Troin the t. * /./L GOLDEN LEAVES. GOLDEN LEAVES FROM THE AMERICAN POETS COLLECTED BY JOHN W. S. HOWS i NEW YORK JAMES G. GREGORY 540 BROADWAY M DCCC LX V Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, By JAMES G. GREGORY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. C. A. ALVORD, STEREOTYPER AND PRINTER. P BE FAG E. THIS Selection from the works of AMERICAN POETS is based upon the same design I con- templated in the companion volume of " GOLDEN LEAVES FROM THE BRITISH POETS," lately issued. I have endeavoured to gather into one portable vol- ume those Poems that have, by general accepta- tion, become identified in the hearts of the People as the choicest and noblest specimens of American National Poetry. To these literal " household words" there are added otlier selections, not perhaps so generally familiar to ordinary readers, but yet pos- sessing sufficient merit to make them worthy a place in a work expressly intended as an exponent of the Poetic Genius of the Country. A few of the earliest recorded efforts of American poetic composition are given, as interesting relics of a by- gone age affording, as they do, graphic pictures of the habits and manners of the periods they de- scribe ; and as marking also the incipient dawnings of poetic talent in this country. vi PREFACE. I may be permitted to add, without incurring the charge of undue egotism, I trust, that the prepara- tion of this work has been to me literally " a labour of love." It seemed to me a fitting tribute to render to those Poets whose works had entered so largely into my professional studies for the last thirty years, and between whom and the mere cur- sory reader, and those of a yet immature age, I had endeavoured faithfully to act as an INTERPRETER, that I should, in the probably closing effort of my literary career, present a worthy monument record- ing the Genius of American Poesy, acceptable to the reading Public, and one that should do honour to the Poets I have selected for representation ; and to these Gifted Men and Women I most re- spectfully dedicate these my humble labours. J. W. S. H. 5 COTTAGE PLACE, NEW YORK, ") October ia, 1864. / CONTENTS. ANONYMOUS. PAGE New England's Annoyances. "The first recorded Poem written in America" (1630) I ANNE BRADSTREET. Contemplations (1650) 3 BENJAMIN THOMSON. New England's Crisis (1675) 6 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. Paper (1742) 9 JOHN TRUMBULL. The Fop (1772) ii MERCY WARREN. Things necessary to the Life of a Woman (1774) 17 ANNE ELIZA BLEEKER. On the Death of her Child at the Retreat from Burgoyne (1777) 18 PHILIP FRENEAU. The Wild Honeysuckle (1782) 20 Indian Death-Song ~ 21 viii CONTENTS. SUSANNAH ROWSON. PAGE America, Commerce, and Freedom (1795) a2 ST. JOHN TUCKER. Days of my Youth (1800) 23 TIMOTHY DWIGHT. The Social Visit (1794) 24 ELIZA TOWNSEND. The Incomprehensibility of GOD 26 DAVID HUMPHREYS. Western Emigration (1799) 28 JOEL BARLOW. The Hasty Pudding (1793) 29 JOSEPH HOPKINSON. Hail Columbia (1798) 41 CLEMENT C. MOORE. A Visit from St. Nicholas 43 WASHINGTON ALLSTON. The Paint-King 45 America to Great Britain 52 JOHN PIERPONT. The Pilgrim Fathers 53 "Passing away" 55 SAMUEL WOODWORTH. The Bucket 57 RICHARD HENRY DANA. Immortality 58 The Little Beach-Bird... .. 60 CONTENTS. ix FRANCIS SCOTT KEY. PAGE The Star-spangled Banner 62 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. Sweet Home 6-: JAMES A. HILLHOUSE. The Last Evening before Eternity 64 ALEXANDER H. EVERETT. The Young American 65 SEBA SMITH. The Burning Ship at Sea 67 CHARLES SPRAGUE. Shakspeare Ode 69 The Family Meeting 75 Art 77 LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY. The Pilgrim Fathers 79 Niagara 8 1 The Coral-Insect 82, WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Thanatopsis 84 Forest Hymn 86 The Death of the Flowers 90 The Antiquity of Freedom 92 To a Waterfowl 94 To the Fringed Gentian 95 The Planting of the Apple-Tree 96 EDWARD EVERETT. Alaric the Visigoth 99 x CONTENTS. FRANCES H. GREEN. PAGE The Chickadee's Song loa HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT. The Birchen Canoe 104 Geehale : an Indian Lament 106 CARLOS WILCOX. Sunset in September 107 EMMA C. EMBURY. Cheerfulness 109 HENRY WARE, JR. Seasons of Prayer Hi MARIA BROOKS. To the River St. Lawrence 113 JOHN NEAL. Music of the Night 117 On seeing Cavalry passing through a Gorge, at Sunset (from "Battle of Niagara") 119 JAMES GATES PERCIVAL. The Graves of the Patriots 120 To the Eagle 121 New England 124 The Coral-Grove 126 It is great for our Country to die 127 HANNAH F. GOULD. The Snow-Flake 128 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. The American Flag 130 The Culprit Fay 133 CONTENTS. xi FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. PAGE Marco Bozzaris 155 Connecticut 159 The World is bright before thee i6z SARAH JANE HALE. The Light of Home 163 The Two Maidens 164 JOHN G. C. BRAINARD. The Deep 165 The Indian Summer 166 The Sea-Bird's Song 167 JAMES WALLIS EASTBURN. To Pneuma 168 The Restoration of Israel 169 ROBERT C. SANDS. Weehawken 170 The Green Isle of Lovers 172 WILLIAM B. O. PEABODY. Hymn of Nature 173 SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD. An Evening Song of Piedmont 175 GRENVILLE M ELLEN. On seeing an Eagle pass near me in Autumn Twilight 177 The True Glory of America 179 S. MARGARET FULLER. Ganymede to his Eagle 181 EMILY JUDSON. The Weaver 185 xn CONTENTS. RUFUS DAWES. PAGE The Spirit of Beauty 188 Sunrise from Mount Washington 189 BISHOP GEORGE W. DOANE. "What is that, Mother?" 191 A Cherub 192 MRS. E. C. KINNEY. To Powers's Greek Slave 193 The Woodman 194 ELIZABETH J. EAMES, Crowning of Petrarch 195 JAMES GORDON BROOKS. Greece in 1832 198 MARY E. BROOKS. Dream of Life 201 CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN. The Myrtle and Steel 203 Sparkling and Bright 204 Forest Musings 205 The Origin of Mint Juleps 209 Rosalie Clare 210 SOPHIA HELEN OLIVER. Ministering Spirits 211 MARY E. LEE. The Poets 213 REV. WILLIAM CROSWELL, D. D. The Clouds 214 CONTENTS. xiii WILLIAM PITT PALMER. PAGE Lines to a Chrysalis 216 MARY NOEL MEIGS. The Spells of Memory 218 EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. Italy 220 REV. GEORGE W. BETHUNE, D. D. Night Study 222 GEORGE P. MORRIS. Woodman, spare that Tree 224 The Whip-poor-will 225 My Mother's Bible 227 The West 228 LYDIA JANE PIERSON. The Wild-wood Home 230 ALBERT G. GREENE. The Baron's Last Banquet 231 Old Grimes 234 LUCY HOOPER. Legends of Flowers 236 JAMES NACK. Spring is coming 238 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. The Lost Pleiad 239 The Edge of the Swamp 241 ANN S. STEPHENS. Dropping Leaves 243 xiv CONTENTS. EDGAR ALLAN POE. PAGE The Raven 245 Annabel Lee 251 The Bells 253 SARAH HELEN WHITMAN. The Sleeping Beauty : " A Tale of Forests and Enchant- ments drear" 257 JONATHAN LAWRENCE. Look aloft 266 GEORGE D. PRENTICE. Sabbath Evening 267 The Dead Mariner 268 FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. The Cocoa-nut Tree 270 ELIZABETH OAKES-SMITH. The Brook 272 ANNA CORA MOWATT (RITCHIE). Time 275 On a Lock of my Mother's Hair 276 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. The Arsenal at Springfield 277 A Psalm of Life 279 Footsteps of Angels 280 Excelsior 282 Paul Revere's Ride 284 Rain in Summer 288 The Village Blacksmith 291 The Skeleton in Armour 293 CONTENTS. xv JULIA WARD HOWE. PAGI Woman 299 The Dead Christ 300 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. Act for Truth 302 The Heritage 304 To the Dandelion 306 An Incident in a Railroad Car 308 GEORGE LUNT. . The Lyre and Sword 311 AMELIA B. WELBY. The Old Maid 312 To a Sea-Shell 314 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. The Dying Alchemist 316 The Leper 320 Hagar in the Wilderness 325 Parrhasius 330 ANNE C. LYNCH (MADAME BOTTA). The Battle of Life 336 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. Maud Muller 339 The Merrimack 344 Palestine 347 The Brother of Mercy 349 ALFRED B. STREET. A Forest Walk... 352 The Gray Forest-Eagle 354 xvi CONTENTS. REV. ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE, D. D. PAGE The Chimes of England 359 Old Churches 361 PARK BENJAMIN. Gold 363 The Stormy Petrel 364 WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. A Lament 365 HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN. The Apollo Belvidere 367 To an Elm 372 Newport Beach 374 WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. Fifty Years ago 378 The Mothers of the West ;....^... 381 ISAAC McCLELLAN. New England's Dead 382 EPES SARGENT. The Missing Ship 384 PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE. Life in the Autumn Woods 386 JOHN G. SAXE. The Proud Miss MacBride. A Legend of Gotham 389 Phaethon, or the Amateur Coachman 399 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. The Poet 403 Each and All 405 To the Humble-Bee 407 Good-by, Proud World! 409 CONTENTS. xvii REV. RALPH HOYT. PAGE The World for Sale 410 WILLIAM Ross WALLACE. The Liberty-Bell 413 The Sword of Bunker Hill 415 ALICE CAREY. Visions of Light 416 Harvest-Time 418 THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS. Hudson River 420 On a Lady singing 423 PHOEBE CAREY. The Christian Woman 424 * THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. The Stranger on the Sill 426 Passing the Icebergs 427 The Sea-King 430 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. On lending a Punch-Bowl 431 The Old Constitution 435 The Music-Grinders 436 The Living Temple 438 JAMES T. FIELDS. Sleighing-Song 440 The Alpine Cross 441 Last Wishes of a Child 442 Dirge for a Young Girl 443 Ballad of the Tempest 444 xviii CONTENTS. GEORGE H. BOKER. TAGS. A Ballad of Sir John Franklin 445 Dirge for a Soldier. In Memory of General Philip Kear- ney 45 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. Hymn to the Beautiful 451 William Shakspeare. A Tercentenary Ode 455 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. The Ballad of Babie Bell 459 A Ballad of Nantucket 462 Kathie Morris. An Old Man's Poem 464 BAYARD TAYLOR. Bedouin Song 468 The Arab to the Palm 469 Kubleh ; a Story of the Assyrian Desert 471 "Moan, ye Wild Winds" .1*. 476 The Bison-Track 477 LUCRETIA M. DAVIDSON. A Prophecy 479 Auction Extraordinary 480 MARGARET M. DAVIDSON. To her Sister Lucretia 481 To her Mother. Written a few Days before her Death .... 482 WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER. The New Argonauts 483 Charlemagne and the Hermit 486 WILLIAM WINTER. Orgia 489 Beside the Sea 491 After All 492 CONTENTS. xix JOHN ESTEN COOKE. PAGE Ma y 493 Extracts from Stanzas 494 ELIZABETH ELLETT. The Sea-Kings 499 J. T. TROWBRIDGE. The Vagabonds .....' 500 J. G. HOLLAND. The Old Story of Bluebeard. (From "Bitter-Sweet") 504 EDMUND B. STEDMAN. The Strawberry-Pickers. (From "Alice of Monmouth")... 509 ANONYMOUS. The Big Shoe. (From " Mother Goose for Grown Folks").. 513 Jack Horner 516 EDITH MAY. The Colouring of Happiness 518 Summer 519 FRANK W. BALLARD. Little May 521 The Prairie Grave 522 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. "Only a Year" 523 ANNA PEYRE DINNIES. To my Husband's First Gray Hair... 5*5 xx CONTENTS. ROSE TERRY. PAGE The Fishing-Song 527 Reve du Midi 528 FRANK LEE BENEDICT. A Picture. (From " The Shadow-Worshipper") 529 In Memoriam 530 GOLDEN LEAVES. NEW ENGLANDS ANNOYANCES. "THE FIRST RECORDED PoEM WRITTEN IN AMERICA." New England's annoyances, you that would know them, Pray ponder these verses, which briefly do show them. ^ I ^HE place where we live is a wilderness wood. * Where grass is much wanting that's fruitful and good Our mountains and hills and our valleys below Being commonly covered with ice and with snow : And when the northwest wind with violence blows, Then every man pulls his cap over his nose : But if any's so hardy and will it withstand, He forfeits a finger, a foot, or a hand. But when the spring opens, we then take the hoe, And. make the ground ready to plant and to sow ; Our corn being planted and seed being sown, The worms destroy much before it is grown ; And when it is growing some spoil there is made By birds and by squirrels that pluck up the blade ; And when it is come to full corn in the ear, It is often destroyed by raccoon and by deer. GOLDEN LEAVES. And now do our garments begin to grow thin, And wool is much wanted to card and to spin ; If we get a garment to cover without, Our other in-garments are clout upon clout : Our clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn, They need to be clouted soon after they're worn ; But clouting our garments they hinder us nothing, Clouts double are warmer than single whole clothing. If fresh meat be wanting, to fill up our dish, We have carrots and pumpkins and turnips and fish : And is there a mind for a delicate dish, We repair to the clam-banks, and there we catch fish. 'Stead of pottage and puddings and custards and pies, Our pumpkins and parsnips are common supplies : We have pumpkins at morning and pumpkins at noon ; If it was not for pumpkins we should be undone. If barley be wanting to make into malt, We must be contented and think it no fault ; For we can make liquor to sweeten our lips Of pumpkins and parsnips and walnut-tree chips. % * x % # % * % Now while some are going let others be coming, For while liquor's boiling it must have a scumming; But I will not blame them, for birds of a feather, By seeking their fellows, are flocking together. But you whom the LORD intends hither to bring, Forsake not the honey for fear of the sting ; But bring both a quiet and contented mind, And all needful blessings you surely will find. ANNE BRAD STREET. Brabetet. CONTEMPLATIONS. (1650.) T TNDER the cooling shadow of a stately elm, ^ Close sat I by a goodly river's side, Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm ; A lonely place, with pleasures dignified. I, once that loved the shady woods so well, Now thought the rivers did the trees excel, And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell. While on the stealing stream I fixed mine eye, Which to the longed-for ocean held its course, I marked nor crooks nor rubs that there did lie, Could hinder aught, but still augment its force. " O happy flood," quoth I, " that holdst thy race Till thou arrive at thy beloved place, Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace. " Nor is't enough that thou alone may'st slide, But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet : So hand in hand along with thee they glide To Thetis' house, where all embrace and greet. Thou emblem true of what I count the best O could I leave my rivulets to rest ! So may we press to that vast mansion ever blest. " Ye fish which in this liquid region 'bide, That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh, when you think best to glide, To unknown coasts to give a visitation, 4 GOLDEN LEAVES. In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry : So Nature taught, and yet you know not why You wat'ry folk that know not your felicity !" Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air, Then to the colder bottom straight they dive, Eftsoons to Neptune's glassy hall repair To see what trade the great ones there do drive, Who forage o'er the spacious sea-green field, And take their trembling prey before it yield, Whose armour is their scales, their spreading fins their shield. While musing thus with contemplation fed, And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, The sweet-tongued Philomel perched o'er my head, And chanted forth a most melodious strain, Which rapt me so with wonder and delight, I judged my hearing better than my sight, And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight. " O merry bird," said I, " that fears no snares ; That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn ; Feels no sad thoughts, nor 'cruciating cares To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm : Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear. " The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew ; So each one tunes his pretty instrument, And warbling out the old, begins anew, ANNE BRAD STREET. 5 And thus they pass their youth in summer season, Then follow thee into a better region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion." Man's at the best a creature frail and vain, In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak ; Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain, Each storm his state, his mind, his body break : From some of these he never finds cessation, But day or night, within, without, vexation, Troubles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near'st relations. And yet this sinful creature, frail and vain, This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow, This weather-beaten vessel racked with pain, Joys not in hope of an eternal morrow ; Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation, In weight, in frequency, and long duration, Can make him deeply groan for that divine translation. The mariner that on smooth waves doth glide, Sings merrily, and steers his bark with ease, As if he had command of wind and tide, And were become great master of the seas ; But suddenly a storm spoils all the" sport, And makes him long for a more quiet port, Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort. So he that saileth in this world of pleasure, Feeding on sweets, that never bit of the sour, That's full of friends, of honour, and of treasure Fond fool ! he takes this earth e'en for heaven's bower. 