and lonel)^ from the distant hill. 
 
 All sterner sounds, and every ruder breath 
 
 Seemed hushed to stillness by the hand of death ! 
 
 What marvel that a soul like his should melt 
 
 To such a scene ? and yet he knew and felt 
 
 It bore alike the seeds of life and death, 
 
 And needed but the lightning's flaming breath 
 
 To fill the bosom of that slumbering air 
 
 With sights and sounds of anguish and despair. 
 
 He wandered on, along the verdured bank, 
 
 Whose blooming trees the dewy current drank. 
 
 And from their leafy chaplets bent to lave 
 
 Their pendant branches in its crystal wave. 
 
 What impulse led him, in that moonlit hour. 
 
 To trace the pathway to that blissful bower 
 
 Where shone those hours of sunny gladness past. 
 
 When all above, around, within seemed cast 
 
 In one consummate mould of light and love, 
 
 Too like a dream of happiness above 
 
 For mortal scenes and natures long to wear? 
 
 He did not hope to find lanthe there. 
 
 Yet, scarcely conscious of the path he took, 
 
 His practiced footsteps sought the peaceful nook. 
 
 It was a lone and lovely spot, beside 
 
 The quiet river's deep and placid tide 
 
 Of ever-murmuring waters, where there grew 
 
 A stately elm, whose hoary branches threw 
 
 Their broad and leafy arms above, and made, 
 
 O'erhead, a deep impenetrable shade. 
 
 A branching vine its verdant wealth had flung 
 
47 
 
 From limb to limb, whose mantling foliage hung 
 In careless wreaths, and drooping to the ground. 
 Had formed a close and charmed circle round. 
 Its gnarled root and massive trunk, o'ergrown 
 With native moss, had formed a mimic throne. 
 Where Love might sit and dream the hours awa\-, 
 And watch the dancing waves beneath him play, 
 Or Fancy's boundless realms of light and air survey. 
 
 Few days had passed since Leon lingered there, 
 
 And heard lanthe's trembling lips declare 
 
 That, for a season, she must bid adieu 
 
 To scenes where love and joy so sweetly grew, 
 
 And seek again the gilded city's pride, 
 
 To do a service none might do beside 
 
 For a dear friend — though love still urged her sta\-. 
 
 Yet duty called her, and she must away. 
 
 And how could he such trustful zeal reprove ? 
 
 And so, with many a tender word of love, 
 
 And whispered promise of a quick return. 
 
 She had departed; leaving him to burn 
 
 In swift impatience for the destined hour 
 
 Of sweet reunion — ^he had gained the bower. 
 
 With thoughtful step, and slow and pensive air, 
 
 And softly enters — ha ! what sees he there ? 
 
 It is lanthe — she, returned so soon, 
 
 And sitting there beneath the smiling moon, 
 
 With love and her own peaceful thoughts alone, 
 
 Dreaming perchance of him. Ah, had he known 
 
 How soon must fall the mask she long had worn, 
 
 Revealing depths of cold and heartless scorn 
 
48 LEON. 
 
 He had not fathomed ! With a thrill of pride, 
 
 And eager footstep he approached her side, 
 
 And bending forward, trembling with delight, 
 
 Vet scarce believing that he sees aright, 
 
 " lanthe, dearest, is it thou ?" he cried — 
 
 Then sudden stopped, for seated at her side 
 
 He saw — one arm in tender dalliance placed 
 
 Around the outline of her yielding waist — 
 
 A stranger form, who, starting to his'feet, 
 
 In voice whose tremor seemed of passion's heat — 
 
 Fear, manhood's guise must ever disavow — 
 
 Thus rudely questioned: "Who and what art thou, 
 
 That dost presume thus boldly to invade 
 
 The lone retirement of this rural shade, 
 
 And thus, in tones familiar, to address 
 
 This lady with such words of tenderness ? 
 
 Had you not chanced a colder form to meet, 
 
 Methinks your greeting had been wondrous sweet! 
 
 Say, dids't thou hope to find her lonely here. 
 
 Soft vows of love from lips like thine to hear ? 
 
 Speak ! ere I trample from your shrinking breast 
 
 The trembling truth, already half confessed." 
 
 With heart of fire, but voice of outward calm, 
 Young Leon answered : " Who and what I am 
 Brief answer claims — enough, that I am here — 
 That I remain is proof how little fear 
 Your boasts inspire — another time and place 
 Might test their value — now there is no space 
 For further words between us, — what I seek 
 This lady best can answer — let her speak." 
 
LEON. 
 
 49 
 
 lanthc, pale, bewildered and amazed, 
 Till now had trembling stood, and mutely gazed 
 Upon the scene ; but soon, with ready smile. 
 And woman's quick and ever-present wile, 
 She answered : " Carlos, this is but a friend. 
 Who has mistaken friendship's scope and end ; 
 And deems it thus his province to declare 
 In that regard a more than common care. 
 And earnest zeal ; perhaps he yet may learn 
 The meet reward such diligence may earn ; 
 But from its present proof we humbly crave 
 A kind release." With this, her arm she gave 
 To her companion, and with cold adieu, 
 And mock obeisance, from the scene withdrew. 
 
 He spoke not, moved not — though each burning word 
 Fell on his heart like molten flame, and stirred 
 A torture there, which for a season left 
 Each outward sense of life and power bereft. 
 As one who in some dreadful dream doth hear 
 What fills his soul with more than mortal fear. 
 And strives to start and cry, but cannot break 
 The horrid spell which binds him, nor awake. 
 
 Meanwhile the heavens, so bright above his head 
 An hour ago, grew sullen now as lead ; 
 He heeded not the swiftly darkening skies, 
 Nor muttered warning of the tempest's rise ; 
 But there, he stood, as stands the riven oak, 
 When rent, dismantled, by the thunder's stroke. 
 A bolt had fallen, — not, indeed, from heaven ; 
 5 
 
50 LEON. 
 
 That were a blessing all too kindly given, 
 
 Since life at once had sunk beneath the blow, 
 
 And he must live to bear his weight of woe. 
 
 And onward still, in all its fury, came 
 
 The gathering tempest in its car of flame. 
 
 The angry lightning flashed across his path, 
 
 In lurid token of the coming wrath. 
 
 This roused him from his trance; he turned and fled, 
 
 He recked not whither, so his pathway led 
 
 Far from the ghastly, hated spot, where all 
 
 His cherished hopes had known so deep a fall. 
 
 Where should he turn him in that lonely hour 
 
 To find a refuge from the tempest's'power ? 
 
 Shall he retrace the pathway he had come. 
 
 And seek again the cheerless light of home, 
 
 Where curious eyes and prying looks might seek 
 
 To read the secret of his altered cheek. 
 
 Or find, 'mid barren rocks and scenes more rude. 
 
 Some spot in keeping with his reckless mood ? 
 
 Beneath the shadow of an ancient rock, 
 
 Which long had brooked the tempest's wildest shock,. 
 
 And seemed, even now, to lift more proudly high 
 
 Its giant crest beneath the midnight sky. 
 
 And rear its form with stern and rugged grace, 
 
 As glad to shelter in its strong embrace. 
 
 In this lone hour of night and clouds and storm. 
 
 That wayward heart, that proud, but fragile form, 
 
 Who, when those scenes were bright, and skies more 
 
 So oft had lain in listless dreaming there — [fair, 
 
LEON. 5 
 
 Not trcinbliiiL^ now, but pale and cold he stood. 
 Beneath him rolled the torrent's foamini^ flood ; 
 Around him swept the tempest's wildest wrath ; 
 The tall oaks shivering in the whirlwind's path, 
 The dashing waters and the lightning's flash, 
 The wild wind's moaning and the thunder's crash, 
 Seemed but a mockery to the fierce control 
 Of that wild passion storming through his soul ! 
 Though skies might rend, and sweeping waters roar, 
 And midnight storm o'erwhelm him in its power, 
 What recked he of their vain and fruitless strife ? 
 These could not add,a terror to his life ; 
 The fairest promise which that life had borne 
 Lay crushed and trampled 'neath the feet of scorn. 
 And yet he did not dash himself along 
 The reeling earth, nor pour his voice in strong 
 And fierce complaint upon the sweeping blast ; 
 Its feeble strength he knew would soon be past, 
 And morn arise with face serenely fair. 
 And earth spread forth her blooming verdure there— 
 But not for him, since he no more might dwell 
 'Mid those bright scenes he once had loved so well. 
 
 The clouds rolled onward ; dim and fainter grew 
 The lightning's glare, the echoing peals more few, 
 And now at distance slowly died away. 
 The brightening east revealed the coming day ; 
 Hill, stream, and vale are slowly bodied forth. 
 And light once more awakes the gladdened earth ; 
 Young, bright, and vigorous from that night of gloom 
 
LEON. 
 
 And gaily smiling in its freshened bloom. 
 
 Ah, how unlike the human heart it seems ! [dreams. 
 
 The storm which wrecks youth's summer wealth of 
 
 Leaves but a lone and desert waste of years, 
 
 A sterile tract, where flower nor bloom appears. 
 
 The storm had passed ; and with it seemed to wane 
 
 The maddening fire, the whirlwind of his brain. 
 
 The tumult ceased : and in his soul there grew 
 
 The stern resolve to be, to bear, and do 
 
 Whate'er the present hour or future fate 
 
 Should yet demand to conquer or await. 
 
 Though summer visions might no'more beguile, 
 
 Nor Nature woo him with her gentle smile. 
 
 Nor his rapt soul, with glad exulting bound. 
 
 See life and beauty blooming all around; 
 
 Though his young heart, its fondest hopes o'erthrown, 
 
 Must learn to wear a coldness not its own. 
 
 And wake to wrestle with a sterner life. 
 
 Still would he prove a victor in the strife ! 
 
 That he would live for triumph ; that his name 
 
 .Should yet become a thing and sound of fame, 
 
 That honor's meed should on his steps attend, 
 
 And men be proud to know and call him friend. 
 
 And with that altered feeling grew the thought. 
 
 Within his being so intensely wrought, 
 
 That she, who thus had scorned him in his young 
 
 And fervent love, when Fame at length had flung 
 
 Her gleaming garland o'er his manhood's brow, 
 
 IkA'ould know the heart she spurned and trampled now. 
 
LEON. 53 
 
 But all too late, since time could not restore 
 Tiie light and freshness life had worn before. 
 
 And Leon gazed upon each once loved scene. 
 Which late the hope of peace and joy had been, 
 And while o'er all his parting glance he flung. 
 Forth from his heart these notes of anguish sprung : 
 
 l"\\Ri:WELL. 
 
 Yc vernal shades, and brightly blooming bowers. 
 Which smile so gaily 'neath the morning beam, — 
 
 Scenes where I knew so many joyous hours, 
 How languid now and cold your glances seem ! 
 
 In vain for me are strewn your fairest flowers ; 
 In vain your bright and sparkling waters gleam ; 
 
 The charm which lit your sunny scenes is dead, 
 
 Your glory passed away, your bloom forever fled ! 
 
 And thou, sweet dream of love and lost delight! 
 
 Bright heavenly source, from which my spirit drew 
 Ethereal fire, till my bewildered sight 
 
 Deemed all the earth transfigured to your hue : 
 Sweet hour of love and joy, how swift your flight ! 
 
 How could I think, while Jier sweet presence threw 
 Such wild enchantment o'er my raptured thought. 
 That by her hand so soon such ruin should be wrought ! 
 
 She deemed me but a trifler, like the rest, — 
 
 Her fawning train ; a vain and thoughtless boy, 
 
 A heartless thing, to be an hour caressed, 
 Then thrown aside for a more gilded toy. 
 
54 LEON. 
 
 She little thought that in this quiet breast 
 
 There dwelt a feeling time could not destroy, — 
 A sleepless impulse, born for weal or woe : 
 Her hand might fan the flame, but could not quench 
 its glow ! 
 
 Farewell, ye scenes with love and rapture fraught ; 
 
 I must depart — yet, ere I bid adieu. 
 Fain would I fling around each once loved spot, 
 
 Which she may often linger to review, 
 A haunting memory, a regretful thought. 
 
 Each word, each act, each token to renew. 
 Till she shall feel at length how worse than vain 
 Are art and falsehood's charms Love's vengeance to 
 restrain. 
 
 And if, perchance, a coming hour shall prove. 
 Your inspiration was not given in vain ; 
 
 If that pure passion which I vainly strove 
 To find in her, shall waken in my strain, 
 
 And teach my harp a softer chord of love, 
 To soothe my spirit's deep and lasting pain, 
 
 Then shall my song in notes of triumph swell. 
 
 And I shall bless the hour I bade these scenes farewell. 
 
 And he went forth — the youth, no more a boy, 
 Since past that hope and quenched that dream of joy, 
 Which he had cherished since his natal hour. 
 Deep in his heart, a germ of wondrous power. 
 Till, 'neath the fickle beam of woman's smile. 
 It sprung to life and bloomed a little while — 
 Surpassing fair ! but, ere his eager hand 
 
LEOX. 55 
 ( 
 
 Could grasp the fruit, as by the enchanter's wand, 
 It changed its mocking semblance, and became 
 Within his breast a heart consuming flame. 
 And he went forth — the youth, a boy no more, 
 Went forth to roam, an adept in that lore 
 Which bids its tortured victims to conceal 
 What most their rent and anguished bosoms feel, 
 And, moving 'mid the ga)' and heartless throng. 
 On passion's reckless current borne along, 
 Seem what they are not — 'neath the mask of pride, 
 The wounded heart and barren life to hide. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 1S76. 
 
 Lords of our Land ! who are shrined in her story \ 
 
 Fearless in fight when her fetters were broke ; 
 Laden with laurels, and girdled with glory, — 
 Dare we, dread shadows, your presence invoke ? 
 Lo ! Columbia, chief birth 
 Of fair Freedom on earth. 
 Adds a century's star to the crown of her worth ! 
 Ye! who warred for the wreath which adorned her 
 
 young brow. 
 Should rejoice in the glory that garlands it now. 
 
 Sages and heroes ! long silent in slumber. 
 
 Rouse from the stately repose of the dead ! 
 Cast off the cerements which shroud you and cumber; 
 Bask in the beams that your glory hath shed ! 
 See! with storm-flashing eye, 
 'Mid the lightnings on high. 
 Still your eagle soars sunward thro' Liberty's sky! 
 And the star blazoned-folds of the flag you unfurled 
 With the sheen of its splendor hath wakened the world ' 
 
 I 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 57 
 
 Clothed in a clime where nothralldom hath flourish'd, 
 Washed by the wave that no sceptre hath spanned, 
 The seed, by the blood of your martyrdom nourish'd. 
 With the bloom of its blossoms hath laden our land. 
 Lo ! the harvest of gold 
 On her bosom unrolled ! 
 Tis a treasure of gladness to millions untold ! 
 And we, who have garnered the fruits of your toil, 
 Swear anew that no tyrant your trust shall despoil. 
 
 Lords of the Past ! Ye are shrined in our story : 
 
 Strong were your hearts that your sons might be free. 
 Stern was the strife, but your hands were not gory : 
 Stainless your spirits as freemen should be ! 
 Wake ! When Freedom's first word, 
 Faint and trembling was heard. 
 How the pulse in each patriot bosom was stirred ! 
 Now her voice, pealing forth on the joy-burthen'd air. 
 Bids ye rise, in this hour of her triumph to share! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 GATHERING OF THE GODS. 
 
 Uncle Samuel remarked to Columbia, "You know, 
 
 'Tis our golden wedding this year, 
 'Tis long since we've had a tea party, and so 
 
 We will make this a stunner, my dear. 
 
 J^o copper centennial the thing shall be. 
 
 But a season of special splendor; 
 And then if my funds should fail, you see, 
 
 I can fall back on legal tender. 
 
 We'll send word to Apollo, and Vulcan, and Mars, 
 
 To Minerva, Diana and Venus ; 
 You know they've obliged us by lending their stars, 
 
 Which is tarnation handsome, between us." 
 
