Library OF i!LNGRESs. I 
 
 # # 
 
 I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | 
 
POEM S 
 
POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD STAGG 
 
 / SAINT LOUIS, MO. 
 
 PUBLISHED 15 Y KEITH & WOODS 
 
 NEW-YUHK: a. S. BARNES AND CO. 
 
 1852. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 
 
 EDWARD STAGG, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Missouri, 
 
 J. F. TROW, PKINTER, 
 49 Ann-strecL 
 
TO 
 
 g Silife anil ©Hl^rcn, 
 
 1 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE 
 
 its i^;'ctofi. 
 
 EDWARD STAGG 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The following poems were all, with, but a few ex- 
 ceptions, written under circumstances unfavorable to 
 composition — that of verse more especially — arising 
 from the Author's business occupations. 
 
 Most of the "Earlier Poems" were written from 
 twelve to fifteen years ago, and appeared over the 
 initial "S." in the Comrtiercial Bulletin^ a newspaper 
 then published in this city. The others were com- 
 posed, at different times, during the last five years. 
 Some of these latter have appeared in several of 
 the St. Louis newspapers ; but the greater portion 
 have never before been published. 
 
 Saint Louis, April, 1852. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Dedication . . . . ... 3 
 
 Peeface ...... 5 
 
 Twelve Yeaes Ago . . . . .13 
 
 The Fatiiee's Eeeor . . . . . 17 
 
 The Happy Sleep ...... 22 
 
 The Sea ..... . 27 
 
 America, My Country . . . . .31 
 
 My Three ...... 34 
 
 The Burial of my Brother's Child . . .37 
 
 Old Letters ...... 41 
 
 A Welcome to my Brother's Bride . . .44 
 
 •' O ! Thou from Whom th' Unfathomed Deep " . 47 
 
 The Dead Babe . . . . . .49 
 
 The Guest ...... 56 
 
 The Counterfeit . . . . . .59 
 
 "Dear Mother! from that Land of Light!" . 61 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 To William Cullen Bryant . . . .64 
 
 The Stars ...... 65 
 
 Fresh Air . . . . . . ■ . 72 
 
 Henry Clay ...... 75 
 
 Reverie in a Wood . . . . .78 
 
 The Captive Idea ..... 82 
 
 Willie . . . . . . .85 
 
 To Minnie S . . . . . 88 
 
 The Unrighteous Judge . . . . .91 
 
 Extracts from an Address . . . . 94 
 
 An Honest Thought . . . . .102 
 
 December 81, 1851 ..... 106 
 
 Non-Interference . . . . .110 
 
 To J. W. S 113 
 
 To " Willie's " Mother . . . . .116 
 
 The Death of Miss C . . . 118 
 
 Elysiana . .... . . 121 
 
 The Bed of Snow . . . . . 124 
 
 "I SEE THEE Weep, Fair Girl" . . . .129 
 
 Hagar and Ishmael . . . . . 131 
 
 The Clock and my Heart .... 135 
 
 "As thy Day, so shall thy Strength be" . 137 
 My Books ....... 139 
 
 "The Stars, we prize them when the I^igiit" . 142 
 
CONTENTS. 11 
 
 Dying Thoughts . . . . . .143 
 
 OccASioxAL Htmx ..... 146 
 
 A Scene feom my Window . . . .148 
 
 " Unto us a Child is Born " . . .153 
 
 Remoese ....... 158 
 
 Hope, the Buoy and the Beacon . . . 161 
 
 If Right, be Brave . . . . .163 
 
 "He stood before me" . . . . 165 
 
 Natural Sorrow . . . . . .168 
 
 "God Help the Poor" . . . . 170 
 
 "An Enemy hath done This" .... 173 
 
 Sympathy . . . . . .180 
 
 A Christmas Hymn . . . . .183 
 
 E A R L I E R P O E Ik[ S . 
 
 "The Muses in my Younger Days" . . 187 
 
 Song. The Broken Chord . . . .192 
 
 To 192 
 
 To Josephine . . . . . .194 
 
 Follow on! . , . . . . 197 
 
 Lazarus ....... 199 
 
 To Ada ...... 201 
 
 Lines while Absent ..... 203 
 
€ O N T E N 1\S , 
 
 The Sueprise . 
 
 My Deeam . 
 
 The Spieit's Flight . 
 
 " No OTHER Voice " 
 
 Visits of the Departed 
 
 Pleasant Memories 
 
 My Last Wish 
 
 Jephthah's Daughter 
 
 The Better Land 
 
 To MY Sister 
 
 To the Butterfly 
 
 The Certainty of Death 
 
 Snow-Balling . 
 
 The Language of Charity 
 
 Sitting up with the Dead 
 
 To . 
 
 Our Little Child's Death 
 
 Acrostic 
 
 To Helen 
 
 The Rose-Tree 
 
 Music's Power . 
 
 The Grand Assize 
 
 To a Friend . , 
 
 
 205 
 
 
 . 208 
 
 
 210 
 
 
 . 213 
 
 
 215 
 
 \ . 
 
 . 218 
 
 
 221 
 
 
 . 223 
 
 
 225 
 
 
 . 227 
 
 
 230 
 
 
 . 233 
 
 
 235 
 
 
 . 238 
 
 
 241 
 
 
 . 243 
 
 
 245 
 
 
 . 248 
 
 
 250 
 
 
 . 252 
 
 
 254 
 
 
 . 25G 
 
 
 259 
 
TWELVE YEAES AGO. 
 
 Twelve years ago, this day, my wife, 
 
 We joined our humble barks together. 
 To sail adown the stream of Life, 
 
 And meet, as one. Life's changeful weather. 
 Our freight, my loving heart, and thine. 
 
 Deep-loving, tender, snugly stowed, 
 How could the skies but brightly shine, 
 
 As smoothly on our voyage we flowed ! 
 
 Twelve years are gone ! Our freight is still, 
 Thank Grace! uninjured by the weather; 
 
 And let us trust it ever will 
 
 Remain as when first placed together. 
 
14 TWELVE YEARS AGO. 
 
 The winds may blow — the winds have blown ; 
 
 The waves may beat — the waves have beat ; 
 But, with love's arms in faith upthrown, 
 
 The storm breaks, harmless, at our feet ! 
 
 Twelve years are gone ! In them, have dropped 
 
 Flowers that on our breast were growing, 
 Sweet buds "that, with no leaf yet oped, 
 
 Gave promise of a beauteous blowing. 
 They fell ! they're mingled with the dust, 
 
 But, ! their fragrance lingers round 
 Our hearts, and they, among the just, 
 
 An early, happy home have found ! 
 
 Twelve years are gone ! Now to our freight 
 
 We've added three Elysian flowers, 
 That, while they give our bark more weight, 
 
 Do deck the care -brow of the hours. 
 They make that golden chain more strong, 
 
 Which binds our barks and makes them one ; 
 And, as we move the tide along. 
 
 We feel we do not sail alone ! 
 
TWELVE YEARS AGO. 15 
 
 Twelve years are gone ! The laughing stream 
 
 Is grown a deep and thouglitfal river, 
 And though more near it may not seem, 
 
 Yet, is the place where all do sever. 
 More fast the changing banks we pass, 
 
 More swift the objects hurry by, 
 And we, as through the mariner's glass. 
 
 May see the voyage's end draw nigh. 
 
 Twelve years ago ! How short the space ! 
 
 Twelve years to come, far off the end ! 
 The Past, a point on Gnomon's face, 
 
 The Future, how its lines extend ! 
 Twelve years to come, or thou, or I, 
 
 May've had one bark drawn out the river, 
 When Death's hand shall the cord untie, 
 
 Nor shall we sail then more together ! 
 
 Then, when the bark shall crumble all. 
 
 Its plank to greedy earth be given. 
 May both have known the Spirit's call, 
 
 And that one have its freight in Heaven ; 
 
16 TWELVE YEARS AGO. 
 
 There waiting to be joined again, 
 
 And no more change nor parting know ! 
 
 Joined with a more enduring chain 
 Than that us bound, twelve years ago ! 
 
THE FATHER'S ERROR. 
 
 "Do not write poetrj, my boy." Thus spake 
 A father to his son, who just had writ 
 A little poem. And the old man looked 
 Displeased, and frowned. " It never'll be of use 
 To you, and may prove to your hurt. I've known 
 Many a rhymer, such as you ; they all 
 Are speculating, castle-building men. 
 The daily duties of this life of toil 
 They are unfit to do ; and what they do 
 Is only half-way done, or is so mixed 
 With the peculiar fancies of their brain. 
 Their work's but little worth." 
 
18 
 
 The son heard all 
 His father spake, in silence. Fell the words 
 Of that old man, like water on a coal 
 Of fire struggling into blaze. The lad 
 Had feelings like to one who's done a deed 
 Of crime, and fain would hang his head, nor meet 
 The injured's eye with his. He went" away 
 With wounded pride, and laid his poem by. 
 Praise he'd expected; but he'd met a frown, 
 And had a sorry lecture. 
 
 But, ere long. 
 The fire burst forth afresh ; his soul renewed 
 Its commerce with the Muses. He could not 
 Forego the pleasure their society gave. 
 So, like to one enamored of a maid 
 He daily meets, and basks him in her smile. 
 He ran to their embrace, and felt a thrill 
 Of rapture in his breast 1 They kissed the lad, 
 Each one in turn, and so the Nine he loved 
 More and more. 
 
 The boy wrote poems again. 
 And as he wrote, he published them. None knew 
 
THE father's error. 19 
 
 He did so, save one real friend, wlio saw 
 His certain genius, and with words of praise 
 And kind encouragement, would bid him write. 
 
 There came a time, when in a book went forth 
 Those poems which the father would have kept 
 From being written. And the book sold well. 
 In many a house it was a welcome friend. 
 On winter evenings, when were gathered round 
 The fire the children, then some older one 
 Would take the book, and read aloud its gems. 
 And it was so, that, oft the poet's verse, 
 So smooth, so touching, and so beautiful, 
 Would draw, alternately, the smile and tear. 
 And thus the children, and the parents too, 
 Were happier made and better. 
 
 And I know 
 There was a mourning mother, who shed tears, 
 Plenteous and bitter, for a babe she'd lost, 
 That drew sweet comfort from a poem which 
 She in that volume found. 
 
20 
 
 And I "have known 
 A trembling Christian, one of those whose souls 
 Are ever grieving for something they've done, 
 Or left undone, who, in their zeal for good. 
 Deny themselves to even that 'gainst which 
 There is no law ; or, doing what's not wrong, 
 Fear they have sinned : I've known such one, she read 
 A poem in that little book, which caused 
 Tranquillity and peace to dispossess 
 Her doubts and torturing fears. 
 
 Did, then, he well. 
 That parent, when he bade his son not write ? 
 Who says, Write not, and bids one cover up 
 A talent which has power, like this, to bless 
 Our fellow-creatures, and to sweet the life 
 Of him who has it, says not well. Ah I no. 
 Like other talents, it was given for tise. 
 And, if we rightly use, we may not tell, 
 As down, from year to year, our writings go, 
 The good that they may do, — it may be great. 
 But, ! the tears they start, the tears they dry, 
 
21 
 
 The hands they strengthen, and the hearts they cheer, 
 
 Will be so many witnesses to prove 
 
 We did not live as drones. They will, I trow, 
 
 Like unto echoes from unnumbered hills, 
 
 Eeverberating and rebounding e'er, 
 
 Strike on the sensitive nerve-strings of our soul, 
 
 And bless our long Eternity ! 
 
THE HAPPY SLEEP. 
 
 ! SAD to see tliy radiant beauty 
 Passed away from earth so soon I 
 
 "We can but do our mournful duty, 
 Now, in this our sorrow's noon. 
 
 We here within thy coffin lay thee, 
 Clothed in dress of snowy white ] 
 
 An emblem true, for, child, to-day, we 
 Know thou'rt 'mong the saints in light. 
 
 We place these early summer flowers 
 
 Gently in thy lily hand ; 
 Ah ! fairer ones bloom in the bowers 
 
 Of thy home, the better land. 
 
I'HE HAPPY SLEEP. 23 
 
 Upon thy brow the wreath that's lying, 
 
 Circling thy soft golden hair, 
 Suggests to us the crown undying, 
 
 Which thy happy soul doth wear. 
 
 The prayer is said. With fervent feeling, 
 
 Comes the benediction now ; 
 While sobs, the mother's grief revealing, 
 
 Break, as tears in plenty flow. 
 
 "One last, last look !" amid her weeping, 
 . Cried the mother, "at my child!" 
 And, while she kissed, as oft in sleeping, 
 Lo ! her beauteous Edwin smiled ! 
 
 *'My child! my child!" she only uttered, 
 And then swooned upon the floor ; 
 The priest a "God be praised!" muttered, 
 Not a word was spoken more. 
 
24 THE HAPPY SLEEP. 
 
 All now were silent, as they gazed 
 
 On tlie just awakened boy, 
 Who slowly in his coffin raised, 
 
 With a wond'ring look of joy ! 
 
 "Mother ! O, mother ! I've been playing 
 Where the sweetest flowers grew ! 
 And, look !" he said — the bnds displaying — 
 "I have brought some here for you I" 
 
 Those words revived the swooned mother, 
 Who rose, and clasped him to her breast ; 
 
 Kisses and tears chased fast each other, 
 Ne'er was child so much caressed. 
 
 He lives. Where famished souls are dying, 
 'Mid the din of worldly strife, 
 To give relief he's ever flying, 
 
 While he. breaks the " bread of life." 
 
THE HAPPY SLEEP. 25 
 
 He's aged now ; his locks are wliitenecl 
 With the frosts of threescore years : 
 
 Ay, many hearts his words have lightened 
 Many eyes he's dried of tears. 
 
 So near nnto the gates of glor}^, 
 
 When a child, had he been brought, 
 
 That, from that time till his age hoary, 
 What he'd seen was in his thought. 
 
 And, I have heard him say, "Past knowing 
 
 Are the wise designs of God ; 
 Often the greatest love He's showing 
 
 When we're feeling most the rod. 
 
 " My mother, when, in sorrow, bending 
 O'er my body, seeming dead. 
 Had she a thought of God's intending, 
 Bitter tears she had not shed. 
 
 4 
 
26 THE HAPPY SLEEP. 
 
 " And she, perhaps, had never striven 
 For the home she now has reached : 
 The tranced child led her heart to Heaven ; 
 A sermon sweet to me it's preached." 
 
THE SEA. 
 
 0, MIGHTY Sea ! how shall my muse essay 
 To sing of thee, when many lyres have failed 
 To do thee justice. Yet I fain vrould try^ 
 For I have seen thee in thy fury, and 
 I have too seen thee when in quiet thou 
 Didst lie, as lies the little babe in sleep, 
 Upon its mother's breast. Nor seen alone, 
 But I've been on thee, and have felt thy power 
 As thou wouldst toss our fragile bark about. 
 Like feather driven by the Borean blast ; 
 And felt the soothing influence of thine. 
 When all was calm, and we were gliding on 
 In quietness and peace. 
 
28 THE SEA. 
 
 ! dead the soul 
 That can sail out upon tlie might j Sea, 
 With not a thought of God, who in His hand 
 Doth hold its waters ; that can fail to read 
 A lesson of the greatness of that God, 
 And of the insignificance of self! 
 The vast expanse of water, where the eye . 
 Can see no bound, save where it seems to meet 
 The bending sky, which, as some curious one. 
 Doth stoop to learn the " secret of the Sea," 
 Suggests immensity, and leads the mind 
 To think on Him, the Infinite. 
 
 The hearty 
 At Sea, will pray, though from the stubborn tongue 
 No sound may come. And many souls have there, 
 For the first time, put up a prayer to God, 
 With fervent eloquence. They then did feel 
 That He was all their refuge in the storm. 
 And then has come remembrance of the tale 
 Of Christ, who stood up in the fisher's boat, 
 And bade the waves "be still," and they obeyed. 
 
THE SEA. 29 
 
 What comfort drew tliey from that narrative, 
 In that dark hour ! It never had before 
 Done more than please them, as they read it o'er. 
 And they could never comprehend its force, 
 But now 'twas full of beauty and of hope. 
 
 Tell us, Sea ! thou might'st, a world of things ! 
 How, on that morning, when the fiat came. 
 And light had flowed, thou didst withdraw in haste 
 To let the " dry land" out of thine embrace ; 
 And how uprose the land, like some huge beast 
 Wakened from sleep, and swelling out its form. 
 With mighty consequence. 
 
 How sweet the chime 
 Of ''morning stars," when borne across thy face 
 By the soft breeze awaked by angels' wings. 
 Who fluttered happily round the choral heaven. 
 And when the sun, and moon, and stars were set 
 In God's pure firmament, O ! then didst thou. 
 In token of thy welcome to those orbs, 
 Eeflect their radiance to heaven back. 
 
80 l^HE SEA. 
 
 Down in thy caves what mystery doth lie ! 
 
 O ! thou might'st tell us of great wonders there :^ — 
 
 Of flowers and shrubs unlike to aught we see 
 
 Around us on the earth ; of thy rich gems, 
 
 Which sparkle only for the fish's eye ; 
 
 Of hill and valley ; of thy unknown depths. 
 
 And thou might'st tell of thousands buried down, 
 
 Down in thy secret places — who have gone 
 
 There, in the storm, as trophies of its w^ath ; 
 
 Or as the vanquished in the Naval fight ; 
 
 Or as the murdered of the Pirate's arm. 
 
 Tell, too, thou might'st, the sum of thy vast wealth, 
 
 The aggregate of gold from many ships. 
 
 Which thou hast crushed with thy maddened waves. 
 
 Oh, Sea ! on thee shall press the Angel's foot. 
 Who, with his other foot on land, shall say. 
 In thunder-tone, " There shall be Time no more I" 
 Then wilt thou. Sea, resolve thine elements. 
 And become a fire encircling the world. 
 Twining and mingling thy red arms with those 
 The earth shall spread out from its furnace-heart ? 
 
AMERICA, MY COUKTRY. 
 
 My Coiintrj, my Country, thou beautiful land ! 
 Like Canaan, the favored of Heaven, dost stand : 
 With thy lakes so immense, and thy rivers so grand, 
 Thy fields teeming rich 'neath the husbandman's hand, 
 The envied of all ! 
 
 Thy wide*spreading prairies, where the deer boundeth 
 free, 
 
 And tall grass doth move like the waves of the sea. 
 What grandeur surrounds ! Like a stream, through 
 
 them flows 
 The emigrant's train, as he Westward still goes, 
 With family and all. 
 
82 AMEEICA, MY COUNTEY. 
 
 How plenteous thine ores ! And thy mountains of 
 
 gold, 
 Whose limit nor yet any figures have told, 
 Eemind us of what was the Ophir of old. 
 And as other nations thy wealth see unfold, 
 Astonished are all ! 
 
 How vast is thy Commerce ! In all the known seas, 
 Thy vessels, well-filled, spread their wings to the 
 
 breeze ; 
 And wide is the fame that for speed they have got. 
 By the glorious race lately won by our Yacht, ^ 
 Victorious o'er all ! 
 
 Thine Army is valiant, and pow'rful as brave ; 
 Thy Kavy's the pride and the boast of the wave. 
 Thy Flag is e'er honored, wherever it be. 
 For it eloquent speaks of the " land of the Free," 
 So charming to all ! 
 
 Thy free institutions, how pleasant to praise ! 
 
 To them our best song, in great gladness, we'll raise. 
 
AMERICA, MY COUNTRY. 33 
 
 ! wliere is the Country like blessings displays ? 
 There is none, there is none where the Sun sheds his 
 rays. 
 
 And rain-drops do fall ! 
 
 0, generous Country 1 'Tis here the opprest 
 Are ever invited, and here they find rest : 
 Thou open'st thy bosom, and givest a home 
 To those of all nations, and climes, who will come ! 
 Thy welcome's to all ! 
 
 My Country, go on in thy glorious race. 
 With strength in thine arm, and a smile on thy face ! 
 And millions yet slaves thy bright footsteps shall trace, 
 Till enamored become of thy beauty and grace, — 
 When Tyrants shall fall! 
 
MY THREE. 
 
 I VIEW with untold pleasure, 
 
 My children three, my children three ; 
 In them, 0, what a treasure 
 
 Is given to me, is given to me ! 
 Bright buds of promise, shedding 
 
 Their fragrance sweet, their fragrance sweet ; 
 Their leaves in gladness spreading, 
 
 The morn to greet, the morn to greet. 
 
 IVe heard of its grace moving. 
 
