W$t library 
 
 ot tfje 
 
 ?8Jmtoergttpofj£ortf)Carolma 
 
 Collection of iTtortJj Carolmtana 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 IMIUlllllll 
 
 00035506531 
 
 This book may be kept out one month unless a recall 
 notice is sent to you. It must be brought to the North 
 Carolina Collection (in Wilson Library) for renewal. 
 
 Form No. A-369 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/francisherbertroOOstro 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT, 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY GEORGE Y. STRONG. 
 
 NEW-YORK : 
 PRINTED BY LEAVITT, TROW & CO., 
 33 ANN-STREET. 
 
 1847. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, 
 LEAVITT, TROW & CO., 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New-York. 
 
 Leavitt, Trow & Co., Printers, 
 33 Ann-street, N. Y. 
 
TO 
 
 JESSE P. SMITH, ESQ., 
 
 THE FOLLOWING JUVENILE PRODUCTIONS 
 
 &te Hetifcatrt, 
 
 ttt TOKEN OF THE SINCERE ESTEEM AND UNDYING AFFECTION OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 to 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT; 
 
 A TALE OF CAMDEN. 
 
 IN FOUR CANTOS. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 " Oh ! what a tangled web we weave, 
 When first we practice to deceive !" 
 
 * I. 
 
 The night was dreary, damp and chill, 
 
 The voice of man was hushed and still, 
 
 No sound was heard, save when the blast 
 
 With hollow murmurs wandered past, 
 
 Or when the rain-drops patt'ring fell, 
 
 More rudely from the night- winds' swell ; 
 1* 
 
6 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 But though the storm thus raged without 
 And winds and darkness joined the rout, 
 There was a darker storm within, 
 The storm that's caused the heart by sin. 
 
 If. 
 
 Although the night was waning late, 
 In wakeful mood Frank Herbert sate ; 
 He seemed a shade amid the gloom, 
 Prevailing in his lonely room; 
 For scarce dispelled, a flick'ring light, 
 The darkness of that dismal night. 
 
 III. 
 
 The hostel's lord had gone to rest, 
 
 Sweet slumber now his eyelids blest, 
 
 For though the thunder-peal of war 
 
 Had echoed o'er the land afar, 
 
 Though time had been when you might know, 
 
 In brother e'en a mortal foe, 
 
 When Nature's lovely ties undone 
 
 Gave way like mist before the sun, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 7 
 
 When neither peace nor rest were given 
 To men, by zeal, to madness driven, 
 Yet now the "rebel" army near, 
 Has struck all royal hearts with fear, 
 And Peace again serenely reigns, 
 O Camden ! o'er thy hallowed plains, 
 But oh ! how long shall quiet last ? 
 War soon shall sound his startling blast, 
 Shall rear aloft his bloody form ; 
 'Tis but the calm before the storm. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But why, when all were wrapt in sleep, 
 
 Should Herbert, thus his vigils keep ? 
 
 And why should slumber thus deny, 
 
 Its quiet to that restless eye ? 
 
 Go ask the dark and sinful breast, 
 
 That peace from trusting hearts would wrest, 
 
 And all their fondest hopes destroy, 
 
 If aught it knows of peace or joy ? 
 
 If calm and quiet ever dwell, 
 
 Where heaves the breast with passion's swell ? 
 
8 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Go ask the mountain in whose heart, 
 Fierce flames and fiery lightnings dart, 
 And storms and tempests vainly rage, 
 To rid them of their narrow cage, 
 If ever those wild ravings cease, 
 If aught it knows of calm or peace? 
 
 V. 
 
 Ah! no! his actions unrestrained, 
 Showed that unrest within him reigned ; 
 For looked he now with vacant gaze, 
 Upon the candle's fitful blaze, 
 And plainly told his dreaming eye 
 His thoughts were lost in revery. 
 Anon with earnest seeming look, 
 He'd con the pages of a book, 
 But at some sudden thought his brow 
 Was lighted up by Passion's glow, 
 And flashed his fierce and gleaming eye, 
 " Like lightning o'er the midnight sky." 
 This gust of passion o'er, he stood 
 In calm and melancholy mood, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 9 
 
 But when the night-winds rushing by, 
 With more than wonted tones would sigh, 
 He'd listening hold attentive ear, 
 Or start, look out, and try to peer 
 Through the deep gloom prevailing there. 
 And when no object met his gaze 
 In that uncertain darkling maze, 
 And when upon his ear there fell 
 No sounds save from the storm's rude swell, 
 With disappointment on his face, 
 The room with hasty steps he'd pace, 
 And then in quickly muttered word, 
 His low aud trembling voice was heard. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " That villain comes not ; yet 'tis late. 
 Must I upon his movements wait ? 
 Oh, cruel fate ! that such a shame 
 Should rest on my once honored name ! 
 One month ago, and who had told, 
 Frank Herbert's spirit, proud and bold 
 As the free eagle, when he flies 
 Upward and onward to the skies, 
 
10 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Should bowed in slavery ever be, 
 
 And could not from its thraldom flee ! 
 
 But hence cursed thought ! Oh, I must strive 
 
 Remembrance from my breast to drive, 
 
 Or else my portion is despair. 
 
 But hark! what breaks upon my ear? 
 
 Of horse's hoofs it is the sound ; 
 
 They loudly o'er the winds resound. 
 
 The villain, then he comes at last, 
 
 Would that our interview were past !" 
 
 VIL 
 
 Is seated Francis Herbert now ; 
 
 The clouds have vanished from his brow, 
 
 And o'er his face expressions play, 
 
 Serene as is the summer day. 
 
 What charm has wrought this magic spell ? 
 
 The bosom skilled in guile can tell. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A step is heard ; one moment more, 
 Is opened on his room the door, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And by the dim light's flick'ring glare, 
 Is seen a manly figure there. 
 His person though half hid in shade, 
 Seemed firmly knit, and stoutly made, 
 And mighty were that stalwart arm, 
 In doing deeds of good or harm. 
 His hollow cheek, his sunken eye, 
 Spoke of the midnight revelry, 
 And sprinkled o'er with gray, his hair 
 Showed premature old age was there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Well, Bertram, why this long delay ? 
 It wants but little now, till day. 
 You should not me thus wakeful keep, 
 And break upon my hours of sleep. 
 However, still art welcome thou, 
 And will be ever so, as now." 
 
 JV. 
 
 " Now by my troth thou know'st right 
 And thy own heart the tale could tell, 
 
12 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Thou would'st a great deal sooner see 
 
 The devil in this room than me." 
 
 Fierce lightning flashed from Herbert's eye, 
 
 Up darted quick his poniard high : 
 
 " Die, William Bertram, villain, die !" 
 
 But Bertram, firm as is the rock, 
 
 Stood all unmoved th' impetuous shock, 
 
 And turned with ease the blow aside ; 
 
 Then with a look of cruel pride, 
 
 And triumph on the youth he gazed, 
 
 And slowly up his sabre raised : 
 
 " I'd kill thee, Herbert, but disdain 
 
 My sabre in thy blood to stain. 
 
 I will advise thee, foolish boy, 
 
 Put up thy more than useless toy. 
 
 And if thy blood thus hotly boil, 
 
 Reserve it for the battle's toil." 
 
 XI. 
 
 But here the youth, with bosom bare, 
 In faltering accents uttered, " Here 
 Take from my heart the drops of life, 
 And cease at once this shocking strife ! 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 I care not now when life is o'er, 
 
 Since honor is for me no more ¥' 
 
 " Thy honor lost ! 'tis in my hands, 
 
 And surely, there it safely stands. 
 
 Come, Herbert, sheathe thy sword ; and now 
 
 Dismiss those shadows from your brow. 
 
 Our work upon this dismal night 
 
 Was milder than to kill or fight. 
 
 Come ! give me, as you know you must, 
 
 Some lucre for my faithful trust. 
 
 Your secret I as safely keep 
 
 As if 'twere buried in the deep. 
 
 Next time, methinks, you'll wisdom gain, 
 
 To speak in somewhat lower strain, 
 
 Than on that soft and moonlit night, 
 
 When with your first of ladies bright, 
 
 You spoke of things " — 
 
 " Oh ! Bertram, hush I 
 If my poor heart you would not crush ; 
 Do not recall those scenes again, 
 Or give another useless pain. 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 But. this I say, and boldly too, 
 
 Although it, Bertram, be to you, 
 
 For him who would with willing ear 
 
 Another's secret overhear, 
 
 And with it cause that hellish pain 
 
 Which wrings the heart and racks the brain, 
 
 Of deepest Hell the angry flood 
 
 Were twice ten thousand times too good, 
 
 And torture o'er his soul should flow, 
 
 Which not the worst of devils know." 
 
 XIL 
 
 u And say I too," then Bertram said, 
 " He who would win confiding maid 
 And then — but pass I o'er the rest, 
 Well known it is to thine own breast. 
 It is not, Herbert, my desire, 
 To rouse at all your useless ire, 
 Or give your heart one moment's pain ; 
 My only object here is gain. 
 That inmost secret of your breast 
 You unawares to me confessed. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 But I will pause, my claim you know, 
 
 And that you must the meed bestow/' 
 
 " Well, since it must be so, that I 
 
 My honor at your hands shall buy, 
 
 Here is a purse well fill'd with gold, 
 
 Its contents o'er this eve I told, 
 
 'Tis what you asked. Here, quick begone, 
 
 For God's sake leave me now alone." 
 