 So they sent up a man in a Barnum balloon — 
 
 Quite an airy-nautical plan. 
 For instead of returning to terra, — the lune — 
 He landed in Lake Michigan ! 
 
 So the day arrived, and the guests were there — 
 How in splendor celestial they glowed ! 
 
 Each god so gracious, each goddess so fair. 
 Dressed up in the height of the mode. 
 
 First Mars appeared, with his shining suite, 
 
 His drum the echoes awoke, — 
 Fired a couple of rockets by way of salute, 
 
 But the third terminated in smoke. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 59 
 
 Apollo came next, of the lyre sublime ; 
 
 " I owe you an ode," quoth he. 
 Said Orpheus, " Though wittier than most of rhyme. 
 
 Rather long, fellow poet, for me." 
 
 And Mercury too, always up to a trick, 
 You never know where to find him. 
 
 Slipped over by cable to Halifax, quick. 
 Leaving Time, the old stager, behind him. 
 
 To New York, via Boston, he thundered by rail, — 
 
 Met Vulcan, just in by steamship, 
 
 And together they boarded the lightning mail, — 
 
 And hurrah ! what a glorious trip ! 
 
 But Jupiter, he who so thundered of yore. 
 Sent regrets — " Would be glad to have come, 
 
 But thought, on account of young Theodore, 
 His best policy was to keep mum." 
 
 And Minerva was there, with a model in clay 
 
 Of mankind on a primitive plan ; 
 She declared she was going to have her way. 
 
 In spite of the tyrant man. 
 
 Said Apollo to Cupid — sly rogue — with a wink, 
 "Young man, what's became of Diana ?" 
 
 Said the urchin, "She's helpin' Columby, I tink, 
 Pin de stahs on de Stah Spangled Bannah." 
 
 And Venus and Mars grew fond as of yore, 
 In spite of old Vulcan's fierce glances ; 
 
 Mars whispered, " My dear, let us fly to that shore 
 Where, crowned with Havana, Love dances. 
 
6o M ISC EL LANE O US. 
 
 But Bachhus, poor fellow, he got so tight, 
 That he stumbled as last in the gutter, 
 
 And singing, " My love, she is pure as the light,' 
 They carried him off on a shutter. 
 
 And the eagle looked down from his home in the sky 
 And he said, with a scream so shrill: 
 
 "I haven't enjoyed such a grand old fly 
 Since the battle of Bunker Hill ! 
 
 SOUTHERN CENTENNIAL HYMN. 
 
 The hundredth year of Freedom's life ! 
 
 And this, that should be crown of all, 
 Beholds her, girt with factious strife. 
 
 Grown faint, and tottering to her fall ! 
 Shall we, her sons, supinely stand. 
 Nor guard her fane with fearless hand ? 
 
 A century that shrine hath stood, 
 A refuge for the world's oppress'd ; 
 
 Baptized in ancient days in blood. 
 That rite may yet its worth attest. 
 
 But what the doom to those decreed 
 
 Whose traitorous hearts inspire such jieed ! 
 
M/SCEI./..AXEOC'S. 
 
 Shall minions clank their gilded chains, 
 And prate of law, beneath the walls 
 
 Where Fame, since nought beside remains, 
 The glorious memory still recalls 
 
 Of patriots nourished by the soil 
 
 These hirelings claim as conquered spoil? 
 
 Though fearless tones our wrongs repeat, 
 Bribed Justice, when the tale is told, 
 
 Sits nodding, while beneath her feet 
 
 The purchased statesman counts his gold, 
 
 i\nd smiles with slavish joy to see 
 
 His treason yield so rich a fee. 
 
 What then — shall patriot tongues be mute. 
 
 Or sink in plaintive pleading there ? 
 No ! Freedom scorns a lowly suit ! 
 
 Would we her proud insignia wear. 
 Like that each elder patriot bore, 
 It must, like theirs, be dij)pcd in gore ! 
 
 Your fathers fought at Bunker Hill — 
 For what ? The primal right of man ! 
 
 We hold that guerdon sacred still, 
 
 And guard it with what strength we can. 
 
 In Freedom's name the sword they drew, 
 
 We live to bear and wield it too. 
 
 Shall those who bear it fear to strike. 
 
 Or tremble at a lordly will ? 
 Let hirelings call us what thev like. 
 
M ISC EL LANEO US. 
 
 We stand as Freedom's champions still ! 
 Urge on your howling dogs of war ! 
 Ye soon shall find whose sons we are. 
 
 Rebellion ? 'Tis the tyrant's plea ! 
 
 It nerves the patriot's deadly stroke. 
 Your fathers bore it, and would ye 
 
 Turn back and bind the chains they broke ? 
 Degenerate sons of rebel stock — 
 And dare ye thus their manhood mock ? 
 
 Awake ! thou mighty voice, which stirred 
 Each ancient heart, now cold and dumb ! 
 
 " What plea for servile peace is heard ? 
 I answer — let the conflict come ! 
 
 Let cowards sue with bated breath : 
 
 Our watch-word — Liberty or Death !" 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 CUSTER. 
 
 Over the shining western plain, 
 Forth from the sunset's flaming fold, 
 Smiting the heart of the nation with pain, 
 Thrilling the pulse in the hearer's vein, 
 Tidings of strange disaster rolled ! 
 Custer, the chieftain of martial frame, 
 The gallant soldier of spotless fame, 
 Piercing the heart of the savage hold, 
 Grappling the cougar in his den, 
 Charging with thrice an hundred men — 
 Custer and all his band are slain ! 
 
 Far had the squadron rode that day. 
 Speeding to seek the promised fray ; 
 And now, when day's declining sun 
 His westward slope had well begun, 
 Tidings are brought that the goal is won ; 
 And vanward scouts report at length 
 An Indian camp of uncounted strength. 
 How the heart of the daring leader stirred 
 In his dauntless breast when the news was heard! 
 Swinging his sombrero high in air — 
 'Tis Custer's luck," he cried, " hurra ! 
 My comrades bold ! in fortune's play, 
 A goodly prize we've drawn to day ! 
 We've tracked the panther to his lair, 
 And we'll drive him forth to slay ! " 
 
 Straight to the heart of the savage hold 
 Onward the fated phalanx rolled. 
 
^4 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Little they dreamed of the slumbering wrath 
 Coiled like a serpent along their path ; 
 Sudden, from legions of ambushed foes, 
 The thundering war-cry round them rose. 
 And a flaming girdle about them glows ! 
 Vain was their answering volley poured 
 In the swarming ranks of the savage horde ; 
 Vain their leader's voice and word ! 
 Vain, 'mid the blinding battle smoke, 
 Charge of steed and sabre stroke ! 
 Fiercely the hissing death-shots flew. 
 Piercing the shattered column through : 
 Gallant were they, but all too few ! 
 • 'Gainst the withering tempest of burning hail, 
 What could their desperate valor avail ? 
 None survived to tell the tale ! 
 
 Peace to the gallant souls who died, 
 Chieftain and kindred and comrades tried ! 
 Custer! for thee a hero's dirge ! 
 Ever the foremost on danger's verge, 
 Thou, when the battle's rage increased, 
 Revelled as one at a joyous feast. 
 When shall thy country's annals show 
 Another so ready to meet the foe ? 
 Who in her battle's front afar 
 Now shall shine like a guiding star? 
 Who, when the deadly strife is done, 
 Tell the tale of her triumphs won ? 
 Many a gallant son hath she, 
 }But none — brave Custer — none like thee ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 65 
 
 CUBA. 
 
 Where now, Columbia, is thy pridefiil boast, 
 Late voiced to all the winds, amid the roar 
 Of an enfranchised race, that nevermore 
 
 l^cneath the flame from Freedom's banner tost, 
 
 The slave should crouch, nor proud oppression's host 
 Ikat down the helpless ? . Lo, where Cuba stands, — 
 Thy younger sister, and with out-stretch'd hands 
 
 Implores thy aid, — denied when needed most. 
 
 luich westward wave which breaks with flashing crest 
 I'pon thy coast, is crimsoned with the tide 
 
 Which flows from out her gashed and bleeding breast — 
 Red with the blood of victims who have died 
 
 In Freedom's cause, and wafts the hellish roar 
 
 Of Spanish bloodhounds on her fated shore J 
 
66 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE POE MONUMENT. 
 
 'Tis done ! Too long unhonored, and unknown 
 To stranger eyes the poet's dust hath lain : 
 
 Now shall his name, in sculptured splendor shown, 
 Blend Art's enchantment with his faultless strain. 
 
 How dark his life and desolate its close ! 
 
 How slander strove to blacken his good name : 
 But falsehoods springing from the lips of foes 
 
 Have grown at last the garland of his fame. 
 
 No more let Memory, musing o'er his past. 
 Recall the woes by which his life was torn ; 
 
 The shades which seemed by fitful passion cast 
 Were from the splendors of his genius born. 
 
 And ye, bright band ! whose faithful hands uprear 
 The sacred shrine, your task of love is o'er ; 
 
 Your chosen names, though unrecorded here, 
 Entwined with his, shall perish — nevermore ! 
 
 EPITAPH FOR POE. 
 
 Upon the stone, with living sculpture graced. 
 Nor legend shines, nor lengthened line is traced. 
 Ask you the cause ? All human praise were weak : 
 His verse hath taught the voiceless bird to speak ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 67 
 
 LINES 
 
 On THK UKATll <JK AN ARTIST, WHO LKl-T AN UNFINISHED PICTURI 
 
 KNTiriKi) "TiiK End is Dkatii." 
 
 The end is death ! All, too portentous theme ! 
 
 Designed too early — though so late begun — 
 Since Life, resentful at the daring dream, 
 
 Withdrew her light and left the work undone. 
 
 Mere, where the proofs from Art's creative hand 
 Profusely strewn, attest thy living skill, 
 
 yVnd mute ideals of thy Fancy stand 
 
 Instinct with life — tJioii liest cold and still ! 
 
 The wizard glance, to pierce the storied past — 
 The power to bid its shadows reappear, 
 
 And give them garb and semblance which shall last — 
 These were thine own, and these are buried here. 
 
 But for the rest — the high congenial mind, 
 Art, Honor, Fame, outlast the fleeting breath. 
 
 These in our hearts a fitting record find, 
 
 And who of these shall say — the end is death.' 
 
68 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SONNET 
 
 TO A LADY SINGING. 
 
 So tranquilly of late my life hath sped, 
 
 My heart, unstirred by Love's deceitful skill, 
 Had quite forgot the old transporting thrill 
 
 Which once along my bounding pulses played. 
 
 'Till, by rash Hope's misguiding lure betrayed 
 Within the circling magic of thy voice. 
 Too late my bosom rues the fatal choice! 
 
 Contending raptures all my sense invade. 
 
 And slumbering Passion stirs to life again, — 
 
 While Memory, long unused to notes like these. 
 
 In shuddering sorrow wakes to sudden pain, 
 
 And pleads, " O, rare enchanting songstress, cease 
 
 Vex not my chords with Love's tempestuous strain, 
 But gently murmur sounds of rest and peace." 
 
 TO 
 
 In those bright days when you and I were youn< 
 
 Ere time had dealt so bitterly with me, — 
 
 When, rapt in heavenly trance, I mutely hung 
 
 'On thy low tones, so heavenly sweet to me. 
 
 I longed to make the earth a golden scene 
 
 Of summer sunshine, whereon we might dwell 
 
 In fadeless youth — thou an immortal queen, 
 And I thy serf, to guard and love thee well. 
 
MISC/-:i.L.I\EOlS. 69 
 
 Now, when the years that darkly gulfed between 
 Have ceased to flow, and ebbing, bade us meet, 
 
 I, dreaming of the joys that might have been, 
 Taste thy soft kiss, erewhile so passing sweet. 
 
 Too late ! too late ! I read upon thy cheek 
 
 Deep graven lines of doubt and care and pain; 
 
 Life's summer past, all vainly would I seek 
 To bid its flowers revive and bloom as/ain. 
 
 SONNET 
 T(. 
 
 Stanciing alone amid the waste of years. 
 
 With all my withered hopes around me strown, 
 I seemed a wreck by tempest overblown, 
 
 A life foredoomed to anguish and to tears. 
 
 When lo, within my darkened sky appears ['^'ght 
 That beam which once entranced by boyhood's 
 A little while, then sunk in sudden night, 
 
 And left my soul a prey to doubts and fears. 
 
 I deemed it quenched. Ah! faithless heart of mine. 
 I did not know 'twas but the tempter's art. 
 
 Could passing clouds blot out a light divine, 
 Or quench a beam of heaven itself a part. 
 
 Or anger rest in bosom soft as thine. 
 
 Or hatred dwell with one so pure of heart ? 
 
MISCE LLA NE O US. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 'Tis vain to mourn o'er vanished dreams, 
 Or weep at joy's untimely tomb. 
 
 When hope hath shed her latest beams, 
 Remembrance adds but deeper gloom. 
 
 In vain, with dew of bitter tears 
 We nurse the hard ungenial soil : 
 
 No harvest comes in after years. 
 To glad the hapless mourner's toil. 
 
 Yet who, that drains the foaming cup 
 Of life till sweets no longer flow. 
 
 At Lethe's fount would 'fill it up. 
 And lose alike both bliss and woe ? 
 
 No ! rather let me live again 
 
 The blissful hours which once were mine 
 My soul will never heed the pain 
 
 Which springs from memories so divine. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 I would my breast were all unfeeling, 
 My heart, like thine, were cold and still 
 
 That tender memories, o'er me stealing, 
 No more had power its pulse to thrill. 
 
 Yet still my heart is fondly clinging 
 To dreams of joys now lost and fled, 
 
 And memory's sacred chords are ringing 
 Their ceaseless strains above the dead! 
 
MISCELLANEOIS. 7 1 
 
 DESOLATION. 
 
 Across the current of my soul 
 No sur,L(ing waves of passion roll, 
 But silence spreads its weird control. 
 
 Beneath its surface, calm and deep. 
 
 The wrecks of hope, a mouldering heap, 
 
 Lie hushed in everlasting sleep. 
 
 The thoughts of youth — its hopes and fears — 
 The dreams of unforgotten years — 
 And smiles of love and passion's tears. 
 
 But yet, at midnight's solemn hour. 
 When darkness reigns with mystic power. 
 Nor winds awake, nor tempests lower, — 
 
 Beneath the weird enchanted skies, 
 The sheeted ghosts of memory rise. 
 To mock my soul with vacant eyes ! 
 
 O, heart with memory's curse oppress'd ! 
 
 O, tortured soul, which fain would rest. 
 
 No more by maddening thought distress'd — 
 
 Will it ne'er come — that slumber deep, 
 That long, that unremembering sleep, 
 I'Vom which thou ne'er shalt wake to weep ? 
 
72 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 THE CROWN OF FIRE. 
 
 Once, in that golden empire which long since 
 
 Hath faded from the earth, and now remains 
 
 A vague tradition of the shadowy past — 
 
 By men called Cloudland or the Land of Dreams — 
 
 There dwelt a queen — a proud and haughty queen, 
 
 Who loved no mortal being as herself 
 
 And there was one, a strange and wayward youth, 
 
 Who often came and worshipped at her feet, 
 
 And gave her gifts and incense of sweet praise ; 
 
 And yet at times with such a haughty air, 
 
 He seemed the while to rather take than give. 
 
 Till she at length was smitten with deep love, 
 
 And sent and called him to her royal bower, 
 
 And bade him lay aside his humble garb. 
 
 And don a kingly robe ; and on his head 
 
 She placed a crown, a rare and jeweled crown, 
 
 Of strange enchanted worth, which he who wore 
 
 Might ne'er put off nor lose by mortal power — 
 
 The hand of death alone could tear it thence. 
 
 And gave him all her secret wealth of love. 
 
 And all the beauty of her regal form, 
 
 And all the people said. Behold a king ! 
 