 The bounding Fawn, the bounding Fawn ; 
 With grace like it she's moving 
 
 Who trips the lawn, who trips the lawn, 
 
M y T H R E E . 35 
 
 With eye like its for sweetness, 
 
 My eldest one, my eldest one, 
 And step like its for fleetness. 
 
 Outstripped by none, outstripped by none. 
 
 There is a roguish archer, 
 
 They Cupid call, they Cupid call ; 
 I've one, whose eyes will dart y' 
 
 And hold in thrall, and hold in thrall 
 Ye maidens' hearts, I know it. 
 
 When older he, when older he ; 
 Unerringl}^ he'll throw it, 
 
 His dart to ye, his dart to ye, 
 
 I've heard of many a Fairy 
 
 In moonlight dance, in moonlight dance ; 
 There's none more bright and airy 
 
 Than her whose glance, than her whose glance 
 Awakes my soul to gladness. 
 
 In which I have, in which I have 
 A power to banish sadness. 
 
 And thoughts too grave, and thoughts too grave. 
 
36 MY THKEE. 
 
 When to my Three I touch it, 
 
 My humble lyre, my humble lyre, 
 Keluctance then how much it 
 
 Has to expire, has to expire. 
 The song is fain to linger 
 
 Upon the string, upon the string, — 
 And with my voice and finger 
 
 I'd play and sing, I'd play and sing ! 
 
THE BUEIAL OF MY BROTHER'S CHILD. 
 
 Written at St. Louis, Jan. 13, 1852, while tlie funeral was taking place, as liad 
 been announced, by telegraph, it would. 
 
 'Tis now the liour 1 I see the mother bend 
 
 Low o'er the coffin, and imprint a kiss, 
 
 The last she'll give him, on his cold, cold brow. 
 
 I hear her sobs, and see her bitter tears. 
 
 As o'er her heart-strings sweeps the child's " good-by !" 
 
 His cold lips mutely speak ! I see there stand 
 
 The doting father, at the coffin's side, 
 
 Gazing, with sadness on his brow, upon 
 
 His beauteous boy, he never more may see I 
 
88 BURIAL OF MY BROTHER'S CHILD. 
 
 I note the quiver of his lip, and see 
 
 His tear-filled eye, as he is struggling there 
 
 "With his full heart. And there his children stand 
 
 Beside him and their mother, knowing not 
 
 The meaning of the scene : and as they're raised, 
 
 One, then another, to look on the face 
 
 Of their dead brother, they can but believe 
 
 That he is sleeping, and will wake anon I 
 
 And then they look up to their mother's face, 
 
 Half smiling and half sad. 
 
 I've heard the prayer. 
 And preparations now are made to take 
 That angel-being to the grave. His grave ! 
 Ah, they're all dear, those children of our flesh, 
 And closely twined around our hearts. For all 
 We have deep love ; on all we smile ; for all 
 We have our cares ; and in our daily thoughts, 
 Our nightly prayers, each one doth have a place 
 No better than the rest ! But when, Death, 
 Thou cuttest with thy scythe our first-born down. 
 It seems that thou dost snatch our dearest one, 
 Our brightest jewel trample in the dust! 
 
BUBIAL OF MY BROTHER'S CHILD. 39 
 
 Here at ttie grave ! "Be still, my throbbing heart!'' 
 
 The father speaks : "I bury not my boy, 
 
 'Tis but his body that we give to earth. 
 
 Dust goes to dust, in obedience to the law 
 
 Of Him who formed it. Yet, I love that dust ! 
 
 I am but mortal, help me, God, to bear 
 
 Thy heavy stroke ! And her who bore this child, 
 
 Be with her now in this her trying hour, 
 
 When, in the time of her own death except. 
 
 She most hath need of ghostly strength from Thee ! " 
 
 I see, now standing by the little grave. 
 Close by their father, two dear children, who 
 Look with strange wonder on their brother's grave, 
 As now the clods are shovelled in, and ere 
 The mound is made above it. They will sigh, 
 Anon, for " Gerry." When, at home, they miss 
 His gladsome eye, his merry laugh, and hear 
 No more his voice, they'll run to her and ask, 
 " Where is he, mother? Where is Gerry gone? " 
 And she will say, her hands upon their heads. 
 And eyes brimful of tears, '* To Heaven, dears, 
 
40 BURIAL OF MY BROTHER'S CHILD. 
 
 Your little brother's gone." And then they'll ask 
 About that place, and what he's doing there, 
 And whether they shall see him soon again 1 
 And often, as their tiny lips propound 
 These natural questions, there shall gush afresh 
 The fount of tears from out that mother's heart, 
 And then shall come the image of her boy 
 Plainly before her — and her memory then 
 Will call up all the treasured words and acts 
 That made his happy life, of nine years, sweet ! 
 
 Thou turnest from the grave — thine own child's grave- 
 
 My brother, and thou goest sadly home ; 
 
 Yet full of peace to know thy boy's in Heaven ! 
 
 "With her, thy wife, thou wilt sit down to-night 
 
 And talk of what's just past, of how was laid 
 
 Your lost one in the grave ; and mingle tears 
 
 In this your common grief And O ! to-night. 
 
 Though full of heaviness ye go to rest, 
 
 There shall come o'er your burthened souls a sweet 
 
 And mournful feeling, as ye think that now 
 
 Ye have another child in Heaven. 
 
 1 
 
OLD LETTERS. 
 
 'Tis here to-night I'll sit me, 
 
 Before this cheerful fire, 
 And muse ; while all my care -thoughts, 
 
 Condemned, shall retire. 
 
 Read I these treasured letters, 
 From loved ones who are gone. 
 
 And the voice with which they speak me, 
 Will be like Cohan's tone ; 
 
 Or, like that of the angel, 
 
 Which greeted Hagar's ear. 
 I must with all care unbind them, 
 
 Lest some should, hapless, tear. 
 
42 OLDLETTEKS. 
 
 Here is one from my mother, 
 Now in tlie Better-Land ; 
 
 As I read, I can see her features. 
 And feel her warm, soft hand, 
 
 As she was wont to press it 
 Upon my forehead, where 
 
 No cares had as yet made wrinkles : 
 Or with it brush my hair I 
 
 Here is one from my father, 
 Now where my mother is ; 
 
 As I read, I see most plainly 
 That good, mild face of his. 
 
 I hear his tender language 
 As sweetly it would pour, 
 
 In tone like the voice of Jacob, 
 Blessing his sons, of yore. 
 
OLD LETTERS. 43 
 
 Surely, I am not present, 
 
 I'm in the hallowed Past 1 
 Old letters, ! be my fetters, 
 
 And bind me, bind me fast ! 
 
A WELCOME TO MY BKOTHER'S BRIDE. 
 
 I WELCOME thee, my sister ! 
 
 For so I'll call tliee now — 
 And would, had I the power, 
 
 Place a chaplet on thy brow. 
 Not one of Nature's flowers. 
 
 For that would ere long fade. 
 But of this richer treasure 
 
 Thy garland should be made : 
 The wreath should be of happiness. 
 
 That ne'er might know decay; 
 And dews of health, like diamonds. 
 
 Should sparkle there alway. 
 
I welcome thee, m}^ sister, 
 
 As kindred one returned, 
 Whose many shining virtues 
 
 Our honest love has earned. 
 I view thee as some Spirit, 
 
 In radiant vesture dressed, 
 Come down with love celestial 
 
 To make a bosom blest. 
 I see thee as a Fountain, 
 ' All sparkling in the Sun, 
 Whose streams refresh and gladden, 
 
 While laughing on they run. 
 
 I welcome thee, my Sister, 
 
 Thou art my Brother's bride ; 
 From this you float together 
 
 Adown life's changeful tide. 
 You'll find your voyage chequered, 
 
 But if the skies grow dark. 
 Cling closer still together. 
 
 And steady keep your bark. 
 2* 
 
46 
 
 Should wind, with darksome pinion, 
 
 Blow rudely on thy cheek 
 And change it, in thy partner 
 
 Thy earthly comfort seek. 
 I know that, like the tendril 
 
 Of vine around the tree. 
 Thou may'st cling to him supported, 
 
 For he the oak will be. 
 
'' ! THOU FROM WHOM TH' UNFATHOMED 
 DEEP." 
 
 ! THOU, from whom th' unfathomed deep 
 
 Dotli hide some once loved form, 
 O'er which the maddened billows sweep, 
 
 And howls the awful storm ; 
 
 Know that thy lost one sleeps as well, 
 
 Down in his unseen bed. 
 As if where tall grass waves, and swell 
 
 The church-bell chimes, o'erhead. 
 
 And, ah ! that Trump, which those shall wake 
 
 Who slumber in the sod. 
 His long sub-Ocean sleep shall break, 
 
 And call him up to God ! 
 
48 O ! THOU FROM WHOM T H ' D E E P . 
 
 It shall give up, the mighty Sea, 
 
 The dead that in it lie ; 
 Who slumber there, with earth's shall be 
 
 Together in the Skj. 
 
 I 
 
THE DEAD BABE. 
 
 Pale and aweary sat that watcliing motlier, 
 
 As she had sat for many days and nights, 
 
 Bending in anguish o'er her infant child, 
 
 Kissing its brow full oft. Her soft dark eye 
 
 Had a sad look ; and on her forehead, white 
 
 And high, was stamped indelibly the mark 
 
 Of pure, deep thought. All loosely hung her hair, 
 
 Dark as the raven's wing, and soft as is 
 
 The gossamer, like to a veil thrown o'er 
 
 Her head. With her white hand she'd brush away, 
 
 At times, her wilful hair, and with a touch 
 
 As soft and graceful even as the swan 
 
 Smooths with its beak the feathers on its breast. 
 
50 THE DEAD BABE. 
 
 The babe lay on her lap, sick nigh to death. 
 How now she thought, that, on her own full breast 
 It had hung often, oft had playful stopped, 
 While hanging there, and looked up with a smile 
 Into her face, when its glad eyes had spoke 
 A language none but mothers understand ! 
 There it now lay. The spoiler, Death, had sent 
 His messenger, Disease, who'd touched the child. 
 And it had shrunk like some sweet bud that feels 
 The finger of the blight, and withers quick ! 
 
 Where, ! was now the lustre of that eye, 
 Of late so beautiful, whose light so cheered 
 The mother's heart. And where the rounded cheeks, 
 Which she had oft compared to roses, where 
 The dimple played more often than the tear 
 Adown them rolled. Where now the arm and hand, 
 So fat, which were that mother's pride to show. 
 And which she'd loved to take and stroke with hers. 
 Ask thou, fell Sickness. He had dimmed the eye. 
 And stolen the rose-hue from that infant's cheek, 
 Its flesh had greedily devoured, and made 
 
THE DEAD BABE. 61 
 
 A withered flower of that little babe. 
 
 %v * * * 4f * 
 
 "There is no hope!" These were the solemn words 
 Of the physician, as he left the room. 
 "'Tis possible he'll live to-night, but, ere 
 To-morrow's sun shall set, your child will wing 
 His flight to Heaven. 
 
 " ' There, his sufferings o'er, 
 He'll find sweet rest ; 
 No pain to rack him more, 
 How blest ! how blest ! 
 
 "*0! 'tis hard to part 
 With what's so dear ! 
 And still a parent's heart 
 Would keep him here.' " 
 
 " No hope!" How echoed through the mother's heart, 
 Like the sad ''farewell!" of her dying one, 
 Already uttered forth those mournful words 1 
 ! what a crowd of memories they called ! 
 
52 THE DEAD BABE. 
 
 Sweet as the visions of a liappy dream. 
 And, 0, what hopes with fatal blow they crushed 
 Hopes which the Future 'd painted with the bow 
 Of brightest promise. ***** 
 
 * * * He is dead. The clouds 
 Were painted by the sun's retiring beams 
 With divers colors, all well blended so, 
 They made the drapery most beautiful 
 Which Day was drawing round his quiet couch 
 Of sleep. The window of the room was raised, 
 And the light curtains were all drawn aside. 
 And in the odorous breath of Evening came. 
 The mother gazed upon her child's pale cheek 
 With eye of anguish, ever and anon 
 Pressing her lips upon his marble brow, 
 Chiselled and polished by the sculptor, Death. 
 
 She starts I she starts ! for, on his pallid cheek 
 She sees a hue like that it wore in health I 
 And hope renews within her aching breast. 
 As she looks on it. ''0, he lives ! he lives ! 
 
THE DEAD BABE. 53 
 
 " My child ! my child !" These words broke from 
 
 her lips 
 Impassionedly and loud. And then she bent 
 And kissed, and kissed her little babe, and took 
 His hand in hers and pressed it ; and now hugged 
 Her infant to her bosom ! 
 
 But alas ! 
 'Twas but a moment ere the color 'd gone. 
 It had been the reflection from a cloud 
 Touched by the sunbeam. And hope flies again, 
 Never to return ! The mother closed her eyes, 
 As on his pillow she did lay her child, 
 And drew a heavy sigh ; while on her face, 
 Livid and fixed, it seemed as if were set 
 The seal of dissolution I * * * * 
 
 The morning came, and there the infant lay 
 As if in slumber. On its tranquil face 
 Sat a sweet smile, as if the babe were pleased 
 With toy, or happy at its mother's voice 
 Speaking its name endearingly. Its lips 
 Were slightly parted, just as children's are 
 
54 THE DEAD BABE. 
 
 When listening attentively. Its hands 
 
 Eested upon its bosom, holding there 
 
 A rose-bud white ; and it did seem as if 
 
 The child did fear to lose it, or that some 
 
 Rude playmate's hand might snatch it from its grasp. 
 
 There was no coffin there, but, on a bed 
 
 Strikingly neat, which lay upon the stand 
 
 That daily had the mother used to sit 
 
 And sew beside, was placed the little corpse. 
 
 There was its mother, kneeling at its side, 
 
 Dropping big tears upon the lifeless clay, 
 
 And sighing heavily. Her tears were like 
 
 The gentle rain, which falls upon the flower. 
 
 That has been blasted, powerless to revive. 
 
 Her sighs suggested of the moaning breeze, 
 
 Which, all in vain, is touching with its wing 
 
 The same dead flower. 
 
 Now there came the notes. 
 Floating in sweetness on the fresh morn air 
 Which filled that room, a treasured bird poured forth. 
 As it sat singing in its gilded cage. 
 
THE DEAD BABE. 55 
 
 ! how those notes did touch that mother's heart, 
 As they swept o'er its tenderest chords ! and, ! 
 How painfully pleasant did those chords vibrate ! 
 
 And when that mother brushed away her tears, 
 And gazed intently on her babe, there sat 
 That little hird upon the dead hoy^s hreast ! 
 And there it warbled forth again its song, 
 Sweetly and soft. And that pale mourner thought 
 Of Heaven, and it seemed as if the notes 
 Were her lost child's, now coming richly down 
 From his bright home above ! 
 
THE GUEST. 
 
 "There was a marriage in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was 
 there. And both Jesus was called, and his disciples, to the marriage." — John ii. 
 
 Wine for the feast ! the last is drunk, 
 Who shall supply the guests with more 
 
 The Governor of the feast commands 
 The serfs to all the house explore. 
 
 And they go out and scan each nook, 
 Empty return — no bottles bring ! 
 
 'Tis whispered round, " The wine is out; 
 Whoever knew so mean a thing!" 
 
THEGUEST. 57 
 
 Now jeers pass round, and sneer meets sneer, 
 The Governor is abashed, and frowns ; 
 
 His eye notes every act and wink, 
 
 His ear takes in the mnrm'ring sounds. 
 
 But ONE is there, serene and calm ; 
 
 No sneer sits on His lip, no jest 
 Escapes from Him. He meekly stands 
 
 The humble good among the rest. 
 
 Behold ! He bends his ear to catch 
 The words a woman whispers soft. 
 
 'Tis Mary— 'tis His Mother— speaks, 
 In tone of confidence, as oft. 
 
 "They have no wine," she mildly says, 
 ! what a world of meaning here ! 
 
 He gives a kind rebuke, with which 
 There is no frown, nor causes fear. 
 
58 THE GUEST. 
 
 "Mine hour," He says, '' is not yet come "- 
 The hour to show His power and love. 
 
 His eye He takes from Mary now, 
 And lifts those love-lit orbs above. 
 
 Then turning to the serfs, commands : 
 '' Fill up the pots with water !" They 
 
 Obey, and soon those pots are full. 
 Again He speaks : ''Now bear away 
 
 "To yonder Governor of the feast." 
 
 'Tis wine ! 'tis wine ! The Governor drinks, 
 
 And finds that it is passing good ; 
 
 But whence it comes, nor knows nor thinks. 
 
 ! wayward man ! ! stony heart, 
 To whom the Saviour speaks in vain, 
 
 Learn of the obedient water here, 
 Nor longer thou unmoved remain. 
 
THE COUNTERFEIT. 
 
 We have a counterfeit of Spring to-day ! 
 The sun beams down most gloriously ; the air 
 Is soft and fragrant, as the breath of babe 
 Ere it is wearied. The caged bird sings out 
 And tells in song its little heart is glad. 
 Hear how its notes do liquidly gush forth, 
 As waters from a fount ! 'Tis o'er the way : 
 I see it hopping in its cage, — and now 
 It stands on perch, and turns about its head, 
 As if to see who listens to its song. 
 Children are out in numbers, from the boy 
 Running ahead in ecstasy with life, 
 
60 THE COUNTERFEIT. 
 
 That lias new vigor in his full, blue veins, 
 
 Down to the infant for the first time out 
 
 In God's free air, held in its nurse's arms. 
 
 Look how e'en it seems conscious that the day 
 
 Is one peculiar. See its tiny hands 
 
 Impulsively thrown up, as if 'twould grasp 
 
 The balmy air, and hold it to its lips. 
 
 As some sweet draught ! Windows are raised, and 
 
 thence 
 Are peering females' heads, looking now up, 
 Now down the street, and seeming happy all. 
 In yon store door there stands the pallid clerk, 
 Leaning against its framework. He looks on 
 That lady coming towards the store, and seems 
 To hope she may not enter, though she's fair, 
 Nay handsome ; but he knows that, if she do. 
 He'll have to hie him to his work again, 
 And wait upon her. This he'd gladly do 
 At other time — on cold, or stormy day — 
 But now he fain would bask him in the sun, 
 And idle stand awhile. 
 
"DEAR MOTHER! FROM THAT LAND OF 
 LIGHT !" 
 
 Dear mother ! from that land of light, 
 
 Which is God's pure and happy sky, 
 I often think I see thy bright. 
 
 Thy love-lit, soft and tender eye 
 Look down upon thine erring child. 
 
 With that deep wish but mothers know, 
 That he would leave, in heart, the wild 
 
 He treads, and where thou dwellest go. 
 
 And, ! in thought, in my day-dreams 
 Of thee, which I do oittimes have, 
 
 Let down from Heaven thy hand there seems, 
 And doth the Christian's banner wave, 
 
 3 
 
62 DEAR M O T 11 E li ! F K O M 
 
 While beckons it for me to come ; 
 
 The other hand laid on thy breast ! 
 Dear mother ! in thy happy home 
 
 Thou'dst have me blessed as thou'rt blest. 
 
 But, mother, not on me alone 
 
 Dost thou beam down thy pleading eye, 
 Nor does the hand, my dreams have shown, 
 
 Beck none but me to yonder sky. 
 Ah I thou didst bear, while here below, 
 
 Others, to thee as loved and dear, 
 For them, as me, thy wish doth go. 
 
 As flowed for aZ?, on earth, thy tear ! 
 
 'Tis long since thou didst leave the earth ; 
 
 Changes have come unto us all ! 
 There have been weddings — many a birth— 
 
 They are grown up who then were small. 
 Death, too, has found us ! With his bow 
 
 He's shot ofttimes his certain dart, 
 Laid both the oak and flower low, 
 
 With all of whom 'twas hard to part 1 
 
THAT LAND OF LIGHT. 63 
 
 O ! couldst thou speak, dear motlier ! now, 
 
 From out thy blissful dwelling-place, 
 I'd ask thee how my children grow. 
 
 And to describe the ev'ry grace 
 Which circles them where they do dwell. 
 
 I know they grow more bright and fair, 
 And fast in knowledge. None may tell. 
 
 Though, Avhat they're always doing there I 
 
 Enough, that they are angels, and 
 
 Forevermore to happy be ; 
 As jewels in Christ's crown they stand, 
 
 Bright'ning to all Eternity ! 
 "So live," I hear thee say, "that when 
 
 The sum^mons comes for thee to go. 
 Thou shalt depart, assured again 
 
 To meet us all, and all things know I" 
 
TO WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 31 bonnet. 
 