 " Aye, aye. Now since thou actest right, 
 
 And handest o'er the guerdon bright, 
 
 I will begone." Soon on the plain 
 
 His horse's hoofs were heard again* 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Was silent Herbert. On his face 
 The deepest anguish you could trace. 
 And even stern and grim despair 
 Seemed but too firmly seated there. 
 At length, howe'er, his smothered grief 
 In language hurried sought relief: — 
 " The cursed wretch. O God ! O Hell ! 
 Who can my woe, my anguish tell ? 
 
16 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 "Tis worse than death itself to be 
 The victim of such tyranny. 
 O Susan ! 'Tis for thy dear sake, 
 That I these cruel insults take. 
 'Tis for thy lov'd, thy blessed name 
 Submit I to this foulest shame. 
 For I, alas ! know but too well, 
 The tale this cruel fiend could tell, 
 Would load thy spirit with despair, 
 And drive a poisoned arrow there. 
 
 " Though well thou lov'st me, still thou art 
 Too pure to wed this sinful heart. 
 If thou, perchance, should'st ever know 
 The fires that do within it glow, 
 The light would leave that loving eye, 
 The rose upon that cheek would die ; 
 Sweet peace forever would depart, 
 All broke w r ould be that loving heart. 
 Then, then, oh ! what were left to me, 
 But darkness, blight and misery ? 
 
 " It is the hard and cruel thought, 
 Of peace from this old ruffian bought. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And that I long am doomed to be 
 The slave of such base cruelty, 
 That plucks from hope each blissful ray, 
 And almost wrings my soul away. 
 I must, I will devise some plan 
 To rid me of this fiendish man. 
 For I could bear, in deepest Hell, 
 The tortures of the damned as well !" 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Here ceased his troubled words. His brow, 
 
 So fierce and stern, is quiet now. 
 
 Though still its lines are gently bent, 
 
 As on some anxious thought intent. 
 
 One moment lights his face a smile, 
 
 As hope his bosom doth beguile. 
 
 The next, it is as quickly gone, 
 
 As thoughts of darker hue come on. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Again, his words unconscious showed 
 
 The thoughts that in his bosom glowed. 
 
 2 * 
 
18 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 " Let's see. Ah ! fight we side by side, 
 Now Heaven o'er my plan preside ! 
 One only, yes, one single blow, 
 Would lay in death the villain low, 
 And none would e'er suspect the one 
 By whom the deed of death was done. 
 O thought ! thou dost relieve my pain, 
 And mak'st me breathe with ease again 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 " True love's the gift which God has given 
 To man alone beneath the Heaven." 
 
 I. 
 
 Twas early morn ; with cheerful ray 
 Commenced the sun the summer day. 
 Had passed the storm and tempest by, 
 All clear was the unsullied sky, 
 And beauty o'er the landscape wild, 
 So brightly and serenely smiled, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Th' observer scarce could fail to swear 
 That tempests ne'er had battled there. 
 
 II. 
 
 But in this beauteous morning scene 
 
 Which glittered with the diamond's sheen, 
 
 As from the grass the radiant dew 
 
 Its sparkles o'er the landscape threw, 
 
 Was heard a sad and mournful lay; 
 
 A warrior hied him on his way ; 
 
 Though stern his heart, it could not prove 
 
 Impervious to the shafts of love, 
 
 And slowly, as he went along, 
 
 'Twas thus flowed forth, the plaintive song 
 
 nr. 
 
 'Tis rosy morning's genial hour, 
 
 The shades of night have passed away, 
 
 All Nature feels its magic power, 
 And hails with joy the rising day. 
 
20 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 The scene where raged the storm erewhile, 
 Far brighter than its wont appears ; 
 
 "Tis like on beauty's cheek the smile, 
 
 When scarce have gone the falling tears. 
 
 The squirrel chirps upon the tree, 
 Disporting in the summer morn; 
 
 Is heard the murmur of the bee, 
 And from afar the peasant's horn. 
 
 The lark opes wide her shrilly throat, 
 The robin joins in mirthful song, 
 
 And now the mocker's silver note, 
 Is borne upon the breeze along. 
 
 Yes ! all around are gay. But I ! 
 
 Ah ! in my heart does darkness dwell ; 
 'Twere better far that I should die, 
 
 Than living bear the pangs of Hell. 
 
 And were it not for that dear one, 
 
 Whose heart is worth the Indies' store, 
 
 This chequered scene should soon be done, 
 And I would suffer here no more. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 21 
 
 For easy 'twere, in thickest strife 
 To seek at once for death and fame, 
 
 And leave, by laying down my life, 
 A patriot's and a soldier's name. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hushed was his voice ; the starting tear 
 
 Stood in his eye. But look ye there ! 
 
 By Heaven, a spirit of the air ! 
 
 Who would not own thy ruling power, 
 
 Thou guardian genius of the hour ? 
 
 Who would not ? For the morning's beam, 
 
 Doth brightly in thy glances gleam. 
 
 The roseate hues the morn that streak, 
 
 Divinely bloom upon thy cheek. 
 
 The morn no fairer ruby knows, 
 
 Than on thy lip in beauty glows. 
 
 Thy locks of gold are brighter far 
 
 Than are the beams of morning star ; 
 
 And fairer form was never given, 
 
 To Houri in the courts of Heaven. 
 
22 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 V. 
 
 But see ! the one thou prizest most, 
 Is he to love and feeling lost ? 
 Or doth he not that form espy, 
 And will he pass unheeding by ? 
 Alas ! for sad and troubled thought, 
 He heeds thee and he marks thee not. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O Love ! though wayward, young and blind, 
 Like thee what power can we find, 
 When thou with virtue art combined ? 
 Thou reignest in the peasant's breast, 
 And minglest in his dreams of rest ; 
 The maiden in her moonlit bower, 
 Feels with resistless force thy power ; 
 The prince thy empire freely owns. 
 Thou rulest monarchs on their thrones, 
 Dominion hast in realms above, 
 For God is Wisdom, Power, Love ! 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Whene'er thy influence is felt, 
 The ice around the heart must melt. 
 The feeling chilled by earthly woes, ! 
 Again with new-born ardor glows, 
 And tongues that else would silent be, 
 Can speak if prompted but by thee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thus, Susan, 'twas with thee. Thy tongue 
 
 Refused the words that on it hung. 
 
 Whene'er thou didst essay to speak, 
 
 A flush but mantled on thy cheek, 
 
 Till Love to thy assistance came, 
 
 And thou could'st call thy lover's name. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then at that soft and thrilling sound, 
 He starts and wildly looks around. 
 He sees thee now, and to the ground 
 Springs from his steed with single bound ; 
 And soon thy angel form is pressed 
 In love's warm feeling to his breast. 
 
24 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now vain indeed it were to tell, 
 Of that which, all can guess so w T ell, 
 Of vows which lovers oft repeat, 
 Which are and will be ever sweet ; 
 Of the long drawn and gentle sigh, 
 Affection speaking from the eye, 
 And words which tell of strongest faith, 
 Unshaken and undimmed by Death. 
 
 X. 
 
 At length, when in the eastern sky 
 The sun was slowly waxing high, 
 And shot upon the winding way, 
 A brighter and more burning ray, 
 The maid with gentle accent said, 
 "We have perhaps too long delayed. 
 Alas ! how time, the tyrant, parts 
 The purest and the warmest hearts. 
 These twigs of box and myrtle tree, 
 Emblems of love and constancy, 
 Receive as simple gifts from me. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 25 
 
 And if it be by fate decreed, 
 
 That thou shalt in the battle bleed, 
 
 That there thou shalt all lonely die, 
 
 With none to soothe thy anguish nigh, 
 
 Then meekly bow to Heaven's will, 
 
 And think that I'll be constant still. 
 
 But, Francis, should it be thy lot, 
 
 Safe to return from battle fought, 
 
 When this fell work of death is o'er, 
 
 And drums shall sound to arms no more, 
 
 Then shall our hearts more blithesome grow, 
 
 Nought, nought but pleasure shall they know ; 
 
 Nought shall in life their bonds dissever, 
 
 They shall be blest, and blest forever. 
 
 XL 
 
 She turned her quickly from the spot, 
 She looked not back, she faltered not ; 
 And near, where stood her father's mill, 
 (Its site is seen by travellers still,) 
 A boat was drawn upon the shore. 
 She pushed it off. Then with light oar 
 3 
 
26 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And speed of sea-gull, Granville's daughter 
 Plies dashing o'er the rippling water. 
 And when she gained the farther strand, 
 She turned and waved her lily hand. 
 The youth returned this mute adieu, 
 And sadly from the scene withdrew. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 " Grim-visaged war now rears his direful front." 
 I. 
 
 On Clermont 1 * falls the evening shade. 
 Old Night draws close his sable plaid. 
 A bustle reigns in Gates's camp, 
 The charger's neigh, the soldier's tramp, 
 And booming notes of martial drum 
 Upon the evening zephyrs come. 
 
 * See note at the end of the Canto. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 The spangled-banner, lifted high, 
 Seems sporting in the twilight sky ; 
 The band around that standard draws 
 Who fight for Right's and Freedom's cause. 
 For though the beams of day are gone, 
 And Earth has " Darkness' veil " put on, 
 They soon shall move upon their way — 
 Too sultry is the summer day. 2 
 
 II. 
 
 Apart from all this martial din, 
 The chief commander's tent within, 
 The leaders of " grim visaged " war 
 In grave and serious consult are. 
 Amid the stern and martial crowd, 
 Is Saratoga's chieftain proud, 
 There waves De Kalb's majestic plume, 
 Here Herbert, with his brow of gloom. 
 Save of the chief, their features wear , 
 A shade of mingled thought and care. 
 Their minds are busy with the word 
 Which they have from that chieftain heard ; 
 
28 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 For he has said with purpose high, 
 " Ere gilds the sun the eastern sky, 
 We march ; and ere is set that sun, 
 The bloody game is lost or won." 
 