 But she at length grew weary of his love ; 
 And since no more he bowed and worshipped her. 
 Nor gave her gifts and incense of sweet praise, 
 She said, " Get hence beyond my palace gates. 
 Thou shalt no more be king and lord of me. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 73 
 
 Nor monarch of my bosom ; get thee forth ; 
 Thou shalt bow down and worship as of yore." 
 And so she called her willing slaves, and bade 
 That they should take away his robe and crown. 
 And they despoiled him of his royal robe ; 
 liut when they came to take away his crown, 
 It flashed and glowed with an unearthly light, 
 And all who touched it withered at the flame. 
 
 And so they could not take away the crown. 
 And he went forth beyond the palace gates. 
 And when the queen came forth upon her way, 
 And all the people bowed and worshipped her. 
 He bowed not down nor worshipped, but stood up, 
 And gazed upon her with a look of stern 
 And dark reproach and sadness and deep love. 
 And when she said, " Bow down before thy queen !" 
 He coldly said, " Thou art no queen to me. 
 I know thee but as woman : have I not 
 Proved all thy rare and precious wealth of love. 
 And nightly leaned above thy throbbing breast ? 
 As for this gift, this crown I wear, 'twas given 
 By her who was my queen, but is no more. 
 And shall I then bow at a woman's feet. 
 And soil the gift she gave ? I will not bow." 
 And so she called her royal slaves, and bade 
 That they shoujd take away his kingly crown. 
 And when her slaves would fain obey her will, 
 It flashed and flamed with an unearthly light. 
 And all who touched it perished at the flame! 
 
74 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And so he kept his crown ; and ever still 
 As she went forth upon her royal way, 
 And all the people bowed and worshipped her, 
 He met, and gazed upon her with that look 
 Of stern reproach and sadness and deep love. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 What to me remains of the vanished years, [desire ? 
 
 That were filled with a passionate dream and wild 
 Naught but the ashes of hope, and the bitter tears 
 
 Wrung from a bosom bereft of its former fire. 
 
 Naught but the ashes of hope, and the burning tear 
 Dropped on the grave of love and of lost delight. 
 
 Gone is the golden glow, and hath left me here 
 Lonely and dark, in the gloom of a starless night. 
 
 Was it for this that I strove with an earnest strength, 
 Dreaming of Fame and the triumph of deathless Art, 
 
 Hoping the voice of my song might awaken at length 
 An answering throb in the world's great passionate 
 heart ? 
 
 Not for me is a place on the glorious roll [flame ; 
 
 Of her names which are carven in letters of fadeless 
 Only the gloom of a darkened and desolate soul. 
 
 Pent in the walls of a ruined and wasted frame. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 75 
 
 She that I loved— that I cherished with faith as stroncr 
 As the trust that I felt in the stars of the chan<;elcss 
 sky, 
 
 Atthe whisper of malice, the hiss of asianderoustongue, 
 Left me alone in my madness to wither and die. 
 
 Left me to wither and die — for is it not death 
 
 To be vacant of love that exalts and of hope that 
 inspires ? 
 
 All is not life which is fed by the flickering breath : 
 Dead is the heart that no longer exults or desires. 
 
 Nothing remains but the gloom of a starless night ; 
 
 Faded the beam that allured, and the vision is fled. 
 Naught but the memory of love and of lost delight, 
 
 Mocking my soul as the face of a lover dead ! 
 
 LINES. 
 The heart in selfish sadness bowed. 
 
 But fears the gloom that shrouds its way ; 
 I tremble not at sorrow's cloud. 
 
 But mourn with tears thy vanished ray ! 
 Could I but know thy gentle beam 
 
 Shone brightly in the heavens on high, 
 Though sorrow's lightnings round me gleam. 
 
 I'd smile, to think that thou wert nigh. 
 
 O, .sacred flame of heavenly birth, 
 Shine forth, and let my .spirit be, 
 
 Though darkened by the clouds of earth. 
 A silent worshipper of thee! 
 
76 M ISC EL LAAE OLS. 
 
 SHALL WE MEET. 
 
 Shall we meet when the darkness hath flown 
 Which hath covered our lives with eclipse : 
 
 Wilt thou know me as ne'er thou hast known 
 When I greet thee with glorified lips ? 
 
 When the years shall have finished their flight, 
 Which so long have been vacant and vain, 
 
 Shall we rise to a dream of delight 
 
 Which shall more than repay me their pain ? 
 
 Shall the dread and the doubt and the gloom 
 Which have burthened my being so long, 
 
 Be the casket that bides in the tomb 
 
 While the spirit hath splendor and song ? 
 
 When we rove through the amaranth bowers, 
 In that season of sorrowless bliss, 
 
 Wilt thou wreathe me the garland of flowers 
 My fate hath refused me in this ? 
 
 When we speak of the desolate past, 
 In the sheen of that shadowless shore, 
 
 Shall we wonder that love should outlast 
 All the clouds which obscured it before? 
 
. U/SCJ-: L/..L\i-:o us. 7 7 
 
 When we i:jaze on the stars and the sun, 
 As they iii()\e in their measureless sphere> 
 
 Shall we know that our spirits are one 
 \W a love that outlasteth their years ? 
 
 In that world shall we mingle and burn, 
 Who so long have been sundered in this. 
 
 While m\- soul to a seraph shall turn 
 As it glows in the fire of th)- kiss ? 
 
 LINES. 
 
 'Tis done ! the flattering tale is told, 
 
 Which late with rapture filled my heart. 
 
 No more its pages shall unfold ; 
 No more of life or hope impart. 
 
 Its jo)s, its griefs, its smiles, its tears. 
 No more in varied tones shall swell ; 
 
 The only voice my spirit hears 
 
 Proclaims the final word, farewell ! 
 
 Then welcome passion's reckless strife. 
 The vacant heart, the aching brow ; 
 
 My heart hath known its all of life, 
 And what remains is worthless now. 
 
7 8 MISCELLANE US. 
 
 TO 
 
 Thou, whose smile around me shining 
 
 Filled me once with fond delight, 
 Then, in' clouds of doubt declining, 
 
 Sunk and left me hopeless night. 
 Lone hath been my way, and dreary. 
 
 Since you parted from my side. 
 Now my spirit, worn and weary, 
 
 Claims the boon so long denied. 
 
 Yes ! the cord of life is broken ; 
 
 And my spirit, fettered long, 
 Hears the welcome summons spoken, 
 
 Rise, to join the ransomed throng. 
 Swift the sands of life are gliding ; 
 
 Haste to keep thy parting vow. 
 Let thy lips, no longer chiding. 
 
 Kiss the anguish from my brow ! 
 
 Be the bitter past forgiven — 
 
 All the woe my madness wrought. 
 Let our hearts, no longer riven. 
 
 Mix in one unchanging thought. 
 Bid the clouds of doubt no longer 
 
 O'er my soul their blackness cast. 
 Strong is death, but love is stronger — 
 
 Let it triumph now at last ! 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 
 
 79 
 
 Let thy hand, my forehead pressing, 
 
 Cool the fever burning there, 
 y\nd th\^ lips, ni}' lips caressing, 
 
 Hlend with mine their voiceless prayer. 
 Let thy form, above me bending, 
 
 Soothe my sorrow's latest night ; 
 And thy voice to heaven ascending 
 
 Waft my spirit in its flight. 
 
 TO THE OHIO. 
 
 River, which from two living fountains fed, 
 Speed'st proudly onward in majestic flight, 
 No wrathful power shall ever disunite 
 
 Thy mingled tides, till their far cour.se be .sped. 
 
 Like dream was mine in joyous years now fled ; 
 When, blest with love, beside thy peaceful shore, 
 A blended life with mine I proudly bore — 
 
 Now lost to me — though living, doubly dead. 
 
 A wanderer now, my lonely lot is cast 
 Upon thy stream, a thousand miles below; 
 
 O, let thy wave, in tumult strong and vast. 
 Still bear me on, unheeding where I go — 
 
 Though sundered far, yet linked to all the past 
 By love's wild memory, ceaseless as thy flow. 
 
8o MISCELLANEObS. 
 
 TO . 
 
 O, would that I had seen thee cold and dead ! 
 
 Had looked my last upon thy living face, 
 And viewed thy queenly arms serenely laid 
 
 Across thy breast, in death's secure embrace. 
 
 That nevermore those living orbs might beam . 
 
 Upon my own, with cold unloving glance; 
 A hideous mockery of that blissful dream 
 
 Which rapt us once in sweet and heavenly trance ! 
 
 Then might I, stealing from the busy throng, 
 At eve recline above thy peaceful breast ; 
 
 And wreathe with flowers of rare and honeyed song 
 Thy name, in life and death beloved the best. 
 
 But ah, how cold and vacant is my lot! 
 
 To lose thee living — not to mourn thee dead. 
 And nurse for aye the wild regretful thought 
 
 Of love departed, truth forever fled. 
 
m/sc/:llaa'/:ocs. 
 
 LINES 
 
 On HtAKINC. THE CaTHKPRAL CIIIMKS, CltRISTMAS 
 
 mokmm;, 1871. 
 
 'Ti.s midnight : the hours in their swift flight are 
 winging 
 
 The dawn of a season the brightest of earth. 
 Hark ! the bells a soft anthem of rapture are ringing; 
 
 'Tis the promise of gladness, the prelude of mirth. 
 
 For me there is nothing to cheer or to gladden : 
 Only memories of joys which forever have flown. 
 
 And the dreams of the day.. I'lKit arc pa.->t will bur 
 madden 
 And torture my brain till the darkness be gone. 
 
 But O, may the couch wiiere my loved one reposes 
 Be crowned with sweet pleasures which never will 
 fade. 
 
 May her dreams waft the scent of perennial roses, 
 That bloom where no falsehood nor sorrow invade. 
 
 And may the bright da\- which is dawning in splendor 
 Be the promise to her of long years of delight. 
 
 May her life be encompassed with rapture as tender 
 As mine, could I prove it, would yield her to-night. 
 
82 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 To gaze once more into thy deep blue eyes, 
 And through the misty veil which o'er them lies, 
 To trace the swift revealings which declare 
 The wealth of loving memories cherished there. 
 To taste once more thy wild and burning kiss. 
 Which speaks of former scenes of love and bliss- 
 To sink once more upon thy loving breast, 
 And feel that sense of uncomplaining rest — 
 And then to part — to part, but not in hate; 
 But by a kind of half-relenting fate. 
 Which binds our souls in an untimely death ; 
 For each shall bear our weight of mortal breath, 
 But wliat availeth that, while each shall keep 
 Dim watch vrhere hope and love lie buried deep. 
 No more to be awakened ; nevermore 
 Shall morn arise with gladness as of yore, 
 Nor day be filled with hope, nor coming night 
 Yield sweet fruition and serene delight. 
 Forever wrapped in sorrow's mantling fold. 
 Beneath whose shadow, formless, dark and cold. 
 Affection sleeps, and love remains untold. 
 
MISCELLAXEOL'S. 
 
 SONNET. 
 To M 
 
 Lo, on this silvery talisman, whose sheen, 
 
 So decked, outshines the costly diamond's flame, 
 I view inscribed thy sweet and sacred name. 
 
 Beloved ! though mine no more as thou hast been. 
 
 Yon flaming sun his potent fire shall yield, 
 
 Which lights the bosom of the darkened earth, 
 And calls her slumbering gladness into birth. 
 
 Ere from my breast shall part this mystic shield. 
 
 Yes ! I will make thy name a deathless thing. 
 And men shall kneel above thy grave, and say, 
 ' She loved him ! what strange fate compelled to stra\' 
 
 So far apart, lives which so close did cling 
 
 They seemed as one — till doubt and severance came 
 
 And left him but her memory, and — a name?' 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Fond vows of lo\e in youth's bright moments spoken 
 Are ne'er forgot, howe'er the life may range ; 
 
 Love's tie, once formed, can never more be broken ; 
 But links the soul through every chance and change. 
 
 And faithful hearts, though severed long by fate. 
 Still wear the freshness of their early years. 
 
 And they who keep love's truth shall soon or late 
 Clasp hands again, and smile at doubts and fears. 
 
S4 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHY. 
 
 " Secure the shadow ere the substance fade." 
 A motto trite, but well and aptly said ; 
 And oft recurring, as with anxious eye, 
 W'^e gaze on forms which bloom, alas ! to die. 
 Be wise in time ; improve the present hour ; 
 riuck while we may the rose of Beauty's bower,. 
 And from its bloom, an evanescent joy, 
 Extract a balm, a sweetness to destroy 
 The poison minglings of the cup of life, 
 And soothe the anguish of its parting strife. 
 
 Such is the strain which has of late been sung 
 
 In every land by almost every tongue. 
 
 liut whose the hand that first essayed to twine 
 
 Of living Light a wreath for Memory's shrine ? 
 
 ' Twas thine, Daguerre ! On thy daring thought 
 
 The mystic flash its first impression wrought ; 
 
 And the swift sunbeam, glancing idly by. 
 
 Grew filled with life to thy prophetic eye. 
 
 Immortal Frenchman ! gathering as we may 
 
 The ripening harvest of the present day, 
 
 To thee we turn, and to thy honored name 
 
 Repay the meed its worth may justly claim. 
 
 Thou sowed'st the seed, and, toiling through the night, 
 
 Wert crowned at last with Fame's undying light. 
 
MISCELLAXEOL'S. 
 
 And thou, too, glorious Morse ! whose laureled head. 
 Thrice crowned, now sleeps aniouij the honored dead ! 
 A nation mourns thee, and shall we refrain 
 To yield thy name a tributary strain ? 
 Who bade the lightning from the deep arise, 
 •Or stoop submissive from the stormy skies, 
 Take form and shape, the rolling globe to span, 
 And speed obedient to the thought of man. 
 While those who, envious of thy glorious fame. 
 Now seek a share in thy immortal claim. 
 Shrank back appalled before the skeptic's might, 
 Thy trenchant hand alone maintained the fight ! 
 Till the rude scoff and mocking jest at last 
 Were turned to swell thy fame's triumphant blast. 
 
 Nor this, alone ; when first our infant Art 
 Was born and cradled at a foreign heart. 
 Thy care was first to nurture and sustain ; 
 And bear in triumph o'er the western main ; 
 In a new clime to flourish and expand, 
 Repay thy care, and own thy fostering hand. 
 Soon shall her votaries, gathering far and near, 
 A numerous concourse, at her shrine appear; 
 There each his tribute yield, and each uplift 
 His hand to claim their patron's latest gift — 
 Thy form, though hid for age from mortal sight, 
 For each shall shine, portrayed in living light. 
 
 Read at the annual meeting of the National Photographic Association, St. 
 Louis, May 9, 1872. At which was presented to each member of the Association, 
 a photographic portrait of Prof. Morse, from a sitting for that purpose, a few 
 months before his death. 
 
86 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 DAVID'S LAMENT. 
 
 How are the mighty fallen ! and those that were 
 
 formed for war, 
 Smote by a stronger foeman, become as the feeblest are ! 
 Fierce was their ire in the battle ; swifter than eagles 
 
 they ; 
 Strong as the trampling Hon, raging to rend the prey ! 
 
 Kingly in form was the father; princely of soul the son. 
 Equal their lives in valor, in death they were crowned 
 
 as one. 
 Red was the shield of Saul and his sword with the 
 
 blood of the slain. 
 And Jonathan's bow from the slaughter returned not 
 
 empty in vain. 
 
 Weep for the mighty fallen ! daughters of Israel, weep ! 
 Clothed in their country's sorrow, let them sleep as 
 
 the brave should sleep. 
 Weep for the glory departed ! the weapons of war 
 
 laid low ! 
 And those that were mighty in battle smote by a 
 
 stronger foe ! 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 87 
 
 THE SLEEPER. 
 
 How still that form ! while those around are weeping, 
 
 She stirs not, heeds not, she is calmly sleeping;. 
 
 When was it thus? While many a weary nii;ht 
 
 And painful day pursued their tedious flight, 
 
 With sleepless love, and true and tender care, 
 
 She watched o'er those who watch her sleeping there. 
 