 Bryant, thou art tlie Poet whom I love. 
 Thy lines of sweetness flow into my soul, 
 Like friendly voices, and with kind control 
 
 Ever my breast to better feelings move. 
 
 Nature 'tis thine to sing of with a lay 
 Of matchless beauty and of dignity. 
 
 Thou cloth 'st her empire with a bright array ; 
 Her darker colors they are not for thee. 
 
 Thou touchest all things with a master-hand, 
 
 And writest thought on flower, and blade, and stream, 
 And sea, and skies ; and from thy pages beam 
 
 All that is good, and beautiful, and grand. 
 Such lines as thine can never fail to bless, 
 Lines that so much so happily express. 
 
THE STARS. 
 
 Staes, ye are very beautiful 1 "We know 
 
 Who made you. He who made the Sun and Moon, 
 
 And hung them in the firmament — the one 
 
 To rule the Day, the other one the Night — 
 
 " Hath also made the Stars." And there ye hang 
 
 In peerless loveliness. Can I compare 
 
 You, beauteous Stars, to any thing below ? 
 
 O ! no ; ye are incomparable, and 
 
 It were, it seems, a blasphemy to trace 
 
 Your likeness, save in Angelic beings. 
 
 Ye have been called the " poetrj^ of Heaven " — 
 And so ye are ; for }' e are that which makes 
 
6Q THE STARS. 
 
 The arch, above so very beautiful 
 Wl^^n Nigbt has drawn her sable curtain o'er 
 The earth. Ye have a language that is sweet, 
 And glides in graceful numbers, which we read 
 And read, night after night untired. 
 
 There e'er 
 Is mystery about you, silent Stars. 
 Are ye, too, peopled with a race like ours ? 
 If so, what is the term of life of those 
 Whom ye support ? Or, do they never die ? 
 Or were ye only made to light this world, 
 And cheer its pilgrims, and to tell of God ? 
 
 These ye have done. 
 
 In Orient lands, where flocks 
 Are watched by shepherds, through the hours of night, 
 Ye gladden them, who, with the crook and reed. 
 Watch till the morn. And, as ye twinkle there, 
 They love to gaze on you ; while fancy makes 
 Of you some dwelling-place, where friends are gone. 
 
THE STARS. 67 
 
 The mariner, tossed upon the stormy main, 
 Eejoices if but through a parted cloud 
 He catches the glimmering of a Star. 
 And when the sea is quiet, and the sky 
 Is clear, and he beholds the countless hosts 
 Of Stars shine out in all their meekness, then 
 He loves to gaze at them, and then to see 
 Their light reflected in the tranquil deep. 
 'Tis then he thinks of eyes now closed in sleep ; 
 Of hands that lately did grasp warmly his. 
 And thus the image of the Stars brings back 
 His far-off loved I 
 
 The traveller on his way, 
 With naught, but knapsack on his back, and hope 
 Within his breast, is cheered, when Night is come, 
 Though weariness and pain are in his limbs. 
 If he but look upon the smiling Stars 
 That shine so sweetly up in Heaven ! The sight 
 Doth strengthen him, and.he can journey on. 
 With lighter pack, and firmer step. Less far. 
 In yonder distance, seems his journey's end, 
 With entertainers such as these. 
 
68 THE STARS. 
 
 The sick, 
 
 While lying on his weary couch, looks out 
 
 Upon the Stars, and as he gazes up, 
 
 With sunken eye and longing one for sleep, 
 
 They bid him view the handiwork of God, 
 
 Displayed in the wide firmament. He looks 
 
 Admiringly upon the tranquil scene 
 
 And beautiful, and whispers, " God is great." 
 
 And then there cometh o'er his chastened soul, 
 
 Which ne'er before, perhaps, has thought of these, 
 
 God's love and mercy ; and he now begins 
 
 To hold communion with his God and Father : 
 
 He feels the Power that can cool his lips. 
 
 Now parched with fever, and can make his pains 
 
 All hence. He feels that Love will hear his prayer, 
 
 And Mercy raise him from his bed of woe. 
 
 Ye Stars, Astrolo'gers of eld used you 
 To read the future. Good and bad events 
 To come, they claimed by your aspects to tell ; 
 And fates seemed hanging on the voice ye spake ! 
 But, pseudo-prophets were those wondrous men, 
 
THE STAKS. 69 
 
 And yc were not their oracle. Ye were 
 
 Abused when ye were man's horoscope. 
 
 Who's born, or dies, it matters not, ye still 
 
 Shine on the same. When Christ was born, we read, 
 
 A Star peculiar and itinerant, 
 
 Over the village of Bethlehem stood ; 
 
 But it was none of you, that Star ; it came 
 
 A special messenger, at God's command, 
 
 And, having filled its mission, passed away ! ' 
 
 Ye have been witnesses of many things, 
 Yea, all things which have been, upon the earth. 
 From the first blood, that flowed from Abel's wounds 
 And stained the bright greensward of Paradise, 
 E'en adown the long catalogue of deeds 
 Of blood, and other crimes, ye have beheld 
 The wrath and sin of man ! Ye have looked on 
 And seen whole generations come and go, 
 Following each other as the waves of sea. 
 Empires have risen, and fallen, 'neath your eye^ 
 And cities flourished, sunk, and passed away. 
 Ye have shone down upon the monument, 
 
70 T H E S T A R S . 
 
 The stately column, and the gilded dome ; 
 And 3^e have looked upon them also when 
 They lay in ruins, which the hand of man, 
 The earthquake, or the tooth of Time had caused. 
 Stars ! ye looked down on Calvary's hill, and saw 
 Christ crucified ! And ye beheld His tomb. 
 Ye may have lighted Mary to the spot 
 Where she went quickly, where she lingered long, 
 And wept for Jesus. And ye saw Him rise. 
 And meet that Mary ! 
 
 There will come a scene, 
 The closing scene in this world's tragedy, 
 Which ye, Stars ! shall look upon, but not 
 As gazers only. When "the end" is come. 
 And this world shall be wrapped around with lire. 
 And thereby purified and rendered fit 
 For better beings to inhabit, then 
 " The Stars shall fall from Heaven ! " Like a scroll, 
 That airy region which we call the sky, 
 Shall be rolled up I Then will ye shine no more 
 For ever, ye fated Stars ? Will Time 
 
I 
 
 THE STARS. 71 
 
 Be no more then for you? O, mystery ! 
 Insoluble by mortal man. 
 
 Ye Stars, 
 So beautiful, and of such witchery. 
 Who does not love you ! And to look upon 
 Your thoughtful faces, beaming down from heaven, 
 In seeming love towards us, it makes the world 
 We tread upon seem nearer to our God. 
 Drear were the sky without you, and we thank 
 The Hand that placed you there ! 
 
FEESH AIR. 
 
 O, SWEET fresh air ! 
 Nought can compare 
 
 With it, for health ; 
 So free to all, 
 To great and small, 
 
 The poor, as them of wealth. 
 
 It paints the cheek 
 With rose, the weak 
 
 It maketh strong ; 
 The mind it cheers. 
 When gloom she bears. 
 
 And ills her chambers throng. 
 
F 11 E S K AIR. 73 
 
 No " vile compound " 
 Has e'er been found, 
 
 To do air's part ; 
 Nor root, nor stone, 
 Nor herb, is known. 
 
 In boasted " healino: art." 
 
 At morn go, then, 
 Drink Oxygen, 
 
 On hill, or lawn ! 
 And when the Day 
 Does fade away. 
 
 And ere the Night is born. 
 
 The little child 
 Should ramble wild 
 
 In heaven's fresh air ; 
 It is a sin 
 To keep it in — 
 
 Let it that blessing share. 
 
74 F R E S 11 A 1 R , 
 
 If housed, 'twill grow 
 All blanched, and slow ; 
 
 A hot-house plant, 
 Which cannot stand 
 The free air, and 
 
 Does care and watching want. 
 
 The blade, the flower. 
 The leaf, have power, 
 
 All, to exhale 
 What's life to man ; 
 ! gracious plan, 
 
 That life-air shall not fail. 
 
I 
 
 HENEY CLAY. 
 
 Mr. Clay's speech, on the presentalion of a gold medal by New- York, concludes 
 as follows : — " I shall soon appear before a higher and more holy tribunal than any 
 earthly one, which can unerringly judge of the motives as well as the actions of men. 
 To that tribunal I look forward with composure and confidence, that I shall be acquit- 
 ted of having ever been prompted in the discharge of my public duties by any mean, 
 sordid or selfish ends, or been animated by any other purpose than to promote the ho- 
 nor, prosperity and glory of our common country."— Newspaper. 
 
 How beautiful and good it is 
 To see him standing there, 
 
 And hear that earnest voice of his 
 Such noble words declare 1 
 
 A}^, nobler far, and greater now 
 
 The Patriot appears. 
 Than any Chief, whose warrior-brow 
 
 But blood-stained laurel wears. 
 
7G IIENKY CLAY. 
 
 He's fought, and ho lias conquered too, 
 But conquered with his mind ; 
 
 The weapons of his warfare drew 
 From those of Reason-kind. 
 
 Dear to his heart has ever been 
 The Country of his birth ; 
 
 And in his Public acts we've seen 
 What his deep love was worth. 
 
 When, more than once, the storm did rage, 
 
 And loud the billows roared, 
 The oil of counsel then the " Sage 
 
 Of Ashland" calmly poured. 
 
 And Clay thus stilled the angry wave, 
 
 That fearfully did rise; 
 And thus the storm-tossed Ship did save, 
 
 While storm-clouds left the skies. 
 
HENRYCLAY. 77 
 
 Due honor to the Man ! and when 
 
 In peace he's sunk to rest, 
 His memory by his countrymen 
 
 Shall be forever blest. 
 
 No need of marble's towering peak, 
 To make his acts survive, 
 
 Forever in all hearts they'll speak, 
 And 'mind us Clay did live. 
 
 And we will tell our children, and 
 Our children theirs will tell, 
 
 Of him who loved and saved his land ; 
 And all shall know him well. 
 
 Farewell ! good Clay ! These humble lines 
 Close with this prayer I will : — 
 
 When from life's vale thy Sun declines. 
 May 't rise on Zion's hill. 
 
KEYERIE IN A WOOD. 
 
 Come thou with me, and walk within this wood. 
 'Tis winter. As we tread upon these leaves, 
 All dry and crumbling, strewn our way around. 
 They rustle, and rebuke, it seems, our feet 
 Because we do their quietness disturb. 
 They've fall'n to die ; their generous mould anon 
 Shall mingle with the earth, and make it rich 
 For future trees, that other leaves shall wear, 
 Or bush, that shall put forth its leaf and flower. 
 
 Hark to the whispering leaves yet hanging on 
 The branches, loath to leave : they seem to tell 
 Their tale of woe, for their companions gone. 
 Into our ear ; as if each passer-by 
 
REVEKIE IN A WOOD. 79 
 
 Shall learn tlieir grief, for there is none like theirs. 
 
 Ah ! so with us. When those we've loved are gone, 
 
 And slumbering lie within the earth's cold breast, 
 
 We mourn them, and we fancy, as we grieve, 
 
 No sorrow ever was like that we feel ; 
 
 And we our tale of sorrow fain would pour 
 
 In others' ears, to find there sj^mpathy. 
 
 Lo I yonder streamlet. Now no icy chain 
 Doth bind it. In its freedom it goes on, 
 But not so blithely as it will anon. 
 Like one just wakened from a long sound sleep, 
 There hangs upon it yet a lethargy. 
 But, by-and-by, when gentle rains descend 
 Into it, and when flowers stand on its banks. 
 And throw their image on its crystal face, 
 It will run merrily and laughing on. 
 Rejoicing in its freedom I Bright, glad stream 1 
 How oft is childhood's time compared to thee ! 
 And fitly so. 
 
 Stand with me here, and watch 
 The Sun decline. See where 'mong yonder trees 
 
80 REVERIE IN A WOOD. 
 
 He seems to sink, and liglit them to a blaze ! 
 How beautiful the sight ! But, as we gaze. 
 Fainter and fainter is the light, till now 
 Those trees stand dark. 
 
 And now a thought comes up 
 Of my sun's setting, — of the waiting tomb, 
 In which this body shall ere long be cast. 
 Like these dead leaves, shall mingle with the sod 
 This then dead body, and its senseless mould 
 Shall go, like matter of all other kinds. 
 To make earth rich, that it may yield more fruit, 
 Or grain, or herb, to nourish and sustain 
 Succeeding inhabitants of the world. . 
 
 But, soon shall come a grand renewing, when 
 
 These leafless trees shall all be clothed again 
 
 With beauteous green ; when here, beneath our feet, 
 
 A carpet soft and fragrant shall be spread, 
 
 'Mid which the wild flower of its various sorts 
 
 Shall nod to us, as we do pass it by, 
 
 And sweetly look up into our face and smile. 
 
 Spring will have come then. 
 
I 
 
 REVERIE IN A WOOD. 81 
 
 So there '11 come to me 
 A resurrection, when my scattered mould, 
 Like wind-sown grain, shall in a twinkling come, 
 And form my body for my soul anew : 
 Then I shall go up in rapture to my God, 
 To meet His smile and hear Him welcome me ; 
 Or — God forbid ! go sorrowing where He sits. 
 To hear the sentence of my banishment ! 
 
THE CAPTIVE IDEA. 
 
 To calm contemplation my spirit was lent, 
 
 While Peace spread her white, downy wing o'er my 
 soul; 
 
 On the beautiful heavens mine eyes were intent — 
 My mind seemed to yield to an angel's control. 
 
 'Twas twilight : the sun in his glory had set ; 
 
 The clouds he'd just painted were broken and fled. 
 And they who live 'neath us were now soon to get 
 
 That light which so lately on us he had shed. 
 
 The stars, one by one, now began to peep out, 
 And stud, as with spangles, the concave of blue. 
 
 (How often those stars, in his wand'rings about. 
 
 Have cheered the lone mariner, and lighted him, too.) 
 
THE CAPTIVE IDEA. 88 
 
 Fair Cynthia, queen, as she is, proudly moved, 
 Bedecked in her vestment of silver, in state ; 
 
 Or, as maid, to the nuptials with him dearly loved, 
 She sallied, in beauty and purity great. 
 
 'Twas thus I had sat, not for lono- ere a beam 
 Of thought, all so radiant, in quietness fell ; 
 
 But, as I beheld it, too quick, like a dream 
 On waking, it left me, without a farewell 
 
 I sighed, as I feared I might have it no more ; 
 
 Resolved that in search of it straightway I'd go. 
 But Avhere should I seek ? what region explore. 
 
 To find that Avhich lately had raptured me so ? 
 
 Soon, a voice, like the voice of a friend wliom v^e love. 
 Soft whispered, and told hovvr the lost to regain ; 
 
 The way was all simple — Jceejj looking above / 
 I caugljt it, and bound it with Memory's chain. 
 
84 THE CAPTIVE IDEA. 
 
 And now when 'tis called by associate link, 
 Or comes, like a dutiful cliild, at my will. 
 
 How sweet on the image it pictures to think. 
 And find it all radiant and beautiful still ! 
 
 So, happier far would our journeyings be. 
 
 If truths that oft visit — e'en fancies that play — 
 
 Should not be, like truants, permitted to flee, 
 But captured and fastened, stowed safely away. 
 
 They add to our pleasures, in moments of joy. 
 And take from our sorrows, in moments of pain ; 
 
 In times of our leisure they're pleasant employ. 
 
 While a feeling of strength in the bosom doth reign. 
 
WILLIE. 
 
 " m fast, lint eone %tlmr 
 
 Lightly, 0! tenderly 
 
 Tread on this sod ; 
 Here, only yesterday, 
 
 Mourners' feet trod. 
 
 ^'Whom have they buried here? 
 
 Only a child?" 
 ^* Yes," said the grave-digger; 
 
 And the maid smiled, 
 
 ** Maiden," he said to her, 
 " Know, that a heart 
 Throbs for this little one, 
 Well nigh to part ; 
 
86 WILLIE. 
 
 *' Sits one all mournfully, 
 Shedding hot tears ; 
 like Kachel, she's comfortless, 
 Gloom all appears." 
 
 " Then, I will go to her. 
 Tell her how blest 
 They who go sinlessly 
 Early to rest." 
 
 Lightly then angel-feet 
 Sprang from the sod, 
 
 Sped to the sorrowing one 
 Passing the rod. 
 
 " Look with thy mental eye," 
 
 Kindly she said, 
 '* Not in the dark grave, where 
 
 Body is laid, 
 
WILLIE. 87 
 
 '^ But, on yon brighter fields, 
 Blooming so fair ! 
 Let this thought comfort you : 
 Willie is there." 
 
 Sweet were her parting words, 
 Sweetly exprest : 
 " Christ wears your little one 
 Fast on his breast I" 
 
TO MINNIE S- 
 
 dba tifr lidji-liaii. 
 
 Three years, tliree years, my pretty Fay, 
 WHich thou hast reached this very day, 
 
 Sum all thy days : 
 They have been years of sunshine clear ; 
 The rainbow, ofttimes, in a tear 
 
 Painted by thy sun's rays. 
 
 I gaze with joy upon thy face, 
 
 Where smiles do wreath with winning grace, 
 
 "Whence innocence beams ; 
 And oft that face my heart doth cheer, 
 And I can bear my burden here 
 
 Less heavily, it seems. 
 
TO MINNIE S — . 89 
 
 Thy tHouglitful, yet thy laughing eye 
 Tells of a mind where thoughts do lie 
 
 That yet shall flow 
 Forth in bright words, by tongue or pen 
 Expressed, and many hearts shall then 
 
 Be glad and blessed, I trow. 
 
 Thy golden hair — thy mother's pride — 
 Which, parted from thy forehead wide, 
 
 Curls o'er thy head, 
 I oft have gazed on, as hath she. 
 And I have thought how false must be 
 
 The sight that calls it red. 
 
 Thy merry laugh, like trill of bird, 
 How oft delighted I have heard, 
 
 At morn and eve. 
 It in my heart hath sent a thrill 
 Of joy, and made, against their will. 
 
 My sad thoughts take their leave. 
 
90 TO MINNIE S — . 
 
 I can't but think, my little child, 
 As thee I see, that Jesus smiled 
 
 On such as thou ; 
 That, while on earth, He children pressed 
 In fondness to his sacred breast, 
 
 He loved those lambkins so ! 
 
 ! I could wish that, e'er, as now, 
 The current of thy life might flow 
 
 As rivulets run 
 Smoothly between bright banks of flowers ; 
 That all thy hours be golden hours, 
 
 Serene thy setting sun. 
 
 There will be much to taint thy heart 
 Around thee, but, ! that '' good part," 
 
 Like Mary, take ; 
 Then shall thy days flow smooth and sweet, 
 Thy hours, with incense on their feet. 
 
 Shall lead to Bliss above ! 
 
THE UNKIGHTEOUS JUDGE. 
 
 There is a judge, possessed of partial mind, 
 And shameless prejudice. He sees some poor, 
 And ill-clothed creature standing at his bar, 
 And passes sentence e'er he's heard him plead 
 In his defence. While, at another time. 
 There stands before him one well-clothed and fed, 
 A ring upon his finger, and, beside. 
 The overwhelming influence of "friends," 
 To plead his case ; and he may quick depart 
 " Acquitted honorably," though not, perhaps, 
 A grain of testimony in State's behalf 
 Into the scales of Justice has been dropped ! 
 
92 THE UNEIGHTEOUS JUDGE. 
 
 O ! "World, tliou art that most unrighteous judge. 
 
 Did the " not guilty," and the " guilty," for 
 
 That long Eternity, depend on thee. 
 
 Heaven would be peopled with a wretched mass 
 
 Of black iniquity ; the depths of Hell 
 
 Would hold in bondage many pure, meek souls. 
 
 Look at that concourse wending to yon church. 
 There go the wealthy, dressed in costly clothes, 
 The females, like the lilies of the field, 
 In gorgeous colors ; and there go the poor 
 Clad in plain garb. The old and young go there. 
 The truly meek and lowly, and the proud, 
 "Walk side by side, 'tis not improbable. 
 
 They've entered all the sacred house of God, 
 And there are seated. Tell me, gazer, now, 
 Who have come here to worship and to pray ? 
 Who, of this crowd, to pass an idle hour ? 
 Who for display ? And who are hypocrites ? 
 
 There, you may point me — you may point me yon, 
 And single out from all these gathered here, 
 
THE UNKIGHTEOU.^ JUDGE. 93 
 
 And say, with much assurance in your look, 
 
 That one is come for fashion and for show ; 
 
 And this one is a hypocrite. And there 
 
 Sits a meek, pious soul, I know. And you, 
 
 From long acquaintance with their lives, whose fruits 
 
 You know them by, may say what is the fact. 
 