 III. 
 
 De Kalb at length the silence broke, 
 And thus with earnest manner spoke : 
 " Sir, may it please you, though we still 
 Must bow to our commander's will, 
 Yet think you, if we now shall go 
 Upon that yet unconquered foe, 
 And there should suffer total rout, 
 What darkness would it bring about ? 
 The fatal blow our hopes might sever, 
 Our dreams of freedom mar forever. 
 And thus it must. Untutored band 
 Can ne'er their veteran charge withstand. 
 I care not for myself ; 'twere bliss 
 To lose my life in cause like this ; 
 E'en though it be not mine by birth, 
 I love it more than aught on earth. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 So I this liberty must take, 
 And ask for God's and Freedom's sake, 
 That you will from this conflict stay, 
 Till dawns a more auspicious day." 
 
 IV. 
 
 As answer, thus the chief returned — 
 High feeling in his glances burned — 
 " Let coward-hearts that battle fear, 
 Remain in peace and quiet here. 
 But they must forfeit glory's name 
 And place upon the rolls of fame. 
 But those who know not fear will go, 
 On what thou call'st unconquered foe. 
 Unconquered ! Speak not that again, 
 But think of Saratoga's plain." 
 
 V. 
 
 De Kalb arose. " Short time may show 
 
 The one who fears to meet the foe. 
 
 The man who for this country fought, 
 
 I honor as a soldier ought, 
 3 # 
 
30 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And will as long as life remains 
 Remember Saratoga's plains. 
 But, Sir, the time full soon may be, 
 Although that day I would not see, 
 When Northern laurels shall decay, 
 Or change into the Southern bay." 3 
 With lip compressed, and vision bent, 
 He bowed and left the chieftain's tent. 
 
 VI. 
 
 When he had gone, " Egregious fool 
 
 Were I, to yield to Prussian rule ! 4 
 
 No, comrades ! March we on to-night, 
 
 We soon shall join in noble fight, 
 
 And conquer, if our trust be given 
 
 To our just cause and righteous Heaven." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Four hours pass, and peace again 
 O'er Clermont holds her quiet reign, 
 Save when the light breeze, dancing round, 
 Brings to the ear a martial sound. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Now o'er the plain it rises high, 
 Now doth it in the distance die. 
 And now it meets the ear again, 
 it cometh from that martial train, 
 Which Gates leads on with purpose high, 
 The foe to meet, subdue, or die- 
 That very night, that very hour, 
 Approach from Camden England's power,® 
 
 VIIL 
 
 The night, at first serene and clear, 
 Now wears an aspect dark and drear ; 
 The gust now sweeps in anger by, 
 Now in the forest seems to sigh, 
 Anon 'tis in the distance howling. 
 Like demon in the darkness prowling. 
 Clouds of dark aspect through the sky, 
 Upon the fickle breezes fly, 
 And as they pass, a tear-drop throw 
 Upon that fated band below. 
 Anon a flash of lurid light 
 Illumes the darkness of the night ; 
 
32 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT, 
 
 And when has past the transient gleam, 
 And Darkness doth still darker seem, 
 Grim Thunder, with his iron voice, 
 Seems in the distance to rejoice. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But see ! is that the lightning's flash ? 
 That sound ! is it the thunder's crash ? 
 And hark ! is that a shout, a cry, 
 That on the night- wind rises high ? 
 Or is it but the storm's rude breath ? 
 Ah ! 'tis the harbinger of death. 
 The prelude of defeat and woe, 
 They meet, at last they meet the foe !• 
 
 X. 
 
 Commences not the battle yet ; 
 'Twas but the vanguard they had met, 
 
 Exchanged a passing shot, 
 Then backward fell, took war's array, 
 And waited till the beams of day 
 
 Should dawn upon the spot. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 XL 
 
 Oh ! who is there on earth can tell, 
 The thoughts that in the bosom swell, 
 
 At such a time as this ? 
 The general sighs for martial name, 
 For place upon the rolls of Fame, 
 That nations shall his honors claim, 
 
 His memory shall bless. 
 The patriot's heart, his country's right 
 Nerves for the battle, prompts to fight, 
 
 Impels upon the foe. 
 But oft the father fears to die, 
 And homeward sends affection's sigh, 
 A tear of love bedews his eye, 
 
 His heart is filled with woe. 
 To think that those more dear than life, 
 May lose their father in the strife, 
 
 No more his care may know, 
 But be, alas ! too rudely hurled 
 Upon a cold and heartless world ! 
 
34 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But, War ! remorseless monster thou ! 
 No pity gleams upon thy brow. 
 A father's cares, a father's grief, 
 From thee will seek in vain relief. 
 Bright sunny youth, and hoary age, 
 At once are withered by thy rage, 
 And Love, and Hope, by thy rude breath 
 Are doomed alike to endless death. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 But look ye ; in the eastern skies 
 A grayish light begins to rise ; 
 
 'Tis herald of the day. 
 Now slowly doth the morning dawn. 
 Revealing martial legions drawn, 
 
 In battle's stern array. 
 But still so feeble is the light, 
 You'd think them phantoms of the night, 
 Till spread abroad the beams of day, 
 And chased the shades of night away. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Now battle comes. The British right 7 
 Advances onward to the fight ; 
 And as it comes a fearful cry- 
 Reverberates along the sky. 
 With murmur hoarse to battle rolls 
 That living tide of human souls, 
 
 Receive them now, ye brave ; 
 Strike, strike ; repel that fearful shock, 
 Repel it as the giant-rock 
 
 Beats back the stormy wave ! 
 Why strike ye not ? ye cowards, why ? 
 
 P Do ye for freedom fear to die ? 
 
 Strike ; ye are battling for your right, 
 God be your strength and truth your might 
 Does Liberty thus call in vain? 
 Flee, flee then from the battle plain, 
 And give not e'en a single blow, 
 
 . To Freedom's, God's, your Country's foe ! 
 But gloom, a never ending gloom 
 
 r 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And Liberty shall shed no tear 
 Upon the dark dishonored bier. 
 Flee, flee ; and as ye headlong go ? 
 Be butchered by the ruthless foe. 
 E'en now I hear your piercing cry r 
 Ah ! thought ye not so soon to die ! 
 
 XV, 
 
 But where is he who led them on ? 
 
 Say, has he from the battle gone ? 
 
 Shame, shame, and darkness ! can it be 7 
 
 That he doth from the conflict flee, 
 
 Who vaunted now of victory ? 
 
 So thou, O Gates ! forgettest now 
 
 The chaplet once that crowned thy brow ; 
 
 Thy former laurels now decay, 
 
 Their bloom, their freshness pass away. 
 
 A withered wreathlet crowns thy head, 
 
 Fame's vision hath forever fled, 
 
 Thy glory now indeed is dead ! 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Two thirds of all that host are gone, 
 
 The right is on the field alone. 
 
 But oh, alas ! ye gallant few, 
 
 To freedom and to valor true, 
 
 Though of the lightning be your blade, 
 
 Of adamant your sinews made, 
 
 Although ye in your bosoms feel 
 
 Hearts made of flint or tempered steel, 
 
 Although to your success be given, 
 
 The prayer of Earth, the wish of Heaven, 
 
 Yet, yet your efforts now are vain, 
 
 Your bodies soon shall strew the plain, 
 
 And ye shall noble offering be 
 
 Upon the shrine of Liberty. 
 
 This well ye know ; but ere ye fly, 
 
 Ye are resolved like men to die ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Right onward to the conflict ride, 
 De Kalb and Herbert, side by side. 
 I 4 
 
38 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And in their rear a scanty throng 
 Of gallant spirits rush along. 
 Now as they join the dreadful rout, 
 They raise aloft a thrilling shout, 
 
 " Death, death or victory/ 5 
 The woods around prolong the cry, 
 It echoes through the vaulted sky 
 
 In fearful jubilee. 
 And far beyond the battle plain, 
 That shout is heard and heard again, 
 
 "Death, death or victory." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The cannon's thunder peals on high. 
 The woods, the hills, the Heavens reply. 
 It scares the wolf in western cave, 
 It thunders 'long th' Atlantic wave, 
 And shakes the welkin o'er their head, 
 As troubled by a "giant's tread." 
 Spreads o'er the scene the darkling smoke, 
 Is heard the clang of sabre-stroke, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And still, as on with steady tread 
 That legion moves o'er heaps of dead, 
 Is heard the shrill, the piercing cry, 
 Of those who wounded, trampled, die ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Short is the strife : e'en now it fails 
 And echoes feebly on the gales ; 
 The tramp of headlong host that rushed 
 To strife, is now in silence hushed ; 
 Now clears away the darkling smoke ; 
 Has ceased the clang of sabre-stroke, 
 And now the cannon's pealing roar 
 Is heard upon the plain no more. 
 
 XX. 
 
 'Twas eve : a neat pavilion stood 
 Near to the field of strife and blood ; 
 Within a dying soldier slept, 
 And by his side a comrade wept. 
 The dying man now oped his eyes, 
 And looked around with mute surprise ; 
 
40 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 When he the one beside him saw, 
 He raised him from his bed of straw, 
 But quickly sank his feeble head, 
 And then in whispered words he said : — 
 " Alas ! what, Herbert, dost thou here ? 
 Ah ! in thy looks I read despair. 
 But speak, be quick, and freely tell 
 The worst that to our band befell." 
 