 She was not wont thus silently to lie 
 
 Whilst others wept ; each faint and fluttering sigh. 
 
 Ivach throb of pain, still caught her listening ear 
 
 And wakeful eye, forever hovering near. 
 
 \'es. mighty Death ! thy presence, cold and strange, 
 
 On that worn face hath wrought a wondrous change ! 
 
 Vet who shall say, dread monster as thou art. 
 
 Thy hand with her hath dealt a ruthless part ? 
 
 No shade of anguish rests upon her brow : 
 
 Pain hath been there, but all is peaceful n')W. 
 
 And those wan lips, so cold and still the while, 
 
 Wear, 'neath thy touch, a calm and tranquil smile. 
 
 As if, with hushed and tranced sense, she caught 
 
 Some sound with more than earthly music fraught, 
 
 Some rare seraphic strain b\- harps angelic wrought. 
 
88 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 Truth. 
 
 Creeds have no power upon a spirit strong 
 
 And resolute, which, fed by secret fire. 
 
 Flings forth its scorn of those who teach for hire, 
 And mask with words of guile each ghastly wrong. 
 
 Let God be true though every man a liar ! 
 What He hath said shall evermore remain. 
 And though, to bind this Sampson with a chain, 
 
 The proud Philistian lords should all conspire, 
 Let but the slumbering champion once awake, 
 
 Their stoutest cords are weak as any thread, 
 Which lightly as an infant's touch he'll break. 
 
 And even when bound, and blind, and captive led. 
 He makes the pillars of their temple shake, 
 
 And piles the gilded structure on their head. 
 
M/SCKLLAXEOUS. 89 
 
 SONNET. 
 LiGirr. 
 
 Thou, Mighty Soul ! whose uncreated flame 
 Hath Ht those beaming orbs that nightly roll 
 Their tireless march beneath thy strong control — 
 
 Who mark'st their paths and call'st them each by name, 
 
 Whose glory fills the universal frame — 
 Where'er amid the trackless voids of night, 
 A lonely outcast from the fields of light, 
 
 The exiled comet's fiery heart doth burn — 
 Across the lightning's most untrodden path, 
 Or nursling thunder's unawakened wrath, 
 
 Thy voice can bid the wanderer return, 
 
 Unscathed, unblighted from the shades of death. 
 
 So I, long banished from the realms of day. 
 
 Shall hear at length thy voice, and joyfully obey. 
 
90 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 The wild wind howls o'er the wintry plain, 
 And the sleet comes down and the driving rain. 
 
 The giant oaks on the mountain stand, 
 Writhed and bent by the tempest's hand. 
 
 The wild beast lurks in his secret lair; 
 The storm he knows cannot enter there. 
 
 Ah ! well for man if the tempest of sin 
 
 To his heart and his home could not enter in ! 
 
 A traveller rode across the plain, 
 Breasting the wind and the blinding rain. 
 
 Little he heeded the driving storm : 
 
 Cold was its breath, but his heart was warm. 
 
 Long had he toiled in a distant land, 
 Griping its gold with an iron hand. 
 
 Oft in the battle's flaming flood, 
 Facing the savage foe had stood. 
 
 And now he comes with his well earned spoil, 
 On his wife's fond bosom to rest from toil. 
 
 He sees a light on the plain afar, 
 
 Which beckons and glows like a guiding star.. 
 
MISCK L L A .\ -E US. 9 n 
 
 Spurrin^]^ his steed with hope elate, 
 Soon he ali<j;hts at the wicket Ljate. 
 
 He peers through the window with anxious gaze- 
 Ha ! what a sight he there surveys ! 
 
 A trusted friend — his arm was wound 
 The yielding form of his wife around. 
 
 Her lips meet his, he hears their kiss, 
 It smote his ear like a serpent's hiss! 
 
 Fiercely he grasps his trusted brand. 
 Bursts the door with a savage hand. 
 
 Not on his wife, as he strode past, 
 Word or look or sign he cast. 
 
 Sternly he spoke with vengt^ful eye : 
 'Thou, false friend! prepare to die.' 
 
 Nought he heeded the coward's prayer ; 
 Smote he the shrinking traitor there. 
 
 The gory corse with his foot he spurned ; 
 Then to his guilty wife he turned. 
 
 'Thou, for whom on a burning plain. 
 Long I toiled this wealth to gain ; 
 
 Not for myself, but thee I wrought ; 
 Take the wages thy shame hath wrought !' 
 
 Down at her feet he flung the gold ; 
 Over the corse it danced and rolled. 
 
92 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Swooned his wife at the ghastly sight ; 
 Forth he strode to the stormy night. 
 
 Whither now shall his footsteps stray ? 
 What love-lamp shall guide his way ? 
 
 Fierce was the storm, but fiercer the dart 
 Of icy despair that pierced his heart. 
 
 In the morning a riderless steed they found 
 And a prostrate form on the frozen ground. 
 
 Tempest without — despair within — 
 What had smote him ? The blast of sin! 
 
 LINES. 
 
 There is a sadness in thine eye, 
 
 And in thy smile, so faintly stealing, 
 
 A cherished sorrow seems to lie, 
 A woe, beyond thy lip's revealing. 
 
 And in thy wan lip's trembling play 
 A thrill of deep and bitter sorrow ; 
 
 As love, that brightly blooms a day, 
 Had died and left a hopeless morrow. 
 
MJSL El. L.L\£OLS. 93 
 
 And in thy pale cheeks mournful bloom 
 A trace of dark and bitter weeping. 
 
 As if thy soul at memory's tomb, 
 
 Her lone and silent watch were keeping. 
 
 Would I might hope th\' breast to soothe. 
 
 And bid its sense of sadness perish ; 
 But no — thy soul, so born for truth, 
 
 Its own wild dream must darkh' cherish. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 A little linnet sang the sweetest song 
 
 Which mortal ears were ever blest in hearing : 
 
 She sang her lay, nor thought the summer long, 
 Though winter's storms and frosts were quickly 
 nearing. 
 
 Its chilling winds at length around her pla\- ; 
 
 She sings her last sad, tender note of warning : 
 In other climes she now attunes her lay, 
 
 In sweeter strains, to hail a brighter morning. 
 
 So 'tis with her whose voice, so sweetly dear. 
 
 No more shall cheer our wintry hours of sorrow : 
 
 In other climes her voice we yet shall hear, 
 And list her strains beneath a gladder morrow. 
 
•94 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 TO 
 
 See, love, yon crescent's shining arms 
 The old moon's shadowed form enfold. 
 
 Transforming, by her heavenly charms, 
 His darkened heart, so worn and cold. 
 
 How heavenly bright her splendors beam ! 
 
 How glows his breast with answering light! 
 Sweet love! an emblem this would seem 
 
 Of that which fills my heart to-night. 
 
 TO 
 
 'Could I dream that in bosom so faultless as thine, 
 Dwelt a germ whose young life would respond to 
 my care, 
 1 would bow like a saint at the mystical shrine, 
 And invoke its sweet growth by love's passionate 
 prayer. 
 
 I would watch as it tenderly budded and grew, 
 
 While the sunshine of joy bade its petals unclose. 
 
 Till the warm blush of passion ensanguined its hue, 
 And it blossomed at length to love's bountiful rose. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 95 
 
 Then how sweet, in a moment of exquisite bliss, 
 When the bright glow of rapture illumined its dyes, 
 
 To inhale all its wealth in one passionate kiss, 
 And transfuse its sweet life in tumultuous sighs ! 
 
 WHO CARESS" 
 A Reply. 
 
 I care, though not as one might well suppose 
 ]""rom your reply. To measure womankind, 
 I claim a standard somewhat more refined 
 
 Than that you name. I am not one of those 
 Domestic lords who weigh you in the scale 
 Of servile worth, and if, perchance, you fail 
 
 In wealth of muscle, count all else but loss. 
 Such men I count unworthy of the name, 
 
 Though there are many — please excuse the pun — 
 
 By such acquirements only to be won. 
 
 Though sweet is slumber to the weary frame. 
 
 Stretched on the couch which faithful hands ha\e 
 Vet sweeter far the raptures he can claim [pressed. 
 
 Who makes his pillow on a loving breast. 
 
96 AIISCELLA NE O US. 
 
 TO 
 
 Ere yet my love hath grown to such degree 
 
 That to depart would prove too deep a pain, 
 I bid farewell, nor linger here to be 
 
 Once more enthralled in Love's deceitful chain. 
 
 A wise resolve, and yet, perchance, how vain ! 
 For when could wisdom Love's sweet thoughts efface ? 
 
 While Memory still thy image will retain, 
 And oft in fond and tender mood retrace 
 Thy beauty's matchless charms, thy mind's accom- 
 plished grace. 
 
 Yet must I say farewell ; to linger here, 
 
 Were madness now, since Hope her aid denies. 
 
 For custom makes a loved one still more dear, 
 And habit winds the links which love supplies, 
 Till closely bound the fettered captive lies. 
 
 I will be free ! Young Love, who lurks unseen. 
 Shall find one heart his cunning snares defies ; 
 
 And time and change at length my heart shall wean 
 
 From dreams of present joy or that which might have 
 been. 
 
M/Si '£• /. /, A.y/-: o us. 97 
 
 TO CORA. 
 
 O, sweet are the moments my spirit hath numbered 
 Since the Hght of your smile hath iHumined its \va}'. 
 
 Bright blossoms of hope, which through long years 
 had slumbered 
 In darkness and coldness, awoke 'neath its ray. 
 
 The dark clouds of gloom that encompassed my life 
 Grew golden with light from that sunnier gleam. 
 
 While, forgetting its seasons of madness and strife, 
 I basked in the glow of its life-giving beam. 
 
 Now, doomed from the heaven of thy presence to sever. 
 Too soon shall Love's star from m\' pathway be 
 gone. 
 
 Yet, enshrined in the vista of memor}-, forever'; 
 Shall its beauty survi\e, and its glory beam on. 
 
98 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. 
 
 Alas, that love should end in sorrow ! 
 
 Thus a hapless maiden sung. 
 Bright to-day is dark to-morrow ! 
 
 Thus her plaintive chorus rung. 
 
 Soul so trustful in believing 
 
 What was but the tempter's art ! 
 
 I-ips so cruelly deceiving, 
 
 How I curse you in my heart ! 
 
 Eyes that seemed so formed for gladness, 
 Smile a seraph's self might wear, 
 
 Ah, it adds a pang to madness, 
 But to think how false ye were ! 
 
 Alas ! that love should end in sorrow ! 
 
 Thus the hapless maiden sung. 
 Bright to-day is dark to-morrow ! 
 
 So her plaintive chorus rung. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 99 
 
 TO . 
 
 You say, in future years my name 
 
 Perchance may wear the meed of fame. 
 
 O, fatal boon ! The flaming stroke 
 
 Which smites the proudly branching oak, 
 
 Through stem and root its path will find, 
 
 And leave a withered trunk behind. 
 
 No more its branches shall put forth 
 
 Green leaf or germ of living worth. 
 
 Its pride, its hope, its life are o'er ; 
 
 It blooms not as it bloomed before. 
 
 Beneath the cold, unpitying sky. 
 
 It flings its wasted arms on high, 
 
 And shows to every passer-by 
 
 Where sped the seething bolt of wrath, 
 
 Which left but ruin in its path. 
 
 So should the fame which comes to me 
 
 But show the thunder-blasted tree; 
 
 A shattered monument of woe. 
 
 And thine the hand that struck the blow. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TO . 
 
 Dost remember that bright even, 
 When in company we stood 
 
 'Neath the glorious summer heaven, 
 While the moonbeams' silvery flood. 
 
 Over hill and valley streaming, 
 
 Bathed the scene in shadowy glow, 
 
 And, from thousand wavelets gleaming. 
 Lit the Allegheny's flow ? 
 
 Was it joy that made me quiver 
 With a wild tumultuous thrill, 
 
 Like a reed beside the river, 
 Shaken at the current's will ? 
 
 Vainly love for love had striven ; 
 
 Passion's plea was poured in vain ; 
 Hope, from out that shining heaven, 
 
 Vanished, ne'er to smile again. 
 
 Vanished all the glow and gladness ; 
 
 Clouds obscured the peaceful moon. 
 Answering to my bosom's sadness, 
 
 Sunk the waves in sorrow's swoon. 
 
iM ISC ELLA .^ 'E O US. 
 
 Darkly speeds the silent river; 
 
 Dark since then my lifo hath been: 
 While in memory's sky forever 
 
 Reicrns the sadness of that scene. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Mary, had you been Scotland's queen that night, 
 When I, like Castelar, approached to gaze 
 Upon your beauty's full unclouded blaze, 
 
 Unrobed, untrammelled, I like him had borne 
 Your royal anger; and, at morning light. 
 Perchance had graced the fatal scaffold's height, 
 
 A lifeless trophy of your woman's scorn, 
 For foes to mock and rivals to deride. 
 
 Yet deem not that I count his sentence hard. 
 A welcome boon the fatal axe supplied — 
 
 Fit ending for a love so evil starred. 
 
 His grief was ended by his parting breath ; 
 While I must bear through life a living death, 
 
 Your love, your smile, your presence still debarred. 
 
M ISC EL LA NE O US. 
 
 Seek not to win me from my chosen theme, 
 Or move my spirit to ignoble lays, 
 By any lure which syren Art displays. 
 
 I will not meditate or speak or dream 
 
 In any strain Avhich soundeth not thy praise, 
 
 In whose regard all choicest terms are weak. 
 
 Be this henceforth my theme, though I must seek 
 
 Earth's language through, to find some fitting word, 
 Some sovereign spell of unrecorded worth. 
 By seraphs uttered at thy beauty's birth, 
 
 And since that hour by mortal ears unheard — 
 A strain, though blended with the sounds of earth, 
 
 Yet filled with notes celestial, to rehearse 
 
 The heavenly charms which claim my mortal verse. 
 
MISCELL.LYEUUS. 103 
 
 SONNET 
 To Julia. 
 
 The greatest horror of a poet's lot, 
 
 Whose ready pen some random theme portrays, 
 Is this, to find his crude imperfect thought, 
 With neither art nor skill nor method wrought, 
 
 Dragged rudely forth for public blame or praise. 
 
 Yet now, I own, the pleasure far outweighs 
 Each harsher feeling, as, with blest surprise, 
 I view the proof that one whose peerless eyes 
 
 Might well accord a more than poet's fame, 
 In glancing o'er my unpretending line. 
 
 Could quite ignore the wrathful critic's blame. 
 And trace it, linked with gentler words of thine, 
 
 And doubly armored from the fear of shame — 
 
 Ah! happy verse! from thee such kind regard to 
 claim. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE FIEND. 
 
 A fiend doth make, asleep or awake, 
 
 Its home in my silent heart. 
 From my earliest years, in darkness and tears, 
 
 I have borne its anguished smart ; 
 And full well I know that its torturing throe 
 
 Shall never more depart. 
 
 Though awhile it may seem to forget or dream. 
 Yet I know that the worst will come. 
 
 When it revels again in my heart and brain, 
 Till my senses are strained and numb, 
 
 And heaps the coals on my burning heart. 
 
 Till its quivering fibres shudder and smart. 
 And my lips are with anguish dumb ! 
 
 There once was a form which had power to charm 
 
 My soul from its secret pa-in. 
 But at length forbidden on earth to dwell. 
 She kissed my brow, and bade farewell, 
 
 And I longed for her presence in vain. 
 My fiend rejoiced at the parting knell. 
 And since that hour, like a serpent of hell, 
 
 It hath tortured my soul again. 
 
M/SCELLAA'EOi'S. 105 
 
 I may not utter its fiendish name, 
 
 For 'tis charmed with a demon spell; 
 And oft do I shudder and start with fear, 
 Lest the terrible sound I chance to hear, 
 
 For I know its work too well. 
 For if mortal lips the sound proclaim, 
 
 Or presume its fame to tell, 
 Another, in features and form the same, 
 Starts up in ni)' soul like a torturing flame 
 
 Upborne from the mouth of hell ! 
 