 But, ah ! when o'er the seated hundreds here 
 
 You run your eye, and then, from what you see 
 
 Them do, or from the look which they do wear, 
 
 You tell me thus and so is verity, 
 
 Unjust you are, and have presumption great. 
 
 There is within that beating thing — the heart — 
 You may not read ; whence 'motive springs, than which 
 No other guide must ever judgment have. 
 To make its decisions stand on equity. 
 
 4* 
 
EXTEACTS FEOM AN ADDEESS, 
 
 WiM for \)t €mm of a Iciusppcr, Sannanj Ist, 18^0, 
 
 ^ * * * ^ -Sf 
 
 Our Country first. God bless lier aye ! 
 
 How gloriously she moves along ! 
 Erect and firm, in rich array, 
 
 And shouting her triumphant song I 
 
 At Lexington she first began 
 
 To lift the Tyrant's galling yoke ; 
 
 To Bunker-Hill like lightning ran 
 
 Th' electric news ! and clouds of smoke 
 
 Uprose, and told that hands were there 
 Eesolved to break th' Oppressor's rod ; 
 
 That hearts were there, who knew no fear 
 While trusting in the Christian's God I 
 
EXTRACTS FROM AN ADDRESS. 95 
 
 That cloud was symbol of tlie one 
 
 Whicli went with Israel's hosts by day, 
 
 And led those bondmen safely on, 
 While Pharaoh perished by the way. 
 
 Next, Flatbnsh echoed ; then White Plains 
 Took up the cause, and struck a blow ! 
 
 And now each trodden soul exclaims, 
 " To arms I to arms ! to battle go ! 
 
 "We fight for Rights^ vouchsafed of God, 
 Denied us by a wicked King ! 
 Bathe we with blood the earth's green sod. 
 Till blows, or death or freedom bring !" 
 
 The old, the young, with hearts of steel. 
 The father, son, to conflict rush, 
 
 Kesolved, that, now the iron heel 
 Of Britain shall no longer crush ! 
 
96 EXTRACTS FROM AN ADDRESS. 
 
 And woman speaks her trusting words — 
 Matron and maid of envied worth ! 
 
 Brightens their muskets and their swords — 
 And minds them of their home and hearth. 
 
 Throws her white arms around their necks, 
 But not to sigh and shed her tears ; 
 
 Aught like a sigh her stout will checks, 
 While in her eye but hope appears. 
 
 We'll not rehearse those battles now. 
 
 They are familiar to you all 
 As household words. * * 
 
 'Tis Education that has made 
 
 Our youthful land so truly great ; 
 
 She lifts the Masses^from the shade, 
 Them raising to a happier state. 
 
EXTRACTS FROM AN ADDRESS. 97 
 
 She, with the Gospel in her hand, 
 
 Where'er she travels on her way, 
 Doth strew rich blessings o'er the land ; 
 
 She clears from film the mental ray. 
 
 Ere one-score years had passed aby. 
 Since Pilgrim Fathers hither came, 
 
 A College reared itself on high, 
 
 And Cambridoje was that College's name. 
 
 They knew, our early fathers knew, 
 And acted promptly on the thought. 
 
 That public virtue never grew 
 
 'Mong men with heads and hearts untaught. 
 
 Our Country, O, behold her now ! 
 
 With giant-strides she walketh on, 
 Clothed with bright robes, and on her brow 
 
 The dazzling Crown, by Virtue won ! 
 
98 EXTEACTS FEOM AN ADDRESS, 
 
 But three-score years and ten, now gone, 
 Just Thirteen States were all her own, 
 
 Now, thirty are within her zone ; 
 And she owns e'en to Oregon ! 
 
 Where vast Pacific rolls its tide, 
 
 There are her Sons, so free and bold ; 
 
 And there her ships do proudly ride. 
 While crews go out and gather gold I ^ 
 
 Her wheat o'erflows fat Plenty's horn, 
 How large a store her harvests bring ! 
 
 Her valleys stand so thick with Corn, 
 That really they do " laugh and sing! " 
 
 We turn to Ireland. Alas ! doth she 
 Present sad contrast to our shore, 
 
 Steeped to the depths of misery, 
 
 And shedding blood from ev'ry pore 
 
EXTEACTS FEOM AN ADDRESS. 99 
 
 Gaunt Famine walks the Emerald land, 
 
 And skeletons cry out for food ! 
 Eound filthy sewers in crowds they stand 
 
 And eat the things they never should ! ^ 
 
 Poor Ireland ! We deplore thy state, 
 
 Painful it is to hear thy cry. 
 Arise ! and make an effort great, 
 
 Though ev'ry son, in trying, die ; 
 
 An effort make, O, trodden down ! 
 
 To set thine ocean-island free! 
 Dare to lay hands on Britain's crown 
 
 And strike a blow for Liberty ! 
 
 France lat& the sword of Freedom drew, 
 And cut the bonds of Monarchy ; 
 
 At one bold stroke her King o'erthrew, 
 And made him from her borders flee ! 
 
100 EXTRACTS FROM AN ADDRESS. 
 
 But, ah ! the work is not yet done ; 
 
 God give her will to carry through 
 The cause she has so well begun ; 
 
 And may she to herself be true. 
 
 On France all Freemen's eyes are cast, 
 And Freemen waver, now and then ; 
 
 They fear, that, ere probation past, 
 She'll have, to rule, a Crown again ! 
 
 Louis Napoleon seeks to be 
 
 The President of France, — fair land ; * 
 Have care ! he favors Royalty I 
 
 Behold the Sceptre in his hand ! 
 
 •5f * 4f -Sf -Jf * 
 
 * -jt # * * * 
 
 Have hope ! have hope, neglected souls, 
 Who sail on Western Waters, where 
 
 "Polk stalks" abound,^ those dreaded poles 
 Which oft our finest steamboats tear ; * 
 
EXTKACTS FKOM AN ADDRESS. 101 
 
 And fill the Valley's noble streams 
 With produce and with merchandise ! 
 
 And oft that Yallej rings with screams 
 Of dying men, made sacrifice ! 
 
AK HONEST THOUGHT. 
 
 Methinks 'tis good, oft in this pilgrimage, 
 To pause awhile "upon the crowded road 
 And, from the jostle of the hurrying mass, 
 Turn us aside and look upon the forms 
 That sleep in death. 
 
 If thou hast lost a friend. 
 Or if some kindred, who lay down to rest, 
 A pilgrim '' weary with the march of life," 
 Look on that form. I do not counsel thee 
 To go in body to the charnel house 
 And lift the coffin's cover and gaze on 
 The blackened face of the late buried, or 
 
AN HONEST THOUGHT. 103 
 
 The fleshless bones of yet the earlier dead ; 
 
 The sight would sicken thee, and fail to read 
 
 The homily aright. But, go in mind, 
 
 Withdraw thy thoughts from all things else, and fix 
 
 Them on the lost one. Call to mind the hopes, 
 
 The fears, the joys, the sorrows of his life, 
 
 And all that pained and pleased him here ; his look, 
 
 His voice, will come before thee, and thou shalt 
 
 Behold him as he was. 
 
 Then ask thyself 
 This question, in all the seriousness of one 
 Who truly wishes answer for some end 
 Of import. Ask, what now to him are all 
 The pleasures of the little life he spent 
 On earth ? and what the pains he felt ? Then find 
 The answer to thy query, in thy heart. 
 
 I have done this. My good, kind father's dead. 
 And my good mother. In more pensive mood, 
 I have looked on them, as they, side by side. 
 In church-yard vault are lying, slumbering on 
 
104 AN HONEST THOUGHT. 
 
 With pleasant dreams ; and I have called to mind, 
 From memory's store, the sorrows and the joys 
 That their lives knew, — and then have asked myself, 
 What now is all to them ? 
 
 Upon the stage 
 Of Life's great drama they did act their parts. 
 First, that of children, while fond eyes looked on 
 Well-pleased, and thankful. Then, of youths, with 
 
 May 
 Of shower and sunshine. Then, of lovers, with vows 
 Of love eternal, while their hearts looked out 
 Upon the radiant future and serene. 
 Then, of the wedded, in a thoughtful scene 
 Of mingled anxiety and hope and love 
 When the sweet cares and hallowed joys of hearts 
 Bound close together, were experienced. 
 And then the parts of parents, when they reared. 
 With deep solicitude and fervent prayer, 
 Their offspring. They had moments then of joy ; 
 And moments too of pain, for when they saw 
 The will unruly, doubt I not that tears 
 
AN HONEST THOUGHT. 105 
 
 Bedewed tlieir eyes ; that heavy sighs were drawn. 
 But all is past, and now their lives are o'er. 
 What all to them, in dwelling with the blest 
 Forever ? 
 
 Ay, these thoughts are good, and if 
 I have ]iot profited by them, the fault 
 Lies with myself, 'tis not for lack of grace. 
 
 Thou, then, who art beset by cares, and thou 
 Who livest here as though this fleeting world 
 Were all thy home, go in thy thought and look 
 On such a scene. Think deeply ; it may be 
 Thou shalt be bettered by the honest thought. 
 
DECEMBER 31, 1851. 
 
 Day wanes I tlie last one of the year 
 
 Is melting into night ; 
 And sad the face the sky doth wear, 
 
 For clouds do veil the light 
 Of setting sun, and all the blue 
 Of heaven is hidden from the view. 
 ! glad to see the sun, just now. 
 
 Peer through his hood of clouds 
 My heart would feel ! Away, then, throw 
 
 That which thy glory shrouds. 
 And let us have, O, sun I thy smile 
 Once more, this year — a little while ! 
 
DECEMBER 8 1, 1861. 107 
 
 We need thy smile ; enough the heart 
 
 Hath now of saddened thought, 
 As we behold the year depart 
 
 With all its memories fraught, 
 Mem'ries of loved ones past away, 
 Their blessed company lost for aye ! 
 Memories, too, of things of ill 
 
 We would were blotted out 
 The Book of Life they well-nigh fill ; 
 
 Then had the soul no doubt 
 To gain that Eest, when life is done, 
 Kemaining for the good alone ! 
 ■Jfr * * * * * * 
 
 Day's gone ! the last one of the year, 
 
 And now is come the night. 
 I'll sleep the hours until appear 
 
 The rays of New- Year's light ! 
 While some will sit before their fires 
 And watch the Year as it retires ; * 
 On mantel clock they'll fix their eyes. 
 
 Or on the watch in hand, 
 And oft exclaim, " Time flies ! Time flies I" 
 
 Until drear midnight's wand 
 
108 DECEMBER 31, 1851. 
 
 Calls up the New- Year, at a wave, 
 
 And points them to the Old- Year's grave ! 
 
 Hark ! hark ! I hear from yonder street 
 
 The noise of squib and gun ! 
 Some boys there are who deem it meet 
 
 And fitting time for "fun." 
 Hear how they seem to now rejoice ! 
 The welkin ringeth with their voice. 
 Far up the street I see a blaze, 
 
 A bonfire they have made ; 
 And every passer stops to gaze 
 
 At them round it arrayed ; 
 Now, hand-in-hand, they form a ring, 
 And skipping blithely, shout and sing ! 
 
 Well, well ! Sing on, ye happy boys, 
 Your song doth my heart cheer. 
 
 Ye drive away, with laugh and noise, 
 The sad thoughts of the year ! 
 
 What I've been asking from the Sun, 
 
 Your brilliant, crackling bonfire's done! 
 
DECEMBER 31, 1851. 109 
 
 And thus, while I look on the Past, 
 
 And read a lesson there, 
 To meet the Year that's coming fast 
 
 A welcome smile I'll wear ! 
 And that shall make me better still, 
 This tell that hope my heart doth fill I 
 
NOK-mTEEFEEEKCE. 
 
 Shall our Eagle swoop down from his e jrie of glory, 
 And fly to a people that will not be free ? 
 
 Forbid it, good Heaven I nor let it in story 
 Be written, to tell how mistaken were we ! 
 
 Were it kindness ? 0, no ! Were it wisdom ? It were 
 not I 
 
 If others will rest in contentment as slaves. 
 And from fear, or from policy, will not, or dare not 
 
 Be free, let them go, then, in bonds to their graves. 
 
 But, 'tis said, if they're willing and anxious their fetters 
 To break, and stand forth in the freedom of men, 
 
 We should take up our arms and become their abettors 
 And freely provide of our own treasure then. 
 
NON-INTEKFERENCE. Ill 
 
 This were wrong : it were wrong for our land, as a 
 Nation, 
 
 To give of her strength to o'erturn any Throne ; 
 We should never forget what a sacred relation 
 
 Our Government bears to the sons of her own ! 
 
 She were faithless to them, she were like to the parent 
 Whose wrong deeds bring on her own children an 
 ill; 
 
 For, that ill she would bring, must to all be apparent, 
 We'd lose, and distress our lov'd country would fill. 
 
 Heed we Washington's words, that good Sage and 
 great Hero, 
 
 Who bids us to keep from "alliances" clear; 
 Bead his Farewell Address, every patriot, and hear, ! 
 
 How fervent his warning voice falls on the ear I 
 
 Our example is worth all the blood, and the treasure, 
 Which we might expend in the cause of th' opprest; 
 
 Nay, 'tis better, more sure, in degree beyond measure ! 
 And, thus, while we're blessing, we are ourselves 
 blest. 
 
112 NON-INTEEFERENCE. 
 
 We have sympathy quick, and to those who deserve it, 
 We give it unstintingly, with a good- will ; 
 
 But, Kon-Interference, let's ever observe it. 
 
 Remain, without meddling, their well-wishers still! 
 
TO J. W. S 
 
 tn tt)c Dcatl) of !)tr ^ll\}, nm mxB of ^t 
 
 When thou upon tliy lifeless boy- 
 Didst turn thy weary watching eyes, 
 
 No tongue can e'er a speech employ, 
 To tell the thoughts that then did rise 
 
 Within thy soul. 'Twas bitter grief 
 With which thy heart then overflowed ; 
 
 Big tears, which gave thee some relief, 
 
 Told of the depth from whence they flowed. 
 
 Thj first-horn child! Ah, mother, none, 
 Save they who've lost a child, as thou— 
 
 A dear, a beauteous, only son — 
 
 Can know the pang that wrings thee now ! 
 
114 . TO J. w. s — . 
 
 Words are but wind, to comfort give, 
 They fall -upon the mourner's ear 
 
 Like sobs, on one who's ceased to live, 
 From those that stand around his bier. 
 
 Words are as wind ? Nay, there are words 
 Dropping, like honey, on the heart ; 
 
 1 they are His, our blessed Lord's, 
 
 And sweet the peace which they impart ! 
 
 What say those words ? In substance, they 
 Tell, In that happy home above. 
 
 Thy child, freed from the ills of clay, 
 Blooms in the smile of Jesus' love ! 
 
 Consoling words ! And blessed faith, 
 Christ to his suffering ones has given ! 
 
 Hear how the world's Eedeemer saith, 
 ^' Of such the kingdom is of Heaven." 
 
TO J. w. s— . 115 
 
 Then, O, like Israel's king of old, 
 
 While thou dost mourn, thine eyes are dim 
 With tears — thy faith's bright wings unfold, 
 
 And wait in hope to " go to him 1" 
 
TO "WILLIE'S" MOTHER. 
 
 dbii IntiBing a iBantiful Snkstanli from Itr. 
 
 The earth, wlierL lately parclied with drought, 
 
 Hath drunk refreshing rain, 
 Doth send the blade with fragrance out, 
 
 Its feelings to explain. 
 
 And so doth oft the human heart 
 
 Which hath known, in distress, 
 True sympathy, some gift impart, 
 
 Its gratitude to express. 
 
 Thus, in the "Token" I receive, 
 
 A grateful heart I see. 
 And yet I needed not, believe, 
 
 Assurance such from thee. 
 
117 
 
 Thou mayest be pleased to know, that when 
 
 Of Helicon I drink — 
 As oft I may— thy " Token" then 
 
 Will consecrate my ink. 
 
 5* 
 
THE DEATH OF MISS C- 
 
 The liarp has ceased its clieerful sound, 
 
 And "twinkling feet" no longer move 
 In dance, and now is passing round 
 
 " Good night I good night !" and lips of love 
 To lips of coral redness press. 
 
 And merry laugh shows teeth pearl-white. 
 The laugh, the sparkling eyes, express 
 
 The pleasures of the waning night I 
 
 One form, more lovely than the rest, 
 Clothed with a dress of snowy white. 
 
 Descends the stairs. Lo ! on her breast, 
 So full and fair an anchorite 
 
THE DEATH OF MISS G — . 119 
 
 Might lose himself, a rose is placed. 
 
 Her cheek is tinged with rosy hue, 
 Her step is light. No form e'er graced, 
 
 Like hers, the dance it just passed through. 
 
 Her carriage now this form has gained, 
 
 She bounds in it — the door is shut. 
 The dance were yet, had she remained, 
 
 But, now she's left, the dance is not. 
 Away, for home, the maid is borne. 
 
 As sinks the moon adown the sky, 
 And ere the roseate streaks the morn. 
 
 And now she sees her home is nigh I 
 
 At home I The carriage steps let down, 
 
 She heeds them not, but gives a bound 
 Like fawn that's from the hunter flown. 
 
 And falls, alas I upon the ground I 
 They bear that form, with mournful tread. 
 
 Amid deep sighs and many tears ; 
 She speaks not — groans not — she is dead! 
 
 The beautiful, of eighteen years. 
 
120 THE DEATH OF MISS C — . 
 
 From life to death, how quickly passed I 
 
 From festive hall to grave she went ; 
 She dropped like flower that meets the blast 
 
 And dies, ere yet its stem is bent. 
 With strains of music ling'ring still, 
 
 And words of flattery, on her ear, 
 And all which late her sense did fill, 
 
 She passed into another sphere ! 
 
 And now, whoe'er his steps does bend 
 
 To Greenwood's hallowed hill and vale, 
 Does pause beside- her tomb, and lend 
 
 His eye, to read the marble's tale. 
 For there a parent's love has placed 
 
 A monument of generous cost, 
 On which the sculptor's chisel's traced 
 
 The fate, and image, of the lost ! 
 
ELYSIANA. 
 
 Her hair is like the wing of Night, 
 Dark, lustrous, as the night we love, 
 
 When all the stars are shining bright. 
 And not a cloud doth float above. 
 
 Her forehead, smooth and white, and high, 
 Defies the sculptor's utmost art ; 
 
 In vain might Titian's pencil try 
 
 To give the thoughts that there do start ! 
 
 So tender, bright and calm, her blue, 
 
 Mild eyes, like blessed Mary's beam ; 
 Or like some angel's, good and true, 
 ■ That we have gazed at in a dream. 
 
122 ELYSIANA. 
 
 Her nose, as arclier's arrow straight, 
 With nostrils turned in beauty, stands 
 
 Like none that dreams did e'er create, 
 ISTone that is seen in Orient lands ! 
 
 Lips like the swell of bursting rose, 
 The beautiful red garden flower, 
 
 Sweet when they ope, and when they close, 
 And alway with a witching power. 
 
 Her teeth, pearl like, now hid, now shown, 
 Like organ's keys stand firm in rows, 
 
 Through which her voice's mellow tone 
 In soft and richest cadence flows I 
 
 Her cheeks do with the lily vie, 
 
 And they are tinged with that clear hue 
 
 Which doth within the pearl-shell lie, 
 A beauteous pinkness peering through. 
 
ELYSIANA. 123 
 
 Her neck, her bosom, lier whole form. 
 
 As well as features, peerless are I 
 In atmosphere about her warm. 
 
 She shines the " bright particular star." 
 
 The snow, before it's reached the ground, 
 Is not more pure than is her breast ; 
 
 Her footstep gives no greater sound 
 Than snow-flake when it sinks to rest. 
 
 Her ev'ry movement wears a grace, 
 Of which she seems unware to be, 
 
 'Tis like the wave's when winds displace 
 Gently the waters of the sea I 
 
 This maid doth e'er reign Beauty's queen. 
 And hearts bow down in loyalty — 
 
 Or would^ if such a maid were seen ; 
 You have not seen her, nor have 1 1 
 
THE BED OF SNOW. 
 
 One morning, wlien the snow lay deep, 
 And piercing was tlie breeze, 
 
 WhicTi o'er the whitened earth did sweep, 
 And moaned among the trees ; 
 
 Lord Elton, in the full of health. 
 
 Prepared to walk the street : 
 He was possessed of much, whose wealth 
 
 Was "rolling at his feet." 
 
 He had one bright-eyed little child, 
 Whose mother now was dead. 
 