 HERBERT. 
 
 " The battle, nobly fought, was lost, 
 And scattered is our gallant host. 
 Few now are captive ; most are dead ; 
 Not one of all the number fled. 
 They fought like freemen to the last, 
 Till ev'ry ray of hope was past." 
 
 DYING SOLDIER. 
 
 " Thank God, 'twas nobly done ; and I 
 Rejoice although I soon shall die. 
 Ah, yes ! e'en now my life is o'er, 
 For Freedom I can fight no more ; 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 But/' and he raised himself on high, 
 
 And brightly gleamed his sunken eye, 
 
 " Go, tell your chief of swollen pride, 
 
 De Kalb has like a soldier died. 
 
 That when the shot came thick and fast, 
 
 As hail from wintry tempest cast, 
 
 When roared the cannon's thundering knell, 
 
 And men on men by hundreds fell, 
 
 When Earth drank floods of human gore, 
 
 Till sated, it could drink no more, 
 
 E'en then he left not danger's post, 
 
 For then his arm was needed most." 
 
 He spent upon the words his parting breath, 
 
 Then backward sank into the arms of Death. 
 
 2» 
 I 
 
42 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 1 " On Clermont Falls," <f c. 
 
 Clermont, or Rugely's Mills, a small place thirteen miles 
 north of Camden, where General Gates was encamped. 
 
 2 " Too sultry is the summer day." 
 To wit, the 15th of August, 1779. 
 
 3 " When northern laurels shall decay , 
 
 Or change into the Southern bay" 
 
 This must be considered a poetic license ; as tins remark 
 was not made by De Kalb, nor at Camden ; but by some 
 other officer, when Gates, in high hopes, was hastening 
 South, to take command of the Southern army. There was, 
 however, a dispute between him and De Kalb, immediately 
 previous to the battle of Camden, concerning the policy of 
 some movement, in which harsh and severe language was 
 used. 
 
 4 it ~w ere j i 0 yield to Prussian rale" 
 
 There seems to be some uncertainty among historians 
 concerning the native land of De Kalb ; some calling him a 
 Prussian, others a German, and others still a Pole. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 43 
 
 1 " That very nighty that very hour, 
 Approach from Camden, England's power" 
 
 This hour was ten o'clock at night, on the 15th of 
 August. It is rather singular that the two opposing Gene- 
 rals should have arrived, the one at Camden, the other at 
 Clermont, on the same day ; and still more so, that they 
 should have left them at precisely the same hour, each 
 seeking the encampment of the other. 
 
 6 " They meet, at last they meet the foe." 
 
 " About two in the morning of the 16th of August, the 
 advanced guards of the hostile armies unexpectedly met in 
 the woods, and the fire instantly began. This merely formed 
 a prelude to the approaching battle." — Pictorial History of 
 the Revolution. 
 
 7 " Now battle comes, the British right 
 
 Advances onward to the fight." 
 
 "At dawn of day, Cornwallis ordered Lieut. Colonel 
 Webster, with the British right wing, to attack the Ameri- 
 can left. As Colonel Webster advanced, he was assailed 
 by a desultory discharge of musketry from some volunteer 
 militia, who had advanced in front of their countrymen ; but 
 the British soldiers, rushing through the loose fire, charged 
 the American line with a shout. The militia instantly threw 
 down their arms and fled, many of them without even dis- 
 charging their muskets ; and all the efforts of the officers 
 
44 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 were unable to rally them. A great part of the centre divi- 
 sion, composed of the militia of North Carolina, imitated the 
 example of their comrades of Virginia : few of either divi- 
 sion fired a shot, and still fewer carried their arms off the 
 field. Tarleton, with his legion, pursued and eagerly cut 
 down the unresisting fugitives. Gates, with some of the 
 militia general officers, made several attempts to rally them, 
 but in vain. The farther they fled, the more they dispersed, 
 and Gates in despair hastened with a few friends to Char- 
 lotte, eighty miles from the field of battle. Baron Be Kalb, 
 at the head of the continental troops, being abandoned by the 
 militia, which had constituted the centre and left wing of the 
 army, and being forsaken by the General also, was exposed 
 to the attack of the whole British army. De Kalb and his 
 troops, however, instead of imitating the example of their 
 brethren in arms, behaved with a steady intrepidity, and de- 
 fended themselves like men The brave De Kalb, 
 
 while making a vigorous charge at the head of a body of his 
 men, fell, pierced with eleven wounds. He was taken pri- 
 soner, and met with all possible attention and assistance from 
 the victorious enemy, but that gallant officer expired in a few 
 hours. Congress afterward ordered a monument to be 
 erected to his memory The defeat was total." — Pic- 
 torial History of the Revolution, p. 330. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 45 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 " The course of human life is changeful still, 
 As is the fickle wind or wandering rill." 
 
 I. 
 
 Defeated by that mighty hand, 
 
 Which Earth nor Heaven can withstand, 
 
 The hireling band, before whose tread 
 
 The sons of Fredom basely fled, 
 
 Have gone ; nor even one remains 
 
 Still to pollute our hallowed plains. 
 
 The wounded lion's savage roar 
 
 Now echoes through the land no more. 
 
 But see ! the eagle proudly soars on high, 
 
 And cleaves with fearless wing the cloudless sky. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now Liberty, with smile serene, 
 Atones for all the past hath been ; 
 And as the darkness clears away, 
 And brighter dawns the coming day, 
 
46 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 There steals unto the hearts of men, 
 
 A hope, unknown, unfelt, till then. 
 
 The wretch, borne down by selfish power, 
 
 Now looks unto a brighter hour. 
 
 The heavy-laden and opprest 
 
 Rejoice, and hope for peace and rest. 
 
 III. 
 
 Hushed for awhile Despair's sad sigh ; 
 
 The eye used but to weep, is dry. 
 
 Hushed for awhile the deep-toned curse, 
 
 Which Vengeance speaks with murmur hoarse 
 
 And hushed the mad and stifled groans 
 
 Of hearts crushed down by tyrants' thrones. 
 
 Yea ! these are heard not now : to thee 
 
 They look, thou Goddess, Liberty ; 
 
 And utter with a loud acclaim, 
 
 As call they on thy hallowed name, 
 
 " Ah ! tyrants, tremble, for your power 
 
 Has seen, well nigh, its latest hour. 
 
 Yea ! tremble, for your certain doom 
 
 Is written in the future's gloom. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Your cursed thrones e'en now decay, 
 
 They totter and they must give way. 
 
 Ten thousand thousand human cries 
 
 Have reached, have pierced, at length, the skie 
 
 And met the ear of Him above, 
 
 The God of Mercy, Peace and Love. 
 
 He says that man, his creature, must 
 
 No more ignobly bite the dust, 
 
 But walk the earth, ' erect and free/ 
 
 The image of his Majesty. 
 
 Yes ! tyrants, soon the time shall come, 
 
 When Peace shall smile on ev'ry home ; 
 
 When all the pomp of power and pride, 
 
 Shall be for ever cast aside, 
 
 And man shall tread this 'earthly clod 5 
 
 1 The-noblest creature of his God/ " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Blest Goddess ! may'st thou ever deign 
 Upon this blood-stained Earth to reign ; 
 Still may'st thou keep thy place on high, 
 To meet and gladden ev'ry eye ; 
 
48 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Thy wings still farther, farther spread ; 
 Shed peace on ev'ry drooping head. 
 Still, blissful rays of hope impart ; 
 Still, heal the sore, desponding heart, 
 Until to man indeed be given 
 As much as can be here of Heaven. 
 But still, O Goddess ! still, the while, 
 Most brightly on my country smile. 
 E'er may she be among the rest, 
 At once, the greatest and the best. 
 Here let thy vot'ries ever dwell, 
 Here let thy loudest anthems swell ; 
 Here on Columbia's hallowed shore, 
 Oh ! be thy home for evermore ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Time onward flies with ceaseless wings, 
 And change to men and nations brings. 
 Sweet peace serene and gently still 
 Reigns on Columbia's ev'ry hill, 
 And quiet rules within that heart, 
 Which once had felt but Sorrow's dart ; 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 49 
 
 Despair, which once had clothed the brow 
 With deepest gloom, has vanished now. 
 The eye that wandered to and fro, 
 As nought of quiet it could know, 
 But spoke the feelings of a breast 
 By conscience smitten and opprest, 
 Is still ; and on the manly face 
 Repose's feeling you could trace, 
 Though by the basest actions bought, 
 And with despair and danger fraught. 
 Now as the embers burning bright 
 Diffuse a clear though mellow light, 
 Throughout the room of that same inn 
 Where he, some years before, had been, 
 And as- the thoughts came thick and fast 
 Upon the present and the past, 
 'Twas thus at length that Herbert spoke, 
 And on the midnight silence broke. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " My troubles are for ever past. 
 My spirit finds repose at last. 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 And this once torn, distracted breast, 
 
 Now feels again, from anguish, rest. 
 
 Great God ! To think that four short years 
 
 Such changes on its bosom bears ! 
 
 This very night, four years ago, 
 
 Ah ! who is there on earth could know, 
 
 The depth of my despair and woe! 
 
 Words never can those feelings tell, 
 
 My head was fire, my bosom Hell, 
 
 And on my scorching heart were hurled 
 
 The tortures of a burning world. 
 
 But now ! ye stars propitious shine ! 
 
 To-morrow eve She will be mine. 
 
 That thought could make a demon smile, 
 
 The damned soul of pain beguile. 
 