 O, many a tale could the past unvail 
 
 Of the battles my soul hath won. 
 For still, as the ghastly shapes uprose, 
 
 I throttled them one by one. 
 But vain is the power of a conquering will 
 That fierce unslumbering fiend to kill, 
 
 For it yields its life to none. 
 Alone I may bear with its torturing throes. 
 But how could I cope with a thousand foes ? 
 If their ghastly legions around me close 
 
 My soul should be undone. 
 
 Then deep in my breast shall the secret rest. 
 
 Till the life from my heart dissever ; 
 When in darkness and silence my vigil I keep. 
 Nor start from my slumber to shudder and weep, 
 
 I will bury it there forever. 
 There a terrorless silence about mc shall close, 
 And the mantle of darkness shall cover my woes. 
 
io6 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And Oblivion's pinion shall hover. 
 And accurs'd be the hand that shall dare to reap 
 From my furrowed soul what is plowed so deep. 
 
 Or the name of that fiend discover. 
 
 SONNET 
 To Edna. 
 
 Frail creature ! fluttering 'neath the noonday blaze — 
 Not blind, but dazzled by unwonted light, [night. 
 Whose large deep eyes were made for love's sweet 
 
 And the soft radiance of her starry rays — 
 Think not, fond dreamer, to escape the hour ; 
 
 Thy noontide splendor is already past; 
 
 The shade, slow moving, surely comes at last. 
 
 And thou at length must own Love's mystic power. 
 
 Even now, while yet thy swift and willing feet [maze, 
 Trace with light footsteps pleasure's thoughtless- 
 Do I behold at times thy wistful gaze 
 
 Turn with wild longing to that blest retreat. 
 Amid whose shades, with hope and love elate, 
 I sit with folded hands and calmly wait. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 107 
 
 SONNET 
 To . 
 
 Thou hast been true to that which nature willed 
 
 Thy life to be — a twining, creeping thing, 
 In every art of sweet seduction skilled ; 
 
 Which coiled and glittered, yet could turn and sti 
 The trusting breast thy loveliness had charmed. 
 In vain thy wound ! My life rejects, unharmed, 
 
 The serpent poison from thy lips distilled. 
 
 The tender love, which late my bosom filled. 
 Now turned to hate, thy vile remembrance spurns. 
 
 I loathe thy image in my vacant heart, 
 And from its shrine, where faith no longer burns, 
 
 I bid its foul accursed shape depart. 
 Thus do I tread false hopes and beauteous lies; 
 What once I worshipped, now I must despise. 
 
io8 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE TOKEN. 
 
 By the lone Allegheny, when day was declining, 
 With my beauteous Belinda I pensively strayed. 
 
 At length, in the shade of a rose tree reclining, 
 
 VVe inhaled the sweet perfume its fragrance conveyed. 
 
 I plucked a sweet bud, which I playfully offered; 
 
 She received the fond token, then blushingly said, 
 " Though I cannot refuse what's so temptingly 
 proffered, 
 
 Yet I sigh for the wreck you have wantonly made." 
 
 " Nay, nay," I replied, " for, though culled ere its 
 splendor. 
 
 Our affection's sweet promise it well may portray." 
 " Yet I wish," with an accent bewitchingly tender, 
 
 She murmured, "your hand had not plucked it to-day. 
 
 Had you left it to bloom, though it were but to-morrow. 
 As again in the twilight together we rove, 
 
 'Twould have needed from Fancy no tribute to borrow. 
 Since what now is but Friendship had ripened to 
 Love." 
 
MISCELL.LVEOrS. 109 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 The melting languor of your eye 
 So blends with love's celestial fire, 
 
 I tremble lest its lightnings fly 
 
 To pierce my heart with vain desire. 
 
 The honied fragrance of your lips 
 I long to taste, but — cold behest ! 
 
 He who the ambrosial nectar sips 
 May never know a mortal's rest. 
 
 The curling dimple in your cheek 
 
 Fain would I kiss, but must not dare; 
 
 I fear the vengeance Love would wreak. 
 Who, armed and watchful, nestles there. 
 
 Ah ! yield me on your panting breast 
 One raptured moment's sweet release! 
 
 If Love should there disturb my rest, 
 Your lips shall bid my anguish cease. 
 
MISCELLANE US. 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 THE CHAIR, 
 
 I am hard, I am soft — I am large, I am small — 
 I am full, plump and round — I am stately and tall. 
 I am lean, long and lank, all my ribs you may trace — 
 I am formed like a sylph or a seraph in grace. 
 I've four legs, but no body; two arms, but no hand ; 
 I am most at my ease when upright I stand. 
 I'm familiar alike with the statesman and swain ; 
 Though I sometimes bear double, I never complain. 
 Though oft I move swiftly, I ne'er won a race ; 
 Since, unless I am carried, I seldom change place. 
 I'm the pride of the host and the slave of his guest; 
 Often honored the most when most deeply oppressed. 
 I'm the first at the feast and the last to depart. 
 Yet I oft bear a hungry and comfortless heart. 
 In the chamber of death, where my form oft appears 
 O'er burdened by sorrow, I never shed tears. 
 I'm the invalid's solace — the shrine of debate — 
 The hermit's sole friend — and the symbol of state. 
 The support of the helpless ; the comfort of age ; 
 And the instrument, too, of the drunkard's wild rage. 
 To my careless embraces the maiden, so coy, 
 Yields, unasked, what her lover would gladly enjoy. 
 In the palace of art and the hovel of shame, 
 Though varied in form, I am one and the same. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE AILING POTTER. 
 
 There lived an honest potter once, 
 Who looked both stout and hale, 
 
 Yet, spite of seeming health, he had 
 Kis customary ale. 
 
 A plain, hard working man he was, 
 Yet oft, from day to day, 
 
 He'd leave his jigger at the shop, 
 For one across the way. 
 
 B}' slow degrees his habit grew ; 
 
 The danger none could tell; 
 Till, though a very modest man. 
 
 It made him quite a swell. 
 
 His bulk grew larger day by day, 
 Which caused his friends to ask. 
 
 How long, at such a staving way, 
 Ere he'd become a cask. 
 
 The man at length grew very ill. 
 And all his neighbors thought 
 
 That if he didn't cease to swill. 
 He soon must go to pot. 
 
MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 And SO they called the doctor in, 
 
 To find the trouble out ; 
 Although the dryest man in town, 
 
 He soon began to spout. 
 
 Said he, " My fi-iend, your case to me 
 
 Is neither strange nor new ; 
 And if you do not stop your beer 
 
 Your bier will stop for you. 
 
 And now, to plant my argument 
 
 On philosophic grounds. 
 Reduce the number of your drams, 
 
 And you'll decrease your pounds. 
 
 Yet, deem me not of making light 
 
 Of such a painful theme 
 Another glass inside of you 
 
 May make you kick the beam." 
 
 ' Sir," said the man, " your words have put 
 My fate beyond a doubt; 
 Since life's at logger-heads with beer, 
 Why, let them fight it out. 
 
 And when I reach the other sphere, 
 
 By genial spirits borne, ■ 
 Let Gabriel count my carcass dear, 
 
 For still I'll have my horn. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 113 
 
 And lest, on prohibition grounds, 
 The saints and I might quarrel, 
 
 I'll stock myself with liquor here, 
 And treat them to a barrel." 
 
 POTTER S KPITAPH. 
 
 Here lies a man whose score of mug? 
 
 Ere half his day was done, 
 Grew more than he could carr\' off; 
 
 So now he's carrion. 
 
 He left his task and went his way. 
 
 As all good potters must ; 
 And though on earth he molded clay 
 
 His body now is dust. 
 
 To trust him at the heavenly bar 
 His friends may safely dare; 
 
 He never sponged a single glass, 
 Though oft he sponged his ware. 
 
M ISC EL LANEO US. 
 
 BUTTERMILK. 
 A Parody. 
 
 The evening shades were falling fast, 
 The supper hour was somewhat past, 
 When through the house a sound there came 
 Might put a dinner gong to shame — 
 
 Buttermilk! 
 
 The ladies all had drank their fill, 
 
 And buttermilk was plenty still ; 
 
 When through the hall there passed a man 
 
 Who swore he'd drink a two-quart can — 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 A maiden filled the measure up ; 
 He seized and quaffed the brimming cup ; 
 Then placed his hand his coat behind. 
 His pocket handkerchief to find. 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 His groping hand essayed in vain 
 His pocket handkerchief to gain ; 
 For, while he took his late repast. 
 His pocket had been sewed up fast. 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
AUSCELLAKE US. 1 1 5 
 
 Now sudden fury fired his cheek ; 
 
 lie swore through all the house he'd seek, 
 
 .\iKi if the culprits could be found, 
 
 In buttermilk they should be drowned. 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 He hung his coat upon a nail, 
 
 Then seized the well-filled wooden pail ; 
 
 The pail he balanced on his head, 
 
 Then u[)\\ard mo\'ed with measured tread, 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 " Pray have a care," the landlord said, 
 " Be sure ^'ou're right, then go ahead ; 
 Lest, ere you reach the topmost stair. 
 The buttermilk gets in )-our hair." 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 " O, stay !" the ladies cried, " and treat ! 
 We long some good ice cream to eat." 
 " I never knew," he faintly said, 
 " Ice cream from buttermilk was made." 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 Then on he moved with measured tread, 
 The pail still balanced on his head ; 
 Till, mounting still from flight to flight. 
 At length he vanished from their sight. 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
M ISC EL LANEO US. 
 
 They found him at the break of day ; 
 Prone on his downy couch he lay ; 
 While from his nose a sound there came, 
 Might put a dinner gong to shame — 
 
 Buttermilk ! 
 
 TO . 
 
 With a Rose. 
 
 Let her whose hand shall lift this Rose 
 And place it on her budding breast, 
 
 Be sure that where its fragrance blows, 
 My lips some future hour shall rest. 
 
 For I have charmed it with a spell, 
 
 Which mocks each shield her breast may wear. 
 Then let her guard her treasure well, 
 
 Till I shall taste its sweetness there ! 
 
 TO . 
 
 -"On photographing for her an autograph in pencil of Geo. 
 D. Prentice. 
 
 What though the tracery of that hand may fade. 
 Whose living touch such magic could impart ? 
 
 Ey Light itself the line shall be portrayed, 
 
 And live immortal through the Sunbeam's art. 
 
MISCELLAXEOCS. 
 
 TO A MALE CHAMBERMAID. 
 
 If )'ou wouki prove }'our title to the claim 
 
 Of chambermaid, beyond some chance mistake. 
 
 Pray give attention, while I try to name 
 
 A few slight changes you had better make. 
 
 First, frizz your hair with all becoming art. 
 Till round your head its glossy ringlets twine. 
 
 Next, shave that fierce moustache, which seems to start 
 Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. 
 
 Next thing — for chambermaids sometimes must pad — 
 When neatly done, it often looks quite well — 
 
 Please call next door, and purchase, ready made, 
 The graceful bend and the volu[)tuous swell. 
 
 As for the rest — but hold ! I will not dare — 
 
 Such mysteries best are ventured by degrees on. 
 
 Now don a gown, and any man will swear, 
 
 If not a maid, by George ! there's some good reason. 
 
? 1 8 MISCE I. LA NE O US. 
 
 MOONSHINE. 
 
 How strange that people differ so, 
 Where none can claim the truth to show, 
 
 And end the vague dissensions ; 
 If you would like the proof to try, 
 Ask several persons who are by 
 
 To name the moon's dimensions. 
 
 The man whose unpoetic eyes 
 Are graded to his cart-wheel's size, 
 
 Will claim, from pure conviction. 
 To regulate it to a hair, — 
 The wheel's the size, he '11 roundly swear, 
 
 And challenge contradiction. 
 
 The doctor, who can boast of skill 
 To cure his patients every ill, 
 
 By potion, plaster, tartar, 
 Will claim, with accent gravely wise. 
 The moon appears to him in size 
 
 Precisely like his mortar. 
 
M ISC EL LANE O US. 
 
 A man whose appetite is c^reat 
 Will match it with his dinner plate, 
 
 And say 'twould hardly fill it. 
 While, sitting by, some other one, 
 Whose taste for batter cakes may run, 
 
 Will claim 'tis like a skillet. 
 
 The maid, whose hope of all delight 
 Unkindly fate has chanced to blight, 
 
 If you should rashly cross her 
 About the time she takes her tea. 
 Will tartly say, "She ne'er could see 
 
 'Twas larger than her saucer." 
 
 To you and I, the truly wise, 
 Who view it with poetic eyes, 
 
 It wears a different seeming ; 
 The likeness of a heavenly face. 
 Endowed with sweet angelic grace. 
 
 With love and splendor beaming. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SWINBURNE. 
 An Imitation. 
 
 He is mad, and his song is the mingling 
 
 Of visions discordant and vain; 
 The effects of the fire that is tingling 
 
 In the wreck of a lunatic's brain. 
 Will his cries never cease ? will he bore us 
 
 With a savage and infinite strain 
 Of appeal to his mother Dolores, 
 
 His Lady of Pain? 
 
 He rejoices in delicate features ; 
 
 Bloody lips are the theme of his strain ; 
 And his women, his idols, his creatures. 
 
 Have hair like a buffalo's mane. 
 He is borne by the gale of their sighing ; 
 
 He is drenched by the brine of their tears ; 
 And their lithe, serpent forms are still trying 
 
 To wind round his ears. 
 
 He has gods without name, without number; 
 
 A monstrous and manifold throng ; 
 And their old mythological lumber 
 
 Is the fuel and fire of his song. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 They bind us with chains and they free uj- 
 Tlicy make and unmake us again, 
 
 And they laugh and grow merry to see u; 
 W^ax paJHd with pain. 
 
M ISC EL LANE O US. 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 Hail, master genius of the human kind ! 
 
 Creative spirit ! to whose soaring strain 
 
 All lesser songs are plumeless, or in vain 
 Essay the heights which thou alone coulds't find ! 
 
 What clouds and lightning formed thy being's dow'r ! 
 Through what fierce warfare of contending thought, 
 With eagle pinion thy young spirit sought 
 
 The swift unfolding of that matchless power 
 To which even foes in humblest guise have bent, 
 
 Or swelled the plaudits of thy triumph's hour ! 
 What godlike strength with human weakness blent, ' 
 
 What bitter memories, and what hate of wrong, 
 
 Woke in thy soul such wondrous power of song. 
 Which to thy land's proud lyre its proudest strains 
 hath lent. 
 
MISCEI.LAXEOLS. 
 
 O, BOBBIE BURNS. 
 Written on a blank leaf of a copy of Burns' Poems. 
 
 O, Bobbie Burns ! O, Bobbie Burns ! 
 
 Though some may think ye daf ', 
 Ye ha'e sae mony wittie turns, 
 
 We can na' choose but laugh. 
 
 O, Bobbie Burns ! O, Bobbie Burns ! 
 
 How can ye talk so queer ? 
 What, wi'e your quibbles, quirks and puns, 
 
 Ye' 11 be our death, I fear. 
 
 O, Bobbie Burns ! O, Bobbie Burns ! 
 
 True, mony a fault is thine, 
 But who the unpolished diamond spurns, 
 
 Tho' earth may dim its shine? 
 
 O, Bobbie Burns! O, Bobbie Ikirns! 
 
 Weel fitting 'tis that thou 
 Should wear the wreath that genius earns 
 
 Upon th)' manly brow. 
 
M ISC EL LA NE US. 
 
 WE MET. 
 
 We met when the morning of youth and of joy 
 Had just gladdened our Hves with its gleaming; 
 
 And the love which then sprang in the heart of the boy 
 In its freshness and power still is beaming. 
 
 We parted ; my heart in its dream slumbered on, 
 
 Forgetful of years or of changing ; 
 While thine, ere its first thrill of parting had flown, 
 
 Through the world's giddy pleasures was ranging. 
 