 She sweetly on her father smiled, 
 As to the door she sped. 
 
THE BED OF SNOW. 125 
 
 " I go, my child," the father said, 
 " To take a little walk ;" 
 And oft he stroked her on the head, 
 While listening to her talk. 
 
 At length, the door the parent shut ; 
 
 But while he lingered yet. 
 Around the child his arms he put. 
 
 Their lips in kisses met. 
 
 Lord Elton went him on his way, 
 With quick, elastic gait ; 
 
 His haughty carriage seemed to say, 
 Behold the rich and great ! 
 
 To some he deigned to give a bow ; 
 
 On some his lip he curled : 
 One would have thought, from such a show, 
 
 Lord Elton owned the world ! 
 
126 THE BED OF SNOW. 
 
 "Have pity, Sir!" a voice was heard, 
 A feeble voice, to cry ; 
 No pity tTiougli in Elton stirred, 
 Thougli suffering was so nigh. 
 
 Another cry, " I'm hungry. Sir, 
 I have no bread to eat :" 
 
 The girl in rags — the Lord wore fur- 
 No shoes were on her feet. 
 
 The Lord passed od. That poor girl's cry 
 
 Fell fainter on his ear ; 
 He'd closed his heart to sympathy. 
 
 Was moved not by a tear. 
 
 Unhappy state ! when suffering's plead, 
 Nor sorrow's voice, can move ; 
 
 Give me a heart too soft, instead, 
 ! God of might and love. 
 
THE BED OF SNOW. 127 
 
 Years fled and brought— as years oft bring— 
 
 Another state to him ; 
 His wealth had taken itself a wing, 
 
 And former lights were dim. 
 
 He died— in want, the Lord no more- 
 
 The grave alone was his : 
 How little dreamed he, years before, 
 
 To meet a fate like this I 
 
 His child an orphan left, no home 
 Could claim she as her own ; 
 
 No sheltering roof, but doomed to roam 
 The cold, dark world alone. 
 
 One winter's day, when snow lay deep, 
 And cold the wind did blow, 
 
 A passer found a child asleep 
 Upon a bed of snow. 
 
128 THE BED OF SNOW. 
 
 Not like the Lord lie turned away, 
 But went and raised her head : 
 
 ^Twas EltorHs child hefore him lay^ 
 The orphan girl was dead 1 
 
 She'd died of want and piercing cold, 
 While on the street for bread I 
 
 Such is the tale a friend me told, 
 Himself now with the dead. 
 
"I SEE THEE WEEP, FAIE GIEL." 
 
 I SEE thee weep, fair girl, and know 
 Thy tears do for thy mother flow ; 
 Nor would I bid thee cease to weep 
 For that loved one who's fall'n asleep. 
 
 'Tis right to weep, for " Jesus wept," 
 When Lazarus of Bethany slept ; 
 'Tis good to weep; for tears relieve 
 The heart that loss hath caused to grieve. 
 
 But, think not of thy mother as dead, 
 Her soul to brighter realms hath fled ; 
 And in that happier, purer sphere 
 She feels no pang, she sheds no tear. 
 
180 I SEE THEE WEEP, FAIR GlRL, 
 
 And, I when memory calls her smile, 
 And thou canst hear her speak the while, 
 Be sure, be sure she loves thee jet, — ^ 
 Nor can she e'er her child forget. 
 
 Ah I no. In yonder land of bliss 
 They love more purely than in this ; 
 Affection there may never die. 
 But stronger grows to Eternity. 
 
 Thou ne'er shalt see again below, 
 Thy mother, who did love thee so. 
 But thou may^st see her, and no more 
 Be parted, when thy life is o'er. 
 
 Then, let this thought, like cheering ray 
 Of sunshine, light thy lonely way ; 
 'Twill, like some fragrant flower, throw 
 Sweet perfume over all thy woe. 
 
HAGAK AND ISHMAEL. 
 
 "Here, in Beer-Sheba's wilderness, 
 Mark thou, God! my deep distress, 
 Cast from my master Abraham's home, 
 In sorrow with my child I roam ; 
 The water in my bottle spent, well-nigh, 
 O God I and mnst mine own loved Ishmael die ? 
 
 " I ask not to return again, 
 And Abraham's bondwoman remain, 
 For Sarah I have heard declare 
 My child shall not with hers be heir ; 
 But do Thou succor send, God ! for I 
 Can never see mine own dear Ishmael die ! " 
 
132 HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 
 
 'Twas now high noon. The sun poured down 
 
 His scorching beams on Ishmael's head ; 
 The lad, all pale and fainting, lay 
 
 The image of the dead. 
 His lips were parched, and his eyes 
 
 Were sunken, and the lids were closed 
 Upon them, and his features in 
 
 A holy calm reposed. 
 Hagar bent o'er him, with a look 
 
 Of deepest agony and love ; 
 Now she would fix her eyes on him, 
 
 Now lift her eyes above. 
 
 Then 'neath a shrub she leaves him, and 
 
 Turns her in anguish from the spot ; 
 To see him die, her own dear child, 
 
 Is too much — ^she cannot. 
 She sits her down " a good way off," 
 
 And weeps, and pours her soul in prayer ; 
 Perchance her God a way will show 
 
 To save her Ishmael there. 
 
HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 188 
 
 " Save him, O God ! my dear cliild save ! 
 
 ! snatch him from the yawning grave ! 
 
 With Thee, with Thee, alone's the power 
 
 To succor, in this dismal hour. 
 Pardon the weakness that hath made me fly 
 My Ishmael's face — I cannot see him die ! " 
 
 " Hagar ! " a voice comes soft and clear, 
 
 " Thy bitter tears are seen on high, 
 Thy prayer hath reached thy Father's ear, 
 
 And He hath heard thy Ishmael's cry. 
 Look ! near at hand there is a well 
 
 Of purest water ! " Hagar saw. 
 And went with joy no tongue may tell, 
 
 The bottle filled to running o'er, — 
 Then to the lad she gladly sped, 
 
 She pressed the bottle to his lips ; 
 And soon her boy, she'd thought nigh dead, 
 
 'Gan the reviving draught to sip ! 
 
134 HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. 
 
 Ere long the lad his wonted strength regained, 
 
 And he grew up, and with hira in the wild 
 
 Was God, his Father. Keed we 'surance more, 
 
 To tell us of his happiness, than this. 
 
 That '' God was with him" ? O ! not Paran's wild 
 
 Had any loneliness to him. He felt 
 
 The flapping ever of the Angel's wing. 
 
 That called to Hagar out of Heaven ; and there 
 
 Was e'er upon him God — his Father's eye, 
 
 To cheer and guide him. 
 
THE CLOCK AND MY HEAET. 
 
 ''Tick— tick!" 
 
 Thus this office Clock is beating, 
 Quick, quick, 
 
 Minding me that Time is fleeting. 
 
 "Hear^hear!" 
 
 I am earnest in my warning ; 
 Near — near 
 
 Comes thy death-day, every morning. 
 
 "Tick— tick!" 
 
 Thus my Heart-Clock's ever beating. 
 Quick — quick, 
 
 Minding me that Life is fleeting, 
 
136 THE CLOCK AND MY HEART. 
 
 '•Hear — hear!" 
 
 I am earnest in my warning ; 
 Near— near 
 
 Comes thy death-day every morning. 
 
"AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY STEENGTH 
 
 BE." 
 
 Thou trembling Servant of the Lord, 
 Let hence thy dark forebodings flee ; 
 
 For He hath promised, in His Word, 
 That, as thy day, thy strength shall be. 
 
 Shrink not to meet the coming ill. 
 Whose shadow lies across thy way ; 
 
 To meet it, and to bear, He will 
 Give strength sufficient for thy day. 
 
 Fear'st thou to fall, should temptings rise, 
 
 And all their luring arts display ? 
 O ! lift thy thoughts unto the Skies, 
 
 And strength find equal to thy day. 
 
188 AS THY DAY, SO SHALL, ETC. 
 
 Should God remove that object dear. 
 
 Dost feel that naught could comfort thee ? 
 
 Though thou shalt shed the mourner's tear, 
 Yet, as thy day thy strength shall be. 
 
 And thou, who look'st upon the grave, 
 Shudd'ring to think that thou must lay 
 
 Thy body there, ! thou shalt have 
 A strength abundant for that day. 
 
MY BOOKS. 
 
 Boc«:s are companions which I like fall well. 
 If they don't please me, I may turn away, 
 Nor fear to give offence. They do not frown 
 On any slight of mine; nor angry get 
 Because I leave them ere they've gotten through 
 With what they have to say ; they still talk on 
 So long as I do listen ; when I cease, 
 They're silent. And when I again seek them, 
 They meet me as before they met, nor ask 
 Why I did leave them. 
 
 I can make of books. 
 Friends of convenience, which I may not do 
 
140 MY BOOKS. 
 
 Of human friends, nor would I, if I could. 
 
 It is with, books, that I can clioose my friends, 
 
 Or rather, my companions. Who shall say 
 
 This is not to be wished ? If I am sad, 
 
 And need true sympathy ; or if I'm blithe, 
 
 And fain would have an echo to my heart, 
 
 I know to where I may my footsteps bend 
 
 And get the balm, or cordial, that I need. 
 
 Or wish. And I may go unshaved, and dressed 
 
 As I am pleased to go, with not a thought ^ • 
 
 Of being ill received on that account. 
 
 Nor need I take me far, for near at hand 
 
 I have my compan}^ 
 
 What need I care 
 If rain is falling ; or if on the ground 
 The snow lies deep ; or if the mud is deep, 
 'Twill not prevent my calling on my friends. 
 My books. Ah, no ! Of my own house they are, 
 Those chosen ones. The places them assigned 
 Are not as good as those I could have wished. 
 Or such as some might like to sec them fill. 
 
MY BOOKS. • 141 
 
 But they're not chagrined, and I never hear 
 Complaint from their own lips. What persons say, 
 Of what they speak not, I care not a whit ! 
 
 There may be carelessness, at times, displayed 
 To you, my books ; and there are times, I know. 
 When children's hands, all slily taking you. 
 Do treat you roughly. But, I beg you then, 
 In every case, to put out all your strength 
 And resist stoutly ! 
 
 6* 
 
"THE STARS, WE PRIZE THEM, WHEN 
 THE NIGHT." 
 
 The Stars, we prize tliern when the Night 
 
 Reveals them to our eyes ; 
 But we forget their cheerful light, 
 
 When Day's god lights the skies. 
 
 Thus, when we are cast down and sad. 
 We prize a friend's bright smile ; 
 
 But, when our heart again is glad, 
 That friend's forgot the while. 
 
DYING THOUGHTS, 
 
 Supposed to be had by a lady, who died of a lingering consumption. 
 
 The clock strikes five ! Anotlier night is gone, 
 
 And I yet live. Ah, shall I hear again 
 
 The striking of that mantel clock, which tells, 
 
 At ev'ry stroke, I'm nearer to the grave ? 
 
 I feel that ere another hour is gone, 
 
 I shall be numbered with the dead, — beyond 
 
 The things of Time, — and that Eternity 
 
 "Which none come back to tell us of, will burst 
 
 Upon my spirit. 
 
 Do I wish to stay. 
 And longer on this bed of sufif'ring lie, 
 
144 DYING THOUGHTS. 
 
 From which I know I ne'er again can rise? 
 These limbs, so colorless and cold, proclaim 
 That death is stealing to my vitals fast, 
 And this weak pulse, which doth so slowly beat, 
 Must ere long cease. Oh, no ! I would not stay ; 
 Come, death, and let my spirit go to God. 
 
 The clock stkikes six ! And I am not yet gone. 
 
 I hear the footsteps of the passer-by 
 
 Upon the street, as goes he to his work : 
 
 The milk-man's bell I hear, — the same that's rung 
 
 So many mornings at this dwelling's gate : 
 
 That bell I often have felt glad to hear, 
 
 When past a night of wakefulness and pain ; 
 
 Its sound hath cheered my spirit, as it told 
 
 Of wakened life around me. 
 
 My true friend, 
 Who's stood my bed beside for many a night, 
 Nor giv'n a wink of slumber to her eyes, 
 Looks on me tenderly, as mother looks 
 Upon the child she loves. I have not strength 
 To thank her as I would, — to tell her what 
 
DYING THOUGHTS. 145 
 
 Deep gratitude I feel for all she's done : 
 May be she reads it in these glassy eyes. 
 
 The clock strikes seven ! I am well nigh home. 
 Feebler and feebler beats this heart ; this breath 
 Is hard to draw — I cannot longer stay. 
 I would depart, and yet, as now I hear 
 The voices of my children, I am pained 
 To think of separation. Oh ! ere long 
 Tliey'U have no mother : soon these hands, which oft 
 Have twined their hair, shall be all stiff and cold, 
 No more to part their flaxen locks : these lips. 
 Forever sealed, no more shall speak their names : 
 For them, for them, I could have wished to live. 
 Take them, good "angel,"* 'tis my dying wish 
 That you should do so, — 'tis my husband's wish. 
 
 Ah ! now I die : call here my husband, call 
 My children, and let them, with you, fast friend. 
 Stand round my bed, that I may look good-bye. 
 Farewell ! farewell 1 your forms recede — I die. 
 
 * The children call her " tingel." • 
 
OCCASIONAL HYMN. 
 
 " The Poor," our blessed Saviour says, 
 
 " Ye always have with you ;" 
 And He on us the duty lays, 
 
 To seek them, and to do. 
 
 Heed then, to-day, that duty's call. 
 Through Orphans' lips we hear, 
 
 O ! let it on our heart-strings fall. 
 Not die upon the ear. 
 
 The Orphan claims our tenderest care ; 
 
 And God will surely bless 
 The man, whose wants these children's are, 
 
 When he is in distress. 
 
OCCASIONAL HYMN. 147 
 
 Believe, the bread that, with a prayer, 
 
 We on the waters cast. 
 We'll find again, its sweetness share, 
 
 When many days are past. 
 
 A cup of water, in the name 
 
 Of Christ, to Orphans given, 
 Is deed that wins eternal fame, 
 
 Of record made in Heaven. 
 
A SCENE FKOM MY WINDOW. 
 
 A BLIND man, 
 Led by a little girl, passed by. I watched 
 Them as they went, my heart touched by the scene. 
 He was not old, perhaps some two-score years 
 Summed all his days. But, on his brow was set 
 The mark of many sorrows, and he seemed 
 An older man. And he was poor, the world 
 Had been all niggard of its gifts to him. 
 And he had naught to call his own, save her. 
 His faithful child, who led him by the hand. 
 That little girl was beautiful. Her hair, 
 Of golden hue, hung curling on her neck. 
 
A SCENE FROM MY WINDOW. 149 
 
 As Nature made it curl ; her eyes of blue 
 Looked on each passer-by imploringly, 
 And plainly said, " ! see, my father's blind ; 
 Will you not give him something of your store ? " 
 Eloquent pleaders ! It did seem to me, 
 That every heart must give a quick response. 
 But, it was different ; many passed them by. 
 That blind man and his child, nor gave a look. 
 Even, of sympathy. 
 
 The sight I saw, 
 Coming all suddenly to view, aroused 
 A saddened feeling and a better thought. 
 I prayed, if God should make me blind, and strip 
 Me bare of worldly goods, ! might he leave. 
 To cheer me and to guide, a faithful child 
 Like her I saw. How must that parent's heart 
 Beat with a love unknown 'to any else. 
 And reach out fondly towards that child. And she 
 Must love that parent dearly. Sorrow binds 
 Hearts in a strong and a mysterious tie. 
 Oft, when not kin of blood ; and when they are. 
 
150 A SCENE FROM MY WINDOW. 
 
 And that relation parent and the child, 
 
 O ! then the bond is strong, and hearts do beat 
 
 As one. 
 
 And as I mused, I thanked my Grod 
 I was not blind and poor, like that old man. 
 
 The man passed on, following with care his child, 
 Who, with her hand tight in her father's held, 
 Did lead him. With his rough old stick he'd feel 
 The way before him, lest some broken pave. 
 Some stone, or gutter, should make false his step 
 And throw him down. His careful little child 
 Observed his steps, and when they'd cross the street. 
 Would softly tell him when to raise his foot. 
 And what to shun. 
 
 % 
 
 I followed them in thought. 
 And, in my mind, I saw them reach a place 
 Which was their all of home. 'Twas poor indeed ! 
 And in they went, that blind man and his child. 
 
A SCENE FROM MY WINDOAV. 151 
 
 The night was come. I saw the little girl 
 
 Bring to her father an old broken chair, 
 
 The only one they had, and bid him sit 
 
 Upon it. On the old man's shoulder she 
 
 Did lay one hand, with pressure soft, and, with 
 
 The other one in his, she moved him where 
 
 He might sit down and rest his weary limbs. 
 
 As this was done, methought I saw a smile 
 
 Of sweet affection come upon his face. 
 
 And I could hear, " God bless you, child! " escape 
 
 The father's lips. And then her father's stick 
 
 She took all gently from his hand, and stood 
 
 It by. Then she did sit upon his knee, 
 
 And, looking fondly at his sightless orbs. 
 
 She asked him if a weariness he felt ; 
 
 While with her hand she'd gently stroke his brow, 
 
 And smooth his scattered locks, alternately. 
 
 And then she took from out a much-worn bag 
 
 The few small bits of money, which had been 
 
 Dropped by the hand of Charity in there, 
 
 And counted it ; and then she seemed all joy 
 
 To find enough to get another meal 
 
152 A SCENE FROM MY WINDOW. 
 
 For her much-liungered father and herself. 
 O ! for these poor and deep afflicted ones, 
 Was there no sunshine, amid all their gloom ? 
 Ay, there was happiness e'en for them, at times. 
 Like sunlight peering, now and then, through clouds 
 Which long have overcast, a light would break — 
 A light of sweet affection — from their hearts, 
 When they would be alone, and it would cheer. 
 With a sweet feeling tongue may not describe, 
 The hearts of both. 
 
 For, God denies to none. 
 Whom he afflicts, some gleams of happiness. 
 And it is only when we spurn his gift, 
 Nor let it enter in the heart, for sin 
 And our bad passions, that we live, indeed. 
 Forever miserable. 
 
"UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN." 
 
 CliristinGH, 1851. 
 
 Our Brother's born ! come and see 
 The place that gives him birth ! 
 
 Mark with what deep humility 
 His advent to the earth ! 
 
 A stable, where the ass doth tread, 
 
 And but a manger for his bed ! 
 
 No common child is born to-day ; 
 
 He is the One whose birth 
 Was promis'd when God's hand did lay 
 
 The beams of this round earth. 
 The promise was, in time, that He 
 Should come and set His people free ! 
 
154 UNTO us A CHILD IS BORN. 
 
 Him, Abel's lamb did represent ; 
 
 Him, Jewish sacrifice ; 
 And He it was whom Prophets meant 
 
 Should regain Paradise, 
 Ee-ope its gates, that sin had shut, 
 Where God the flaming sword had put ! 
 
 Come, then, to-day, the Wonder see ! 
 
 The Babe is born for you 
 And me ! His pure humanity. 
 
 How beautiful to view ! 
 Behold the One who knows our fears, 
 Who feels our pains, and counts our tears 
 
 Come, listen to the Saviour, come ! 
 
 He's left His home on high. 
 His Father's bosom, that dear home. 
 
 And come, for us to die ! 
 O hear Him sweetly bid us pause 
 And learn the merits of His cause. 
 
UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN. 155 
 
 Hear'st thou that groan from Calv'ry's hill, . 
 
 That agonized crj ! 
 Some creature is resisting still, 
 
 And will not humbly lie 
 At Jesus' feet, but wounds afresh, 
 With thorn and nail and spear, His flesh ! 
 
 Yet, there a beam of light I see. 
 Its top is plac'd in Heaven, 
 
 Its nether end on Calvary ! 
 And still to man 'tis given, 
 
 To find the straight and narrow way, 
 
 Which is illumined by its ray. 
 
 Come, look upon our glorious King, 
 
 Behold His glory shine ! 
 A willing subject come, and bring 
 
 That wayward heart of thine ; 
 Down at His feet adoring fall. 
 And give to Him thy heart, thine all ! 
 
156 UNTO us A CHILD IS BORN. 
 
 A welcome to those hallow 'd feet 
 
 That tread on earth to-day 1 
 Heart-flowers shall spring their steps to greet, 
 
 And stand in glad array ! 
 Let every thing with breath now sing 
 A welcome to our Saviour-King ! 
 
 For, Mercy now and Truth are met, 
 
 And Kighteousness and Peace 
 Have kiss'd each other ! "War shall yet 
 
 Upon the green earth cease ! 
 And then shall fall the sound most sweet. 
 When men their swords to ploughshares beat ! 
 