6 GOLDEN LEA VE S. But sad affliction comes, and makes him see Here's neither honour, wealth, nor safety : Only above is found all with security. O Time, the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws Oblivion's curtains over kings Their sumptuous monuments men know them not, Their names without a record are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomps, all laid i' the dust- Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, 'scape Time's rust ; But he whose name is graved in the white stone, Shall last and shine when all of these are gone ! Benjamin TpHE Pilgrim fathers where are they ? * The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day, When the May-Flower moored below, 54 G OLDEN LEAVES. When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow. The mists, that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep, Still brood upon the tide ; And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep, To stay its waves of pride. But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale When the heavens looked dark, is gone ; As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud, Is seen, and then withdrawn. The Pilgrim exile sainted name ! The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now. And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; But the Pilgrim where is he ? The Pilgrim fathers are at rest : When Summer's throned on high, And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed, Go, stand on the hill where they lie. The earliest ray of the golden day On that hallowed spot is cast ; And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, Looks kindly on that spot last. The Pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars, by night. PIERPONT. 55 It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay, where the May-Flower lay, Shall foam and freeze no more. "PASSING AWAY." "1T7AS it the chime of a tiny bell, That came so sweet to my dreaming ear Like the silvery tones of a Fairy's shell That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear, When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the Moon and the Fairy are watching the deep, She dispensing her silvery light, And he his notes, as silvery quite, While the boatman listens and ships his oar, To catch the music that comes from the shore ? Hark ! the notes on my ear that play, Are set to words : as they float, they say, " Passing away ! passing away !" But no ; it was not a Fairy's shell, Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear ; Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell, Striking the hour, that filled my ear, As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime That told of the flow of the stream of Time. For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, swung As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring That hangs in his cage, a Canary-bird swing) ; 56 GOLDEN LEAVES. And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, And, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, " Passing away ! passing away !" Oh, how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow ! And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, Seemed to point to the girl below. And lo ! she had changed : in a few short hours Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung This way and that, as she, dancing, swung In the fulness of grace and womanly pride, That told me she soon was to be a bride ; " Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, In the same sweet voice I heard her say, " Passing away ! passing away !" While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade Of thought, or care, stole softly over, Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made, Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, That marched so calmly round above her, Was a little dimmed as when Evening steals Upon Noon's hot face : yet one couldn't but love her, For she looked like a mother, whose first babe lay Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day; And she seemed in the same silver tone to say, " Passing away ! passing away !" WO OD WORTH. 57 While yet I looked, what a change there came ! Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan : Stooping and staffed was her withered frame, Yet, just as busily, swung she on ; The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ; The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; The hands, that over the dial swept, Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept, And still there came that silver tone From the shrivelled lips of the toothless crone (Let me never forget till my dying day The tone or the burden of her lay) " Passing away ! passing away !" Samuel lHoobu)ovil). THE BUCKET. TTOW dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it ; The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it ; And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure ; For often at noon, when returned from the field, 58 G OLDEN LEAVES. I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure The purest and sweetest that Nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ! Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habitation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As Fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, that hangs in the well ! Etcljarb jjeurg JDana. IMMORTALITY. TS this thy prison-house, thy grave, then, Love ? *- And doth Death cancel the great bond that holds Commingling spirits ? Are thoughts that know no bounds, But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out The Eternal Mind the Father of all thought Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms DANA. 59 Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? Lived in the dreadful splendour of that throne, Which One, with gentle hand, the veil of flesh Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed In glory ? throne, before which, even now, Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down, Rejoicing, yet at their own natures awed ? Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense, Thou awful, unseen Presence ! are they quenched ? Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ? And with our frames do perish all our loves ? Do those that took their root, and put forth buds, And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty, Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers ? Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give speech, And make it send forth winning harmonies That to the cheek do give its living glow, And vision in the eye the soul intense With that for which there is no utterance Are these the body's accidents ? no more ? To live in it, and, when that dies, go out Like the burnt taper's flame ? Oh ! listen, man ! A voice within us speaks that startling word, " Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls ; according harps, By angel-fingers touched, when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still 60 GOLDEN LEAVES. The song of our great immortality : Thick-clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, Join in this solemn, universal song. Oh ! listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in From all the air. 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 'Tis floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears : Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast mystic instrument, are touched By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony. THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD. 'TpHOU little bird, thou dweller by the Sea, -*- Why takest thou its melancholy voice, And with that boding cry O'er the waves dost thou fly ? Oh rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice ! n. Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, As driven by a beating storm at sea ; DANA. 6l Thy cry is weak and scared, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us. Thy wail What does it bring to me ? Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad ; as if, in strange accord With the motion and the roar Of waves that drive to shore, One spirit did ye urge The Mystery the Word. Of thousands thou both sepulchre and pall, Old Ocean, art ! A requiem o'er the dead From out thy gloomy cells A tale of mourning tells Tells of man's woe and fall, His sinless glory fled. v. Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight Where the complaining Sea shall sadness bring Thy spirit never more. Come, quit with me the shore For gladness, and the light Where birds of summer sing. 4* 62 GOLDEN LEAVES. Jrcmcts Scott Keg. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. ! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming ; Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly stream- ing? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ; Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses ? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam ; Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 'Tis the star-spangled banner ! oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! And where is the band who so vauntingly swore, 'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country they'd leave us no more ? Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps' pollu- tion; No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave PA YNE. 63 And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! Ohj thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between our loved home and the war's desolation ; Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation ! Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto, " In GOD is our trust ;" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! loljn fijoumrb JJajme. SWEET HOME. TV/TID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, -**-* Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; The birds singing gayly, that come at my call : Give me these, and the peace of mind, dearer than all. Home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! G OLDEN LEA VES. lames 21. Jplljonse. THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY. Y this, the sun his westering car drove low ; Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold ; Along the horizon castled shapes were piled, Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed With yellow light : smit by the slanting ray, A ruddy beam the canopy reflected ; With deeper light the ruby blushed ; and thick Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff, With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung, Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits Cast off, upon the dewy air, huge flakes Of golden lustre. Over all the hill, The heavenly legions, the assembled world, Evening her crimson tint forever drew. Round I gazed Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn, Faded the glories of the dying day. Mild-twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud, The solitary star of evening shone. While gazing wistful on that peerless light, Thereafter to be seen no more (as oft In dreams strange images will mix), sad thoughts Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing I cried, " Farewell, Pale, beauteous planet, that display'st so soft, Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam EVERETT. 65 A long, a last farewell ! Seasons have changed, Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away ; But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair As on thy birthnight ! Bright and watchful eyes, From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem With secret transport ! Natal star of love, And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy, How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray ! How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green, Signal of rest, and social converse sweet, Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison ! Pride of the West ! beneath thy placid light The tender tale shall never more be told Man's soul shall never wake to joy again : Thou set'st forever lovely orb, farewell !" THE YOUNG AMERICAN. OCION of a mighty stock ! ^ Hands of iron hearts of oak Follow with unflinching tread Where the noble fathers led. Craft and subtle treachery, Gallant youth ! are not for thee : Follow thou in word and deeds Where the God within thee leads. 66 GOLDEN LEAVES. Honesty with steady eye, Truth and pure simplicity, Love that gently winneth hearts, These shall be thy only arts Prudent in the council-train, Dauntless on the battle-plain, Ready at the country's need For her glorious cause to bleed. Where the dews of night distil Upon Vernon's holy hill ; Where above it, gleaming far, Freedom lights her guiding star Thither turn the steady eye, Flashing with a purpose high ; Thither with devotion meet Often turn the pilgrim feet. Let thy noble motto be, " GOD the COUNTRY LIBERTY ! : Planted on Religion's rock, Thou shalt stand in every shock. Laugh at danger, far or near ; Spurn at baseness spurn at fear ; * Still, with persevering might, Speak the truth, and do the right. So shall Peace, a charming guest, Dove-like in thy bosom rest ; So shall Honour's steady blaze Beam upon thy closing days. SMITH. 67 Happy if celestial favour Smile upon the high endeavour : Happy if it be thy call In the holy cause to fall. Stba Smitl). THE BURNING SHIP AT SEA. ^ ^HE night was clear and mild, * And the breeze went softly by, And the stars of heaven smiled As they wandered up the sky ; And there rode a gallant ship on the wave- But many a hapless wight Slept the sleep of death that night, And before the morning light Found a grave ! All were sunk in soft repose, Save the watch upon the deck : Not a boding dream arose Of the horrors of the wreck, To the mother, or the child, or the sire ; Till a shriek of woe profound, Like a death-knell echoed round With a wild and dismal sound, A shriek of "Fire!" Now the flames are spreading fast With resistless rage they fly, 68 GOLDEN LEAVES. Up the shrouds and up the mast, And are flickering to the sky ; Now the deck is all a-blaze ; now the rails There's no place to rest their feet ; Fore and aft the torches meet, And a winged lightning-sheet i Are the sails. No one heard the cry of woe But the sea-bird that flew by ; There was hurrying to and fro, But no hand to save was nigh ; Still before the burning foe they were driven Last farewells were uttered there, With a wild and frenzied stare, And a short and broken prayer Sent to Heaven. Some leap over in the flood To the death that waits them there ; Others quench the flames with blood, And expire in open air ; Some, a moment to escape from the grave, On the bowsprit take a stand ; But their death is near at hand Soon they hug the burning brand On the wave. From his briny ocean-bed, When the morning sun awoke, Lo, that gallant ship had fled ! And a sable cloud of smoke Was the monumental pyre that remained ; SPRAGUE. 69 But the sea gulls round it fly, With a quick and fearful cry, And the brands that floated by Blood had stained. G SHAKSPEARE ODE. OD of the glorious lyre ! Whose notes of old on lofty Pindus rang, While Jove's exulting choir Caught the glad echoes and responsive sang Come ! bless the service and the shrine We consecrate to thee and thine. Fierce from the frozen North, When Havoc led his legions forth, [spread : O'er Learning's sunny groves the dark destroyer In dust the sacred statue slept, Fair Science round her altars wept, And Wisdom cowled his head. At length, Olympian lord of morn, The raven veil of night was torn, When, through golden clouds descending, Thou didst hold thy radiant flight, O'er Nature's lovely pageant bending, Till Avon rolled, all sparkling to thy sight ! There, on its bank, beneath the mulberry's shade, Wrapped in young dreams, a wild-eyed minstrel strayed. ?o GOLDEN LEAVES. Lighting there and lingering long, Thou didst teach the bard his song; Thy fingers strung his sleeping shell, And round his brows a garland curled , On his lips thy spirit fell, And bade him wake and warm the world ! Then SHAKSPEARE rose ! Across the trembling strings His daring hand he flings, And, lo ! a new creation glows ! There, clustering round, submissive to his will, Fate's vassal train his high commands fulfil. Madness, with his frightful scream, Vengeance, leaning on his lance, Avarice, with his blade and beam, Hatred, blasting with a glance ; Remorse, that weeps, and Rage, that roars, And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet adores. Mirth, his face with sun-beams lit, Waking Laughter's merry swell, Arm in arm with fresh-eyed Wit, That waves his tingling lash, while FoWy shakes his bell. Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream, Kissed by the virgin moon's cold beam, Where some lost maid wild chaplets wreathes, And, swan-like, -there her own dirge breathes, Then, broken-hearted, sinks to rest, Beneath the bubbling wave, that shrouds her maniac breast. SPRAGUE. 