 We meet ; but alas, from that eye, once so true. 
 Shines no light, love's sweet presence revealing ; 
 
 But there mingles a shade with its once sunny hue, 
 Depths of coldness and falsehood concealing. 
 
 Would I never had met thee in years that are gone, 
 Or but known thee when youth's flowers were 
 twining. 
 For what power can give back the bright dream that 
 hath flown. 
 Or thy heart's truth, so pure and so shining. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 125 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 'Tis not an evil license that I claim. 
 
 Not the fulfillment of desires unblest ; 
 But 'tis the quenching of that guilty flame, 
 
 That fire which robs the heart within of rest. 
 
 It is the crowning of true manhood's breast 
 With faith and honor, where, devoid of shame, 
 Secure in concious power to bless and charm, 
 
 The unclothed virgin might lie down and rest. 
 And he have neither wish nor power to harm, 
 For gazing on her loveliness of form. 
 
 Away with all this cold and selfish cant ! 
 Let woman feel the truth so oft confessed — 
 She hath no boon which man may not request, 
 
 And man no wish which woman may not grant. 
 
126 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 ' SONNET. 
 
 Death. 
 
 I stood in sadness, and with drooping head, 
 Amid unnumbered graves which lay around 
 Like scattered seeds upon the furrowed ground,. 
 Where one beloved and lost v.-as newly laid 
 To deep and dreamless slumber; and I said, 
 Alas ! that man should die and be forgot ! 
 His transient life is as a fading flower. 
 Whose fleeting beauty blooms but for an hour; 
 The passing wind sweeps o'er, and he is not. 
 In vain at hearth and board his form is sought ; 
 His place is vacant, and his voice no more 
 Shall gladly greet us at the opening door; 
 The seed may live and flourish, but in vain, 
 Would we his life restore — it bloometh not again. 
 
MISCELLAXKOUS. 127 
 
 SONNET. 
 Lii'i:. 
 
 I stood amid the ripened fields of corn, 
 
 Which covered all the bri<^ht and smiling land, 
 And saw the reapers come, a happy band, 
 
 With merry songs upon the breezes borne. 
 
 And glad and joyous shoutings, 'mid the bright 
 And balmy air, which seemed to bear no blight. 
 
 I said. All nature lives, shall man despair? 
 
 Shall fruitful seeds, which long had darkly lain 
 Beneath the sod, revive and bloom again. 
 
 And man be left to sleep forever there ? 
 Beneath the sunshine of a future age, — 
 
 Who knows? perchance a brighter hour may come, 
 W^ien storm shall pass, and tempest cease to rage, 
 
 And man arise to shout the world's groat Harvest 
 Home. 
 
1 28 MISCELLANE O US. 
 
 SONNET. 
 To Mary. 
 
 I sit alone, and from the o'erlooking height 
 Of this my chamber window, watch, below, 
 The crystal Allegheny's silent flow, — 
 
 A silvery sheen ; o'erhead the queen of night. 
 Arrayed in robes of splendor, heavenly wrought, 
 Walks forth in beauty; o'er yon hills afar 
 Beams into sight a solitary star, — 
 
 Well known to thee, my love ; for have we not 
 Oft times at eve strayed forth to see it rise. 
 
 And read our history in its mingling rays ? 
 
 Would thou wert here to-night ; then might I gaze 
 Into the glorious heaven of thine eyes. 
 
 And own their splendor more divinely bright 
 
 Than ray of evening star or moonbeam's silvery light. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 129 
 
 TO . 
 
 The fullness of that power is thine, 
 Which, blessing all who feel, 
 
 Bids manhood bow at woman's shrine, 
 And worship as they kneel. 
 
 Thou art a star above the storm. 
 Sweet rays of love revealing ; 
 
 And by the splendor of thy form. 
 Life's doubt and woe concealing. 
 
 And in the brightness of thy smile 
 Such hope and joy are given, 
 
 I sleep to dream of bliss the while, 
 And wake to find it heaven. 
 
I30 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 SEPARATION. 
 
 Now we indeed must part ; yet, ere time's flight 
 Crown with red day this swift and waning night, 
 As love crowns thee — more beautiful and tender 
 Than all night's stars, with mystic light and splendor, 
 Ere yet each sweet and loving tie be broken, 
 O let thy lips breathe forth one trembling token. 
 Or, if it please thee, let no whispered word 
 No murmured tone of sweet consent be heard. 
 Let me but read love's meaning in thine eyes. 
 Breathe thy glad breath, drink thy tumultuous sighs^ 
 And feel the passionate heaving of thy breast 
 As heart to heart and lip to lip are press'd. 
 Unseal the mystery of thy glad young life. 
 Set thy sweet soul to mine in mimic strife 
 For pleasure's ruddy championship, and prove 
 In love's sweet lists thy mightier powers of love. 
 Till the deep passion tide no longer flows ; 
 Till soul and sense are lulled in sweet repose. 
 And joy's swift pulse subside or cease to swell ; 
 Till love hath nought to hear nor bliss to tell ; 
 Then, and then only, can I bid farewell. 
 
MISCE LI. A NE O OS. 
 
 »3» 
 
 RENUNCIATION. 
 
 Nay, tempt nic not; I cannot love thee now 
 Bend not upon me that most re<^al brow, 
 With its bright crown of dark and waving hair. 
 Breathing a subtle perfume rich and rare. 
 O, turn away thy deep and soul-lit eyes, 
 Dark slumbrous orbs whence star-like beams arise : 
 Hide their full glance, so passionate yet soft; 
 Lure me no further; I have borne too oft 
 The galling fetters of love's broken chain. 
 To lightly bind me with its links again. 
 What though I drink thy full, deep, fervent kiss. 
 Till my soul, filled and drunken with its bliss. 
 Grow faint and swoon, and for a time forget 
 All sweet, sad memories, every vain regret. 
 All love's lost feverish days and fiery nights. 
 And langorous dreams, and strong and fierce delights- 
 Why should I love thee ? Canst thou give me all- 
 Ay, more than all these thing.s— canst thou enthrall 
 And satiate my strong soul with deeper joy. 
 All life, all thought, and every sense employ, 
 With .sweet?, which cannot tire, and bliss which will 
 not cloy? 
 
132 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 REVOCATION. 
 
 Long had I wandered in a world of strife, 
 
 And learned to loathe this weary goaded life, 
 
 With all its heartless scenes and deeds of ill. 
 
 Thou earnest, and thy presence seemed to fill 
 
 Day with a golden splendor — evermore 
 
 Hope's blissful radiance from thy form did pour 
 
 Upon my waking vision, and the night 
 
 Seemed soothed and softened by a heavenly light, 
 
 And a divine enchantment — ah, sweet ray, 
 
 How purely shone upon my troubled way 
 
 Thy glance of love and beauty ; beaming high [nigh. 
 
 O'er life's dark scenes, though storm and death were 
 
 Sweet star of morn ! had thou but lingered here, 
 
 Life were not lone, nor earth too darkly drear. 
 
 I joy thee in thy freedom, yet I fain 
 
 Would have thy spirit linked and bound again. 
 
 Why should I linger in this darkened world, 
 
 While thy pure soul, with joyous wings unfurl'd, 
 
 Mounts to those regions where all night is day, 
 
 And day grows bright beneath the Godhead's ray. 
 
 And life is joy, and love and bliss pass not away. 
 
M ISC EL L A NE O US. 1 33 
 
 MALEDICTION. 
 
 Still dost thou live ? Thou, born to strut and swell, 
 
 And mock and mar what else had speeded well. 
 
 Thou hated reptile ! made to hiss and sting, 
 
 And o'er all life thy loathed venom fling. 
 
 I will not speak thy most detested name. 
 
 Lest it should blight and shrivel as a flame ; 
 
 It is enough to know that still thou art — 
 
 Thou crawling creature with a serpent's heart ! 
 
 Thou child of shame — thou whelp of hell — thou worse 
 
 Than spotted toad — thou offspring of a curse. 
 
 Thou felon shape — thou thing most vile and base — 
 
 Thou bloated monster, on whose hideous face 
 
 Thy crimes are writ, lest any one should take 
 
 Thy form for human — thou most venomed snake! 
 
 I have no words to utter all my hate, 
 
 No fitting terms to liken to thy fate ; 
 
 Out from my path ! lest my resentful arm. 
 
 With fateful stroke, upon thy shrinking for.ii, 
 
 Too swift for fear to mark, or word to tell, 
 
 Shall wreak the vengeance thou hast earned too well, 
 
 And send thee howling to thy home in hell. 
 
134 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TO . 
 
 Your presence destroys the illusion ; 
 
 But absence restores it again. 
 There is freedom in constant intrusion, 
 
 There is bondage in bursting the chain. 
 
 Though I know that the vision is vain, 
 It hath charms that I may not destroy. 
 
 And the bliss that I long to attain 
 
 I am sure that possession would cloy. 
 
 Then, while still there is hope of redeeming, 
 I will fly from the light of that smile, 
 
 Which, when distant, so brightly is beaming, 
 But near, hath no power to beguile. 
 
 I will worship the vision afar 
 
 Which is crowned with such magical seeming 
 Nor approach, lest its nearness should mar 
 
 The repose of such exquisite dreaming. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 13S 
 
 O, WHO WOULD NOT LOVE"^^^ 
 
 O, who would not love, since to love has been given 
 To bestow on us mortals such glimpses of heaven ? 
 What a sombre old planet this dull earth would prove 
 If the moon never smiled in her radiance of love. 
 
 Let cold science explain the attraction which draws 
 That bright rolling orb with unvarying laws. 
 But what terms can express the allurement which lies 
 In the luminous glance of two soul-beaming eyes ? 
 
 Who shall say that those orbs, so bewitchingly bright, 
 Were not made for reflecting love's magical light ? 
 And those forms, so inviting our softest caress. 
 Were they given to gaze on, or given to bless ? 
 
 Then, who would not love, since to love has been given, 
 To enliven dull earth \vith such glimpses of heaven ? 
 Let the priest and the pedagogue prose as they will. 
 While such treasures are ours, we will cherish them still. 
 
1 36 M ISC EL LANEO US. 
 
 TO . 
 
 From the light of your smile I am banished ; 
 
 I gaze, but I may not intrude ; 
 I may dream of the joy that hath vanished, 
 
 But the dream is with anguish imbued. 
 
 In vain to forget I have striven ; 
 
 In vain from your presence I flee. 
 The spell which I thought I had riven 
 
 Still binds my remembrance to thee. 
 
 And but this had been wanting to render 
 My thralldom more galling, to see 
 
 The star of my soul in its splendor 
 Shining on, but no longer for me. 
 
 Accurs'd be the power which hath bound me ! 
 
 Accurs'd be the hour that I drew 
 In my madness those fetters around me, 
 
 Which sever my being from you. 
 
 Still, still, with that fire I am burning. 
 
 Tho' fettered, I pant to be free : 
 And my soul, with a passionate yearning, 
 
 Still turns in its fondness to thee. 
 
M/SCELLAXEOLS. 137 
 
 Could I break from the chain that enthralls mc, 
 Could my soul but her freedom renew, 
 
 And obey the deep impulse which calls me 
 To bow where my homage is due, 
 
 Once more to \-our presence I'd turn me, 
 
 And hear but this vow I repeat — 
 If still from that heaven you'd spurn me, 
 
 I would pour out my soul at }'our feet. 
 
 TO . 
 
 Yes, let thy lips refuse to touch 
 
 And soothe this wildly throbbing brow. 
 I had not deemed the boon too much — 
 
 I sought, but I am answered now. 
 
 'Tis well ; I may not hope to win 
 The trust of that pure soul of thine ; 
 
 Lest mine, too darkly stained with sin. 
 Should shrink beneath its touch divine. 
 
138 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Yes, I had crowned thee with a deeper love 
 Than man should e'er bestow on such as thou, 
 
 And risked my all of earth, my all above. 
 To win one smile of thy beguiling brow. 
 
 How could I deem that aught so fair would prove 
 A blinding lure, to lead my soul, as now. 
 
 Upon the barren rocks of wild despair, 
 
 To waste its years in hopeless anguish there? 
 
 'Tis true, 'twas but a thoughtless freak at first, 
 A boyish flame, till, by thy woman's wile 
 
 And serpent art to deeper madness nursed, 
 Forgetting all save passion's dream the while, 
 
 I sought to quench my spirit's burning thirst 
 At love's own fount — with cold disdainful smile. 
 
 You bade me go, nor deem that such as I, 
 
 A nameless youth — might dream of aught so high. 
 
 'Twas years ago, but years are swift in flight ; 
 
 And scorn hath wounds whose memory will not 
 die. 
 Boy though I was, with more than boyhood's might, 
 
 I stemmed the current of mine agony. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 139 
 
 And, whelmed beneath the black and blinding night, 
 
 Which o'er me spread its starless canopy, 
 Sware, in the rushing madness of that hour, 
 That thou even yet should'st feel and own ni)- power. 
 
 And thou hast owned it; I have seen thee melt. 
 And thrill and tremble in my clasping arms, 
 
 Till, mad with all which once my spirit felt, 
 
 Your bosom heaved and swayed to passion's storms ; 
 
 Once at your feet in hopeless suit I knelt; 
 
 But now I reveled mid those peerless charms, 
 
 Which then I sought, but vainly sought, to gain, 
 
 Yet felt no joy, but only deeper pain. 
 
 Nor deemed it aught, while yet remained a trace 
 Of that deep pride which once thy bosom fired. 
 
 It faded, hour by hour, and in its place 
 
 There grew a softer feeling, which inspired 
 
 A gentle shadow o'er your speaking face — 
 A tender sadness, weak and undesired. 
 
 Once I had dreamed that heaven alone could be 
 
 Wrapt in those arms, but this — 'twas hell to nic. 
 
 But that is passed ; the end of years is wrought ; 
 
 And you and I must part ; 'tis better so ! 
 True, 'tis a bitter draught, and if a thought 
 
 Have power to mingle sweetness with its woe, 
 'T will be that from your lips the fire was caught, 
 
 Which, fanned and kindled to a fiercer glow. 
 Became in me a wild, absorbing flame, 
 Which even your love no more hath power to tame. 
 
I40 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Yet, though no hope the present hour endears, 
 The memory of past joys will still remain. 
 
 Forget not him, who, in those earlier years, 
 Had you but deigned -to smile upon him then. 
 
 Had grown your humblest slave. What bitter tears 
 Flow o'er crushed hopes which will not bloom again ! 
 
 The tide flows onward — whither, who may tell ? 
 
 And bears me with it — we must part, farewell. 
 
M/SCELLAXEOCS. 141 
 
 TO . 
 
 You ask me if I e'er have loved ; 
 
 I will not falsely answer nay . 
 Few are the hearts which have not proved 
 
 That fond deceit, in life's young day. 
 
 And mine, though cold and dark it seem. 
 Once throbbed with love's impassioned thril 
 
 Till from that brief delusive dream 
 I woke, with sense of deepest ill. 
 
 I loved ! ah, who could coldly gaze 
 Upon her sweet and heavenly brow ; 
 
 Nor feel, though dazzled by its rays. 
 Each sense in wildest worship bow. 
 
 And oft, since then, when to my view 
 Some form is given resembling hers, 
 
 A feeling, such as then I knew, 
 Within my lonely bosom stirs. 
 
 A passing gleam! too soon returns 
 The memory of that olden pain ; 
 
 The transient fire a moment burns, 
 Then sinks, and all is dark again. 
 
142 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Yet, could I feel the tender flame, 
 
 Or bow where sweetest charms combine, 
 
 Thine would a deeper homage claim 
 
 Than e'er hath stirred this heart of mine. 
 
 That form, that lip, that breast of thine, 
 
 Thy spirit so divinely fair — 
 O, that my heart at such a shrine 
 
 Might kneel and blindly worship there. 
 
 It may not be ; too deep the wound. 
 
 Which galls my heart with ceaseless pain. 
 