 And noW; round the domestic hearth 
 
 The members sit, in love. 
 Where woman, in her right of birth. 
 
 The friend of man doth move. 
 And not his slave ; nor yet, as he, 
 A ruler, but a helpmate she ! 
 
UNTO US A CHILD IS BORN. 157 
 
 Go sit at history's feet to-day, 
 
 And learn, before Christ came, 
 How passion wild the world did sway ; 
 
 How deeds we blush to name 
 Were done ; and horrid sights were met. 
 Which wrung the heart, with tears eyes wet ! 
 
 Then let thine eye in freedom range 
 
 Over the world as now, 
 And ask. How came this happy change ? 
 
 Whence did these blessings flow ? 
 Thy heart will say. From Jesus' birth 
 Came all this blessed change on earth ! 
 
REMOKSE. 
 
 BJat tljc toiitrcr Colti. 
 
 " I HAD, last night, a painfal dream, 
 Wliicli did my soul afFriglit, 
 And I rejoiced when morning's beam 
 Relieved me with its light. 
 
 " I need not tell of all I dreamed, 
 You'll understand me well 
 When I do say, that, round me seemed 
 To rage the Fiends of Hell ! 
 
 " Nor dreamed I then of Fiends in form, 
 But thoughts my torturers were ; 
 Within, within there raged the storm 
 Which drove me to despair ! 
 
REMORSE. 159 
 
 " So, when I waked at morn, I thought, 
 If, when I am asleep, 
 Such visions are before me brought, 
 Such memories o'er me creep, 
 
 " What torture will my deathless soul 
 Not suffer, if at war 
 With God I die ! Without control 
 Of sense, will then roll o'er 
 
 '' The flood of Thought ! For, mem'ry, true , 
 Will then review the Past, 
 And bring my horrid crimes to view 
 And hold them ever fast !" 
 
 The deed of blood, the deed of wrong, 
 
 Of whatsoever kind — 
 In life, perhaps forgotten long — 
 
 Does then torment the mind, 
 
160 REMORSE. 
 
 There comes not then, a morning's beam, 
 
 Eelieving with its light; 
 The Thoughts, alas ! are then no dream, 
 
 The Night is endless night ! 
 
HOPE, THE BUOY AND THE BEACOK 
 
 Hope is tlie buoy of the heart ! When waves 
 
 Of disappointment, and of sorrow, swell, 
 
 And clouds hang, dark and gloomy, overhead, 
 
 'Tis then that Hope upholds, upon the deep, 
 
 The sinking soul ! And, though now high 'tis tossed, 
 
 And now it sinks adown, as if o'erwhelmed. 
 
 It still floats on, that heavy-laden heart ! 
 
 Hope, to the heart, is that bright-beaming star 
 Which never sets ! When that dark night is come. 
 Darker and gloomier than e'er Nature's night. 
 When friends forsake, when poverty makes bare. 
 And health declines, ! there is then the light 
 
162 HOPE, THE BUOY AND BEACON. 
 
 Of that sweet star, which, from the good man's sky, 
 Is beaming down upon his gloom-filled heart, 
 And cheering it, while a sweet voice doth speak 
 And bid it mind, " beyond this vale of tears. 
 There is a life above,"' where Christ doth dwell. 
 The Friend of sinners, where there's wealth untold, 
 "Where sickness never comes ! 
 
 ! Hope, sweet Hope ! 
 How were poor man, amid this sorrowing world. 
 For ever sighing, if he had not thee. 
 Like an e'er present angel of the skies. 
 To whisper peace and comfort to his soul. 
 And point him, alway, with thy radiant hand, 
 To brighter days, e'en in this mortal state. 
 And — ^better still ! to endless rest and joy 
 In climes Elysian ! where the flowers bloom. 
 And streams flow on, in one perpetual course 
 Of bright perennial glory ! 
 
IF RIGHT, BE BRAVE. 
 
 Who would do riglit, in tliis bad world, 
 Must have a stout, brave heart, a will 
 
 Resolved to act, though 'gainst him hurled 
 A mountain's weight, and battle still ! 
 
 " I will!" '' I will!" is easily said, 
 
 And frowns may sit upon the brow ; 
 Thus men have spoke, and thus displayed, 
 "Who cowards in the conflict show ! 
 
 The sneer retards, the frown unnerves. 
 And some do cower beneath the pen; 
 
 So, this, or that, from duty swerves, 
 
 And makes the meanest slaves of men ! 
 
164: IF RIGHT, BE BRAVE. 
 
 I love the man, whoe'er he be. 
 
 That, having Truth's bright armor on. 
 
 Walks nobly 'mong humanity. 
 Like Luther — Howard — Washington ! 
 
 His does the fair example prove ; 
 
 His light the beacon on the shore. 
 With hope the voyager to move. 
 
 And strength impart, when billows roar ! 
 
"HE STOOD BEFOEE ME." 
 
 He stood before me. From his face 
 There beamed a like benevolent look ; 
 
 And in his locks mine eye could trace — 
 Locks white and few — as there they shook. 
 
 All honored, on his reverend head, 
 The snowy threads I once did see ; 
 
 And in his eye, wherein I read 
 The soul's pure, blest tranquillity. 
 
 I saw like speech, which oft, in youth. 
 
 Would counsel me, with utterance mild ; 
 His honest eye revealed a truth 
 
 Like that was taught me when a child. 
 
 7* 
 
166 HE STOOD BEFORE ME. 
 
 He spake ! His voice the charm had broke, 
 The tear, which near had dimmed mine eye, 
 
 Eefused to flow, and I awoke 
 
 As one from dream. The form passed by ! 
 
 His look my father's, and his hair. 
 Like his the language of the eye ; 
 
 My father's voice, though, was not there, 
 That voice to me which may not die. 
 
 O I who shall say, that, not in voice 
 Like that we've loved and now is gone. 
 
 There is, to make the heart rejoice. 
 Which it can do, and it alone. 
 
 Like some sweet song, to memory dear, 
 Some early heard, familiar strain. 
 
 It vibrates on the heart-strings clear. 
 And wakes our happier thoughts again. 
 
HE STOOD BEFORE ME. 167 
 
 But, though well-pleased we view the lute, 
 Which looks like one whose notes we've loved. 
 
 We may, when it's no longer mute, 
 Have all our better thoughts removed. 
 
NATUEAL SOEROW. 
 
 Where'er I am — at Lome, abroad — 
 
 My heart is very sad ; 
 I know my child's an angel now, 
 
 And, therefore, should be glad. 
 But there's a void within my breast, 
 
 Which nothing seems to fill, 
 No matter what may meet mine eye, 
 
 My heart is aching still. 
 
 At home, I look around the room. 
 Where Ellen used to play, 
 
 And see the toys that late were hers, 
 The crib in which she lay, 
 
NATURAL SORROW. 169 
 
 The picture book she threw aside, 
 
 Her eyes too dim to see ; 
 And then I dwell on how she fixed 
 
 Her sightless eyes on me. 
 
 Abroad I go, the streets, the stores, * 
 
 All tell of her who's gone ; 
 Each object strikes a trembling chord, 
 
 And draws its saddest tone. 
 Ah ! often when I took this walk, 
 
 My Ellen came along ; 
 And now methinks I hear her voice 
 
 In prattle, or in song. 
 
 Here is the window, where she'd stop, 
 
 And ask me for a toy ; 
 " Mother, ! see that pretty doll ! 
 
 Do give me that sweet boy I" 
 This, how it brings my Ellen back, 
 
 Her look, her voice, her smile ! 
 I cannot stay these burning tears, 
 
 O ! let me weep awhile ! 
 
" GOD HELP THE POOE." 
 
 God lielp the Poor, wlio have no fire, 
 
 Such bitter days as these, 
 When e'en the breath that we expire 
 Doth quickly freeze ! 
 
 God help the Poor, who have no clothes, 
 
 Such bitter days as these, 
 Or rags, which every wind that blows. 
 Cuts through with ease ! 
 
 God help the Poor, that bedless are, 
 
 In nights so painful cold, 
 With nought their bodies, well ni^h bare. 
 In which to fold. 
 
GOD HELP THE POOR. 171 
 
 God help tlie Poor, who have no meat 
 
 To stay gaunt hunger's gnaw, 
 Whose bare feet tread the frozen street, 
 From door to door ! 
 
 God help the little children, who 
 
 For food do daily cry, 
 Whom hunger, cold that pierces through, 
 Make, often, die ! 
 
 ^' God help the Poorl" Well said, but know 
 
 That God helps them by man ; 
 You are his agent, reader, go 
 
 Do what you can ! 
 
 " God help the Poor !" When this you say 
 
 Your wish is empty air, 
 Unless you act ; then go, to-day. 
 
 For suffering care ! 
 
172 "GOD HELP THE POOR." 
 
 " God help the Poor I" This prayer shall then 
 
 Be with an answer blest ; 
 Thus, living you'll do good to men ; 
 
 And when to rest 
 You go, your memory shall be blest ! 
 
'AK EI^EMY HATH DONE THIS." 
 
 I TOOK me home, one evening, 
 
 Mj six days' labor done, 
 And communed with my own heart, 
 
 For I was all alone. 
 
 The shades of night were gathering. 
 And darkness came apace ; 
 
 Before me rose a storm-cloud, 
 And rude winds touched my face. 
 
 Sharp flashed the lurid lightaing. 
 Loud was the thunder's peal ! 
 
 I strove to reach my dwelling 
 Ere rain-drops I should feel. 
 
174 ''AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS." 
 
 But, soon the rain came pouring 
 
 A deluge on my head ; 
 I quickened now my footsteps, 
 
 I may say that I sped. 
 
 Stop ! list ! a voice of crying 
 Falls sadly on mine ear ; 
 
 It is a little girl's voice ! 
 What is she doing here, — 
 
 Here, sitting on the curb-stone, 
 In all this drenching rain ? 
 
 1 how the child is weeping ! 
 Her crying gives me pain. 
 
 My child I" with this I spake her, 
 
 As near her I did go, 
 Come, tell me what's the matter, 
 
 Why are you weeping so ?" 
 
"AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS." 175 
 
 She answered but by sobbing, 
 
 "My father, 0! he's mad!" 
 And then her tears came faster, 
 
 And I was very sad. 
 
 She was but ten — and handsome- 
 Yet shadow, on her cheek, 
 
 Told intercepted sun-light. 
 
 As plain as words might speak. 
 
 I knew, those joyous gushings, 
 Which mark the time of youth, 
 
 And make that youth all happy, 
 Were not for her, in truth. 
 
 " Come, child !" I said, and raised her, 
 And pressed her to my side ; 
 
 My cheek my tears were coursing, 
 As bitterly she cried. 
 
176 "AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS." 
 
 " I'll take yon home." Thus spake T, 
 
 Nor could I utter more, 
 My heart was full. " He's mad, Sir I" 
 
 The child sobbed, as before. 
 
 We now had reached a hovel, 
 And, as I oped its door, 
 
 The child shrank at the shocking. 
 Heart-rending sight we saw ! 
 
 I bade her not to enter ; 
 
 Then went, with trembling tread. 
 To where a man lay, bruis'd. 
 
 From whom the soul was fled ! 
 
 O ! sight most sad and sick'ning ! 
 
 There lay, upon the floor. 
 The corse of Fanny's father, 
 
 All covered o'er with gore ! 
 
AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS." 177 
 
 He'd died a raving madman ; 
 
 His eyes were op'n in death, 
 And I could scent the murdWer 
 
 That took away his breath ! 
 
 The room, ! what a picture. 
 
 To sadden one, it showed ! 
 Chairs broke — bed torn — and windows 
 
 Through which the storm-king rode 
 
 I heard a moan, and turned me 
 To learn from whence it came, 
 
 And saw, in one dark corner, 
 A sight I weep to name. 
 
 There, dying, lay an infant. 
 Some two years old, not more, 
 
 With blood all covered over, 
 And blood-stained was the floor. 
 
178 "AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS.' 
 
 I sought to find its mother, 
 But, I liave since been told, 
 
 She'd gone before, to Heaven, 
 When it was one year old. 
 
 I then removed to Fanny : 
 "Ah! Fanny I" I did sigh, 
 
 "I know not if 'tis better 
 That you should live, or die. 
 
 " God take you up to Heaven! 
 
 The best prayer I can give, 
 For there you will be happy ; 
 
 You may not be, to live." 
 
 Her sobs, how they did move me ! 
 
 Her tears, how thick they fell ! 
 I used kind words, to lighten 
 
 A heart which grief did swell. 
 
"an enemy hath done this." 179 
 
 But, let me to tlie sequel : 
 
 The babe died in an hour ; 
 It died as when the whirlwind 
 
 Snaps off the budding flower. 
 
 The father, crazed from liquor, 
 Had dashed against the wall 
 
 The fruit of his own body, 
 And stamped on it withal ! 
 
 I took and cared for Fanny, 
 And loved her as mine own : 
 
 She's dead ! Another jewel 
 Now sparkles in Christ's crown ! 
 
SYMPATHY. 
 
 I VENERATE well-nigli tlie man wlio feels 
 
 " Another's woe." That man may have his faults, 
 
 (Who has no faults ?) and he may passionate be, 
 
 And oft do acts, which, in his cooler mood, 
 
 He much regrets. But, if he's sympathy, 
 
 I know he has a soul, there lingers still 
 
 Within his breast an attribute that makes 
 
 A man for whom we ever may have hope, 
 
 And one to whom we certainly may point 
 
 And tell the world that he is doing good, 
 
 Or more or less. 
 
SYMPATHY. 181 
 
 Ay, sympathy ! Go ask 
 Thy fellow -creature bending 'neath distress 
 Of mind, or bod}^, or estate, who's known 
 And felt a voice encouraging, a hand 
 Of ready help ; go ask of him, we say, 
 AYhat is this sympathy. He'll say 'tis sweet. 
 His heart will beat all quickly, as he dwells 
 Upon the voice, the features of the one 
 AYho wears the beauteous attribute, and he 
 Will yearn towards him. 
 
 ! what but sympathy 
 That makes me love the prattler at my knee, 
 And makes me try to glad her tender life 
 With toy, or story for her eager ear. 
 And ! what else that makes me sit beside 
 My child's sick bed, there trying e'er to soothe 
 Her pain, while praying she'll be well anon. 
 Why do I look, with anguish in my breast, 
 Upon her cheek all sunk and pale, and touch 
 Her feeble pulse, and count its every beat. 
 
182 SYMPATHY. 
 
 With great anxiety ? I do, and feel, 
 From sympathy. 
 
 If not for sympathy. 
 How shall the sufferings of my dying Lord 
 Move me to love him ? Yain His agony 
 Within the Garden, vain His bloody sweat 
 In that dark night, when down His soul was bowed 
 Beneath the weight of all the world's black sins, 
 And vain the scourging, vain the fiendlike mock. 
 The spitting on, the crown of thorns, the weight 
 Of ponderous Cross, the fainting on the way 
 To Calvary's hill, the tearing of His flesh 
 By nail, the spear-cut, and the piercing thorn, 
 The quenchless thirst, and the forsaken soul : — 
 Vain, vain all these, if I've no sympathy, 
 To make me love the Saviour [ ^ -^ '^' 
 
A CHKISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 WiWtw ti] lit Sling bij a €\)m\) €t)oir. 
 
 "And there were in the same country, shepherds abiding in tiie field, keeping 
 watch over their flocks by night. 
 
 And lo ! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone 
 round about them, and they were sore afraid. 
 
 And the angel said unto them. Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of 
 great joy, which shall be to all people." 
 
 And suddenly there was with the angel, a multitude of the Heavenly Host, praising 
 God," &c. — St. Luke. 
 
 SHEPHERDS SING. 
 
 How calm this night on Judah's hill, 
 What silence reigns the country round 
 
 Save yonder rippling of the rill, 
 There comes not to our ear a sound. 
 
184 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 The heavens above, how clear ! how bright 
 The stars are shining in the sky ; 
 
 How free they shed their mellow light 
 Upon our little company. 
 
 In slumber all are sunk, our sheep, 
 And every thing has found repose, 
 
 While we do here our vigils keep, 
 
 To guard our flocks from prowling foes. 
 
 SHEPHERDS EXCLAIM. 
 
 Behold ! what light is here ! 
 
 See, how it spreads around ! 
 What spirit doth appear 
 
 On lowly shepherds' ground ! 
 Speak, stranger, speak, and tell 
 
 Why com'st thou here to-night ? 
 ! break this painful spell. 
 
 We tremble at thy sight ! 
 
A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 185 
 
 THE ANGEL. 
 
 Fear not, good men ; I, Gabriel, bear 
 
 Assurance from on bigh, 
 Of grace that you and all may sbare, 
 
 Who late were doomed to die. 
 
 Know ye, in Betblebem, tbis day, 
 Tbe Saviour, Cbrist, is born ! 
 
 O ! wondrous love ! O ! vast display 
 Of grace ! to man forlorn. 
 
 Here, now, your Life is found ; a balm 
 For all your woes is brougbt : — 
 
 Peace upon eartb, within a calm, 
 And purified thought. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY HOST. 
 
 Glory ! glory ! hallelujah ! 
 Praises to our God be given I 
 
186 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 Let the glad hosanna ring 
 
 Througliout tlie earth, and now in Heaven 
 Hallelujah ! praise the Father 
 
 For His boundless love to men ; 
 Hallelujah! hallelujah! 
 
 Let the people say, Amen ! 
 Godhead takes of flesh a garment. 
 
 Comes He of the Virgin's womb ! 
 Glory! glory! hallelujah! 
 
 ISTow the wastes shall bud and bloom ! 
 Peace on earth, ! joyful tidings ! 
 
 Good- will now is come to men ; 
 Glory! glory! hallelujah! 
 
 Shout, ye nations all. Amen ! 
 Glory ! glory ! hallelujah ! 
 
 Praise Jehovah every soul. 
 Hallelujah! hallelujah! 
 
 Let the song imceasing roll ! 
 Echo, earth, the shout of Heaven, 
 
 All upon thee raise its voice : — • 
 Hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 
 
 And, 0, sea ! make thou a noise. 
 Hallelujah! Amen! 
 
THE MUSES IN MY YOUNGEE DAYS." 
 
 The muses, in my younger days, 
 
 I courted with an ardent love ; 
 How they returned my suit, the lays 
 
 I sang in youth will clearly prove. 
 But ere I'd dallied with them long, 
 
 I, somehow, chose to go astray — 
 I must confess 'twas very wrong, 
 
 And often did I mourn the day. 
 
 We parted — and I 'most forgot, 
 In fact, that e'er I lov'd them so : 
 
 But separation long was not, 
 Ere in my heart I felt the glow 
 
188 "the muses in my 
 
 Of love's return. I call'd again 
 Upon the charming Nine to come : 
 
 I call'd — but, ah ! I call'd in vain — 
 
 They would not make my breast a home. 
 
 I ceas'd not now to importune, 
 
 And daily plead the love I bore ; 
 And cried, "Dear Muses, come and tune 
 
 My lyre, as once ye did of yore !" 
 But yet they would not list to me, 
 
 They would not breathe e'en on the string 
 And oft so angry I would be, 
 
 Adown, in wrath, my harp I'd fling! 
 
 My anger past, again I'd try 
 
 To win the favor of the Nine, 
 And thinking yet, that by-and-bye. 
 
 They would return this love of mine. 
 I'd look on streams^I'd look on trees — 
 
 On all of earth — of heav'n — of air — 
 To find, at least in one of these. 
 
 The Muses' spirit lurking there ! 
 
189 
 
 At length they came. How happy I, 
 
 "When they renewed for me their love ; 
 With them to wood and stream I'd hie, 
 
 And flowery mead ; then soar above 
 To yonder brighter, happier sphere. 
 
 O ! there was then within my breast 
 A feeling sweet. All did appear 
 
 Of roseate hue — and I was blest ! 
 
SONG: 
 
 CJc Iroiicn CJort 
 
 The chord is broke ! the chord is broke ! 
 
 And she who tun'd it, dead ; 
 I touched it when this morn I woke, 
 
 But found its sweetness fled ! 
 "Alas! alas!" I sorely sigh'd, 
 " Some rude, untutor'd one 
 Hath to the string his fingers plied, 
 
 And robb'd its heavenly tone !" 
 
 Nor knew I that the hand was cold, 
 Which erst brought notes so sweet ; 
 
 Yet still some inward feeling told. 
 What I, in tears repeat : 
 
SONG. 191 
 
 "Alas ! the lovely maid is dead ; 
 Slie sank beneatb. Death's stroke, 
 And as her saint-like spirit fled, 
 The chord for sorrow broke I" 
 
TO . 
 