71 Young Love, with eye of tender gloom, Now drooping o'er the hallowed tomb Where his plighted victims lie Where they met, but met to die : And now, when crimson buds are sleeping, Through the dewy arbour peeping, Where Beauty's child, the frowning world forgot, To youth's devoted tale is listening, Rapture on her dark lash glistening, [spot. While fairies leave their cowslip cells and guard the happy Thus rise the phantom throng, Obedient to their master's song, And lead in willing chain the wandering soul along. For other worlds War's Great One sighed in vain O'er other worlds see SHAKSPEARE rove and reign ! The rapt magician of his own wild lay, Earth and her tribes his mystic wand obey. Old Ocean trembles, Thunder cracks the skies, Air teems with shapes, and tell-tale spectres rise ; Night's paltering hags their fearful orgies keep, And faithless Guilt unseals the lip of Sleep ; Time yields his trophies up, and Death restores The mouldered victims of his voiceless shores. The fireside legend, and the faded page, The crime that cursed, the deed that blest an age, All, all come forth the good to charm and cheer, To scourge bold Vice, and start the generous tear ; With pictured Folly gazing fools to shame, And guide young Glory's foot along the path of Fame. Lo ! hand in hand, Hell's juggling sisters stand, 72 G OLDEN LEAVES. To greet their victim from the fight ; Grouped on the blasted heath, They tempt him to the work of death, Then melt in air, and mock his wondering sight. In midnight's hallowed hour He seeks the fatal tower, Where the lone raven, perched on high, Pours to the sullen gale Her hoarse, prophetic wail, And croaks the dreadful moment nigh. See, by the phantom dagger led, Pale, guilty thing, Slowly he steals with silent tread, And grasps his coward steel to smite his sleeping king. Hark ! 'tis the signal bell, Struck by that bold and unsexed one, Whose milk is gall, whose heart is stone ; His ear hath caught the knell 'Tis done ! 'tis done ! Behold him from the chamber rushing, Where his dead monarch's blood is gushing : Look, where he trembling stands, Sad, gazing there, Life's smoking crimson on his hands, And in his felon heart the worm of wild despair. Mark the sceptred traitor slumbering ! There flit the slaves of Conscience round, With boding tongues foul murderers numbering; Sleep's leaden portals catch the sound. In his dream of blood for mercy quaking, At his own dull scream behold him waking ! SPRAGUE. 73 Soon that dream to fate shall turn, For him the living furies burn ; For him the vulture sits on yonder misty peak, And chides the lagging Night, and whets her hungry beak. Hark ! the trumpet's warning breath Echoes round the vale of death. Unhorsed, unhelmed, disdaining shield, The panting tyrant scours the field. Vengeance ! he meets thy dooming blade ! The scourge of earth, the scorn of heaven, He falls ! unwept and unforgiven, And all his guilty glories fade. Like a crushed reptile in the dust he lies, And hate's last lightning quivers from his eyes ! Behold yon crownless king Yon white-locked, weeping sire Where heaven's unpillared chambers ring, And burst their streams of flood arid fire ! He gave them all the daughters of his love : That recreant pair ! they drive him forth to rove ; In such a night of woe, The cubless regent of the wood Forgets to bathe her fangs in blood, And caverns with her foe ! Yet one was ever kind : Why lingers she behind ? O pity ! view him by her dead form kneeling, Even in wild frenzy holy nature feeling. His aching eyeballs strain, To see those curtained orbs unfold, That beauteous bosom heave again : But all is dark and cold. 74 GOLDEN LEAVES. In agony the father shakes ; Grief's choking note Swells in his throat ; Each withered heart-string tugs and breaks ! Round her pale neck his dying arms he wreathes, And on her marble lips his last, his death-kiss breathes. Down ! trembling wing : shall insect weakness keep The sun-defying eagle's sweep ? A mortal strike celestial strings, And feebly echo what a seraph sings ? Who now shall grace the glowing throne, Where, all unrivalled, all alone, Bold SHAKSPEARE sat, and looked creation through, The minstrel monarch of the worlds he drew ? That throne is cold that lyre in death unstrung, On whose proud note delighted Wonder hung. Yet old Oblivion, as in wrath he sweeps, One spot shall spare the grave where SHAKSPEARE sleeps. Rulers and ruled in common gloom may lie, But Nature's laureate bards shall never die. Art's chiselled boast and Glory's trophied shore Must live in numbers, or can live no more. While sculptured Jove some nameless waste may claim, Still roars the Olympic car in Pindar's fame : Troy's doubtful walls, in ashes passed away, Yet frown on Greece in Homer's deathless lay ; Rome, slowly sinking in her crumbling fanes, Stands all immortal in her Maro's strains ; So, too, yon giant empress of the isles, On whose broad sway the sun forever smiles, SPEAGUE. 75 To Time's unsparing rage one day must bend, And all her triumphs in her SHAKSPEARE end ! O thou ! to whose creative power We dedicate the festal hour, While Grace and Goodness round the altar stand, Learning's anointed train, and Beauty's rose-lipped band Realms yet unborn, in accents now unknown, Thy song shall learn, and bless it for their own. Deep in the West, as Independence roves, His banners planting round the land he loves, Where Nature sleeps in Eden's infant grace, In Time's full hour shall spring a glorious race : Thy name, thy verse, thy language shall they bear, And deck for thee the vaulted temple there. Our Roman-hearted fathers broke Thy parent empire's galling yoke ; But thou, harmonious monarch of the mind, Around their sons a gentler chain shall bind ; Still o'er our land shall Albion's sceptre wave, And what her mighty lion lost, her mightier swan shall save. THE FAMILY MEETING. VK7E are all here ! Father, mother, Sister, brother, All who hold each other dear ; Each chair is filled we're all at home ; To-night let no cold stranger come : GOLDEN LEAVES. It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found : Bless, then, the meeting and the spot, For once be every care forgot ; Let gentle Peace assert her power, And kind Affection rule the hour ; We're all all here. We're not all here ! Some are away the dead ones dear, Who thronged with us this ancient hearth, And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, Looked in and thinned our little band : Some like a night-flash passed away, And some sank, lingering, day by day ; The quiet graveyard some lie there And cruel Ocean has his share We're not all here. We are all here ! Even they the dead though dead, so dear ; Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like, through the mist of years, Each well-remembered face appears ! We see them as in times long past ; From each to each kind looks are cast; We hear their words, their smiles behold ; They're round us as they were of old We are all here. SPRAGUE. 77 We are all here ! Father, mother, Sister, brother, You that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said ; Soon must we join the gathered dead; And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. Oh ! then, that wisdom may we know, Which yields a life of peace below ! So, in the world to follow this, May each repeat, in words of bliss, " We're all all htrt! n ART* , from the sacred garden driven, Man fled before his Maker's wrath, An angel left her place in heaven, And crossed the wanderer's sunless path. 'Twas Art ! sweet Art ! new radiance broke Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, And thus with seraph-voice she spoke : "The curse a blessing shall be found." She led him through the trackless wild, Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, And Nature gladdened as she gazed. Earth's thousand tribes of living things, At Art's command, to him are given ; 5 /'8 G OLDEN LEAVES. The village grows, the city springs, And point their spires of faith to heaven. He rends the oak and bids it ride, To guard the shores its beauty graced ; He smites the rock upheaved in pride, See towers of strength and domes of taste ! Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal ; Fire bears his banner on the wave ; He bids the mortal poison heal, And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ; He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, And mocks his own Creator's skill. With thoughts that fill his glowing soul, He bids the ore illume the page, And, proudly scorning Time's control, Commerces with an unborn age. In fields of air he writes his name, And treads the chambers of the sky ; He reads the stars, and grasps the flame That quivers round the throne on high. In war renowned, in peace sublime, He moves in greatness and in grace ; His power, subduing space and time, Links realm to realm, and race to race. MRS. SIGOURNEY. 79 $untleg Sujournej). THE PILGRIM FATHERS. T TOW slow yon lonely vessel ploughs the main ! Amid the heavy billows now she seems A toiling atom : then from wave to wave Leaps madly, by the tempest lashed, or reels Half wrecked through gulfs profound. Moons wax and wane, But still that patient traveller treads the deep. I see an icebound coast toward which she steers With such a tardy movement, that it seems Stern Winter's hand hath turned her keel to stone, And sealed his victory on her slippery shrouds. They land ! they land ! not like the Genoese, With glittering sword, and gaudy train, and eye Kindling with golden fancies. Forth they come From their long prison, hardy forms that brave The world's unkindness, men of hoary hair, Maidens of fearless heart, and matrons grave, Who hush the wailing infant with a glance. Bleak Nature's desolation wraps them round, Eternal forests, and unyielding earth, And savage men, who through the thickets peer With vengeful arrow. What could lure their steps To this drear desert ! Ask of him who left His father's home to roam through Haran's wilds, Distrusting not the guide who called him forth, Nor doubting, though a stranger, that his seed Should be as ocean's sands. But yon lone bark Hath spread her parting sail ; thev crowd the strand, 8o GOLDEN LEAVES, Those few, lone pilgrims. Can ye scan the woe That wrings their bosoms, as the last frail link, Binding to man and habitable earth, Is severed ? Can ye tell what pangs were there, With keen regrets ; what sickness of the heart ; What yearnings o'er their forfeit land of birth, Their distant dear ones ? Long, with straining eye, They watch the lessening speck. Heard ye no shriek Of anguish, when that bitter loneliness Sank down into their bosoms ? No ! they turn Back to their dreary, famished huts, and pray ! Pray, and the ills that haunt this transient life Fade into air. Up in each girded breast There sprang a rooted and mysterious strength, A loftiness to face a world in arms, To strip the pomp from sceptres, and to lay On Duty's sacred altar the warm blood Of slain affections, should they rise between The soul and GOD. O ye, who proudly boast In your free veins the blood of sires like these, Look to their lineaments. Dread lest ye lose Their likeness in your sons. Should Mammon cling Too close around your heart, or wealth beget That bloated luxury which eats the core From manly virtue, or the tempting world Make faint the Christian purpose in your soul, Turn ye to Plymouth Rock, and where they knelt Kneel, and renew the vow they breathed to God. MR S. SI G OUR NE Y. 8 1 NIAGARA. T^LOW on, forever, in thy glorious robe * Of terror and of beauty ! Yea, flow on, Unfathomed arid resistless ! God hath set His rainbow on thy forehead, and the cloud Mantled around thy feet. And He doth give Thy voice of thunder power to speak of Him Eternally bidding the lip of man Keep silence and upon thy rocky altar pour Incense of awe-struck praise. Ah ! who can dare To lift the insect trump of earthly hope, Or love, or sorrow, mid the peal sublime Of thy tremendous hymn ? Even Ocean shrinks Back from thy brotherhood : and all his waves Retire abashed. For he doth sometimes seem To sleep like a spent labourer, and recall His wearied billows from their vexing play, And lull them to a cradle calm : but thou, With everlasting, undecaying tide, Dost rest not, night or day. The morning stars, When first they sang o'er young Creation's birth, Heard thy deep anthem ; and those wrecking fires, That wait the archangel's signal to dissolve This solid earth, shall find JEHOVAH'S name Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears, Of thine unending volume. Every leaf, That lifts itself within thy wide domain, Doth gather greenness from thy living spray, Yet tremble at the baptism. Lo ! yon birds Do boldly venture near, and bathe their wing 82 G OLDEN LEAVES. Amid thy mist and foam. 'Tis meet for them To touch thy garment's hem, and lightly stir The snowy leaflets of thy vapour wreath, For they may sport unharmed amid the cloud, Or listen at the echoing gate of heaven, Without reproof. But as for us, it seems Scarce lawful, with our broken tones, to speak Familiarly of thee. Methinks, to tint Thy glorious features with our pencil's point, Or woo thee to the tablet of a song, Were profanation. Thou dost make the soul A wondering witness of thy majesty ; But as it presses with delirious joy To pierce thy vestibule, dost chain its step, And tame its rapture, with the humbling view Of its own nothingness, bidding it stand In the dread presence of the Invisible, As if to answer to its God through thee. THE CORAL -INSECT. ' I "*OIL on ! toil on ! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main ; Toil on for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures and domes of rock : Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, And your arches spring up to the crested wave ; Ye're a puny race, thus to boldly rear A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear. Ye bind the deep with your secret zone, The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ; MKS. SIGOURNEY. 83 Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring, Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king ; The turf looks green where the breakers rolled ; O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ; The sea-snatched isle is the home of men, And the mountains exult where the wave hath been. But why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark The wrecking reef for the gallant bark ? There are snares enough on the tented field, 'Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield ; There are serpents to coil, ere the flowers are up ; There's a poison-drop in man's purest cup ; There are foes that watch for his cradle-breath, And why need ye sow the floods with death ? With mouldering bones the deeps are white, From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ; The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold, And the gods of Ocean have frowned to see The mariner's bed in their halls of glee ; Hath Earth no graves, that ye thus must spread The boundless Sea for the thronging dead ? Ye build ye build but ye enter not in, Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in their sin ; From the land of promise ye fade and die, Ere its verdure gleams forth on your weary eye ; As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid, Their noteless bones in oblivion hid, Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, While the wonder and pride of your works remain. 84 G OLDEN LEAVES. tUtlltam (Sullen Brgant TH AN ATOPSIS. ^ I *O him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from all around Earth and her waters, and the depths of air Comes a still voice : Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding Sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form is laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of Ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock, BRYANT. 85 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world with kings, The powerful of the earth the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun, the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between ; The venerable woods, rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe, are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashings yet the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep the dead there reign alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw Unheeded by the living, and no friend 86 G OLDEN LEAVES. Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man, Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of Death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one that draws the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. FOREST HYMN. E groves were .GOD'S first temples. Ere man learned * To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, BRYANT. 87 And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks, And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath, that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power, And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised ? Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns ; Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride Report not. No fantastic carvings show, The boast of our vain race, to change the form 88 G OLD EN LE A VE ,S'. Of thy fair works. But Thou art here Thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, That run along the summit of these trees In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. Here is continual worship ; Nature, here, In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak, By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated, not a prince, In all that proud Old World beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With delicate breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me, when I think BRYANT. 89 Of the great miracle that still goes on In silence, round me the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished yet renewed Forever. Written on thy works, I read The lesson of thy own eternity. Lo ! all grow old and die but see, again, How on the faltering footsteps of Decay Youth presses ever gay and beautiful Youth, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of Earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy, Death yea, seats himself Upon the tyrant's throne the sepulchre, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them ; and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble and are still. O God ! when Thou 90 GOLDEN LEAVES. Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate In these calm shades thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS. 'TpHE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the * year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. BRYANT. 91 Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ? Alas ! they all are in their graves ; the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The South Wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 9 * G OLDEN LE A V K S. And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf, And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief ; Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. THE ANTIQJJITY OF FREEDOM. FREEDOM ! thou art not, as poets dream, A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs, And wavy tresses gushing from the cap With which the Roman master crowned his slave When he took off the gyves. A bearded man, Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs Are strong with struggling. Power at thee has launched His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ; They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. Merciless Power has dug thy dungeon deep, And his swart armourers, by a thousand fires, Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound, The links are shivered, and the prison-walls Fall outward : terribly thou springest forth, As springs the flame above a burning pile, And shoutest to the nations, who return Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies. BRYANT. 93 Thy birthright was not given by human hands : Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, And teach the reed to utter simple airs. Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw The earliest furrow on the mountain-side, Soft with the deluge. Tyranny himself, Thy enemy, although of reverend look, Hoary with many years, and far obeyed, Is later born than thou ; and as he meets The grave defiance of thine elder eye, The usurper trembles in his fastnesses. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, But he shall fade into a feebler age ; Feebler, yet subtler. He shall weave his snares, And spring them on thy careless steps, and clap His withered hands, and from their ambush call His hordes to fall upon thee. He shall send Quaint maskers, wearing fair and gallant forms, To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms With chains concealed in chaplets. Oh ! not yet Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by Thy sword ; nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps, And thou must watch and combat till the day Of the new earth and heaven. 94 G OLDEN LEAVES. TO A WATERFOWL. ^IT7HITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of Day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way ? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly limned upon the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side ? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast The desert and illimitable air Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. BRYANT. 95 Thou'rt gone ; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. HE who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. ' I "*HOU blossom, bright with autumn dew, *" And coloured with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night ; Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue blue as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall. 96 G OLDEN LEAVES. I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. let us plant the apple-tree. ^^^ Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; Wide let its hollow bed be made ; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care, And press it o'er them tenderly, As, round the sleeping infant's feet We softly fold the cradle-sheet; So plant we the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree ? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest ; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower, When we plant the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree r Sweets for a hundred flowery springs, To load the May-wind's restless wings, BRYANT. 97 When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors ; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree ? Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, And redden in the August noon, And drop, when gentle airs come by, That fan the blue September sky ; While children come, with cries of glee, And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass, At the foot of the apple-tree. And when, above this apple-tree, The winter stars are quivering bright, And winds go howling through the night, Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth ; And guests in prouder homes shall see, Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine, And golden orange of the line, The fruit of the apple-tree. The fruitage of this apple-tree Winds, and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew ; And sojourners beyond the sea 98 GOLDEN LEAVES. Shall think of childhood's careless day, And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple-tree. Each year shall give this apple-tree A broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. The years shall come and pass, but we Shall hear no longer, where we lie, The Summer's songs, the Autumn's sigh, In the boughs of the apple-tree. And Time shall waste this apple-tree. Oh, when its aged branches throw Thin shadows on the ground below, Shall fraud and force and iron will Oppress the weak and helpless still ? What shall the tasks of Mercy be, Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears Of those who live when length of years Is wasting this apple-tree ? " Who planted this old apple-tree ?" The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say ; And, gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them : " A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times ; 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes On planting the apple-tree." EVERETT. 99 tm*tt. ALARIC THE VISIGOTH. (ALARIC stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and was afterwards buried in the channel of the river Busentius, the water of which had been diverted from its course that the body might be interred.) "1T7HEN I am dead, no pageant train Shall waste their sorrows at my bier, Nor worthless pomp of homage vain Stain it with hypocritic tear ; For I will die as I did live, Nor take the boon I cannot give. Ye shall not raise a marble bust Upon the spot where I repose ; Ye shall not fawn before my dust, In hollow circumstance of woes ; Nor sculptured clay, with lying breath, Insult the clay that moulds beneath. Ye shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast, Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was " the Scourge of GOD !" But ye the mountain-stream shall turn, And lay its secret channel bare, And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, A resting-place forever there : 100 G OLDEN LEAVES. Then bid its everlasting springs Flow back upon the king of kings ; And never be the secret said, Until the Deep give up his dead. My gold and silver ye shall fling Back to the clods that gave them birth ; The captured crowns of many a king, The ransom of a conquered earth : For, e'en though dead, will I control The trophies of the Capitol. But when, beneath the mountain-tide, Ye've laid your monarch down to rot, Ye shall not rear upon its side Pillar or mound to mark the spot ; For long enough the world has shook Beneath the terrors of my look ; And, now that I have run my race, The astonished realms shall rest a space. My course was like a river deep, And from the Northern hills I burst, Across the world in wrath to sweep, And where I went the spot was cursed ; Nor blade of grass again was seen Where Alaric and his hosts had been. See how their haughty barriers fail Beneath the terror of the Goth ! Their iron-breasted legions quail Before my ruthless sabaoth ; And low the queen of empires kneels, And grovels at my chariot-wheels. EVERETT. 101 Not for myself did I ascend In judgment my triumphal car ; 'Twas GOD alone on high did send The avenging Scythian to the war To shake abroad, with iron hand, The appointed scourge of His command. With iron hand that scourge I reared O'er guilty king and guilty realm} Destruction was the ship I steered, And Vengeance sat upon the helm, When, launched in fury on the flood, I ploughed my way through seas of bloodj And, in the stream their hearts had spilt, Washed out the long arrears of guilt. Across the everlasting Alp I poured the torrent of my powers, And feeble Caesars shrieked for help, In vain, within their seven-hilled towers ; I quenched in blood the brightest gem That glittered in their diadem, And struck a darker, deeper die In the purple of their majesty, And bade my Northern banners shine Upon the conquered Palatine ! My course is run, my errand done ; I go -to Him from whom I came; But never yet shall set the sun Of glory that adorns my name ; And Roman hearts shall long be sick, When men shall think of Alaric. 6 102 G OLDEN LEAVE S. My course is run, my errand done ; But darker ministers of Fate, Impatient, round the Eternal Throne, And in the caves of Vengeance, wait ; And soon mankind shall blench away Before the name of Attila ! Jrcmcea @. mn. THE CHICKADEE'S SONG. its downy wing, the snow, Hovering, flieth to and fro And the merry schoolboy's shout, Rich with joy, is ringing out ; So we gather, in our glee, To the snow-drifts Chickadee ! Poets sing in measures bold Of the glorious gods of old, And the nectar that they quaffed, When their jewelled goblets laughed ; But the snow-cups best love we, Gemmed with sunbeams Chickadee ! They who choose, abroad may go, Where the Southern waters flow, And the flowers are never sere In the garland of the year ; But we love the breezes free Of our North-land Chickadee ! MRS. GREEN. 103 To the cottage yard we fly, With its old trees waving high And the little ones peep out, Just to know what we're about; For they dearly love to see Birds in winter Chickadee ! Every little feathered form Has a nest of mosses warm ; There our heavenly Father's eye Looketh on us from the sky ; And He knoweth where we be And He heareth Chickadee ! There we sit the whole night long, Dreaming that a spirit-song Whispereth in the silent snow ; For it has a voice we know, And it weaves our drapery, Soft as ermine Chickadee ! All the strong winds, as they fly, Rock us with their lullaby Rock us till the shadowy Night Spreads her downy wings in flight : Then we hasten, fresh and free, To the snow-fields Chickadee ! Where our harvest sparkles bright In the pleasant morning light, Every little feathery flake Will a choice confection make Each globule a nectary be, And we'll drain it Chickadee ! 104 G OLDEN LEAVES. So we never know a fear In this season cold and drear ; For to us a share will fall Of the love that blesseth all ; And our Father's smile we see On the snow-crust Chickadee ! K. Scljoolcraft. THE BIRCHEN CANOE. TN the region of lakes, where the blue waters sleep, '*' My beautiful fabric was built ; Light cedars supported its weight on the deep, And its sides with the sunbeams were gilt. The bright, leafy bark of the betula-tree* A flexible sheathing provides ; And the fir's thready roots drew the parts to agree, And bound down its high swelling sides. No compass or gavel was used on the bark, No art but in simplest degree ; But the structure was finished, and trim to remark, And as light as a sylph's could be. Its rim was with tender young roots woven round, Like a pattern of wicker-work rare ; And it pressed on the waves with as lightsome a bound As a basket suspended in air. * Betula papyracae. SCHOOLCRAFT. 105 The builder knew well, in his wild, merry mood, A smile from his sweet-love to win, And he sung as he sewed the green bark to the wood, " Leen ata nee saugein.""* The heavens in their brightness and glory below, Were reflected quite plain to the view ; And it moved like a swan, with as graceful a show, My beautiful birchen canoe. The trees on the shore, as I glided along, Seemed rushing a contrary way ; And my voyagers lightened their toil with a song, That caused every heart to be gay. And still as I floated by rock and by shell, My bark raised a murmur aloud, And it danced on the waves as they rose and they fell, Like a fay on a bright summer cloud. I thought, as I passed o'er the liquid expanse, With the landscape in smiling array, How blest I should be, if my life should advance Thus tranquil and sweetly away. The skies were serene, not a cloud was in sight, Not an angry surge beat on the shore ; And I gazed on the waters, and then on the light, Till my vision could bear it no more. Oh ! long shall I think of those silver-bright lakes, And the scenes they exposed to my view ; My friends, and the wishes I formed for their sakes, And my bright yellow birchen canoe. * You only I love. 106 G OLDEN LEAVES. GEEHALE: AN INDIAN LAMENT. ' I H HE blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore As sweetly and gayly as ever before ; For he knows to his mate he at pleasure can hie, And the dear little brood she is teaching to fly. The sun looks as ruddy, and rises as bright, And reflects o'er the mountains as beamy a light As it ever reflected, or ever expressed, When my skies were the bluest, my dreams were the best The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night, Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light, And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track, For they know that their mates are expecting them back. Each bird and each beast, it is blest in degree : All Nature is cheerful all happy, but me. I will go to my tent, and lie down in despair ; I will paint me with black, and will sever my hair ; I will sit on the shore, where the hurricane blows, And reveal to the god of the tempest my woes ; I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed, For my kindred are gone to the hills of the dead ; But they died not by hunger, or lingering decay ; The steel of the white man hath swept them away. This snake-skin, that once I so sacredly wore, I will toss, with disdain, to the storm-beaten shore : Its charms I no longer obey or invoke Its spirit hath left me, its spell is now broke. I will raise up my voice to the Source of the light ; I will dream on the wings of the bluebird at night ; I will speak to the spirits that whisper in leaves, And that minister balm to the bosom that grieves : WILCOX. 107 And will take a new Manito such as shall seem To be kind and propitious in every dream. Oh, then I shall banish these cankering sighs, And tears shall no longer gush salt from my eyes ; I shall wash from my face every cloud-coloured stain, Red red shall alone on my visage remain ! I will dig up my hatchet, and bend my oak bow ; By night and by day I will follow the foe ; Nor lakes shall impede me, nor mountains, nor snows ; His blood can alone give my spirit repose ! They came to my cabin when heaven was black ; I heard not their coming, I knew not their track ; But I saw, by the light of their blazing fusees, They were people engendered beyond the big seas : My wife and my children oh, spare me the tale ! For who is there left that is kin to GEEHALE ? lUilco*. SUNSET IN SEPTEMBER. ' I "*HE sun now rests upon the mountain-tops * Begins to sink behind is half concealed And now is gone : the last faint, twinkling beam Is cut in twain by the sharp-rising ridge. Sweet to the pensive is departing day, When only one small cloud, so still and thin, So thoroughly imbued with amber light, And so transparent, that it seems a spot Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount, 108 GOLDEN LEAVES. Hangs o'er the hidden orb ; or where a few Long, narrow stripes of denser, darker grain, At each end sharpened to a needle's point, With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth, And sometimes crinkling like the lightning-stream, A half-hour's space above the mountain lie ; Or when the whole consolidated mass, That only threatened rain, is broken up Into a thousand parts, and yet is one One as the ocean broken into waves ; And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark, As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote, All fading soon, as lower sinks the sun, Till twilight end. But now another scene To me most beautiful of all, appears : The sky, without the shadow of a cloud, Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye Not dazzling, but dilating with calm force Its power of vision to admit the whole. Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye ; Midway, the blushing of the mellow peach Paints not, but tinges the ethereal deep ; And here, in this most lovely region, shines, With added loveliness, the evening-star. Above, the fainter purple slowly fades, Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven. Along the level ridge, o'er which the sun Descended, in a single row arranged, As if thus planted by the hand of Art, J/7?^. EMB UR Y. 109 Majestic pines shoot up into the sky, And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved. Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands With shafts erect, and tops converged to one, A stately colonnade, with verdant roof; Upon a nearer still, a single tree, With shapely form, looks beautiful alone ; While, farther northward, through a narrow pass Scooped in the hither range, a single mount Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems, And of a softer, more ethereal blue, A pyramid of polished sapphire built. But now the twilight mingles into one The various mountains ; levels to a plain This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade, Where every object to my sight presents Its shaded side ; while here upon these walls, And in that eastern wood, upon the trunks Under thick foliage, reflective shows Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line Of the horizon, parting heaven and earth ! (Smnw (J. CHEERFULNESS. A GENTLE heritage is mine, *** A life of quiet pleasure : My heaviest cares are but to twine Fresh votive garlands for the shrine Where 'bides my bosom's treasure ; 6* 110 GOLDEN LEAVES. I am not merry, nor yet sad, My thoughts are more serene than glad. I have outlived youth's feverish mirth, And all its causeless sorrow : My joys are now of nobler birth, My sorrows too have holier birth, And heavenly solace borrow ; So, from my green and shady nook, Back on my by-past life I look. The Past has memories sad and sweet, Memories still fondly cherished, Of love that blossomed at my feet, Whose odours still my senses greet, E'en though the flowers have perished : Visions of pleasures passed away That charmed me in life's earlier day. The Future, Isis-like, sits veiled, And none her mystery learneth ; Yet why should the bright cheek be paled, For sorrows that may be bewailed When Time our hopes inureth ? Come when it will, Grief comes too soon Why dread the night at highest noon ? I would not pierce the mist that hides Life's coming joy or sorrow ; If sweet Content with me abides While onward still the present glides, I think not of the morrow ; It may bring griefs enough for me The quiet joy I feel and see. WARE. Ill ijjenrg ill are, 3r. SEASONS OF PRAYER. * I ^O prayer, to prayer ! for the morning breaks, And Earth in her Maker's smile awakes. His light is on all below and above The light of gladness, and life, and love. Oh, then, on the breath of this early air, Send upward the incense of grateful prayer. To prayer ! for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on. Like a curtain from GOD'S kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where His children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night. To prayer ! for the day that GOD has blest Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest. It speaks of creation's early bloom ; It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb. Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours. There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new-born infant beside her lies. Oh, hour of bliss ! when the heart o'erflows With rapture a mother only knows. Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer ; Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care. 112 G OLDEN LEAVES. There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand. What trying thoughts in her bosom swell, As the bride bids parents and home farewell ! Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair, And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer. Kneel down by the dying sinner's side, And pray for his soul through Him who died. Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow Oh, what is earth and its pleasures now ! And what shall assuage his dark despair, But the penitent cry of humble prayer? Kneel down at the couch of departing faith, And hear the last words the believer saith. He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends j There is peace in his eye that upward bends ; There is peace in his calm, confiding air ; For his last thoughts are GOD'S, his last words prayer The voice of prayer at the sable bier ! A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. It commends the spirit to GOD who gave ; It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave ! It points to the glory where He shall reign, Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again." The voice of prayer in the world of bliss ! But gladder, purer, than rose from this. The ransomed shout to their glorious King, Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing ; But a sinless and joyous song they raise, And their voice of prayer is eternal praise. MARIA BROOKS. 113 Awake, awake ! and gird up thy strength To join that holy band at length. To Him who unceasing love displays, Whom the powers of Nature unceasingly praise, To Him thy heart and thy hours be given ; For a life of prayer is the life of heaven. fttavia TO THE RIVER ST. LAWRENCE. ' I "*HE first time I beheld thee, beauteous stream, How pure, how smooth, how broad thy bosom heaved ! What feelings rushed upon my heart ! a gleam As of another life my kindling soul received. Fair was the day, and o'er the crowded deck Joy shone in many a smile ; light clouds, in hue As silvery as the new-fledged cygnet's neck, Cast, as they moved, faint shadows on the blue Soft, deep, and distant of the mountain-chain, Wreathing and blending, tint with tint, and traced So gently on the smiling sky. In vain Time, scene, has changed : 'twill never be effaced. Now o'er thy tranquil breast the moonbeams quiver : How calm the air, how still the hour how bright ! Would thou wert doomed to be my grave, sweet river ! How blends my soul with thy pure breath to-night ! 114 G OLDEN LEAVES. The dearest hours that soul has ever known Have been upon thy brink : would it could wait, And, parted, watch thee still ! to stay and moan With thee, were better than my promised fate. Ladaiianna ! monarch of the North ! Father of streams unsung, be sung by me ! Receive a lay that flows resistless forth ! Oh, quench the fervour that consumes, in thee ! I've seen more beauty on thy banks, more bliss, Than I had deemed were ever seen below ; Dew falls not on a happier land than this ; Fruits spring from desert wilds, and Love sits throned on snow ; Snows that drive warmth to shelter in the heart; Snows that conceal, beneath their moonlit heaps, Plenty's rich embryo ; fruits and flowers that start To meet their full-grown Spring, as strong to earth he leaps. How many grades of life thou view'st ! thy wave Bears the dark daughter of the woods, as light She springs to her canoe, and, wildly grave, Views the Great Spirit mid the fires of night. A hardy race, sprung from the Gaul, and gay, Frame their wild songs and sing them to the oar; And think to chase the forest- fiends away, Where yet no mass-bell tinkles from the shore. The pensive nun throws back the veil that hides Her calm, chaste eyes ; straining them long, to mark When the mist thickens, if perchance there bides The peril, wildering on, some little bark : MARIA BROOKS. 115 And trims her lamp, and hangs it in her tower ; Not as the priestess did of old (she's driven To do that deed by no fierce passion's power), But kindly, calmly, for the love of Heaven. Who had been lost, what heart from breaking saved, She knows not, thinks not ; guided by her star, Some being leaps to shore : 'twas all she craved ; She makes the holy sign, and blesses him from far. The plaided soldier, in his mountain pride Exulting, as he treads with statelier pace, Views his white limbs reflected in thy tide, While wave the sable plumes that shade his manly face. The song of Ossian mingles with thy gale, The harp of Carolan's remembered here ; The bright-haired son of Erin tells his tale, Dreams of his misty isle, and drops for her a tear. Thou'st seen the trophies of that deathless day, Whose name bright glance from every Briton brings, When half the world was marshalled in array, And fell the great, self-nurtured "king of kings." Youthful Columbia, ply thy useful arts ; Rear the strong nursling that thy mother bore, Called Liberty. Thy boundless fields, thy marts, Enough for thee : tempt these brown rocks no more ; Or leave them to that few, who, blind to gold, And scorning pleasure, brave with higher zest A doubtful path ; mid pain, want, censure, bold To pant one fevered hour on Genius' breast. Il6 GOLDEN LEAVES. Nature's best loved, thine own, thy virtuous WEST, Chose for his pencil a Canadian sky : Bade Death recede, who the fallen victor pressed, And made perpetuate his latest sigh.* SULLY, of tender tints transparent, fain I would thy skill a while ; for Memory's showing, To prove thy hand the purest of thy train, A native beauty from thy pencil glowing. Or he who sketched the Cretan : gone her Greek, She, all unconscious that he's false or flying, Sleeps, while the light blood revels in her cheek So rosy warm, we listen for her sighing. \ Could he paint beauty, warmth, light, happiness, Diffused around like fragrance from a flower And melody all that sense can bless, Or soul concentrate in one form his power I'd ask. But Nature, Nature, when thou wilt, Thou canst enough to make all art despair ; Guard well the wondrous model thou hast built, Which these, thy nectared \\aves, reflect and love to bear. Nature, all-powerful Nature, thine are ties That seldom break : though the heart beat so cold, That Love and Fancy's fairest garland dies Though false, though light as air thy bonds may hold. In allusion to West's celebrated picture, " The Death of Wolfe.' Vanderlyn see his picture of u Ariadne." NEAL. 117 The mother loves her child : the brother yet Thinks of his sister, though for years unseen ; And seldom doth the bridegroom quite forget Her who hath blest him once, though seas may roll between. But can a friendship, pure and rapture-wrought, Endure without such bonds ? I'll deem it may, And bless the hope it nurtures : beauteous thought, Howe'er fantastic ! dear illusion stay ! O stream, O country of my heart, farewell ! Say, shall I e'er return ? shall I once more Ere close these eyes that looked to love ah, tell ! Say, shall I tread again thy fertile shore ? Else, how endure my weary lot the strife To gain content when far -the burning sighs The asking wish the aching void ? O life ! Thou art, and hast been, one long sacrifice ! 3ol)n MUSIC OF THE NIGHT. THERE are harps that complain to the presence of Night, To the presence of Night alone In a near and unchangeable tone Like winds, full of sound, that go whispering by, As if some immortal had stooped from the sky, And breathed out a blessing and flown ! 118 G OLDEN LEAVES. Yes ! harps that complain to the breezes of Night, To the breezes of Night alone ; Growing fainter and fainter, as ruddy and bright The Sun rolls aloft in his drapery of light, Like a conqueror, shaking his brilliant hair And flourishing robe, on the edge of the air ! Burning crimson and gold On the clouds that unfold, Breaking onward in flame, while an ocean divides On his right and his left so the Thunderer rides, When he cuts a bright path through the heaving tides, Rolling on, and erect, in a charioting throne ! Yes ! strings that lie still in the gushing of Day, That awake, all alive, to the breezes of Night. There are hautboys and flutes too, forever at play When the evening is near, and the sun is away, Breathing out the still hymn of delight. These strings by invisible fingers are played By spirits, unseen and unknown, But thick as the stars, all this music is made ; And these flutes, alone, In one sweet, dreamy tone, Are ever blown, Forever and forever. The livelong night ye hear the sound, Like distant waters flowing round In ringing caves, while heaven is sweet With crowding tunes, like halls Where fountain-music falls, And rival minstrels meet. NEAL. 119 ON SEEING CAVALRY PASSING THROUGH A GORGE, AT SUNSET. (FROM " BATTLE OF NIAGARA.") \ H, now let us gaze ! what a wonderful sky ! ^** How the robe of the god, in its flame-colored dye, Goes ruddily, flushingly, sweepingly by ! .... Nay, speak ! did you ever behold such a night ? While the winds blew about, and the waters were bright, The sun rolling home in an ocean of light ! But hush ! there is music away in the sky ; Some creatures of magic are charioting by ; Now it comes what a sound ! 'tis as cheerful and wild As the echo of caves to the laugh of a child ; Ah yes, they are here ! See, away to your left, Where the sun has gone down, where the mountains are cleft, A troop of tall horsemen ! How fearless they ride ! 'Tis a perilous path o'er that steep mountain's side ; Careering they come, like a band of young knights That the trumpet of morn to the tilting invites ; With high-nodding plumes, and with sunshiny vests ; With wide-tossing manes, and with mail-covered breasts ; With arching of necks, and the plunge and the pride Of their high-mettled steeds, as they galloping ride, In glitter and pomp j with their housings of gold, With their scarlet and blue, as their squadrons unfold, Flashing changeable light, like a banner unrolled ! Now they burst on the eye in their martial array, And now they have gone, like a vision of day. In a streaming of splendour they came but they wheeled ; And instantly all the bright show was concealed 120 G OLDEN LEAVES. As if 'twere a tournament held in the sky, Betrayed by some light passing suddenly by ; Some band by the flashing of torches revealed, As it fell o'er the boss of an uplifted shield, Or banners and blades in the darkness concealed. 3amc0 (Sates JJerritml. THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS. TTERE rest the great and good here they repose After their generous toil. A sacred band, They take their sleep together, while the year Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves, And gathers them again, as Winter frowns. Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre ; green sods Are all their monument ; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids. They need No statue nor inscription to reveal Their greatness. It is round them; and the joy With which their children tread the hallowed ground That holds their venerated bones, the peace That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth That clothes the land they rescued these, though mute, As feeling ever is when deepest these Are monuments more lasting than the fanes Reared to the kings and demigods of old. Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade Over their lowly graves ; beneath their boughs PER CIV A L. 121 There is a solemn darkness, even at noon, Suited to such as visit at the shrine Of serious Liberty. No factious voice Called them unto the field of generous fame, But the poor consecrated love of home. No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes In all its greatness. It has told itself To the astonished gaze of awe-struck kings, At Marathon, at Bannockburn, and here, When first our patriots sent the invader back Broken and cowed. Let these green elms be all To tell us where they fought, and where they lie. Their feelings were all nature, and they need No art to make them known. They live in us, While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold, Worshipping nothing but our own pure hearts, And the one universal LORD. They need No column, pointing to the heaven they sought, To tell us of their home. The heart itself, Left to its own free purpose, hastens there, And there alone reposes. TO THE EAGLE. IRD of the broad and sweeping wing, Thy home is high in heaven, Where wide the storms their banners fling, And the tempest-clouds are driven. Thy throne is on the mountain-top ; Thy fields, the boundless air ; And hoary peaks, that proudly prop The skies, thy dwellings are. 122 GOLDEN LEAVES. Thou sittest like a thing of light, Amid the noontide blaze : The midway sun is clear and bright It cannot dim thy gaze. Thy pinions, to the rushing blast, O'er the bursting billow, spread, Where the vessel plunges, hurry past, Like an angel of the dead. Thou art perched aloft on the beetling crag, And the waves are white below And on, with a haste that cannot lag, They rush in an endless flow. Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight To lands beyond the sea, And away, like a spirit wreathed in light, Thou hurriest, wild and free. Thou hurriest over the myriad waves, And thou leavest them all behind ; Thou sweepest that place of unknown graves, Fleet as the tempest-wind. When the night-storm gathers dim and dark With a shrill and boding scream, Thou rushest by the foundering bark, Quick as a passing dream. Lord of the boundless realm of air, In thy imperial name, The hearts of the bold and ardent dare The dangerous path of fame. Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, The Roman legions bore, PER CIV AL. 123 From the river of Egypt's cloudy springs, Their pride, to the polar shore. For thee they fought, for thee they fell, And their oath was on thee laid ; To thee the clarions raised their swell, And the dying warrior prayed. Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, The image of pride and power, Till the gathered rage of a thousand years Burst forth in one awful hour ! And then a deluge of wrath it came, And the nations shook with dread ; And it swept the earth till its fields were flame, And piled with the mingled dead ! Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood, With the low and crouching slave ; And together lay, in a shroud of blood, The coward and the brave. And where was then thy fearless flight ? " O'er the dark, mysterious sea, To the lands that caught the setting light The cradle of Liberty. There, on the silent and lonely shore, For ages, I watched alone ; And the world, in its darkness, asked no more Where the glorious bird had flown. " But then came a bold and hardy few, And they breasted the unknown wave ; I caught afar the wandering crew, And I knew they were high and brave. 