 Even in thy smile no charm is found 
 To stir its pulse to life again. 
 
M/SCELL.IXEOUS. 143 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 I would give for one moment of bliss in those arms, 
 Enjoying the wealth of that bosom's soft charms, 
 All of good that my soul, in her loftiest strain, 
 Hath ever aspired to enjoy or attain. 
 
 Could my heart but a moment beat close to that breast, 
 And reveal all the love it so long hath repress'd, 
 How my desolate soul would exultingly bound. 
 And forget all its woe in the joy it had found. 
 
 Let me drink of that fount, thouc^h the draught be 
 
 my last ! 
 And swift be my doom when its gladness hath past. 
 Though the wave of despair should sweep over my 
 
 soul, 
 I would laugh at its blackness, and mock its control. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TO . 
 
 O, there is luxury in scorn, 
 
 The curling lip, the flashing eye. 
 
 The deep, o'ermastering utterance, born 
 Of hate which brooketh not reply. 
 
 And such is thine, since thou did'st prove 
 The depth of woman's treachery ; 
 
 And while thy lips professed to love. 
 Thy hireling charms proclaimed the lie. 
 
 Thou fiend! that thus could lure my soul. 
 With passion's art and woman's wile, 
 
 Till, spurning reason's faint control, 
 I lived but only in thy smile. 
 
 And even when passion ceased to burn, 
 And all was won which man may woo. 
 
 Still, still my heart could fondly turn 
 And dream of life and love with you. 
 
 The smiles, the tears, which once were mine. 
 
 The charms I panted to enfold, 
 Now — basely prostituted shrine — 
 
 Are bartered for another's gold. 
 
.U/SCh/.L.L\Aur.S. 
 
 '45 
 
 C), may he live to know how worse 
 Than false that heart I now resign ; 
 
 And curse, with dark and bitter curse, 
 
 The hour which hnked his fate with thine. 
 
 ENIGMA. 
 
 As, in sonie i^ardcn's most uncultured maze, 
 A lovely rose, with virgin sweets arrayed, 
 Which breathes a soft and tender perfume round, 
 Concealed the while from thy most prying gaze, 
 With r,iger quest when you at length have found. 
 You gladly pluck, nor leave it there to fade ; 
 So I — too happy task — have here entwined 
 A sweet rare blossom — a most blooming treasure- 
 A flow'ret, radiant with all light and pleasure. 
 And tend'rer beauty, thbugh I fear 't will find 
 No recognition, since it lies enshrined 
 In my rude verse — a most entangling measure. 
 Then closely con it till the .spell is known. 
 So deeply hidden, yet mcst clearly shown. 
 
 [To find the answer, take the letter of each line corresponding in i ,,.„hcr to 
 the number of the Ime-ihus : the first letter of the first line, the seond of the 
 second, .ind so on to the fourteenth. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 Her face is rather pretty — so the}' say — 
 Her figure fine, her air extremely pleasing ; 
 
 Somewhat coquettish in a quiet way ; 
 
 Not quite a flirt, but rather given to teasing. 
 
 Her smile is fascinating, — sometimes flecked 
 
 With pride or scorn, — but seldom soft or tender ; 
 
 Her eye so cold — you might as well expect 
 
 The pale round moon to warm you by its splendor. 
 
 Her mind is good, — but of peculiar bent, — 
 So calm, so dignified, so self-possessing ; 
 
 Though she might love you to your heart's content^ 
 You'd find it out at last by simple guessing. 
 
 As for her heart, I really do not know ; 
 
 She may have one, though I have never found it ; 
 But that's a thing that's seldom apt to show 
 
 While guaze and lace and other things surround it. 
 
 Her virtue, — she was never known to fall, 
 Tho' I must say she's rather fond of kissing; 
 
 But when you come to take her all in all, 
 You'll find, I fear, that pretty trifle missing. 
 
M/SCELLAXEOiS. 147 
 
 WE MEET. 
 
 W'c meet, but not as wc have met 
 In days which have forever flown ; 
 
 When that brii;ht dream, whose memory \-et 
 Doth thrill my heart, around me shone. 
 
 And thou dost \ainl\- strive to \'ail 
 
 From outward view — for burnini; cheek 
 
 And brow will still repeat the tale — 
 Thy memor}' of my boyish freak. 
 
 ]^ut I have earh- learned the task 
 
 Of calm and ic\- self-control, 
 And pride has taught me how to mask 
 
 The writhings of a tortured soul. 
 
 I coldly bow and pass thee b}- ; 
 
 And none can tell, from outward show, 
 The surging tide of agon)- 
 
 Which rolls its burning waves below ; 
 
 To think that onl\- thus may we 
 E'er hope on earth to meet again ; 
 
 I know that thou art lost to me. 
 
 And O. the thought is bitterest pain. 
 
 The pang of meeting such as this. 
 Cold, feeble language may not tell; 
 
 As Dives, in sight of heaxenly bliss, 
 luidured the quenchless flames of hell. 
 
1 48 M ISC EL LANE O VS. 
 
 LINES. 
 
 Nay, do not deem me insincere ! 
 
 The charge from others might be borne ; 
 But thou ! alas, that I should hear 
 
 From thy dear lips such words of scorn. 
 
 Yet firm in rectitude I stand, 
 
 And conscious truth, albeit thou. 
 
 With cruel, unrelenting hand, 
 
 Would'st stamp the traitor on my brow. 
 
 And wherefore? that, with hellish art, 
 I won, then left a heart to pine 
 
 In cold neglect? Not so : the part 
 Of unrequited love was mine. 
 
 Have I not said, and now repeat, 
 
 Though from my bosom hope has flown. 
 
 While life remains my breast shall beat 
 With love for thee, and thee alone ? 
 
 Yet, when I knew my dream was vain. 
 Lest from thy life a joy 't would steal, 
 
 With careless words I strove to feign 
 The calm — alas ! I could not feel. 
 
M/SCE LLAXEOrS. 1 49 
 
 If I have sinned, my crime is clear; 
 
 I strove, with deep and cunning art, 
 To hide the shaft wliich quivered liere, 
 
 The pain which rankled in my heart. 
 
 With stoic fortitude, the stone 
 Above my buried hope I rolled ; 
 
 Resolved that I would bear alone 
 
 The anguish words could ne'er unfold. 
 
 Then do not deem me insincere; 
 
 The charge from others might be borne ; 
 But from your lips I will not hear 
 
 Such words of undeserved scorn. 
 
I50 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell, a word that oft has been 
 The echo of a bursting heart ; 
 
 But not for me, since I have seen, 
 
 And proved and known thee as thou art. 
 
 Since pride has taught me scorn of one 
 
 Whose peer I deemed the world had none. 
 
 Yes, thou art fallen ; I coldly gaze 
 
 Upon my idol of a day ; 
 Since truth has stripped its glittering rays, 
 
 I see 'tis but of worthless clay. 
 While not a feeling thrills my frame, 
 Save those of wonder and of shame. 
 
 Of wonder, that a being bright, 
 As thou to outward seeming art, 
 
 A haloed form of beauty's light, 
 
 Should prove a thing without a heart! 
 
 Yet such thou art, and such must be 
 
 My retrospect of love and thee. 
 
M/SCI:L/.AXEOCS. 151 
 
 Of shame, that I so long had bent 
 Before thy shrine the subject knee, 
 
 While not a wish to heaven was sent 
 Rut seemed to find its home in thee. 
 
 Accursed delusion — false as fair — 
 
 No heaven of earnest thought is there. 
 
 Tiien fare thee well ; no more we meet ; 
 
 Henceforth our paths diverging lie. 
 That dream, though false, was passing sweet 
 
 And though remembrance will not die. 
 When love expires, it leaves but this. 
 The vain reirret o'er vanished bliss. 
 
152 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TO . 
 
 Take back your heartless, cruel note, 
 Your coldly proffered name of friend ; 
 
 Nor deem its words can be forgot 
 Till life and love alike shall end. 
 
 Believe me, it doth not require 
 
 That I should trace those lines again ; 
 
 For they are writ in words of fire 
 Upon my burning heart and brain. 
 
 What were it to a breast like mine. 
 
 Cold friendship's mocking power to wield? 
 
 It pants to prove the bliss divine 
 
 Thy love, and thine alone, can yield. 
 
 And dost thou think that I could smother 
 This inward, heart consuming flame, 
 
 And calmly see thee yield another 
 What I would give my life to claim ? 
 
 No ! heaven has given me a soul 
 
 Which scorns the trifler's empty art ; 
 
 And where it sways not full control. 
 It will not deign to own a part. 
 
M/SCE/.LA\EOLS. 153 
 
 A heart which must be deeply blest, 
 With all that fondest love can give, 
 
 Or still throb on in wild unrest, 
 Till fate shall bid it cease to live. 
 
 TO . 
 
 Last night, upon my bed, I dreamed 
 That thou wert reconciled to me ; 
 
 Upon my raptured vision beamed 
 
 That smile, which 'twere my heaven to sec. 
 
 I clasped within mj' own thy hand, 
 
 Whose touch could thrill my very >()ui ; 
 
 A moment did my life blood stand. 
 Then wildly leaped to its control. 
 
 I heard once more thy gentle \oice. 
 To me the sweetest earthly tone ; 
 
 It bade my trembling heart rejoice. 
 To know that thou wert all my own. 
 
 Alas, that scene so false as this 
 
 So like reality should .seem ; 
 It was a visionary bliss ; 
 
 I woke, and found it but a (heaiii. 
 
154 ' MISCE L L A NE O US. 
 
 TO 
 
 ON THE ALLEGHENY. 
 
 O. thus might I ghde, 
 
 In sweet union with thee, 
 Down life's swift-rolHng tide, 
 
 What a bHss it would be ! 
 How sweet, thus reclining 
 
 My head on thy breast, 
 All sorrow resigning, 
 
 To dream but of rest ; 
 To dream but of rest. 
 
 Such as mortals may know 
 When the soul is released 
 
 From its thralldom below. 
 
 But — alas ! that my fate 
 
 So ungenerous should be — 
 Such joy doth not wait 
 
 In the future for me ; 
 For another, more worthy. 
 
 Shall call thee his own, 
 Whilst I take my journey 
 
 Unloved and alone. 
 Unloved and alone, 
 
 Since that beacon of trust 
 On my pathway which shone. 
 
 Has been scattered in dust. 
 
MISCELLAXEULS. 155 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR A SKULL: 
 
 iiikti- Tarts. c-pRREsroNiMNG ro ihk imrke Divisions of 
 THi Mink, as inuicaied i;y the Phrenologist. 
 
 I. The Perceftive. 
 
 lichold the goal of all thy hopes and fears ! 
 Life's vision past, the end is what appears. 
 See this cold shape its ghastly .semblance keep. 
 And mock at vanquished life, but never weep. 
 
 II. The Speculative. 
 
 A thousand years the living tide may flow 
 Above this form, nor changeful vestige show. 
 Shall lifeless clay such lasting structure keep. 
 And Life itself in endless darkness sleep? 
 
 III. The Spikpiual. 
 
 Though firmly wrought, this fabric yields at last 
 Each atom back, to be with life recast. 
 Dust falls to dust ; the soul to Soul returns ; 
 Life's quenchless flame through ceaseless ages 
 burns. 
 
:S6 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 TO HARRIET. 
 
 There are some who display 
 
 Such a magic array 
 Of charms so alluring and sweet, 
 
 That to win but one sip 
 
 Of their delicate lip, 
 Were a more than ambrosial treat. 
 
 But if one should wish 
 
 To indulge in a dish 
 Of decidedly opposite savor, 
 
 Let him get but a glance 
 
 Of your visage askance. 
 And that look will supply him the fla\ 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 On Her Wearing a Watch Key belonging to the Author. 
 
 Yes, wear the gaudy trinket on your breast ; 
 Tis meet that there the shining toy should rest ; 
 Fit emblem for your heart, which ne'er may be 
 Unlocked by aught except a golden key. 
 
M/SCJ:L/..l.\J:OLS. 157 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Here lies old Tom Hurly. 
 
 A sinner as su-rly 
 As ever the devil let loose ; 
 
 If he's not j^^one to hell, . 
 
 Then old Nick may as well 
 Ackno\vled,i:^e his place of no use. 
 
 ANOTHER ON THE SAME. 
 
 A saint by profession — a deacon at session — 
 
 He carried the bag for its gains ; 
 He would serve you on Sunday and curse you on 
 Monday, 
 
 And he's now gone to hell for his pains. 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Here lies a man who, while on earth, 
 Lied more than any man I know ; 
 
 Old Satan took him at his worth. 
 And keeps him lying — down below. 
 
ISS MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Hail, fellow pilgrim ! traveler in the road 
 Which mortal feet from age to age have trod ; 
 A ruthless trampler o'er the mouldering pride 
 Of forms that lived and sinned and wept and died. 
 From out the current of that mingling throng, 
 Which bears its load of hopes and fears along, 
 I bid thee welcome ; and though short the hour 
 Since I have owned thy friendship's kindling power, 
 At whose command these trembling strains ascend, 
 A transient theme, and soon, perhaps, to end, 
 Yet here repose thy wandering feet the while. 
 And let my song thy listening ear beguile. 
 
 Since man first woke, by Satan's art beguiled, 
 To feel the strength of passions fierce and wild, 
 Which, since the dawn of that eventful day. 
 Have marked the earth with desolating sway. 
 And o'er the trace of Eden's vanished bloom 
 Have piled the ghastly trophies of the tomb; 
 Since, from those bowers of peace and virtue driven, 
 He wandered forth, beneath the frown of heaven, 
 
M/sc/:i.LA.\j-:ors. 
 
 '59 
 
 To find the earth, where e'er his steps mi^ht roam, 
 A pathless wild, a world without a home. 
 Six thousand years ha\e rolled ; and still in v'ain 
 Mankind ha\e souf]^ht that Eden to refrain. 
 
 Where'er, beneath the sun's expanding power. 
 There blooms for man a transient, fadinj,^ flower, 
 Whose fleeting beauty for an hour hath shed 
 A trembling glory round its drooping head; 
 Reminding, by its sweetness, of that lost 
 And ruined home, by man. the tempest toss'd. 
 There hath the curse been felt, and there the cry 
 Hath sprung from earth, and pierced the heavens on 
 
 high. 
 How long, O God, how long shall nature mourn 
 Her trampled rights, and bear the avenger's scorn ? 
 How long shall manhood, wearied with the toil 
 And strife of earth, be doomed the oppressor's spoil? 
 
i6o MISCELLAAEOiS. 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 The earth is not our home ; we may not fill 
 The exhaustless measure of our being here ; 
 
 This frame shall perish, but the spirit, still 
 Untouched by mortal taint, shall reappear, 
 And reign expansive in a nobler sphere. 
 
 The sun shall fade and fall; the stars that roll 
 In space immense, shall cease their swift career. 
 
 And topple down to ruin ; but the soul 
 
 Of man shall ne'er grow old, nor reach its final goal. 
 
 When we have left this fallen world behind. 
 
 And soared to regions of unending day, 
 Then shall we know the life for which we pined 
 
 While pent and prisoned in this house of clay ; 
 
 Then, all untrammelled shall the spirit stray. 
 And rove unbound the azure fields of light ; 
 
 With sense of growing powers, which no decay. 
 Nor pain, nor death, nor weariness can blight; 
 If this be life, O time ! speed, speed thy onward 
 flight. 
 
M/SCE/.L.-IXEOUS. i6i 
 
 ODE 
 Written on the Aitearance ok the Great Comet of iS6i. 
 
 Comet, thou wondrous meteor king! 
 Thou strangely grand, mysterious thing, 
 That, with thy train of beaming hght, 
 Burst forth upon our startled sight, 
 Unlocked for and unheralded, 
 A thing of wonder and of dread ; 
 From out the trackless realms of air, 
 The boundless, fathomless afar, 
 Thou camest ; and as forth we gaze 
 Upon thy train of spreading rays, 
 Wondering and anxious we inquire, 
 What art thou ? What's thy mission dire, 
 Proclaimed in characters of fire ? 
 