 'T IS sweet, at evening's silent hour, 
 Thy voice, dear girl, to hear ; 
 
 Grateful as dew upon the flow'r, 
 It falls upon my ear. 
 
 'T is sweet to look upon thy face, 
 
 And see thy winning smile, 
 Which plays with so much artless grace. 
 
 And captivates the while. 
 
 And then, to place me by thy side, 
 Thy hand firm clasp'd in mine, 
 
 To wander by the river's side. 
 When stars above us shine ; 
 
TO . 193 
 
 To gaze upon the silv'ry mooo, 
 And softly wliisper love, 
 
 ! then the hours flee too soon, 
 They then too swiftly move. 
 
 Then do I wish old Time would stay 
 
 His rapid course awhile, 
 Nor snatch so soon the hours away 
 
 Which love's pure joys beguile. 
 
 All this is sweet. But yet more sweet 
 
 It is, indeed, to me, 
 To know that thou dost kindly greet 
 
 The one who sings to thee. 
 
TO JOSEPHINE. 
 
 " Think not thy name abroad I fling, 
 To court remark from idle tongue ; 
 I did but breathe it o'er the string, 
 "When soft and fast the numbers rung." 
 
 LiETjT. G. "W. Patten, U. S. Aemt. 
 
 To thee, my sister, would I sing, 
 
 For thee I'd tune my lay ; 
 I'd pluck the sweetest flow'rs of spring, 
 
 And strew them in thy way ; 
 I'd pluck the choicest flow'r that throws 
 
 Its perfume on the air — 
 The pure, the white, unrivall'd rose. 
 
 And place it in thy hair. 
 
TO JOSEPHINE. 195 
 
 I'd catch the bh'd I think the best, 
 
 That floats upon the air, 
 And bid it seek thy tender breast, 
 
 And pour its glad notes there ; 
 I'd teach it some famihar strain. 
 
 That's much belov'd by thee, 
 And it should soothe thine ev'ry pain 
 
 With its soft minstrelsy. 
 
 For thee I'd climb the mount, and try 
 • To catch the light gazelle, 
 JSTor deem the tow'ring peak too high, 
 
 Or low the shady dell ; 
 But onward would I bound to take 
 
 The prize, with great delight ; 
 The chase I should a pleasure make 
 
 By keeping thee in sight. 
 
 And could I, too, an angel find 
 
 Looking for worth below, 
 And leaving Heaven's joys behind. 
 
 To glad some heart of wo ; 
 
196 TO JOSEPHINE. 
 
 I'd bid this angel thither fast, 
 And go and float o'er thee, 
 
 And, with his wings above thee cast, 
 Thy guardian angel be. 
 
FOLLOW ON! 
 
 Follow where thy duties call thee ! 
 Follow ! with imflinching tread ! 
 Let not fear of man appal thee ; 
 
 None but God thou e'er should'st dread ! 
 Onward ! 
 Onward ! 
 None but God thou e'er should'st dread ! 
 
 Dare to do what conscience tells thee 
 
 Is the right, the nobler part ! 
 Scout the thought that e'er compels thee 1 
 Drive the Traitor from thy heart ! 
 Onward ! 
 Onward ! 
 Drive the Traitor from thy heart ! 
 
198 FOLLOW ON. 
 
 Bare tliy bosom to tlie battle ! 
 
 Let the storm beat on thy breast ! 
 What though shafts around thee rattle? 
 Follow ! trust to God the rest ! 
 Onward ! 
 Onward ! 
 Follow ! trust to God the rest ! 
 
LAZAKUS. 
 
 " And it came to pciss that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abra- 
 ham's bosom." Luke 16 : 22. 
 
 When Laz'rus lay at Dives' gate, 
 All hungry, pain'd in ev'ry limb. 
 
 The object of the rich man's hate, 
 0, was there none to pity him? 
 
 Yes, He who in a stable born. 
 
 And " had not where to lay his head," 
 Beheld the beggar, thus forlorn. 
 
 And heard him cry for crumbs of bread. 
 
200 LAZARUS. 
 
 " Laz'rus," he said, " there soon shall be 
 An end to all thy pain and care ; 
 I'll take thee hence, to dwell with me, 
 And thoii shalt all my riches share. 
 
 " I hunger'd once, as thou dost now ; 
 I met the scorn, the hate of men ; 
 Great drops of blood stood on my brow ; 
 I wept — and learn'd to pity then." 
 
 Soon^to the outcast beggar came 
 
 Glad angels from yon brighter shore ; 
 
 Sweet to the harp they sang his name ; 
 His soul to Abraham's bosom bore. 
 
 ! now on Laz'rus' ear did fall 
 
 Sweet music of the heav'nly sphere, 
 
 More soft than that in Dives' hall 
 E'er fell upon this rich man's ear ! 
 
TO ADA. 
 
 (Dn learincj t!)at Ijju Ijaii (Biiiliratcti tjje laEionr. 
 
 O ! THOu'sT done well to give to Him 
 
 Who formed thy pure and gentle mind, 
 That heart, dear Ada, naught could dim ; 
 
 Whose ev'ry wish is good and kind. 
 Yes, thou'st done well. If sorrowing, now 
 
 For comfort thou canst look above ; 
 And ills which once caus'd tears to flow 
 
 Will vanish 'neath the smile of Love. 
 
 Walk gently forth beneath the sky ; 
 
 The flowers are out, and birds do sing : 
 To such an heart, ah, sure am I ! 
 
 To gaze, and hear, must pleasure bring ; 
 
202 TO ADA. 
 
 For tliou canst feel, as tliou dost view 
 The various tints around display'd. 
 
 And hear the little songsters, too, 
 
 That God it was who all things made. 
 
 Now sit thee down beside this stream, 
 
 And lend to me thy willing ear ; 
 I would relate a pleasant dream, 
 
 And rather would I tell it here ; 
 For, ah, methought, that in a boat, 
 
 A narrow and a fragile one, 
 I saw thee down Life's river float, 
 
 The shores of which had weeds o'ergrown. 
 
 I watched thee try with all thy strength, 
 
 To shun the ills which compass'd round ; 
 Until the little bark at length 
 
 A bright and tranquil haven found ; 
 I saw thy bark did anchor here, 
 
 And thought, " what peaceful shore is this?" 
 Ere long a whisper in my ear 
 
 Said, " Edward, 't is the land of bliss!" 
 
LINES 
 
 Written tnljile 5lljsrat 
 
 Belov'd one, can I ever be, 
 In distant lands, away from tliee, 
 Nor often slied the burning tear ? 
 Nor fondly wisb tliat tbou wert near ? 
 
 Can I behold yon fair one's smile, 
 
 Who clings to her fond husband's side, 
 
 Nor draw a heavy sigh, the while, 
 
 To think thou art not here, my bride ? 
 
 Ah, no ! The days are long, and slow 
 The heavy hours seem to go : 
 Thou art not here ! 0, dearest, say. 
 Art well as e'er ? I hear thee pray 
 
204 LINES. 
 
 Whene'er I lay my acliing head 
 Upon my pillow down, to sleep : 
 
 I see the tears which thou dost shed ; 
 I think of home — of thee — and weep. 
 
 I come ! Not many times the sun 
 His daily course shall smiling run, 
 Ere we again, lov'd one, shall meet : 
 0, time, speed on ! — the thought is sweet ; 
 Speed on ! and let the hours fly 
 Like meteors darting thro' the sky. 
 
THE SUEPEISE. 
 
 Beside a smooth and tranquil lake 
 
 Sat, musing, Isabelle ; 
 And all around her beauteous make 
 
 Iler rich brown tresses fell. 
 
 Her head upon her hand reclin'd, 
 Her eyes were downward cast ; 
 
 'T was clearly seen her troubled mind 
 Was dwelling on the past : 
 
 Nor past alone ; but future, too, 
 For, now some happy thought, 
 
 Would quickly come, and bring to view 
 Such smile as Hope has taught, 
 9 
 
206 THE SUKPKISE. 
 
 But sure it was she thought of one 
 She deem'd was far away, 
 
 For now and then, in sighing tone, 
 You'd hear her softly say : 
 
 " O, how I wish him with me now, 
 To share these scenes so fair ; 
 Here, with these hands I'd smooth his brow, 
 With them I'd twine his hair. 
 
 " Yes, and I'd sing that lovely song 
 I know he loves to hear ; 
 While many hills would echo long, 
 To please his listening ear." 
 
 She hears a stirrins: of the leaves, 
 And starts ! Can he be near ? 
 
 Her breast with mix'd emotions heaves. 
 Of joy and yet of fear. 
 
THE SURPRISE. 207 
 
 He comes ! She springs upon her feet — 
 
 All fled are her alarms : 
 She runs her lover's self to meet — 
 
 He clasps her in his arms I 
 
MY DREAM. 
 
 . • Co . 
 
 It was in vision of a midnight sleep — 
 
 That time when angels their bright vigils keep — 
 
 Methought my days in this vain world were past, 
 
 And I into my last, long home was cast : 
 
 Methought a train of callous mortals, led 
 
 By Custom, follow'd to my lowly bed : 
 
 No tears were shed, save by one form alone, 
 
 And that, methought, so beauteous ! was thine own 
 
 Thy sobs were loud ; upon the silent air 
 
 Forth went the tokens of thy deep despair 
 
 In shrieks so wild ! I saw thee trembling — sink, 
 
MY DREAM. 209 
 
 And speechless lying on my new grave's brink. 
 They bore thy body from the scene of woe, 
 As night o'er Nature did her mantle throw. 
 
 Again thou camest, 'mid the midnight gloom, 
 And scatter'd flowers o'er my lonely tomb ; 
 Then knelt, and wept ; and as affection's tear 
 Cours'd down thy cheek, an angel bright came there, 
 Kiss'd from thine eye the precious drop away, 
 And bore thee to regions of eternal day. 
 And as he bore thee thro' the silent air. 
 He spake of joys that thy pure soul should share 
 When sweet communing with the blest in Heaven, 
 For such, said he, to worth like thine are given. 
 And then, methought, as thou didst upward haste, 
 Oft on my grave a tender look thou'dst cast, 
 Then pause — and, pointing to my lowly grave. 
 Pray that yon sleeper might like pleasure have. 
 That angel's smile — how like a ray it seem'd 
 Of morning light ! — and I no longer dream'd. 
 
THE SPIEIT'S FLIGHT. 
 
 Tell me, 3^e stars that twinkle bright, 
 And cheer the darkness of the night, 
 When Death has seiz'd this suff 'ring clay, 
 ! whither doth the Spirit stray ? 
 It doth at once its tenement leave, 
 Longer to flesh it cannot cleave, 
 It from its bonds doth quickly fly — 
 But whither? Is it to the sky ? 
 Or, to a sort of midway rest, 
 A stopping place for damn'd and blest, 
 A place that lies 'twixt Heav'n and Hell, 
 Where all departed spirits dwell 
 Until the great, dread judgment day. 
 Then to return unto their clay. 
 
THE spirit's flight. 
 
 And body and soul again to be 
 Before great God in unity ? 
 Do ye not know, ye brilliant lights ? 
 Are ye not witness to these sights ? 
 
 I ask the grave, where clay lies hid, 
 Approach the coffin — raise its lid ; 
 And nought but bones and dust I see. 
 Nothing is there to answer me. 
 
 I ask the wind which gently blows, 
 If aught of Spirit's flight it knows : 
 I listen — but no answer get; 
 All is mute and silent yet. 
 
 O, Spirit ! when we think on thee 
 
 Our thoughts are lost in 'mensity 1 
 
 Mysterious in thy birth and flight ; 
 
 Thou art our thought, our speech, our sight: 
 
 Thy course no mortal e'er may trace. 
 
 Thy flight is thro' the realms of space : 
 
 211 
 
212 THE spikit's flight. 
 
 Swifter tlian lightning thou dost flee 
 Far, far into Eternity ! 
 Thy being who may comprehend ? 
 Yet thou shalt live when time shall end. 
 Earth — sea — shall into chaos fall ; 
 But, Spirit, thou'lt survive it all! 
 
"NO OTHER VOICE." 
 
 No other voice I wish to cheer me, 
 When my breath is ebbing fast ; 
 
 'T will calm my soul to know that near me 
 Thou art ever, to the last. 
 
 Then let me feel thy fingers lightly 
 O'er my aching forehead stray ; 
 
 And let thine eye, which beams so brightly, 
 Watch my star of life decay. 
 
 And let thy lips in " farewell !" greet me, 
 With thy pure and fervent kiss. 
 
 Then pray that I again may meet thee 
 In a better world than thi.s. 
 
214 
 
 And as mine eyes in death are closing 
 To the world, I sink to rest, 
 
 In hope of Heaven I'll die, reposing 
 On thy ever faithful breast. 
 
VISITS OF THE DEPARTED. 
 
 Do not those that go before us 
 
 To the land of spirits bright, 
 In our walks e'er hover o'er us ? 
 
 And, too, when we sleep at night. 
 Are the J not for ever moving 
 
 Noiselessly around our beds ? 
 Do they not, in thought-tone soothing, 
 
 Make their warblings round our heads? 
 
 O ! they do. When sorrows meet us, 
 And would make our pathway drear, 
 
 They are ever by to greet us, 
 
 And our darksome way to cheer ; 
 
216 VISITS OF THE DEPARTED*^ 
 
 And their "still small voice" is saying, 
 "Lift your weeping eyes above, 
 
 Let from earth your thoughts be straying 
 To yon shore of peace and love." 
 
 When we tread the path of flowers, 
 
 Which we sometimes chance to meet, 
 Then, again, angelic powers 
 
 Make that pleasant path more sweet ; 
 And 'tis then the zeph3^r, bringing 
 
 Sweets upon its odorous wing. 
 Wafts the strains of seraphs singing 
 
 Songs of praise to Heaven's King, 
 
 Do not those that go before us. 
 
 To the land of spirits bright. 
 In our dreams e'er hover o'er us ? 
 
 And, too, when we sleep at night, 
 Are they not for ever moving 
 
 Noiselessly around our beds ? 
 And do they not, in thought-tone soothing. 
 
 Make their warblings round our heads? 
 
VISITS OF THE DEPARTED. 217 
 
 Happy spirits ! ne'er forsake lis ; 
 
 Leave us not without your care, 
 Since, 0, radiant souls ! ye make us, 
 
 In your love, your bliss to share. 
 
PLEASANT MEMOEIES. 
 
 I've often thought I'd like again 
 
 A careless boy to be ; 
 So free I was from mental pain : 
 
 For nothing troubled me. 
 
 I'd cry, at times ; but quick a smile 
 Would chase my tears away ; 
 
 Some sport stand ready to beguile, 
 Nor let a sorrow stay. 
 
 How often would I climb the tree, 
 And take the Eobin's nest, 
 
 Nor deem I lack'd humanity, 
 To break the young ones' rest. 
 
PLEASANT MEMORIES. 219 
 
 How oft into tlie crystal brook 
 
 I'd cast the slender line, 
 And laugh to see around the hook 
 
 The golden sunfish shine. 
 
 And how, again, before the sun 
 Would rise, or aught was heard, 
 
 I'd wander in the woods with gun, 
 And shoot some joyous bird. 
 
 How often, too, I'd raise the kite. 
 When some propitious breeze 
 
 Would waft it nearly out of sight ! 
 What more than this could please ? 
 
 O ! then all nature had a charm, 
 
 A magic charm for me ; 
 And then my heart was ever warm. 
 
 And I was full of glee. 
 
220 PLEASANT MEM OKIES. 
 
 I'd see tlie flowers, and to my view, 
 No weeds e'er grew between ; 
 
 And ev'ry object seemed as true, 
 As false now many 've been. 
 
 I always trusted in the love 
 
 Wliicli others bore to me ; 
 Nor thought that hearts could ever prove 
 
 So base as now I see. 
 
 But boyhood's days can never more 
 
 To me again come back, 
 Time never goes his journey o'er. 
 
 Time ne'er retreads his track. 
 
MY LAST WISH. 
 
 When I am dead, ! let me lie 
 
 Beneath some willow tree, 
 Which, bending to the breeze, shall sigh 
 
 As if it mourned for me. 
 
 And place above my humble grave 
 
 A white and simple stone. 
 With no inscription on it, save 
 
 My name and age alone. 
 
 And in that stone I would have first, 
 
 Cut out to catch the rain, 
 A cup whence birds might slake their thirst, 
 
 Then mount, and sing again. 
 
222 MY LAST WISH. 
 
 Full oft, ere they would take tlieir flight, 
 
 To sail upon the air, 
 Upon that tree they'd softly light, 
 
 And sweetly warble there. 
 
 Then if some swain should idly stray 
 Beside my lowly bed, • 
 
 Let him not fright those birds away 
 With his unthinking tread ; 
 
 But let him pause, and silent hear 
 
 The feathered warblers' lay, 
 'T will calm his soul, 't will soothe his ear, 
 
 He'll happier go away. 
 
JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTEE. 
 
 JUDGES, xi: 30 to 39. 
 
 0, FATHER ! to God thou didst make 
 A vow, which can never be broke ; 
 
 So, freely this blood thou shalt take ; 
 This body shall vanish in smoke ! 
 
 Since by me thou hast victory won, 
 And Ammon has conquer'd in fight ; 
 
 I glory in what thou hast done, 
 
 And yield up, with laughter, my sprite ! 
 
224 jephthah's daughter. 
 
 But, ere Death, O, my father, I pray, 
 Shall come to demand me his own, 
 
 Let me fly to the mountains away. 
 With the virgins of Salem to mourn ! 
 
 I come, now my mourning is o'er : 
 Thy daughter, 0, father, 's as pure 
 
 As the prayer which for thee she would pour, 
 And gladly her doom she'll endure. 
 
 Kow, father, I dread not the blow — 
 Behold me, with laughter expire ! 
 
 Here, strike ! so that millions may know 
 I died for my Country and Sire ! 
 
THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 There is a land which never dream 
 Hath pictur'd truly to the mind ; 
 
 Kor tow'ring Thought, nor Reason's beam 
 Can e'er unfold to human kind. 
 
 Beyond — above — we know not where, 
 It lies, all hid from mortal ken ; 
 
 No pilgrim yet e'er entered there, 
 Who found a2;ain the haunts of men. 
 
 'T is there that Love, enshrin'd in light, 
 O'erlooks the world on which we tread; 
 
 'T is there, all clad in robes of white, 
 Repose in peace the righteous dead. 
 
226 THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 'T is there that cares for ever cease ; 
 And there the din of strife is still 
 
 For there doth reign the Prince of Peace, 
 And saints do love to do His will. 
 
 O ! there we'll take the golden lyre, 
 
 Which hangs e'en now, and waits our hand. 
 
 And touch it with a holy fire, 
 And join the Spirits' happy band. 
 
 Come, pilgrim ! seek this hidden soil ; 
 
 'T is true the road's a '' narrow way ;' 
 But God will lighten all thy toil, 
 
 If He but see thee strive and pray I 
 
TO MY SISTER. 
 
 O, THOU, whose soft and gentle voice, 
 With music's tones oft pleased my ear, 
 
 How would this thirsting soul rejoice, 
 Could I but now thy warblings hear ! 
 
 Full oft I've sat me down by thee, 
 
 When vexing cares my mind distressed. 
 
 While thou would'st sweetly sing to me, 
 And lull each troubled thought to rest. 
 
 Like dews upon the drooping flow'r. 
 Sweet on my ear the notes would steal, 
 
 Reviving by their gladd'ning pow'r. 
 
 The heavy thoughts, wdiose weight I'd feel. 
 
228 TO MY SISTEE. 
 
 O ! those sweet notes I'll ne'er forget ! 
 
 Oblivion ne'er may drown the strain ; 
 For on my ear do linger yet 
 
 The sounds I hope to hear again ! 
 
 Ay, hear again ; for did I know 
 
 Those notes I heard should be the last, 
 
 Soon o'er my soul would darkness grow, 
 And all its gloomy shadow cast. 
 
 But ! the beauteous flow'r of Hope, 
 Still blooms within, and cheers my heart. 
 
 And bids me not in sorrow mope. 
 Nor fear I do for ever part. 
 
 ECope whispers I again may be, 
 As oft I was in days now gone, 
 
 Contented while I sat by thee. 
 And listen'd to thy dulcet tone. 
 
TO MY SISTER. 229 
 
 Sweet pleasure this ! which leaves no sting, 
 
 Like revel late, or giddy dance ! 
 With joy to this will memory cling, 
 
 And parting but that joy enhance. 
 