124 GOLDEN LEAVES. I wheeled around the welcome bark, As it sought the desolate shore, And up to heaven, like a joyous lark, My quivering pinions bore. " And now that bold and hardy few Are a nation wide and strong ; And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song ; And over their bright and glancing arms, On field, and lake, and sea, With an eye that fires and a spell that charms I guide them to victory." NEW ENGLAND. T TAIL to the land whereon we tread, * * Our fondest boast j The sepulchre of mighty dead, The truest hearts that ever bled, Who sleep on Glory's brightest bed, A fearless host ! No slave is here ; our unchained feet Walk freely as the waves that beat Our coast. Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave To seek this shore ; They left behind the coward slave To welter in his living grave ; With hearts unbent, and spirits brave, They sternly bore PERCIVAL. Such toils as meaner souls had quelled ; But souls like these, such toils impelled To soar. Hail to the morn, when first they stood On Bunker's height, And, Fearless, stemmed the invading flood, And wrote our dearest rights in blood, And mowed in ranks the hireling brood, In desperate fight ! Oh, 'twas a proud, exulting day, For even our fallen fortunes lay In light. There is no other land like thee, No dearer shore ; Thou art the shelter of the free ; The home, the port of Liberty, Thou hast been, and shalt ever be, Till time is o'er. Ere I forget to think upon My land, shall mother curse the son She bore ! Thou art the firm, unshaken rock, On which we rest ; And, rising from thy hardy stock, Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, And slavery's galling chains unlock, And free the oppressed : All, who the wreath of Freedom twine Beneath the shadow of their vine, Are blessed. 7 126 G OLDEN LEAVES. We love thy rude and rocky shore, And here we stand Let foreign navies hasten o'er, And on our heads their fury pour, And peal their cannon's loudest roar, And storm our land ; They still shall find our lives are given To die for home ; and leaned on Heaven Our hand. THE CORAL-GROVE. f"\EEP in the wave is a coral-grove, ^"^ Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine ; The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral-rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow ; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air : There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter : There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear, deep sea ; PERCIVAL. 127 And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea : And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful Spirit of Storms Has made the top of the wave his own : And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of Ocean roar, When the Wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; Then far below in the peaceful sea, The purple mullet and goldfish rove, Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove. IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. K> it is great for our country to die, where ranks are contending ! Bright is the wreath of our fame ; glory awaits us for aye Glory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending Glory that never shall fade never, oh, never away ! Oh, it is sweet for our country to die ! How softly reposes Warrior-youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears ! they crown him with gar- lands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above. 128 G OLDEN LEAVES. Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished ; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile : There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished ; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile. Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river ; Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue rolling sea ; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever ; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant, and free. Oh, then, how great for our country to die, in the front rank to perish Firm with our breast to the foe, Victory's shout in our ear! Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory cherish ; We shall look forth from our heaven, pleased the sweet music to hear. f. cmRr. THE SNOW-FLAKE. , if l M ' wil1 " be my lot To be cast in some low and lonely spot, To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot ? And then will my course be ended ?" 'Twas thus a feathery Snow-Flake said, As down through the measureless space it strayed, HANNAH F. GOULD. 129 Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid, It seemed in mid air suspended. " Oh, no," said the Earth, " thou shalt not lie, Neglected and lone, on my lap to die, Thou pure and delicate child of the sky, For thou wilt be safe in my keeping; But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form ; Thou'lt not be a part of the wintry storm, But revive when the sunbeams are yellow and warm, And the flowers from my bosom are peeping. " And then thou shalt have thy choice to be Restored in the lily that decks the lea, In the jessamine bloom, the anemone, Or aught of thy spotless whiteness ; To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead, With the pearls that the night scatters over the mead, In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed, Regaining thy dazzling brightness ; " To wake, and be raised from thy transient sleep, When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep, In a tremulous tear, or a diamond leap In a drop from the unlocked fountain ; Or, leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath, The streamlet, the flowers, and all beneath, To go and be wove in the silvery wreath Encircling the brow of the mountain. " Or, wouldst thou return to a home in the skies, To shine in the Iris I'll let thee arise, And appear in the many and glorious dyes A pencil of sunbeams is blending. 130 G OLDEN LEAVES. But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, I'll give thee a new and vernal birth, When thou shalt recover thy primal worth, And never regret descending." "Then I will drop," said the trusting Flake; " But bear it in mind, that the choice I make Is not in the flowers nor the dew to awake, Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning ; For, things of thyself, they expire with thee ; But those that are lent from on high, like me, They rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, To the regions above returning. " And if true to thy word, and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me depart, And return to my native heaven ; For I would be placed in the beautiful bow, From time to time, in thy sight to glow So thou mayst remember the Flake of Snow By the promise that GOD hath given." llobman JDrakc. THE AMERICAN FLAG. "1T7HEN Freedom from her mountain-height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of Night, And set the stars of glory there. DRAKE. 131 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white, With streakings of the morning light ; Then from his mansion in the sun She called her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. u. Majestic monarch of the cloud, Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, To hear the tempest-trumpings loud, And see the lightning-lances driven, When strive the warriors of the storm, And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur-smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows on the cloud of war, The harbingers of victory ! in. Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, The sign of hope and triumph high, When speaks the signal trumpet-tone, And the long line comes gleaming on. Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier eye shall brightly turn To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 132 G OLDEN LEAVES. And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance. And when the cannon-mouthings loud Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, And gory sabres rise and fall Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, Then shall thy meteor-glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink beneath Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of Death. IV. Flag of the seas ! on ocean -wave Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; When Death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back Before the broadside's reeling rack, Each dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile to see thy splendours fly In triumph o'er his closing eye. v. Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! By angel-hands to Valour given Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet ! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ' DRAKE. 133 THE CULPRIT FAY. M.Y visual orbs are purged from film, and, lo ! Instead of Anster's turnip-bearing vales, I see old fairy-land's miraculous show ! Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, Her ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, And fairies, swarming " TENNANT'S ANSTER FAIR. 9^T*IS the middle watch of a Summer's night * The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright ; Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cronest ; She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below ; His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut-bough and the cedar made, And through their clustering branches dark Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark Like starry twinkles that momently break Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack. n. The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like, spiral line below ; 134 G OLDEN LEAVES. The winds are whist, and the owl is still ; The bat in the shelvy rock is hid ; And naught is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket's chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katy-did ; And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and woe, Till Morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow. in. 'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell : The wood-tick has kept the minutes well ; He has counted them all with click and stroke Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree, To bid him ring the hour of twelve, And call the fays to their revelry ; Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell ('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell) " Midnight comes, and all is well ! Hither, hither, wing your way ! 'Tis the dawn of the fairy-day." IV. They come from beds of lichen green, They come from the mullein's velvet screen ; Some on the backs of beetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, And rocked about in the evening breeze ; DRAKE. 135 Some from the hum-bird's downy nest They had driven him out by elfin power, And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid ; And some had opened the four-o'clock, And stole within its purple shade. And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above below on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride ! v. They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup, And drink the dew from the buttercup; A scene of sorrow waits them now, For an ouphe has broken his vestal vow ; He has loved an earthly maid, And left for her his woodland shade ; He has lain upon her lip of dew, And sunned him in her eye of blue, Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, Played in the ringlets of her hair, And, nestling on her snowy breast, Forgot the lily-king's behest. For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin court must haste away : And now they stand expectant there, To hear the doom of the culprit fay. 136 GOLDEN LEAVES. VI. The throne was reared upon the grass, Of spice- wood and of sassafras ; On pillars of mottled tortoise-shell Hung the burnished canopy And o'er it gorgeous curtains fell Of the tulip's crimson drapery. The monarch sat on his judgment-seat, On his brow the crown imperial shone, The prisoner fay was at his feet, And his peers were ranged around the throne. He waved his sceptre in the air, He looked around and calmly spoke ; His brow was grave and his eye severe, But his voice in a softened accent broke : VII. " Fairy ! Fairy ! list and mark : Thou hast broke thine elfin chain ; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, And thy wings are dyed with a deadly stain Thou hast sullied thine elfin purity In the glance of a mortal maiden's eye ; Thou hast scorned, our dread decree, And thou shouldst pay the forfeit high. But well I know her sinless mind Is pure as the angel-forms above, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, Such as a spirit well might love ; Fairy ! had she spot or taint, Bitter had been thy punishment : DRAKE. 137 Tied to the hornet's shardy wings ; Tossed on the pricks of nettles' stings ; Or seven long ages doomed to dwell With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell ; Or every night to writhe and bleed Beneath the tread of the centipede ; Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, Your jailer a spider, huge and grim, Amid the carrion bodies to lie Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly . These it had been your lot to bear, Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. Now list, and mark our mild decree Fairy, this your doom must be : VIII. " Thou shah seek the beach of sand Where the water bounds the elfin-land ; Thou shalt watch the oozy brine Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Then dart the glistening arch below, And catch a drop from his silver bow. The water-sprites will wield their arms And dash around with roar and rave, And vain are the woodland spirits' charms ; They are the imps that rule the wave. Yet trust thee in thy single might : If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, Thou shalt win the warlock fight. IX. " If the spray-bead gem be won, The stain of thy wing is washed away ; .38 GOLDEN LEAVES. But another errand must be done Ere thy crime be lost for aye : Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark- Thou must reillume its spark. Mount thy steed, and spur him high To the heaven's blue canopy ; And when thou seest a shooting star, Follow it fast, and follow it far The last faint spark of its burning train Shall light the elfin lamp again. Thou hast heard our sentence, fay ; Hence ! to the water-side, away !" The goblin marked his monarch well ; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, And turned him round in act to go. The way is long, he cannot fly, His soiled wing has lost its power, And he winds adown the mountain high For many a sore and weary hour. Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Over the grass and through the brake, Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake ; Now o'er the violet's azure flush He skips along in lightsome mood ; And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, DRAKE. 139 Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. He had fallen to the ground outright, For rugged and dim was his onward track, But there came a spotted toad in sight, And he laughed as he jumped upon her back ; He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, He lashed her sides with an osier thong ; And now, through evening's dewy mist, With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain's magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last. XI. Soft and pale is the moony beam, Moveless still the glassy stream ; The wave is clear, the beach is bright With snowy shells and sparkling stones ; The shore-surge comes in ripples light, In murmurings faint and distant moans ; And ever afar in the silence deep Is heard the splash of the sturgeon's leap, And the bend of his graceful bow is seen A glittering arch of silver sheen, Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river-dew. XII. The elfin cast a glance around, As he lighted down from his courser toad ; Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river's4)rink he strode; 140 GOLDEN LEAVES. He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the waters blue. xm. Up sprang the spirits of the waves, From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves ; With snail-plate armour snatched in haste, They speed their way through the liquid waste Some are rapidly borne along On the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong ; Some on the blood-red leeches glide, Some on the stony star-fish ride, Some on the back of the lancing squab, Some on the sideling soldier-crab ; And some on the jellied quarl, that flings At once a thousand streamy stings ; They cut the wave with the living oar, And hurry on to the moonlight shore, To guard their realms and chase away The footsteps of the invading fay. XIV. Fearlessly he skims along, His hope is high, and his limbs are strong ; He spreads his arms like the swallow's wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling ; His locks of gold on the waters shine, At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise, His back gleams bright above the brine, And the wake-line foam behind him lies. DRAKE. 