 Our hands no earthly power can part, 
 
 For Bertram, curse his fiendish heart, 
 
 Ah ! he has felt my vengeful steel, 
 
 I saw him on his charger reel, 
 
 I saw him fall upon the plain 
 
 Amid the wounded and the slain, 
 
 I saw him when his spirit fled, 
 
 Safe confidants, I ween, the dead, 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 51 
 
 For whitening bones and mouldering dust 
 Ne'er yet betrayed a secret trust. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But she, alas ! the injured one, 
 Her griefs are o'er, her troubles done. 
 In Heaven now she finds repose, 
 Nor grieves for all her earthly woes. 
 Well, be it so. Since now 'tis o'er 
 Til think upon the deed no more. 
 But were it to be done again 
 I'd sooner fly the haunts of men, 
 Make my abode in some far cave, 
 Where lions howl, and panthers rave, 
 And yield for ever Hope and Love, 
 Than such a heartless villain prove. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 It makes my inmost bosom bleed, 
 This simple, plaintive lay to read, 
 And though my eye the tear doth fill, 
 I cannot help but read it still. 
 
52 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 LAY OF THE INJURED ONE. 
 
 Then fare thee well ; it must be so. 
 
 Forgotten is thy ev'ry vow. 
 Alas ! that I should ever know 
 
 A being false and fair as thou. 
 
 The murmured vow, the whispered word, 
 Which love so full of feeling spoke, 
 
 And confidence undoubting heard, 
 Are like this heart, for ever broke. 
 
 Ah ! once the world for me was bright, 
 Life was of joy one ceaseless flow. 
 
 Why didst thou turn that day to night, 
 The stream of joy to endless woe ? 
 
 Alas ! alas ! I might have known 
 That vision was too bright to last.; 
 
 The golden dream at length has flown ; 
 My earthly hopes of peace are past. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Farewell, farewell. Soon from my eye 
 The light of nature shall decay ; 
 
 And none can tell the reason why, 
 I thus from Earth shall pass away. 
 
 Farewell. May guardian angels steel 
 Thy soul 'gainst sorrow's poignant dart ; 
 
 Oh ! may'st thou ne'er be doomed to feel 
 The anguish of this aching heart. 
 
 But still, as thou canst ne'el* forget 
 
 Those scenes that once to thee were dear ;. 
 
 May sad remembrance sometimes yet, 
 Claim from thy eye a pensive tear. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Shift we the scene. In Granville's hall, 
 
 Responsive to the festal call, 
 
 A crowd of spirits light and gay 
 
 Have met upon the close of day, 
 
 To celebrate the nuptial hour 
 
 Of Herbert and of Camden's flower ; 
 
54 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 E'en now before the priest they stand ; 
 E'en now is given the trembling hand ; 
 E'en now is drawn that holy tie, 
 Which binds them till they come to die. 
 
 X. 
 
 Delightful scene ! no darkness rolls 
 Its shadows o'er their blissful souls ; 
 " Grim-visaged" war, with fiery blast, 
 Has now in all its fury past ; 
 Nor is there now a reason why 
 They should not blend the kiss and sigh ; 
 No cause which now with rudeness parts 
 Those loving and devoted hearts. 
 No, no. They never more must sever ; 
 Now they are blest indeed for ever ! 
 Vain thought ! Enjoy it while ye may, 
 The vision soon must pass away ; 
 The future, now that seems so fair, 
 Conceals the darkness of despair ; 
 Your bosoms now are free from pain, 
 They never can be so again. 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Your hearts may soon be desolate, 
 And ye may weep and curse your fate. 
 
 XL 
 
 The mirthful crowd around is hush ; 
 See on that cheek the crimson blush ! 
 And hear her as she murmurs " yes," 
 Hear her the gentle flame confess. 
 But hark! a noise methinks I hear ; 
 Now, now it plainly meets the ear. 
 What can it be ? hark ! 'tis the rage 
 Of lion burst from hated cage, 
 That prowls about in darkness' hour, 
 Seeking the one he may devour. 
 Now sounds it nearer. Look ye there ! 
 One from the regions of despair ! 
 Great God ! that grim and awful form ! 
 'Tis darker than the wintry storm. 
 Now as it rushes through the crowd, 
 What words are those it speaks aloud ? 
 " Priest, hold ! I charge thee to forbear ; 
 I charge thee by my own despair J 
 
56 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 I charge thee by thy spirit's weal ; 
 By tortures which the cursed feel ; 
 I charge thee by the flames of Hell, 
 No more that holy charm to tell, 
 Which, with an angel of the sky, 
 A devil from below would tie." 
 
 in. 
 
 Hushed is the priest ; the crowd, amazed 
 And frightened, on th' intruder gazed, 
 Nor even one could speak a word ; 
 Transfixed by what they saw and heard. 
 But there was one who knew too well 
 This spectre from the shades of Hell. 
 And he ! behold that lofty brow, 
 Where peace seemed firmly seated now ; 
 Oh ! what a change ! 'tis pale as death, 
 He gasping seems for life and breath ; 
 His body shakes like aspen leaf ; 
 What power on Earth can give relief? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But see, his heart recovers now ; 
 The color comes unto his brow ; 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 His wonted manner quick returns ; 
 Within his eye fierce fury burns ; 
 His troubled frame once more is still ; 
 His tongue obedient to his will. 
 " Ah ! monster, say, what dost thou here 
 Thou minister of dark despair ; 
 Back, back, I say, to thine own Hell, 
 And there with fiends and devils dwell. 5 ' 
 He forward starts ; but with a frown 
 That would have awed a lion down, 
 And with a gesture of the hand, 
 That fiery spirits might command, 
 The spectre spoke : in frightened mood, 
 The trembling crowd, around it stood, 
 And listened with attentive ear, 
 To catch those words of dread and fear ; 
 And Herbert, pride and spirit crushed, 
 Stood now before this spectre, hushed. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ? Twas thus it spoke : "With cruel art, 
 That villain crushed a loving heart ; 
 
58 
 
 FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 Herself she yielded to his arms, 
 
 As harmless dove to viper's charms; 
 
 Her virtue and her honor lost, 
 
 Those things which maidens prize the m 
 
 For which alone is being dear ; 
 
 She pined away, sank on her bier, 
 
 A victim to the infernal plan 
 
 Of yonder base intriguing man. 
 
 His was the foul, the trait'rous hand, 
 
 Which wielded well the deadly brand, 
 
 That left me on the battle plain ; 
 
 He thought I ne'er would rise again. 
 
 But, coward, know, 'twas destined not 
 
 Thy baseness e'er should be forgot. 
 
 Fate raised me from my bloody bed ; 
 
 Fate lifted up my feeble head ; 
 
 Fate willed that I should thus destroy 
 
 Thy earthly hopes, thy dreams of joy. 
 
 Oft when thou thought'st no mortal nigh 
 
 I've watched thee with Revenge's eye ; 
 
 Like spectre from the shades below, 
 
 Where'er thou went'st there I would go 
 
FRANCIS HERBERT. 
 
 59 
 
 And oft when urged by frenzy on, 
 The fatal weapon has been drawn ; 
 Again I'd place it in its sheath, 
 For hate is sated not by death, 
 Unless when hearts are beating high, 
 And hope dawns on the raptured eye ; 
 I waited for a time like this, 
 When all was bright with heavenly bliss. 
 The wished-for hour has come at last ; 
 False villain, now I have thee fast ; 
 And thus cut short, aye, even so, 
 The bliss which thou should'st never know. 
 He stabs him. See, the purple blood 
 Now gushes forth in swelling flood ; 
 The victim falls upon the floor ; 
 Bertram is gone and seen no more. 
 
 END OF FRANCIS HERBERT* 
 
GO 
 
 OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 OLD BRUNSWICK.* 
 
 Time in its ceaseless course rolls on, 
 And men and nations, one by one, 
 
 Are swept before its flood. 
 Of cities which have splendid been, 
 No wreck or monument is seen, 
 
 To tell where they have stood. 
 And man must in his grave decay, 
 When he has lived his little day 
 
 Of evil or of good. 
 
 Imperial Rome, who fiercely hurled 
 Her bolts of thunder o'er the world, 
 
 * About thirteen miles below the town of Wilmington, N. C. 
 on the Western bank of the river Cape Fear, are the remains of 
 a town formerly known by the name, Brunswick. It was the 
 seat of the Colonial Government, and is supposed to have been 
 burned by the British in the war of the Revolution. The walls 
 of the old church, and a few mouldering slabs of monumental 
 marble, are all of its ruins which are now visible. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK, 
 
 Who held the nations in her hand, 
 And laws for ev'ry mortal planned, 
 
 Has sunk into decay. 
 And Athens, who with classic light 
 Dispelled dark Ignorance's night, 
 And taught the world what man might be, 
 When Learning's joined to Liberty — - 
 
 She too has passed away. 
 No human thing shall ever last ; 
 The present shall be like the past ; 
 And as " Old Time*' on swiftly flies, 
 And new-born generations rise, 
 To them our country must become, 
 That which to us are Greece and Rome. 
 Oh ! melancholy is the thought, 
 That this fair land, so dearly bought 
 By life-blood of the free, the brave, 
 Should sink 'neath time's o'erwhelming wave 
 That darkness here should ever reign, 
 Or tyrants hold their sway again. 
 But truth why should we e'er disguise, 
 Or from it turn unwilling eyes ? 
 
 6 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 This motto's written on the past, 
 No human thing shall ever last. 
 