 Art thou the wreck of some bright world. 
 That from its orbit has been hurled ; 
 The fair proportions of thy form. 
 Dissolved by the Almighty's arm; 
 Condemned to wander through the sky, 
 Through pathless fields of space to fly, 
 A blasted monument of wrath 
 To all that see thee in thy path ? 
 Or thou may'st be, for aught we know, 
 A planet yet in embryo ; 
 
 12 
 
[62 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The plastic substance of a sphere 
 Unformed as yet, and waste and drear ; 
 Destined, when wrought by hand divine, 
 A bright, effulgent world to shine ; 
 To be the glorious abode 
 Of beings noble, pure and good. 
 
 Art thou, to this dark world below, 
 Herald of misery and woe ; 
 The messenger of vengeance, sent 
 To warn of coming punishment? 
 Doomed, with thy pestilential breath. 
 To scatter seeds of flaming death ? 
 Doth thy bright, sword-like form presage 
 The curse of war, the battle's rage? 
 And, of thy presence though the cause 
 Be nature's strict, unerring laws, 
 That, seeing thee in troublous hour, 
 Man's guilty soul may own the power 
 Of Him, that high and holy One, 
 Whose throne is placed above the sun, 
 Who sends a sword on guilty men. 
 As a just punishment for sin. 
 
 Whate'er thou art — whate'er may be 
 Thy past, thy future destiny. 
 Or present purpose, still may we 
 A striking emblem see in thee 
 Of human greatness: while o'erhead 
 Thy glorious train of light is spread, 
 A million eyes will on thee gaze. 
 
^MISCELLANEOUS. 163 
 
 A million tongues will sound thy praise 
 For a brief period thou wilt glow, 
 Then forth to darkness thou wilt go 
 And be forgot. Thus thy career 
 Resembles man's ; how bright soe'er 
 For a brief moment he may shine, 
 Yet is his glory but like thine — 
 A brilliant, flashing meteor, 
 A transitory, blazing star, 
 That gleams a moment on our sight, 
 And then is lost in raj'less night. 
 
 FROM THE POTOMAC. 
 
 Dear girl, since heaven decrees that we 
 Must for a season sundered be; 
 Though many a mile doth intervene. 
 And many a river roll between, 
 And many a weary day, alas ! 
 In tardy flight must onward pass. 
 Ere we may hope to meet again — 
 Yet doth my bosom still retain 
 The memory of those hours which we 
 Have sweetly passed in compan)-; 
 And though, since fated to abide 
 By dark Potomac's turbid tide, 
 Fve gazed on many a lovely face, 
 And form, whose captivating grace, 
 
1 64 AIISCEL LANE O US. 
 
 And gentle eyes of azure beam, 
 And sunny smile of heavenly gleam, 
 Are destined yet, perhaps, to ensnare 
 Some loyal comrade's heart, who'll swear — 
 To Love a willing prisoner — 
 Henceforth allegiance true to her ; 
 Yet lovely face, nor beaming smile, 
 My constant bosom can beguile ; 
 With faithful heart, unmoved, I gaze 
 Upon each form of winning grace, 
 And turn away to dream of one 
 Whose image rules my breast alone ; 
 And none beside, though passing fair, 
 With that bright image can compare, 
 Or hope to reign a rival there. 
 
 And oft do I in memory 
 
 Retrace, in company with thee, 
 
 The well known path which leads beside 
 
 The crystal Allegheny's tide, 
 
 And feel once more thy gentle form 
 
 Hang trustingly upon my arm. 
 
 And listen to thy voice, which still 
 
 With magic power my heart can thrill ; 
 
 And from the blissful retrospect 
 
 Of those sweet scenes, with pleasure decked, 
 
 I gain anew the patriot zeal, 
 
 To battle bravely for the weal 
 
 Of that bright land, which bears for me 
 
 So sweet, so fair a flower as thee. 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 165 
 
 THE ABSENT. 
 
 'Tis a joy thus to sit by the fireside at eve, 
 
 And the moments in cheerful discourse to beguile ; 
 
 While each has a word or a story to give, 
 
 To provoke from the others the laughter or smile. 
 
 Yet a feeling of sadness is mixed with our mirth, 
 As we think of that brother and friend, who is far 
 
 Far from the pleasures that wait by the family hearth, 
 'Mid the darker surroundings and dangers of war. 
 
 And we ask, Shall that one be restored to his friends. 
 To complete, by his presence, the circle thus rent ? 
 
 Shall he have a part in that joy which attends 
 
 The bright dawning of peace when the war-cloud is 
 spent ? 
 
 Or shall he have a name and a part among those 
 Of whom, by their country and friends 'twill be said. 
 
 When our flag soars triumphant o'er all that oppose, 
 In defence of that banner their life-blood was shed? 
 
 We know not; the future is hid from our sight ; 
 
 But we know, if no more he should meet with us 
 here. 
 That his name shall be blazoned in letters of light, 
 
 And the flag that he died for shall hallow his bier. 
 
1 66 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 VALEDICTORY. 
 
 Delivered at a Public School Exhibition, March 28, 1S62 
 
 Friends, on behalf of those who here to-night 
 Have striven to minister to your delight, 
 And by our modest efforts sought to claim 
 Your kind applause — to us sufficient fame — 
 I bid you now adieu ; yet, ere we part, 
 Permit the offering of a feeling heart 
 To those who, wont to join us heretofore, 
 Now mingle with our youthful band no more. 
 For since we last the pleasing task essayed. 
 In which to-night our efforts have been made, 
 Some of our number have been called to bear 
 A nobler part within a loftier sphere. 
 And they who spake, upon a former night. 
 Of Hohenlinden's dark and bloody fight, 
 And how Bozzaris, with his Suliote band, 
 Did glorious battle for his native land. 
 Are gone to battle in our country's cause. 
 And vindicate her now despised laws. 
 A year ago the trumpet call went forth : 
 "Ye slumbering millions of the mighty North, 
 Awake ! behold how treason's bloody hand 
 Is stretched to rend this God-united land ; 
 See how the storm of discord hangs above 
 Our late abode of harmony and love. 
 And threatens now to quench forevermore 
 The light of freedom in a sea of gore!" 
 
M/SCELLAXEOL'S. 167 
 
 The thrilling note was heard, and in reply, 
 \ million foemen pealed the battle cry ! 
 O, 'twas a proudly grand and glorious sight 
 To see a nation rising in its might ; 
 A myriad loyal breasts in unison 
 Throbbing and beating, as the heart of one ! 
 Resolved that never should our banner know 
 Dishonor from the recreant southern foe, 
 Who, in their madness, seek to rend in twain 
 The pride of nations and the hope of men. 
 
 And some have fallen; but 'tis not mine to tell 
 
 How gallant Ellsworth and brave Lyon fell ; 
 
 Or, by the dark Potomac's rushing tide, 
 
 How Baker, battling for his country, died. 
 
 These, by their death, inscribed their deathless name 
 
 L'pon the record of eternal fame. 
 
 A grateful country shall perpetuate 
 
 Their names, their deeds, and their heroic fate. 
 
 Vet, ere I close the theme, I fain would pay 
 
 This tribute to the absent ones : May they. 
 
 Like Ellsworth, see the traitor flag brought low ; 
 
 Like Lyon, view the wildly scattering foe ; 
 
 And may the Power that rules and reigns above 
 
 Protect and shield them by his guardian love ; 
 
 But should it be their glorious lot to yield 
 
 Their brave young lives upon the battle field, 
 
 May gallant Baker's fame their fate enshrine, 
 
 And crown their memory with a light divine. 
 
1 68 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Suspense is past, and now we know 
 
 The most that words can tell : 
 " In Hfe he proudly faced the foe, 
 
 Nor faltered, though he fell." 
 Alas ! that such a life should be 
 The prize of aught save victory — 
 
 And yet we know 'tis well. 
 'Tvvere better thus that all should die, 
 Than live to shame and infamy. 
 
 Then do not weep ; at such an hour 
 
 Bid sorrow's fount be still. 
 Force back its tide of tearful power, 
 
 And let the bosom thrill 
 And leap beneath its sense of pride. 
 To think how gloriously he died ! 
 
 And how his spirit will 
 Henceforth an honored place command 
 In freedom's tried immortal band. 
 
 O, Thou, who dost regard the dust 
 
 Of those for virtue slain ; 
 Who art our freedom's hope and trust, 
 
 Shall traitor hosts again 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 169 
 
 In wild, unhallowed triumph tread 
 Above the martyred patriots' bed, 
 And boast their sufferings vain ? 
 Forbid it, God ! breathe forth thine ire, 
 And blast them with consuniini:^ fire ! 
 
 THE APPEAL. 
 
 Occasioned hy a Meetinc; kor Procurinc; Aid ior the 
 Wounded Soldiers. 
 
 Hark! the notes of victory swell, 
 Sweeping o'er the land to tell 
 Of a battle, long and well 
 
 Fought, and nobly won ! 
 Bow to heaven the grateful knee ; 
 Shout, To God the glory be ! 
 While the banner of the free 
 
 Streams in triumph on. 
 
 Hearken )-et ; from heaps of slain, 
 Covering all that battle plain, 
 Wounded men, in mortal pain, 
 
 Call for succor now. 
 Will ye slight that anguished prayer ? 
 Ye whose brothers, sons are there, 
 Will ye not a balm prepare 
 
 For their burning brow ? 
 
[70 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 ONE OF MANY. 
 
 Not in the hero's hour of glorious pride, 
 
 When foe meets foe mid flashing battle flame, 
 
 And mingling in the combat's crimson tide, 
 He yields his life to freedom and to fame; 
 
 But wasting slowly, day by day, he died. 
 And left no record but a simple name, 
 
 And that he perished ; nought to mitigate 
 
 The grief of those who mourn his sad, untimely fate. 
 
 They may not still the yearning of the heart 
 With the proud thought that the beloved one. 
 
 Still bearing, all unawed, his dauntless part 
 In freedom's battle, when his work was done. 
 
 Bowed to the stroke of the destroyer's dart. 
 And sank to rest, as sinks the setting sun 
 
 In cloudless splendor, casting o'er the earth 
 
 He leaves behind a halo of immortal worth. 
 
 Yet who shall say the sacrifice was vain, 
 
 And bar the boon for which he bravely wrought ? 
 
 Shall the remembrance of his toil and pain 
 And unrepining death be all forgot ? 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 171 
 
 No ! while our banner, freed from treason's stain, 
 Shall proudly float — the guerdon of his lot — 
 Bid we its starry folds in honor wave 
 Above the martyred patriot's unforgotten grave. 
 
 ELLSV/ORTH. 
 
 He stood where treason's banner strcam'd, 
 Insulting heaven's bright sun ; 
 
 And in his lofty scorn he seemed 
 A more than mortal one. 
 
 Like some resplendent spirit sent 
 
 On wings of morning light 
 From Freedom's starry firmament, 
 
 He beamed upon our sight. 
 
 A moment more and he was gone, 
 
 No more to greet our eye ; 
 The patriot's holy work was done : 
 
 He taught us how to die. 
 
172 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 Written on the Appearance of the Emancipation 
 Proclamation. 
 
 The fiat has gone forth, and now we stand 
 A rescued people ; ransomed from the shame 
 
 And burning wrong, which long has made our land 
 Among all lands a by-word, and a name 
 Of scorn, and dark reproach, that those who claim 
 
 The championship of Freedom's cause, had nursed 
 Within their midst so long, and sought to tame 
 
 A spirit hell-born, of that race accurs'd. 
 
 Who "gainst high heaven arose in proud revolt at first. 
 
 And which — these years of sorrow, since the fall 
 
 Of our first earthly parents — woful hour ! 
 Has caused to flow more tears and blood than all 
 
 Hell's hosts combined — accursed lust of power ! 
 
 Which tempts a human being to devour 
 His brother's right, and forge a chain to bind 
 
 His soul's free pinion, and to rob his dower i 
 
 Of heaven-born attributes of thought and mind, 
 And make of god-like man a senseless sullen hind. 
 
MJSCELLAXEOUS. 
 
 173 
 
 Their cup was bitter, and too late, alas ! 
 
 We find its dregs are mingled with our own, 
 Which now we quaff; for now is come to pass 
 
 The end, the bitter end, so long foreshown 
 
 By wisdom's voice, but feared, believed by none; 
 Our country's peace is reft ; her sons have met 
 
 In deadly conflict, and her fields are strown 
 With ghastly corses, whose deep wounds have let 
 Their warm life-current out. her verdant soil to wet. 
 
 But yet — Columbia ! yet thy name can thrill 
 
 Thy true son's heart with pride, and mak'c him know 
 A sense of being nobler than the will 
 
 Of kings, or tyrant power could e'er bestow. 
 
 A myriad such, in this thy hour of woe. 
 Of loyal breast, and strong and fearless hand, 
 
 Leap to thy side, and proudly bid thee throw 
 Aside the weight and shame of years, and stand 
 Before the world henceforth a free and glorious land. 
 
174 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE LIBERTY BIRD. 
 
 On a mountain, whose cloud-piercing summit appeared 
 Like a throne for the storm-king by whirlwind up- 
 reared, 
 Dwelt an Eagle ; and long had his proud form outrode 
 The storms that swept over his mountain abode. 
 He had for a century breasted their power. 
 And his flight was more noble since each than before ; 
 Through all that wide region his fame had been heard, 
 And they called that proud Eagle the Liberty Bird. 
 
 A small, crawling reptile had cunningly made 
 Its home in the cleft of the rock, 'neath the shade 
 Of the mountain-bird's nest; and the Eagle disdained 
 That his beak by its ignoble blood should be stained. 
 Secure in such contempt — more noble than wise — 
 It flourished and grew to a serpent in size ; 
 Till it dreamed in its malice, by jealousy stirred, 
 Of humbling the pride of the Liberty Bird. 
 
 The Eagle sat perched in his glory on high, 
 When the reptile came forth his fierce power to defy; 
 And, hissing its serpentine venom and spite, 
 Approached the bold Eagle's precipitous height ; 
 
MISCELLAXEOUS. 175 
 
 While the Eagle looked scornfully down on his foe, 
 
 Till the reptile, at length, was directly below ; 
 
 Then he spread his broad wings, and his wild scream 
 
 was heard, 
 And into mid air sprang the Liberty Bird. 
 
 A moment he poised on his aerial height. 
 
 Then downward he swooped like the glehming of 
 
 light; 
 The treacherous snake in his talons he clutched, 
 While his proud plumage fluttered aloft all untouched; 
 Its vitals, its heart from its bosom he tore. 
 Then spurned the base carcass and heavenward did 
 
 soar; 
 And the wild notes of freedom in triumph were heard 
 Bursting forth from the throat of the Liberty Bird. 
 
 July, 1S61. 
 
176 MISCELLANEOLS. 
 
 FAREWELL, BELOVED HARP. 
 
 Farewell, belov'd harp ! whence my spirit so long, 
 'Mid the tumult of life, drank the solace of song ; 
 Whose magical chords, though unskillfully strung, 
 O'er the soul of the minstrel such melody flung. 
 
 Soon shall cease the wild sweep of thy murmuring 
 
 swell. 
 And the heart of the master in darkness shall dwell \\ 
 There, unmindful alike of the malice of foes, 
 Or the tear of regret, shall his relics repose. 
 
 Yet once more, ere we part, let me waken thy strain ; 
 I will revel once more in love's rapture and pain; 
 I will utter the grief which hath stirred me so long. 
 And my passion shall soar on the power of my song. 
 
 Then, hushed be the spell of thy harmony deep ; 
 Soon the soul that hath swayed thee in silence shall 
 
 sleep ; 
 By the world unlamented, save those who shall own, 
 For the sake of the minstrel, the joy of thy tone. 
 
 June 17, 1878. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 ■iiurifiiiiii 
 
 018 597 835 7