 Ay, on this thought I love to dwell. 
 It doth the purest bliss impart ; 
 
 And 't is no idle speech to tell, 
 
 That o'er this thought the tear-drops start I 
 
 iO 
 
TO THE BUTTERFLY 
 
 Tell me, thou tiny, fleeting thing, 
 
 In weight no more than air, 
 Where didst thou dip thy brilliant wing, 
 
 To make it look so fair ? 
 Say, in what mixture didst thou dye 
 Thy gorgeous wing, gay Butterfly? 
 
 Or, did some cunning little sprite 
 
 Upon thee softly creep. 
 And paint thy wings in colors bright, 
 
 When in that curious sleep. 
 Which chang'd thee from the crawling worm 
 Into thy present lovely form ? 
 
THE BUTTERFLY. 231 
 
 Methinks thou must be happy now, 
 
 To leave thy silk-bound shell, 
 And fly upon the mountain's brow, 
 
 And 'mong sweet flow'rs to dwell ; 
 To range the fragrant garden through, 
 And sip from buds the morning dew ! 
 
 But late, thou could'st no more than crawl 
 
 Upon the ground, in dread 
 Lest some one's foot should hapless fall. 
 
 And crush thee 'neath its tread : 
 Unnotic'd thou didst creep along. 
 Unheeded by the passing throng. 
 
 Thy life, ! what a little while. 
 
 Thou insect of a day ; 
 Thou dancest in the sunbeam's smile, 
 
 And then dost pass away I 
 Away — and all thy beauties die ; 
 No more we see thee, Butterfly ! 
 
232 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Thus, human life is quickly fled ; 
 
 Thus, fleshly beauty dies : — 
 'T is but a day, till, with the dead. 
 
 Gay man forgotten lies. 
 He takes his place in silence there, 
 No more we see the mortal here. 
 
 But, as the worm in triumph burst 
 
 Its shell, and soared on wing ; 
 So man, a very worm, at first, 
 
 Shall off the grave-shell fling. 
 And, with a body light as air. 
 Soar up to Light, where flowers rare 
 For ever bloom ; 
 The darksome tomb 
 Exchanged for joys beyond compare. 
 
THE CERTAINTY OF DEATH. 
 
 "It is appointed unto all men once to die." 
 
 Perhaps, upon thy downy bed, 
 Witli friends around, who tears shall shed, 
 Thou art to die. 
 
 It may be, on the battle field 
 That thou'lt be called thy breath to yield, 
 And thus to die. 
 
 Perchance, in some far, lonely spot, 
 Where e'en one human voice there's not, 
 'T is thine to die. 
 
234 THE CERTAINTY OF DEATH 
 
 Or yet, upon the miglity deep, 
 Thou art to find thy last, long sleep, 
 When thou dost die. 
 
 It may be, when the sky is clear. 
 And songs of birds do greet thine ear. 
 That thou shalt die. 
 
 Or, when the lightnings wildly flash. 
 And thou dost hear the thunder's crash, 
 Thou mayest die. 
 
 But, be it when or where it may. 
 
 Be sure of this, man — one day 
 
 Thou'lt surely die ! 
 
SNOW-BALLING. 
 
 The merry bells are ringing, 
 And tlie sleighs are going fast, 
 
 And my memory is dwelling 
 On the days for ever past ! 
 
 Oh! I do well remember 
 
 How I used to love the snow ; 
 
 And how I'd hit the straupr 
 With the icy ball I'd throw ; 
 
 Then " cut" around the corner 
 To escape his dreaded wrath — 
 
 O, how I'd laugh to see him 
 Try to find my hidden path ! 
 
236 SNOW -BALLING. 
 
 And then it was delightful, 
 In those boyhood days of glee, 
 
 To make of monstrous snow-balls 
 Some big man of high degree ; 
 
 For eyes I'd put two candles. 
 
 And his nose would catch their glow ; 
 
 He'd stand with mouth wide open 
 To receive his food of snow ! 
 
 And then I'd build the castle, 
 Give it numerous ports and all ; 
 
 Then storm it with my snow-balls, 
 And gl(^ in its fall ! 
 
 Huzza ! would ring the welkin. 
 As the fort would tumble down ; 
 
 I'd feel as proud and big as 
 Any king who takes a town 1 
 
SNOW -BALLING. 237 
 
 And how we'd now push over 
 
 One another in the snow ; 
 Jump up again, and snow-balls 
 
 Till sunset we would throw ! 
 
 Ah ! those were days of gladness, 
 But they're gone — they're past away ! 
 
 Such snow-storms, too, I'm thinking, 
 Come but seldom, now-a-day ! 
 
 10* 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF CHARITY. 
 
 I WOULD not do a single thing, 
 
 To cause a wounded heart to break ; 
 
 But rather would I solace bring, 
 
 And happier try that heart to make. 
 
 I would not pass a being by, 
 
 Whose hand outstretch'd asks aid of me ; 
 He has not food perhaps, while I 
 
 Have eaten to satiety. 
 
 I would not turn away mine ear, 
 Unheeding, when request is made 
 
 By him whose day is dark and drear, 
 Who sorrowing comes to me for aid. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF CHARITY. 239 
 
 # 
 
 I would not shun my brother's door, 
 When he is sick, and needs me there ; 
 
 But I would seek his bed, and pour 
 Such words of comfort as might cheer. 
 
 I would not laugh, as on I go 
 And meet a cripple by the way; 
 
 My laugh might cause his tears to flow ; 
 I might become like him some day. 
 
 I would not mock the little child 
 I see upon its knees at prayer ; 
 
 For it my Saviour wept and toil'd, 
 It is the object of his care. 
 
 I would do all the good I can, 
 
 While trav'ling thro' this vale of tears ; 
 Would cheer and succor fallen man, 
 
 Assuage his griefs, allay his fears. 
 
240 THE LANGUAGE OF CHARITY 
 
 Thus Charity by action speaks, 
 Not empty words alone are hers ; 
 
 She binds the wounded heart that breaks, 
 And makes the Poor her worshippers. 
 
SITTING UP WITH THE DEAD. 
 
 How solemn this hour ! All now is at rest. 
 The sun hath long since gone adown in the west : 
 The city is noiseless, and now there's a gloom 
 Which hangeth around it, like that of the tomb. 
 
 The moon hath declined, and I see her no more ; 
 And the stars are all hidden by clouds passing o'er ; 
 The wind hurries past, and it moans thro' the sky, 
 And seems to lament that my lov'd one did die. 
 
 Hark! — a sound! Did it come from the coffin? I 
 
 dread 
 To stir, and go look on the face of the dead. 
 Again ! — ev'ry hair seems to stand on its end ! 
 And am I afraid to go look on my friend ? 
 
242 SITTING UP WITH THE DEAD. 
 
 All silent once more. I look slowly around, 
 My ears yet retaining tlie strange-seeming sound. 
 The candle now flic^kers ! It soon will be dark ! 
 I'll go for another and light it — but, hark ! 
 
 That sound comes again ! Ah ! ah ! what can it be ? 
 And what means this chill which is creeping o'er me ? 
 I'm nerveless! — I'm trembling! — I'm tied to this chair! 
 And, ah ! there's a hand ! — it is grasping my hair ! 
 
 • 
 ****** 
 
 Morning dawns. O ! how cheering the light of the 
 
 day! 
 My fears with the darkness are passing away : 
 With knees which yet tremble, on tiptoe I tread 
 The floor, and go look on the face of the dead. 
 
 All silent — all quiet. Clos'd still is the eye, 
 My fears are all vanish' d — escapes me the sigh : 
 I can weep o'er the form of my friend lying here, 
 And drop on his coffin full many a tear ! 
 
TO . 
 
 Come, dearest one, and let us walk 
 Beside yon gently flowing stream ; 
 
 There, as we bend our steps, we'll talk 
 Of future joys ; and earth will seem 
 
 Like Eden, as we wander slow 
 
 Along the bank where roses blow. 
 
 Come ! now all Nature's sunk to rest : 
 No sound shall mar our converse there 
 
 Heaven shall make our moments blest ; 
 Ay, and perchance there may repair 
 
 An angel from 3^on happier sphere, 
 
 To bless the spot by ling'ring near ! 
 
24:4: TO . 
 
 Come ! and I'll ope my heart to thee, 
 And not a single thought I'll hide : 
 
 Close by thy side I'd ever be, 
 
 And in thy pure true heart confide ; 
 
 Whose well-strung chords, once tuned to love 
 
 Harmonious to the theme do move ! 
 
 O, come ! and as we move along, 
 With naught above us but the skies, 
 
 United in some fav'rite song. 
 
 Our voices shall to Heaven rise ; 
 
 And angels bright may hear the lay. 
 
 And stoop and hover o'er our way ! 
 
OUK LITTLE CHILD'S DEATH. 
 
 The grave is clos'd "upon our little child ! 
 All, we had hop'd, that, though the bud was frail, 
 And seem'd too tender for the ills of life, 
 'T would open still, and that its charms would glad 
 Our morn of life, and give us comfort when 
 The evening of our days should hasten on. 
 
 Yes, we had hop'd this. But it pleas'd the One 
 Who loan'd it to us for a little while, 
 To take it hence, in Paradise to bloom. 
 We will not murmur, for our Father knows 
 And does, at all times, what is right and best. 
 But, ! 'twas hard to see our sweet one die — 
 No more to fold him in our arms, and lay 
 His body in the grave. Yet he's at rest. 
 
246 OUR LITTLE CHILD'S DEATH. 
 
 How sweet his rest ! His life of pain is o'er. 
 The winds of Winter shall blow o'er his grave, 
 And snow so pure, shall like a mantle lie 
 Upon his breast. But calmly lie shall sleep, 
 Nor winds, nor snows disturb his slumb'ring dust. 
 
 And then the Spring shall come again, and birds 
 Will hop upon his little grave, and grass 
 And ilow'rs shall beautify the spot. And, then 
 Affection's foot shall wander where he lies, 
 And tears of love shall mingle with the sod. 
 
 O, suff'ring once, now happy child, the night 
 When those once brilliant eyes were clos'd, and when 
 Those little hands did cease, for aye, to move, 
 Never, no, never can our hearts forget. 
 Our God be thank'd that we were by to do 
 All mortals could, to ease the pains of death ; 
 To take the last fond look, and kiss again 
 Thy lips ere they should be for ever clos'd — 
 And offer up to Heaven the silent prayer. 
 
 How chang'd the scene when thy pure spirit fled. 
 There the little crib stood empty. There 
 The cup which oft thy infant lips had press'd 
 
OUR LITTLE CHILD'S DEATH. 247 
 
 To take thy nourishment : all now did say, 
 With melancholy voice, " your child is gone !" 
 O, yes, he's gone! But from his humble grave 
 We look beyond to where his spirit dwells 
 In happiness. We see him 'mong the throng 
 Of joyous souls, as hand in hand he goes 
 With his twin-brother, singing heav'nly songs ! 
 And oft, we deem, at evening's silent hour, 
 He comes to whisper of his happy home ; 
 To bid us lift our best affections up. 
 And set them on those glorious things above : 
 And then he takes his upward flight, and bears 
 The incense of our orisons to Ileaven ! 
 
 Child of affliction, thou hast left a world 
 Of sin and sorrow — thou art blest indeed ! 
 And shall we meet thee in thy radiant home? 
 We hope, dear child, that we shall meet thee there. 
 
 Then, Heavn'ly Father, let thy Spirit guide 
 Our feet along the only path which leads 
 To peace below and happiness above : 
 So shall we meet, all cares and sorrows o'er. 
 And child and parent never part again ! 
 
ACEOSTIC. 
 
 Great men are envied by their fellow-men ; 
 Each act they do receives the strictest ken. 
 Nor is that all ; but envious ones will plot 
 E'en foulest things a brother's name to blot ; 
 Eegardless quite of all that's true, they'll fly 
 And misconstrue, or, rather, falsify. 
 Level their shafts, and raise the slanderous cry. 
 
 E'en thus we've seen a gallant man and true, 
 Dragg'd from his duty, held to public view, 
 Marshalled at once before a Court, and tried 
 Upon the charge that he too promptly hied — 
 Nor staid for orders — to his Country's aid. 
 Did e'er occur a scheme so basely laid ? 
 
ACROSTIC. 249 
 
 Promptly lie went; reviewed the acts lie'd done; 
 Eacli one lie stated, and how "fields were won " 
 Now showed his judges. They, with listening ear. 
 Drank in his words, so full of force, so clear. 
 Like fire, his eye upon the three he set, — 
 Each felt uneasy when that glance he met, 
 'T was like the Eagle's, yet revealed no hate. 
 Or bitter feeling ; but it showed that love 
 Now, as it ever, did his bosom move. 
 
 Great was his speech, most noble his defence ! 
 And quick th' acquittal of the charged offence. 
 In all his greatness stands that good man now ; 
 Never did laurel wreathe a purer brow. 
 Each day his Countrymen do love him more : 
 Surely for him they have reward in store. 
 
TO HELEN. 
 
 If care should cloud my brow Avitli sadness, 
 
 Such as often man doth know, 
 I'll seek thee, and thy smile of gladness, 
 
 O'er my heart a light shall throw. 
 
 Should friends depart, and all before me 
 Lie the world like starless night, 
 
 Thy star of love will brightly o'er me 
 Beam, and make the world seem bright. 
 
 Thy readj^ hand, should sickness lay me 
 
 Low upon a bed of pain, 
 Will bring me all to soothe and stay me, 
 
 While a breath and pulse remain. 
 
TO HELEN. 251 
 
 And tears would fall in countless number 
 
 Down thy youthful cheek for me, 
 If thou should'st see mine eyes in slumber 
 
 Close, no more to look on thee, 
 
 Ay, thou wouldst weep. I know thy sorrow, 
 
 Unlike that which many show, 
 Would not depart at dawn of morrow, 
 
 As the dews of morning go. 
 
 But why, at this uncloudec^ hour. 
 Should I but cause a single tear ? 
 
 I'll cease, nor cause a shade to low'r. 
 While all of peace and joy is here. 
 
THE EOSE-TEEE. 
 
 We were walking slowly through a silent graveyard, whun she who was leaning 
 upon my arm, looked up into my face, and said to me, " When I am dead, plant a 
 Rose-Tree above my grave, and when it blooms, come and look upon it, and think of 
 me!" 
 
 O, YES ! above thy lowly bed, 
 
 I'll plant in love, a Eose-Tree fair, 
 And oft when sun^shall rise, I'll go 
 
 And poTir my tears of sorrow there : 
 At evening, too, alone, unseen, 
 
 I'll take me where my treasure lies. 
 There sit me down and think of thee. 
 
 While tears at memory's call shall rise. 
 
 And as the many burning drops. 
 Fast falling down, do dim mine e^^e, 
 
 I'll raise my aching head above, 
 And look upon the starry sky ; 
 
T U E K S E - T R E E . 258 
 
 I'll fix upon some radiant star, 
 
 Which seems more bright than others are, 
 My ardent gaze, and think, the while. 
 
 That thou, the lost, art dwelling there. 
 
 But thou art here. The bloom of health 
 
 Is mantling o'er thy youthful cheek ; 
 Why should I now, when all is bright. 
 
 Of gloom, and death, and sorrow speak ? 
 Why should I ? — ah, I did but so 
 
 In answering voice to wish of thine — 
 Thou said'st, '' 0, plant a Rose-Tree fair 
 
 Above the humble grave of mine." 
 
 I've said, I will. But, ah ! perhaps 
 
 'T is mine to leave this dwelling first ; 
 If so, be thine to plant the tree. 
 
 And watch the bud in beauty burst. 
 But yet, should I be called to see 
 
 Thy precious soul too soon depart, 
 At morn and eve I'll seek thy grave, 
 
 And press the Rose-Tree to my heart. 
 11 
 
MUSIC'S POWEE. 
 
 0, TUNE the harp to sweetest lay, 
 And let it breathe its softest strain ) 
 
 Behold, a rose-bud fades away ! 
 Perchance it may revive again. 
 
 Music indeed hath wond'rous pow^r 
 To calm and soothe the troubl'd mind ; 
 
 Then tune, and, like the genial show'r, 
 We music shall reviving find. 
 * * -jf ^ « * 
 
 Behold ! the drooping head is rais'd I 
 The crimson hue regains the cheek : 
 
 O, let the name of song be praised, 
 
 Whose pow'r can make the fainting speak. 
 
255 
 
 And now, in all its wonted bloom, 
 We see the beauteous rose once more ; 
 
 We found it drooping o'er the tomb, 
 While now 't is lovely as before ! 
 
THE GEAND ASSIZE. 
 
 Hark ! what voice of more than thunder, 
 Breaks upon my trembling ear! 
 
 Lo ! the Heavens are rent asunder ! 
 See the great I AM appear ! 
 
 In His look, behold what glorj ! 
 
 Dazzling more than e'er the sun : 
 No more rob'd in garments gory : 
 
 This is He, once spat upon ! 
 
 See Him from His throne descending, 
 
 Where He's sat for ages long ! 
 While about His path attending, 
 
 Angels hail Him with their song ! 
 
THE G K A Is I) ASSIZE. 257 
 
 See the sun before Him darken ! 
 
 And the stars do melt away ! 
 List ! He speaks ! All nations, hearken ! — 
 
 Now your God ye must obey 1 
 
 " Up," He cries, ^' long slumbering ages I 
 Up ! and leave the darksome tomb : 
 Come, ye rich, ye poor, ye sages — 
 All receive reward, or doom ! 
 
 " Come, ye martyrs, to your Father, 
 Ye who for your Saviour died — 
 Come, into my kingdom gather — 
 There ye shall fore'er abide ! 
 
 Come, all ye who learn'd to love me, 
 Ye who trod the * narrow way ;' 
 
 Soar away to bliss above me. 
 Take a harp, and sweetly play !" 
 11* 
 
258 THE GRAND ASSIZE. 
 
 But, alas ! beliold the scornful I 
 
 Hear their wailing, hear their cry 1 
 Hast'ning to their doom most mournful, 
 " Where the worm doth never die !" 
 
 This is Judgment. How appalling 
 
 Will it to those beings be, 
 Who, when all around is falling, 
 
 Through the wreck no Hope may see ! 
 
TO A FKIEND 
 
 (Dn lUaMng Ijis fines on " €^t ^^arting Mm." 
 
 There is an liour which tries the heart, 
 And thou, my friend, dost know it well ; 
 
 For thou hast felt what 't is to part 
 
 From dearest friends, and thou canst tell. 
 
 When, leaving home, across the deep 
 
 Thou took'st thy way, why thou did'st weep. 
 
 The sad " farewell !" upon thine ears. 
 From kindred lips has come, I know ; 
 
 And 't was not weakness when the tears 
 From lonely heart, began to flow. 
 
 Ah, no 1 That heart to naught is true 
 
 Which hears unmov'd the sad adieu ! 
 
NOTES. 
 
 PAGE 31 
 
 * And wide is the fame which for speed they have got 
 By the glorious race lately won by that yacht ! 
 
 The trial of speed, last year, between the yacht America, and 
 several English yachts, will be remembered. The former distanced 
 all the others triumphantly. 
 
 PAGE 98. 
 
 ^ And there her ships do proudly ride, 
 While crews go out and gather gold. 
 
 So high was the '= gold fever," on the first intelligence of the vast 
 quantities of that precious metal in California, that crews actually 
 deserted their respective vessels, on arriving at "El Dorado," for the 
 purpose of digging gold. 
 
 PAGE 99. 
 
 ' Round filthy sewers iri crowds they stand, 
 And eat the things they never should. 
 It is a fact, that some of the starving creatures were found picking 
 decaying animal and vegetable matter out of the sewers, and greedily 
 devouring it. 
 
262 NOTES, 
 
 PAGE 100. 
 
 * Louis Napoleon seeks to be 
 
 The President of France, fair land ; 
 Have care I he favors royalty, 
 Behold a sceptre in his hand ! 
 
 See in the Co7ip d' Hat of December 2d, 1851, the fulfilment of the 
 prophecy. 
 
 PAGE 100. 
 
 * Polk stalks abound. 
 
 " Polk stalks," a name given to the snags in the Western rivers 
 because of President Polk's having vetoed a Bill for their removal. 
 
 PAGE 107. 
 
 • Some will sit before their fires, 
 And watch the year as it retires. 
 
 When the author was a boy, he remembers, it was usual witn 
 many to sit up the last night of the year, and " see the old year go 
 out." Doubtless the midnight vigil is still kept by many persons. 
 
 PAGE 118. 
 The Death of Miss C . 
 
 This young lady, of New- York City, died in the manner and under 
 the circumstances related in the poem. The precise cost of her 
 monument is not recollected, but it was many thousands of dollars.