 The shades of evening slowly spread 
 Upon the grave-stones of the dead, 
 And on the church's mould'ring wall, 
 Which of thee are, Old Brunswick, all. 
 With sad and contemplative air, 
 A youth and lovely maid were there ; 
 In silence for awhile they stood, 
 And seemed upon the past to brood ; 
 The youth at length the silence broke, 
 And thus with saddened accent spoke : 
 " Old Brunswick ! long thy day has fled, 
 Thou now art numbered with the dead ; 
 That certain doom thou long hast met, 
 Which waits us all, yet all forget. 
 Bleak moss thy ruins gathers o'er, 
 And soon thou shalt be seen no more ; 
 Oblivion soon must on thee fall, 
 And in its gloom envelope all ; 
 Thyself, thy very name must be 
 Lost in the past Eternity ! 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 63 
 
 Old Ruin ! bleak, alone, forgot, 
 
 Thou art a type of human lot. 
 
 However honored man may be, 
 
 However great his mirth, his glee^ 
 
 Although on fame's own wing he rise 
 
 In glorious triumph to the skies, 
 
 He sinks at last into the tomb, 
 
 And shares with thee thy lonely gloom. 
 
 Once, who e'er thought 'twould be thy lot. 
 
 To be thus lonely and forgot ? 
 
 Where now is nought but barren earth, 
 
 Resounded once the song of mirth ; 
 
 Where roams yon beast, or sings yon bird. 
 
 The hum of busy men was heard ; 
 
 Where stands that solitary wood, 
 
 A prince's stately palace stood ; 
 
 The cedar and the oak have sprung^ 
 
 Where once the lay of love was sung. 
 
 Perhaps the timid suitor there 
 
 Has to his mistress breathed a prayer^ 
 
 And sworn that he would be to her 
 
 An everlasting worshipper. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 But all remains of life are gone, 
 And thou art dreary and alone." 
 
 The maiden heaved a mournful sigh, 
 A tear stood in her pensive eye. 
 " Forgive me, Henry, never here 
 Should I at least have shed a tear ; 
 For here it was you breathed the prayer 
 Of love, and lasting truth did swear ; 
 Twas here that I at first confessed 
 The love for thee that swayed my breast." 
 She blushed, " and if I must confess, 
 ? Twas here commenced my happiness. 
 Forgive me now ; that tear was shed 
 In mem'ry of departed dead." 
 
 " Forgive thee ! I do not, as yet, 
 That vow which here I made forget ; 
 That all my heart and soul should be 
 Devoted, my dear girl, to thee. 
 But come ; you always lov'd to con 
 Inscriptions on sepulchral stone ; 
 
OLD BRUNSWICEo 
 
 Look at that broken marble there ; 
 See what a stern and awful prayer ! 
 4 Whoe'er shall take this stone away, 
 Oh ! may he live to see the day, 
 When he shall dwell on Earth alone, 
 His friends and all his kindred gone.'* 
 It makes me shudder. Fearful curse ! 
 Oh ! what could in this world be worse ! 
 What would this life, this planet be, 
 My Carry, if deprived of thee ! 
 That monument, so simple there, 
 May well elicit Pity's tear ; 
 It tells a tale of humble pride, 
 * The twelfth of March a Frenchman died.' 
 From his own father-land he'd come, 
 To find him here a happy home. 
 But Fate upon him sternly frowned ; 
 His home was in the humid ground ; 
 His comrades bitter tears did shed, 
 When 'neath the turf they placed his head. 
 
 * The inscription is in Latin. " Quisquis hoc marmor 
 tulerit, ultimus suorum periat." 
 
 6 # 
 
66 
 
 OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 But well they knew that his poor name, 
 
 No sigh from kindred hearts would claim ; 
 
 They thought the stranger passing by, 
 
 Would on it turn a listless eye, 
 
 So with a cross they marked the spot, 
 
 Where his neglected ruins rot; 
 
 And on it wrote with humble pride, 
 
 € The twelfth of March a Frenchman died.' " # 
 
 " 'Tis sad indeed, that simple tale ; 
 
 Alas ! who knows how oft the gale 
 
 Was burdened with a mother's wail ! 
 
 How oft a loving sister sighed 
 
 For him who far away had died, 
 
 When weeks, and months, and years rolled on, 
 
 And all their cherished hopes were gone. 
 
 But Henry come and seat thee here, 
 
 And if thou'lt lend a willing ear, 
 
 * The Cross is composed of two shingles. It must therefore 
 necessarily soon pass away. And there will then be nothing 
 left to mark the spot, where sleep the remains of the humble 
 adventurer, whose fate it was to die far away from the home 
 of his affections. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 I'll tell a story which I've heard, 
 Once in this lonely place occurred. 
 However, 'twas not lonely then. 
 For 'twas the haunt of busy men. 
 
 Caroline's story* 
 
 There was a girl, perverse and wild, 
 A wealthy merchant's only child. 
 She had a high and noble soul, 
 But yielded never to control, 
 Save of caprice, whose fickle sway 
 Did often lead her steps astray ; 
 Her eyes of jetty hue were bright, 
 But sparkled with unearthly light ; 
 Her face, all-beauteous and refined, 
 Gave token of a lofty mind ; 
 But to observing eye it told, 
 'Twas of a strange uncommon mould. 
 
 An Indian chieftain of the west, 
 Was of her father once a guest ; 
 Though young as yet, he bore a name, 
 Which had not been ' unknown to fame ' 
 
68 
 
 OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 Ill battle his brave father died, 
 While he was fighting by his side ; 
 And when he saw that father slain ? . 
 He vowed he ne'er would rest again, 
 No ! by that soul which now had fled 
 To the blest mansions of the dead, 
 By all the bliss he wished to see 
 In that all-bright Eternity, 
 Wherever roams the timid deer, 
 And great unbounded forests are r 
 By noble chief's unbroken word, 
 And by his father's hallowed sword T 
 His vengeance he would ne'er delay,, 
 Until should come that glorious day, 
 When that accursed people gone, 
 There should not of the whole be one 
 To tell the sad and mournful tale, 
 Or their unlucky fate bewaiL 
 Then to the conflict rushed he on y 
 And soon the fearful combat won. 
 He to his awful oath was true, 
 And did that scattered tribe pursue, 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 Till none his fearful vengeance fled, 
 And all were numbered with the dead. 
 
 Silent and moody was the chiefs 
 
 As if he suffered secret grief, 
 
 Save when the wayward maid was nigh. 
 
 Then passion kindled in his eye ; 
 
 Or if of warlike deeds he told, 
 
 Of battle fierce, achievement bold, 
 
 She then with fond attention hung 
 
 Upon the accents of his tongue ; 
 
 And if his ardor kindled high. 
 
 And fire shot from his gleaming eye, 
 
 Then did her bosom warmly glow, 
 
 And heaved her swelling breast of snow. 
 
 At length the youthful chief departs ; 
 Say does it grieve these wayward hearts 
 One word he whispers in her ear, 
 Then glistens in her eye a te^r ; 
 He slowly shakes her hand, and then 
 Departs ; will he return again ? 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 When he had gone, with manner wild,. 
 The maid her lonely days beguiled ; 
 Now with her spirits light and gay, 
 She'd sing some quick and sprightly lay, 
 And now with saddened note prolong 
 The cadence of a mournful song. 
 
 Six months have passed; 'tis twelve at night 
 Whence comes that yellow, gleaming light? 
 The pallid moon has long gone down, 
 And darkness settled on the town. 
 What are those spectres, dusk and brown ? 
 Whence comes that dark and rolling wreath 
 Which trembles in the night- wind's breath I 
 Say, is it not the pall of death ? 
 Look at that bright and glowing spire. 
 See ! now it rises higher, higher, 
 It is, oh ! yes, it is of fire I 
 
 Ye wretches now that sweetly sleep.. 
 How long shall ye your slumbers keep ? 
 Too soon ye'll ope your haggard eye, 
 Start up, rush forth, and scream, and die. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 Ye dream not now destruction's near, 
 But British heart and sword are there ; 
 Ye babes that do so calmly rest, 
 Like cherubs on your mothers' breast, 
 E'en innocence they will not spare, 
 The awful doom ye too must share. 
 
 And now the flames rush on amain, 
 Who shall their fearful wrath restrain ? 
 The winds let loose from out their cave, 
 Amid the burnings fiercely rave, 
 And hurl the brightly-beaming brand 
 Far on the rolling river's strand. 
 
 But see ! far down the glowing tides, 
 A boat upon the water rides ; 
 Like lightning o'er the wave it flies ; 
 Who is it thus that hither hies ? 
 And now, lo ! as 'tis growing near, 
 The gleaming tomahawk and spear, 
 Behold, the Indian chief is there. 
 
 The boat no sooner strikes the strand, 
 Than with one bound he's on the land. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK, 
 
 And think you, then he pauses there ? 
 Ah ! no, with fleetness of the deer, 
 He hastens through the frightened crowd, 
 'Mid screams of terror long and loud ; 
 And now he enters at that door, 
 Where he had often been before. 
 
 He rushes through the smoke and flame, 
 He calls upon his loved one's name ; 
 She answers not : the flames apace 
 Career upon their desperate race. 
 He can, he must no longer wait, 
 Or else is done the work of fate. 
 
 But hark ! amid his doubts, his fears, 
 A shrill and sudden scream he hears, 
 'Twas hers he loved ; those accents fell 
 Upon his soul like notes from Hell ; 
 They told 'tis true his Love was there, 
 But curdled at his heart Despair. 
 He vacant looks, but hope returns, 
 Although the flame with fury burns. 
 
OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 73 
 
 And now he starts, see ! he has gone, 
 To seek that loved and loving one. 
 He finds her — oh ! they meet, they meet, 
 They rush together for the street ; 
 He takes her by her slender waist, 
 f Come, my beloved, haste thee, haste, 
 
 Here is the door, and now' but death, 
 
 Stern death, cut short his fleeting breath ; 
 The roof with fearful crash fell in, 
 One scream was heard above the din, 
 Then all was silent. 
 
 On the ground 
 Two whitened skeletons were found, 
 Locked in one long and last embrace ; 
 They're buried in that humble place." 
 She pointed to a lonely tomb, 
 Appearing dimly through the gloom. 
 
 The pair have gone ; upon the hill 
 Is heard the plaintive whip-poor-will ; 
 The cricket, with its mournful voice, 
 Seems in the ruins to rejoice; 
 
 7 
 
74 
 
 OLD BRUNSWICK. 
 
 The hootings of the nightly bird, 
 Are faintly in the distance heard ; 
 And gloomy darkness settles down, 
 Upon the old, deserted town. 
 
KOBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 75 
 
 ROBEBT AND ANNA. 
 
 Twas night ; the world was wrapt in sleep, 
 And, slowly wheeling from the deep, 
 
 Arose the silver moon ; 
 The stilly sea, the quiet sky, 
 In witching beauty seemed to vie, 
 
 The sea with diamonds shone ; 
 And all the tints of tender hue, 
 Which ever skilful artist knew, 
 
 Or Taste herself deemed rare, 
 Were now in sweet confusion blent 
 Around the moon, as on she went 
 
 Upon her soft career. 
 
 A ship upon the swelling tides 
 Of Ocean's bosom calmly rides ; 
 
 No breezes fill her sails. 
 The Zephyr now is e'en at rest, 
 Locked in the chambers of the West, 
 
 And there all lonely wails. 
 
76 
 
 ROBERT AND ANNA, 
 
 The ship is noble, and on high, 
 Shoot its huge timbers to the sky, 
 
 Of all it monarch seems. 
 Are on its deck two beings now, 
 No shade of sadness clouds their brow; 
 
 And neither even dreams 
 That that which now is silent all, 
 As of the grave the funeral pall, 
 May into dreadful fury swell, 
 As surges from the gulf of Hell ; 
 And that which did so heavenly seem, 
 Be like a vision or a dream. 
 
 And happy they, that they may not 
 Have knowledge of their future lot ; 
 For could to man those ills appear, 
 Which ever wait upon him here, 
 Bright hope would wing eternal flight, 
 And life be but a wintry night. 
 
 But so it is ; no visions now 
 
 Of darkened future, cloud their brow ; 
 
 Their hearts as free from care, 
 As seagull poised upon his wings, 
 
ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 Or linnet as he blithely sings 
 In the fresh morning air. 
 
 But hark ! A soft melodious strain 
 Comes gently floating o'er the main. 
 
 It wakes the soul to hear ; 
 It seems the soft, enchanting note 
 Of seraph who, her home forgot, 
 Charmed by the beauty of the spot, 
 
 A moment lingers there. 
 The nightingale himself were mute. 
 Could he but hear that magic lute ; 
 The mocking-bird or linnet gay 
 Would drop at once his warbled lay, 
 And ev'ry heart, awake at once, 
 Must to the minstrel give response. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Upon the " ocean's wave" I roam, 
 
 Far from my happy childhood's home ; 
 
 The forest wild, the wood-land green, 
 
 By me are now no longer seen. 
 
 7# 
 
78 
 
 ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 The lark there sings his merry lay, 
 
 All nature is as ever gay, 
 
 And I indeed am blithe as they, 
 
 For while my Robert's true to me, 
 What could I else than happy be ? 
 
 The youth was standing by her side, 
 And in his face beamed joy and pride. 
 Her hand he seized, and to his heart 
 It pressed : " My Anna, shall we part 
 In this wide world ?" he cried, " Oh ! never, 
 Till death himself our hearts shall sever. 
 But sing, it makes my spirits light, 
 And seems to suit this fairy night/' 
 
 SONG CONTINUED. 
 
 We plough the deep and trackless sea, 
 And we may soon or later be 
 Lone strangers in an unknown land ; 
 Near us may be no helping hand ; 
 Far, far from home and its sweet cheer, 
 A mother's voice we will not hear, 
 No smiling friends will greet us there. 
 
ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 79 
 
 But while my Robert's true to me, 
 What could I else than happy be ? 
 
 Ah ! little then imagined they, 
 Who sang and heard this tender lay, 
 That this fair scene, with hope so bright, 
 Would turn to darkness of the night ; 
 That hearts then warm would soon be cold, 
 These moments be like " tale that's told/' 
 And that this fond and loving strain 
 Was destined ne'er to wake again. 
 
 The scene is changed. Far in the West, 
 The Sun fast seeks his nightly rest, 
 
 The sky's no longer clear; 
 For grum and lazy-rolling clouds, 
 The furious storm-god's sable shrouds, 
 Are floating slowly there ; 
 The vessel is no longer still ; 
 Her canvass gentle breezes fill, 
 
 And slowly moves she on ; 
 But soon the clouds shall darker grow, 
 The winds shall soon more fiercely blow, 
 
 Her race is well nigh done. 
 
80 
 
 ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 The sea-bird whirls in airy ring, 
 Or rests himself upon his wing ; 
 Anon do meet th' enraptured view, 
 Like spectres in the w r aters blue, 
 Monsters uncouth, as onward they 
 Dart quickly on their heedless prey; 
 The porpoise now doth rise on high, 
 Seems but to view the sea and sky, 
 To rest one moment on the main, 
 To breathe, and then go down again. 
 
 Upon the deck in silence are 
 That loving and devoted pair ; 
 Their wond'ring eyes are turned upon 
 The glories of the setting sun ; 
 The clouds reflect the garish ray 
 Of the descending king of day; 
 They o'er the sea in beauty throw 
 A bright, aerial, crimson glow, 
 And all the rarest tints of Heaven, 
 Seem now in rich profusion given. 
 
 The youth as from a dream awakes, 
 And says, as Anna's hand he takes, 
 
ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 " If always thus the skies appear, 
 With thee I'd dwell for ever here ; 
 With what unmixed and pure delight, 
 I'd gaze on scenes thus ever bright, 
 And what unceasing pleasure have, 
 Thus roaming o'er the mountain wave 
 But still my joy is mixed with fear, 
 For truly God himself is here." 
 
 " I too," she said, " would gladly stay, 
 Like this were ev'ry other day ; 
 But all this splendor soon will fade, 
 And into darkness be decayed. 
 E'en now, see, as the Sun goes down, 
 Those colors fade from red to brown, 
 And all the waters soon will be 
 Wrapt in profound obscurity. 
 It seems an emblem fit of life, 
 With all its toils and ceaseless strife ; 
 Those very things which give it light. 
 Do render doubly-dark its night." 
 
 But she these words had scarcely spok 
 When on them quick her lover broke : 
 
82 
 
 ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 " Hush ! see," he said, " the lightning's flash, 
 And hear the thunder's awful crash ! 
 Thou tremblest Anna, dost thou fear ? 
 Then come, we must not tarry here." 
 
 The Sun has found his nightly rest, 
 And wrapt in darkness is the West. 
 A calm o'er Nature's reigning now, 
 But sterner grows the storm-god's brow ; 
 He soon his banners will unfurl, 
 And on the deep dread tempests hurl. 
 
 For now, the clouds begin to roll 
 From East to West, from Pole to Pole ; 
 The thunder speaks with awful voice, 
 The waves in angry glee rejoice ; 
 The winds with savage fury howl, 
 Like wolves around the dead that prowl ; 
 Black darkness now is reigning there 
 Such as " th' Eternal shall wear," 
 Save when the trebly-forked levin 
 Far flashes 'long the vault of Heaven. » 
 
 There comes one long and lurid gleam, 
 Oh ! whence that agonizing scream ? 
 
ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 83 
 
 Death tears two loving souls apart, 
 
 That scream was wrung from Anna's heart ; 
 
 But yield not thus to useless grief, 
 
 The Tyrant's self will give relief. 
 
 The waves with doubled fury swell, 
 
 More fiercely blows the howling gale, 
 
 Fast and more fast the lightnings flash, 
 
 And louder is the thunder's crash. 
 
 Ah ! noble ship, too strong for thee, 
 
 Thou'lt soon go down beneath the sea ; 
 
 All mould'ring there, thou soon shalt rot ; 
 
 Thy very name must be forgot. 
 
 E'en now thy giant masts do creak, 
 
 And oh, alas ! they break, they break ; 
 
 Thy huge and mighty timbers groan; 
 
 I see them not ! where have they gone ? 
 
 I hear a keen heart-rending wail, 
 
 Or was't the moaning of the gale ? 
 
 Ah ! no. 'Twas wrung by grim Despair, 
 
 From one fond heart that perished there ! 
 
 That ship went down amid the tempest's roar, 
 
 And it shall roam the boundless deep no more ! 
 
84 ROBERT AND ANNA. 
 
 In real life, when hopes are high, 
 And all anticipations bright, 
 
 Dull Sorrow's cloud may dim your sky, 
 And turn your fairest day to night. 
 
A VISION. 
 
 85 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Upon my eyelids " balmy sleep" did fall, 
 And Fancy, the Enchantress, as I slept, 
 Did o'er me wave her fascinating wand ; 
 And phantoms strange and visions wonderful 
 Before me flitted. Long-departed friends 
 In form as once they were, around me stood, 
 Locked me in their embrace, my hand did press 
 In friendship's grasp, and spake of other days. 
 
 A sister, from whose eye the light of life 
 Has gone, in tenderness unspeakable 
 Upon me smiled, and on my lips she pressed 
 Affection's ardent kiss. 
 
 I stood again 
 Beside her whom I once had loved, but loved 
 In vain. She seemed on me to smile, as she 
 Had erst-times done, and bid the flow'r of hope 
 8 
 
86 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Spring up and blossom in my heart. And life 
 Again was bright, and sunshine gladdened all 
 My future sky. But oh ! there was a change. 
 The smile departed from that brow ; a frown 
 Usurped its place. She waved her angry hand ; 
 The flower of hope was withered, and the fruit 
 It bare, did " turn to ashes on my lips." 
 She faded from my view, and left to me 
 A blank the present, all the past a dream, 
 The future all a dismal wilderness. 
 Pale spectres of departed scenes did flit 
 Around and whisper in my ear of joys 
 Now gone, and that too to return no more, 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." 
 
 Strains of enchanting music, sweet and soft, 
 
 Far softer than the dying echoes of 
 
 " Music on water" from the distance borne, 
 
 Did " creep into my ears," and lull my soul 
 
 Into a quiet calm. It was the sound 
 
 Which gentle Zephyrs make, and purling streams 
 
 As gently on they glide o'er pebbly beds, 
 
A VISION. 
 
 87 
 
 And mix their murmurs with the mellow notes, 
 Which feathered minstrels warble forth. 
 
 I raised 
 
 My eyes and looked, and lo ! the scene was fair. 
 A vale of beauty indescribable 
 Before me spread ; and where I stood was bright 
 With that soft, pure, and mellow lustre which 
 The burnished drapery of Apollo's couch, 
 On Nature slumbering in the eventide, 
 Doth spread. And birds of fairest plumage there, 
 Did carol forth in Nature's glee their song. 
 And flowers of brightest bloom therein did grow- 
 In rich luxuriance. The lily there 
 Did raise her gentle head, and bow her form 
 In modest grace, whene'er the playful breeze 
 Came by and stole from her a kiss. The thorn 
 And thistle did not flourish there. And not 
 As yet had all the sordid cares and low 
 Pursuits of man upon it placed their blight. 
 Far, far away was all the din and noise 
 Of his tumultuous passions, fiend-like, 
 Strong and fierce, o'er which the " angels weep,' 
 
88 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 And which himself a ruined wreck do leave 
 Upon the dark and stormy surges of 
 Eternity's drear ocean. 
 
 By the side 
 Of this fair vale arose a mountain, steep* 
 Precipitous, and rugged. On its brow 
 A temple, in proportions beautiful, 
 Did rear its stately head ; and on it Fame 
 In characters of burnished gold was writ. 
 This fane around, halos of Happiness, 
 Of glory and contentment played. 
 
 A youth 
 
 Beneath its base did stand, and upward look 
 With eager eyes. And in his face did glow 
 The brilliancy of Genius' fire. The pride 
 Of manly beauty was upon him, and 
 The stern resolve of manly daring sat 
 Upon his brow, and Hope had there her seat. 
 
 He upward looked, and upward he began 
 The steep ascent to climb. He toiled until 
 His limbs waxed faint, and on his noble brow 
 The sweat in torrents broke. He feeble seemed, 
 
A VISION. 
 
 His steps did totter, and it now appeared 
 
 That he must fall. But up again he looked. 
 
 A being bright, in robes of Heaven clad, 
 
 His gaze bewildered caught. She seemed to smile, 
 
 And then to beck him on. He too did smile, 
 
 And then did once again the stern resolve 
 
 Of manly daring cross his brow. Again 
 
 He struggled on, and her at length he reached. 
 
 He knelt him down before her, and her hand 
 
 He pressed unto his lips. Then for awhile 
 
 Together they conversed. 
 
 He turned him round 
 And what a change was there ! Bright hope had 
 fled. - 
 
 Despair upon his brow, in characters 
 
 Too legible, was writ, and agony 
 
 Had cast her dreary shadows there. His frame 
 
 In one convulsive tremor shook. He fell, 
 
 And o'er the scene came darkness visible. 
 
 " A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." 
 The vale which I before had seen, was now 
 Before me. Neither darkness nor the light, 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Which formerly it wore, was on it now ; 
 But twilight such as ushers in the night. 
 
 1 looked, and lo ! a man infirm and old, 
 Before me stood. It was the youth whom I 
 Had seen. His form was bowed beneath the 
 weight 
 
 Of years. His eye was vacant, and his cheek 
 Was hollow. Many furrows on his brow 
 " Old Time" had ploughed. The hand of death 
 was laid 
 
 Upon him. Gentle breezes fanned his cheeks, 
 And waved his snowy hair. His lips did move, 
 And from them came a feeble voice : " And I 
 Have lived my life out. Yes ! the sands which 
 mark 
 
 My fleeting stay on Earth, are nearly run. 
 And when through memory's vista I do look 
 Upon the past, what scene is there ? A blank, 
 A desert, over which the Monsoon's breath 
 In fiery course hath swept. A wilderness, 
 Such as the angry elements do leave, 
 
A VISION 
 
 91 
 
 When they have ceased their conflict and their 
 rage. 
 
 And my poor heart, the flame that scorched it 
 once, 
 
 Is gone. But it is seared and blighted. Ah ! 
 Could I but live my life again — but no. 
 My time's for ever past. The seal of fate 
 Is on me, and I go. My wonder is, 
 That I have stayed so long. And now farewell 9 
 Ye scenes of earth, farewell/' His eyes he turned 
 To Heaven up, and sank upon the Earth. 
 Black darkness from above came down, such as 
 The night of nights shall wear. I dreamed no 
 more. 
 
 But I awoke to think how oft fair hopes, 
 Ambition honorable, prospects bright, 
 Are crushed at once by thwarted love, and what 
 A wreck it leaves the heart that once was gay. 
 
MINOKA. 
 
LINES ON THE DEATH OF JOHN BURTON.* 
 
 Hark ! hark ! a sad and mournful sound 
 Upon the evening breeze is swelling. 
 
 Another mortal's borne to ground, 
 
 And " earth to earth" the tocsin's knelling. 
 
 But who is he that on the bier 
 Is laid in death so cold and lowly ? 
 
 Who, that in deepest anguish there, 
 They bear along so sad and slowly? 
 
 Say, is he one who on him bears 
 
 The marks of age all ripe and mellow ? 
 
 One in the Autumn of his years, 
 
 Whose leaf of life was " sear and yellow ?" 
 
 * A son of Gov. Burton, and at the period of his decease, 
 a member of the Sophomore class of the University of North 
 Carolina. 
 
96 
 
 MINORA. 
 
 Of that devoted number one 
 
 Who ne'er the path of love deserted, 
 
 And when his work on Earth was done, 
 Seemed only then to have departed ? 
 
 Or had of stormy passion's cloud 
 
 The angry rage on him alighted, ( 
 And nothing left, except a shroud, 
 
 To the heart that it had seared and blighted ? 
 
 Ah ! no. The warm and ardent sun 
 Of youth was still upon him shining ; 
 
 With him had sorrow not begun, 
 
 His heart had not yet known repining. 
 
 But from the opening scene of strife 
 He has been prematurely hurried ; 
 
 And we may weep, that love, young life, 
 And genius, all in him lie buried. 
 
MINORA. 
 
 97 
 
 TO MISS 
 
 To those scenes where thou'st roamed in thy 
 moments of childhood, 
 Again, after absence so long, thou hast come. 
 We welcome thee back to thy dear native wild- 
 wood, 
 
 And hail thy return to thy own happy home, 
 
 But say, do those feelings which once thou hast 
 cherished, 
 
 In all their pure beauty and ardor remain ? 
 Or are they but things that have been and have 
 perished, 
 
 Like bubbles that float but to burst on the 
 main ? 
 
 I know there are those who with Hate's barbed 
 arrow, 
 
 9 
 
98 MINORA. 
 
 All peace which another might have, would 
 destroy. 
 
 I feel there are those who would joyously harrow 
 The heart where has reigned only quiet and 
 
 They gladly would sever those ties which have 
 bound me ; 
 
 The sky of my hopes w T ith dark clouds they'd 
 o'ercast ; 
 
 With fiendish delight, they would fain throw 
 around me 
 
 A darkness which might through Eternity 
 last. 
 
 But let them work on. So thy smile beameth 
 o'er me, 
 
 I'll defy of Fate's self e'en the sternest decree, 
 For I'll know that at last joy and peace is before 
 me, 
 
 That life will be turned to a Heaven by thee. 
 
MINORA. 
 
 99 
 
 TO MISS 
 
 Oh ! weep not, lady, if it be 
 
 That for my truth thy spirit fears ; 
 
 Bid anguish from thy bosom flee, 
 And wipe away those useless tears. 
 
 And dost thou, canst thou, then suppose 
 That I my vows of love forget ? 
 
 Cursed be that hour ; Heaven knows 
 The fatal moment is not yet. 
 
 Then wipe away those useless tears, 
 Oh ! let them not be shed again ; 
 
 And banish those unfounded fears ; 
 " I could not give that bosom pain." 
 
100 MINORA 
 
 IMPROMPTU LINES, 
 
 TO A LADY ON PRESENTING HER WITH A ROSEBUD. 
 
 One gaze upon that lovely face, 
 
 One glance from that soul-speaking eye, 
 
 And on the heart is Love's warm trace, 
 And from the lips bursts Passion's sigh. 
 
 Take, then, this fair and beauteous flower, 
 
 A token of Love's magic power, 
 
 And that I will for ever be 
 
 Devoted but to Him and thee.