141 But the water-sprites are gathering near, To check his course along the tide ; Their warriors come in swift career, And hem him round on every side : On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, The quarl's long arms are round him rolled, The prickly prong has pierced his skin, And the squab has thrown his javelin ; The gritty star has rubbed him raw, And the crab has struck with his giant claw ; He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain ; He strikes around, but his blows are vain ; Hopeless is the unequal fight Fairy ! naught is left but flight. xv. He turned him round, and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again ; He twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide ; The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill. They bade the wave before him rise ; They flung the sea-fire in his eyes ; And they stunned his ears with the scallop stroke, With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak. Oh ! but a weary wight was he When he reached the foot of the dog-wood-tree. Gashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, He laid him down on the sandy shore ; 142 GOLDEN LEAVES. He blessed the force of the charmed line, And he banned the water-goblin's spite, For he saw around in the sweet moonshine Their little wee faces above the brine, Giggling and laughing with all their might At the piteous hap of the fairy wight. XVI. Soon he gathered the balsam dew From the sorrel-leaf and the henbane-bud ; Over each wound the balm he drew, And with cobweb-lint he stanched the blood. The mild west wind was soft and low, It cooled the heat of his burning brow ; And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, As he drank the juice of the calamus-root ; And now he treads the fatal shore As fresh and vigorous as before. v. XVII. Wrapped in musing stands the sprite : 'Tis the middle wane of night ; His task is hard, his way is far, But he must do his errand right Ere Dawning mounts her beamy car, And rolls her chariot-wheels of light ; And vain are the spells of fairy-land He must work with a human hand. XVIII. He cast a saddened look around ; But he felt new joy his bosom swell, DRAKE. 143 When, glittering on the shadowed ground, He saw a purple mussel-shell ; Thither he ran, and he bent him low, He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the bow, And he pushed her over the yielding sand, Till he came to the verge of the haunted land. She was as lovely a pleasure-boat As ever fairy had paddled in, For she glowed with purple paint without, And shone with silvery pearl within ; A sculler's notch in the stern he made, An oar he shaped of the bootle-blade ; Then sprang to his seat with a lightsome leap, And launched afar on the calm, blue deep. XIX. The imps of the river yell and rave ; They had no power above the wave ; But they heaved the billow before the prow, And they dashed the surge against her side, And they struck her keel with jerk and blow, Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. She whimpled about to the pale moonbeam, Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed stream And momently athwart her track The quarl upreared his island-back, And the fluttering scallop behind would float, And patter the water about the boat ; But he bailed her out with his colen-bell, And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, While on every side like lightning fell The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. 44 GOLDEN LEAVES. xx. Onward still he held his way, Till he came where the column of moonshine lay, And saw beneath the surface dim The brown-backed sturgeon slowly swim ; Around him were the goblin train But he sculled with all his might and main, And followed wherever the sturgeon led, Till he saw him upward point his head ; Then he dropped his paddle-blade, And held his colen-goblet up To catch the drop in its crimson cup. XXI. With sweeping tail and quivering fin Through the wave the sturgeon flew, And, like the heaven-shot javelin, He sprang above the waters blue. Instant as the star-fall light, He plunged him in the deep again, But he left an arch of silver bright, The rainbow of the moony main. It was a strange and lovely sight To see the puny goblin there ; He seemed an angel form of light, With azure wing and sunny hair, Throned on a cloud of purple fair, Circled with blue and edged with white, And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven. DRAKE. 145 XXII. A moment, and its lustre fell ; But ere it met the billow blue, He caught within his crimson bell A droplet of its sparkling dew. Joy to thee, fay ! thy task is done, Thy wings are pure, for the gem is won Cheerly ply thy dripping oar, And haste away to the elfin shore. XXIII. He turns, and, lo ! on either side The ripples on his path divide ; And the track o'er which his boat must pass Is smooth as a sheet of polished glass. Around, their limbs the sea-nymphs lave, With snowy arms half-swelling out, While on the glossed and gleamy wave Their sea-green ringlets loosely float ; They swim around with smile and song ; They press the bark with pearly hand, And gently urge her course along, Toward the beach of speckled sand ; And, as he lightly leaped to land, They bade adieu with nod and bow ; Then gayly kissed each little hand, And dropped in the crystal deep below. XXIV. A moment stayed the fairy there ; He kissed the beach, and breathed a prayer ; Then spread his wings of gilded blue, And on to the elfin court he flew ; 1 46 G OLDEN LEAVES. As ever ye saw a bubble rise, And shine with a thousand changing dyes, Till, lessening far, through ether driven, It mingles with the hues of heaven ; As, at the glimpse of morning pale, The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, And gleams with blendings soft and bright, Till lost in the shades of fading night : So rose from earth the lovely fay So vanished, far in heaven away ! * * # * * * * Up, fairy ! quit thy chick-weed bower, The cricket has called the second hour; Twice again, and the lark will rise To kiss the streaking of the skies Up ! thy charmed armour don, Thou'lt need it ere the night be gone. XXV. He put his acorn helmet on ; It was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down ; The corslet-plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild bee's golden vest ; His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, Was formed of the wings of butterflies ; His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, Studs of gold on a ground of green ; And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed ; He bared his blade of the bent-grass blue ; He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, DRAKE. 147 To skim the heavens, and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star. XXVI. The moth-fly, as he shot in air, Crept under the leaf, and hid her there ; The katy-did forgot its lay, The prowling gnat fled fast away ; The fell mosquito checked his drone, And folded his wings till the fay was gone ; And the wily beetle dropped his head, And fell on the ground as if he were dead : They crouched them close in the darksome shade, They quaked all o'er with awe and fear, For they had felt the blue-bent blade, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear. Many a time, on a summer's night, When the sky was clear and the moon was bright, They had been roused from the haunted ground By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound ; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn, They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn, And the needle-shaft through air was borne, Feathered with down of the hum-bird's wing. And now they deemed the courier ouphe Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground ; And they watched till they saw him mount the roof That canopies the world around j Then glad they left their covert lair, And freaked about in the midnight air. 148 G OLDEN LEAVES. XXVII. Up to the vaulted firmament His path the fire-fly courser bent, And, at every gallop on the wind, He flung a glittering spark behind ; He flies like a feather in the blast Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. But the shapes of air have begun their work, And a drizzly mist is round him cast ; He cannot see through the mantle murk ; He shivers with cold, but he urges fast ; Through storm and darkness, sleet and shade, He lashes his steed, and spurs amain For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, And flame-shot tongues around him played, And near him many a fiendish eye Glared with a fell malignity, And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, Came screaming on his startled ear. XXVIII. His wings are wet around his breast, The plume hangs dripping from his crest, His eyes are blurred with the lightning's glare, And his ears are stunned with the thunder's blare ; But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew ; He thrust before and he struck behind, Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind. Howling the misty spectres flew ; They rend the air with frightful cries ; DRAKE. 149 For he has gained the welkin blue, And the land of clouds beneath him lies. XXIX. Up to the cope careering swift, In breathless motion fast, Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, Or the sea-roc rides the blast, The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, The sphered moon is past, The earth but seems a tiny blot On a sheet of azure cast. Oh, it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, To tread the starry plain of even ! To meet the thousand eyes of night, And feel the cooling breath of heaven ! But the elfin made no stop or stay Till he came to the bank of the milky-way ; Then he checked his courser's foot, And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. XXX. Sudden along the snowy tide That swelled to meet their footsteps' fall, The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, Attired in sunset's crimson pall ; Around the fay they weave the dance, They skip before him on the plain, And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, And one upholds his bridle-rein ; With warblings wild they lead him on To where, through clouds of amber seen, 1 5 GOLDEN LEAVES. Studded with stars, resplendent shone The palace of the sylphid queen. Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, Were streamers of the northern light ; Its curtain's light and lovely flush Was of the morning's rosy blush ; And the ceiling fair that rose aboon, The white and feathery fleece of noon. XXXI. But, oh ! how fair the shape that lay Beneath a rainbow bending bright ! She seemed to the entranced fay The loveliest of the forms of light : Her mantle was the purple rolled At twilight in the west afar; 'Twas tied with threads of dawning gold, And buttoned with a sparkling star. Her face was like the lily roon That veils the vestal planet's hue ; Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon, Set floating in the welkin blue. Her hair is like the sunny beam, And the diamond-gems which round it gleam Are the pure drops of dewy even That ne'er have left their native heaven. XXXII. She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite, And they leaped with smiles ; for well I ween Never before in the bowers of light Had the form of an earthly fay been seen. DRAKE. 151 Long she looked in his tiny face ; Long with his butterfly cloak she played ; She smoothed his wings of azure lace, And handled the tassel of his blade ; And as he told, in accents low, The story of his love and woe, She felt new pains in her bosom rise, And the tear-drop started in her eyes. And " O, sweet spirit of earth," she cried, " Return no more to your woodland height, But ever here with me abide In the land of everlasting light ! Within the fleecy drift we'll lie ; We'll hang upon the rainbow's rim ; And all the jewels of the sky Around thy brow shall brightly beam ! And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream That rolls its whitening foam aboon, And ride upon the lightning's gleam, And dance upon the orbed moon ! We'll sit within the Pleiad ring, We'll rest on Orion's starry belt, And I will bid my sylphs to sing The song that makes the dew-mist melt ; Their harps are of the umber shade That hides the blush of waking day, And every gleamy string is made Of silvery moonshine's lengthened ray ; And thou shalt pillow on my breast, While heavenly breathings float around, And, with the sylphs of ether blest, Forget the joys of fairy ground." 152 GOLDEN LEAVES. XXXIII. She was lovely and fair to see, And the elfin's heart beat fitfully ; But lovelier far, and still more fair, The earthly form imprinted there ; Naught he saw in the heavens above Was half so dear as his mortal love, For he thought upon her looks to meek, And he thought of the light flush on her cheek ; Never again might he bask and lie ; On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye ; But in his dreams her form to see, To clasp her in his revery, To think upon his virgin bride, Was worth all heaven, and earth beside. xxxiv. " Lady," he cried, " I have sworn to-night, On the word of a fairy knight, To do my sentence-task aright ; My honour scarce is free from stain I may not soil its snows again ; Betide me weal, betide me woe, Its mandate must be answered now." Her bosom heaved with many a sigh, The tear was in her drooping eye ; But she led him to the palace gate, And called the sylphs who hovered there, And bade them fly and bring him straight, Of clouds condensed, a sable car. With charm and spell she blessed it there, From all the fiends of upper air ; DRAKE.. 153 Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, And tied his steed behind the cloud ; And pressed his hand as she bade him fly Far to the verge of the northern sky, For by its wane and wavering light There was a star would fall to-night. xxxv. Borne afar on the wings of the blast, Northward away, he speeds him fast, And his courser follows the cloudy wain Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. The clouds roll backward as he flies, Each flickering star behind him lies, And he has reached the northern plain, And backed his fire-fly steed again, Ready to follow in its flight The streaming of the rocket-light. XXXVI. The star is yet in the vault of heaven, But it rocks in the summer gale ; And now 'tis fitful and uneven, And now 'tis deadly paie ; And now 'tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke, And quenched is its rayless beam ; And now with a rattling thunder-stroke It bursts in flash and flame. As swift as the glance of the arrowy lance That the storm-spirit flings from high, The star-shot flew o'er the welkin blue, As it fell from the sheeted sky. 154 G OLDEN LEAVES. As swift as the wind in its train behind The elfin gallops along : The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, But the sylphid charm is strong ; He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze ; He watches each flake till its sparks expire, And rides in the light of its rays. But he drove his steed to the lightning's speed, And caught a glimmering spark ; Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, And sped through the midnight dark. Ouphe and goblin ! imp and sprite ! Elf of eve ! and starry fay ! Ye that love the moon's soft light, Hither hither wend your way ; Twine ye in a jocund ring, Sing and trip it merrily, Hand to hand, and wing to wing, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. Hail the wanderer again With dance and song, and lute and lyre ; Pure his wing and strong his chain, And doubly bright his fairy fire. Twine ye in an airy round, Brush the dew and print the lea ; Skip and gambol, hop and bound, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. HALLECK. 155 The beetle guards our holy ground, He flies about the haunted place, And if mortal there be found, He hums in his ears and flaps his face ; The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay, The owlet's eyes our lanterns be ; Thus we sing, and dance, and play, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. But, hark ! from tower on tree-top high, The sentry-elf his call has made ; A streak is in the eastern sky, Shapes of moonlight ! flit and fade ! The hill-tops gleam in Morning's spring, The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing, The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, The cock has crowed, and the fays are gone. fjalleck. MARCO BOZZARIS. A T midnight, in his guarded tent, *** The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power. In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; In dreams his song of triumph heard ; Then wore his monarch's signet-ring Then pressed that monarch's throne a king ; 156 G OLDEN LEAVES. As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden-bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, BOZZARIS ranged his Suliote band - True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood On old Plataea's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arms to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they. An hour passed on the Turk awoke : That bright dream was his last ; He woke to hear his sentries shriek, " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek !" He woke to die midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre- stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, BOZZARIS cheer his band : " Strike till the last armed foe expires ; Strike for ycur altars and your fires ; Strike for the green graves of your sires ; GOD and your native land !" They fought like brave men, long and well ; They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; They conquered but BOZZARIS fell, Bleeding at every vein. HALLE GK. 157 His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won ; Then saw in death his eyelids close Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ! Come to the mother's, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath ; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake-shock, the ocean-storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; And thou art terrible the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier ; And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Come, when his task of Fame is wrought Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought Come in her crowning hour and then Thy sunken eye's unearthly light To him is welcome as the sight Of sky and scars to prisoned men ; 158 G OLDEN LEAVES. Thy grasp is welcome as the hand Of brother in a foreign land ; Thy summons welcome as the cry That told the Indian isles were nigh To the world-seeking Genoese, When the land-wind, from woods of palm, And orange-groves, and fields of balm, Blew o'er the Haytian seas. BOZZARIS ! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. She wore no funeral-weeds for thee, Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, The heartless luxury of the tomb. But she remembers thee as one Long loved, and for a season gone ; For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; For thee she rings the birthday bells ; Of thee her babes' first lisping tells ; For thine her evening prayer is said At palace couch, and cottage bed ; Her soldier, closing with the foe, Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; His plighted maiden, when she fears For him, the joy of her young years, Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. And she, the mother of thy boys, HALLECK. 159 Though in her eye and faded cheek Is read the grief she will not speak, The memory of her buried joys And even she who gave thee birth, Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's One of the few, the immortal names That were not born to die. CONNECTICUT. \ ND still her gray rocks tower above the sea 4^ That murmurs at their feet, a conquered wave ; 'Tis a rough land of earth, and stone, and tree, Where breathes no castled lord or cabined slave ; Where thoughts, and tongues, and hands are bold and free, And friends will find a welcome, foes a grave ; And where none kneel, save when to Heaven they pray, Nor even then, unless in their own way. Theirs is a pure republic, wild, yet strong, A " fierce democracie," where all are true To what themselves have voted right or wrong And to their laws, denominated blue (If red, they might to DRACO'S code belong) ; A vestal state, which power could not subdue, Nor promise win like her own eagle's nest, Sacred the San Marino of the West. A justice of the peace, for the time being, They bow to, but may turn him out next year : 1 60 GOLDEN LEAVES. They reverence their priest, but, disagreeing In price or creed, dismiss him without fear ; They have a natural talent for foreseeing And knowing all things ; and should PARK appear From his long tour in Africa, to show The Niger's source, they'd meet him with "We know !" They love their land, because it is their own, And scorn to give aught other reason why ; Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, And think it kindness to his majesty ; A stubborn race, fearing and nattering none. Such are they nurtured, such they live and die : All but a few apostates, who are meddling With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence, and peddling ; Or, wandering through the Southern countries, teaching The ABC from WEBSTER'S spelling-book ; Gallant and godly, making love and preaching, And gaining, by what they call " hook and crook." And what the moralists call overreaching, A decent living. The Virginians look Upon them with as favourable eyes As GABRIEL on the devil in Paradise. But these are but their outcasts. View them near At home, where all their worth and pride is placed ; And there their hospitable fires burn clear, And there the lowliest farmhouse hearth is graced With manly hearts, in .piety sincere, Faithful in love, in honour stern and chaste, In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, Beloved in life, and sainted in the grave. IIALLECK. 161 And minds have there been nurtured, whose control Is felt even in their nation's destiny j Men who swayed senates with a statesman's soul, And looked on armies with a leader's eye ; Names that adorn and dignify the scroll Whose leaves contain their country's history. # ***** * Hers are not Tempe's nor Arcadia's spring, Nor the long summer of Cathayan vales, The vines, the flowers, the air, the skies, that fling Such wild enchantment o'er BOCCACCIO'S tales Of Florence and the Arno yet the wing Of life's best angel, health, is on her gales Through sun and snow and, in the autumn-time, Earth has no purer and no lovelier clime. Her clear, warm heaven at noon, the mist that shrouds Her twilight hills, her cool and starry eves, The glorious splendour of her sunset clouds, The rainbow beauty of her forest leaves, Come o'er the eye, in solitude and crowds, Where'er his web of song her poet weaves ; And his mind's brightest vision but displays The autumn scenery of his boyhood's days. And when you dream of woman, and her love ; Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power ; The maiden, listening in the moonlight grove ; The mother, smiling in her infant's bower ; Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or move, Be, by some spirit of your dreaming hour, Borne, like Loretto's chapel, through the air To the green land I sing, then wake ; you'll find them there. 162 GOLDEN LEAVES. THE WORLD IS BRIGHT BEFORE THEE. ' I ^HE world is bright before thee ; Its summer flowers are thine ; Its calm blue sky is o'er thee, Thy bosom Pleasure's shrine ; And thine the sunbeam given To Nature's morning hour, Pure, warm, as when from heaven It burst on Eden's bower. There is a song of sorrow, The death-dirge of the gay, That tells, ere dawn of morrow, These charms may melt away That sun's bright beam be shaded, That sky be blue no more, The summer flowers be faded, And youth's warm promise o'er. Believe it not ; though lonely Thy evening home may be ; Though Beauty's bark can only Float on a summer sea, Though Time thy bloom is stealing, There's still, beyond his art, The wild-flower wreath of feeling, The sunbeam of the heart. MKS. HALE. 163 Saral) lane THE LIGHT OF HOME. A/TY son, thou wilt dream the world is fair, *** And thy spirit will sigh to roam And thou must go ; but never, when there, Forget the light of home ! Though Pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, It dazzles to lead astray ; Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night When treading thy lonely way : But the hearth of home has a constant flame, And pure as vestal fire ; 'Twill burn, 'twill burn forever the same, For Nature feeds the pyre. The sea of Ambition is tempest-tossed, And thy hopes may vanish like foam : When sails are shivered and compass lost, Then look to the light of home ! And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, Thou shalt see the beacon bright ; For never, till shining on thy shroud, Can be quenched its holy light. The sun of Fame may gild the name, But the heart ne'er felt its ray ; And Fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, Are beams of a wintry day : 164 GOLDEN LEAVES. How cold and dim those beams would be, Should life's poor wanderer come ! My son, when the world is dark to thee, Then turn to the light of home. THE TWO MAIDENS. E came with light and laughing air, And cheek like opening blossom Bright gems were twined amid her hair, And glittered on her bosom ; And pearls and costly diamonds deck Her round white arms and lovely neck. Like summer's sky, with stars bedight, The jewelled robe around her, And dazzling as the noontide light The radiant zone that bound her And pride and joy were in her eye, And mortals bowed as she passed by. Another came : o'er her sweet face A pensive shade was stealing ; Yet there no grief of earth we trace But the Heaven-hallowed feeling Which mourns the heart should ever stray From the pure fount of truth away. Around her brow, as snow-drop fair, The glossy tresses cluster, BRAINARD. 165 Nor pearl nor ornament was there, Save the meek spirit's lustre ; And faith and hope beamed in her eye, And angels bowed as she passed by. 3ol)n <>. C Brainavb. THE DEEP. >T*HERE'S beauty in the deep : * The wave is bluer than the sky ; And, though the lights shine bright on high, More softly do the sea-gems glow, That sparkle in the depths below ; The rainbow's tints are only made When on the waters they are laid ; And sun and moon most sweetly shine Upon the ocean's level brine. There's beauty in the deep. There's music in the deep : It is not in the surf's rough roar, Nor in the whispering, shelly shore, They are but earthly sounds, that tell How little of the sea-nymph's shell, That sends its loud, clear note abroad, Or winds its softness through the flood, Echoes through groves, with coral gay, And dies, on spongy banks, away. There's music in the deep. 1 66 G OLDEN LEAVE S. There's quiet in the deep : Above, let tides and tempests rave, And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave ; Above, let Care and Fear contend With Sin and Sorrow, to the end : Here, far beneath the tainted foam That frets above our peaceful home, We dream in joy, and wake in love, Nor know the rage that yells above. There's quiet in the deep. THE INDIAN SUMMER. is there saddening in the autumn leaves ? Have they that "green and yellow melancholy" That the sweet poet spake of? Had he seen Our variegated woods, when first the frost Turns into beauty all October's charms When the dread fever quits us when the storms Of the wild equinox, with all its wet, Has left the land, as the first Deluge left it, With a bright bow of many colours hung Upon the forest-tops he had not sighed. The moon stays longest for the hunter now : The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe And busy squirrel hoards his winter store : While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along The bright, blue sky above him, and that bends Magnificently all the forest's pride, Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks, " What is there saddening in the autumn leaves ?" BRAIN A XI). 167 THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. the deep is the mariner's danger, On the deep is the mariner's death Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger, Sees the last bubble burst of his breath ? 'Tis the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, Lone looker on despair The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, The only witness there. Who watches their course, who so mildly Careen to the kiss of the breeze ! Who lists to their shrieks, who so wildly Are clasped in the arms of the seas ? 'Tis the sea-bird, &c. Who hovers on high o'er the lover, And her who has clung to his neck ? Whose wing is the wing that can cover, With its shadow, the foundering wreck ? 'Tis the sea-bird, etc. My eye in the light of the billow, My wing on the wake of the wave, I shall take to my breast, for a pillow, The shroud of the fair and the brave. I'm a sea-bird, &c. My foot on the iceberg has lighted, When hoarse the wild winds veer about ; My eye, when the bark is benighted, Sees the lamp of the lighthouse go out. I'm the sea-bird, &c. 168 GOLDEN LEAVE V. lamea illallis (Kastburu. TO PNEUMA. ' I "^EMPESTS their furious course may sweep Swiftly o'er the troubled deep Darkness may lend her gloomy aid, And wrap the groaning world in shade ; But man can show a darker hour, And bend beneath a stronger power ; There is a tempest of the SOUL, A gloom where wilder billows roll ! The howling wilderness may spread Its pathless deserts, parched and dread, Where not a blade of herbage blooms, Nor yields the breeze its soft perfumes ; Where silence, death, and horror reign, Unchecked, across the wide domain ; There is a desert of the MIND More hopeless, dreary, undefined ! There Sorrow, moody Discontent, And gnawing Care, are wildly blent ; There Horror hangs her darkest clouds, And the whole scene in gloom enshrouds ; A sickly ray is cast around, Where naught but dreariness is found ; A feeling that may not be told Dark, rending, lonely, drear, and cold. The wildest ills that darken life Are rapture to the bosom's strife ; EASTBURN. 169 The tempest, in its blackest form, Is beauty to the bosom's storm ; The ocean, lashed to fury loud, Its high wave mingling with the cloud, Is peaceful, sweet serenity To Passion's dark and boundless sea. There sleeps no calm, there smiles no rest, When storms are warring in the breast ; There is no moment of repose In bosoms lashed by hidden woes ; The scorpion-sting the fury rears, And every trembling fibre tears ; The vulture preys with bloody beak Upon the heart that can but break ! THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL. TVTOUNTAINS of Israel! rear on high ^ Your summits, crowned with verdure new, And spread your branches to the sky, Refulgent with celestial dew. O'er Jordan's stream, of gentle flow, And Judah's peaceful valleys, smile, And far reflect the lovely glow Where Ocean's waves incessant toil. See where the scattered tribes return ! Their slavery is burst at length, And purer flames to JESUS burn, And Zion girds on her new strength : 17 G OLDEN LEAVE 8. New cities bloom along the plain, New temples to JEHOVAH rise, The kindling voice of praise again Pours its sweet anthems to the skies. The fruitful fields again are blest, And yellow harvests smile around ; Sweet scenes of heavenly joy and rest, Where peace and innocence are found. The bloody sacrifice no more Shall smoke upon the altars high, But ardent hearts, from hill to shore, Send grateful incense to the sky ! The jubilee of man is near, When earth, as heaven, shall own His reign ; He comes to wipe the mourner's tear, And cleanse the heart from sin and pain. Praise Him, ye tribes of Israel, praise The King that ransomed you from woe : Nations, the hymn of triumph raise, And bid the song of rapture flow ! Hobert . Sanba. WEEHAWKEN. 1 /VE o'er our path is stealing fast; ^~~* Yon quivering splendours are the last The sun will fling, to tremble o'er The waves that kiss the opposing shore ; SANDS. 171 His latest glories fringe the height Behind us with their golden light. The mountain's mirrored outline fades Amid the fast-extending shades ; Its shaggy bulk, in sterner pride, Towers, as the gloom steals o'er the tide ; For the great stream a bulwark meet That leaves its rock-encumbered feet. River and mountain ! though to song Not yet, perchance, your names belong, Those who have loved your evening hues Will ask not the recording Muse What antique tales she can relate, Your banks and steeps to consecrate. Yet, should the stranger ask what lore Of by-gone days this winding shore, Yon cliffs and fir-clad steeps could tell, If vocal made by Fancy's spell, The varying legend might rehearse Fit themes for high, romantic verse. O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod, Oft hath the stalworth warrior trod ; Or peered, with hunter's gaze, to mark The progress of the glancing bark. Spoils, strangely won on distant waves, Have lurked in yon obstructed caves. When the great strife for Freedom rose, Here scouted oft her friends and foes, Alternate, through the changeful war, And beacon-fires flashed bright and far ; G OLDEN LEAVES. And here, when Freedom's strife was won, Fell, in sad feud, her favoured son ; Her son the second of the band, The Romans of the rescued land. Where round yon capes the banks ascend, Long shall the pilgrim's footsteps bend ; There, mirthful hearts shall pause to sigh, There, tears shall dim the patriot's eye. There last he stood. Before his sight Flowed the fair river, free and bright ; The rising mart, and isles, and bay, Before him in their glory lay Scenes of his love and of his fame The instant ere the death-shot came. THE GREEN ISLE OF LOVERS. say that, afar in the land of the West, Where the bright golden sun sinks in glory to rest, Mid fens where the hunter ne'er ventured to tread, A fair lake, unruffled and sparkling, is spread ; Where, lost in his course, the rapt Indian discovers, In distance seen dimly, the green Isle of Lovers. There verdure fades never; immortal in bloom, Soft waves the magnolia its groves of perfume ; And low bends the branch with rich fruitage depressed, All glowing like gems in the crowns of the East ; There the bright eye of Nature in mild glory hovers : 'Tis the land of the sunbeam the green Isle of Lovers ! PEA SOD Y. f 173 Sweet strains wildly float on the breezes that kiss The calm-flowing lake round that region of bliss, Where, wreathing their garlands of amaranth, fair choirs Glad measures still weave to the sound that inspires The dance and the revel, mid forests that cover On high with their shade the green Isle of the Lover. But fierce as the snake, with his eyeballs of fire, When his scales are all brilliant and glowing with ire, Are the warriors to all, save the maids of their isle, Whose law is their will, and whose life is their smile ; From beauty there valour and strength are not rovers, And peace reigns supreme in the green Isle of Lovers. And he who has sought to set foot on its shore, In mazes perplexed, has beheld it no more ; It fleets on the vision, deluding the view Its banks still retire as the hunters pursue : Oh ! who in this vain world of woe shall discover The home undisturbed, the green Isle of the Lover ? tDtlliam B. OD. HYMN OF NATURE. OD of the earth's extended plains ! The dark, green fields contented lie ; The mountains rise like holy towers, Where man might commune with the sky The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, 9 174 G OLDEN LEAVES. Where shaded fountains send their streams, With joyous music in their flow. GOD of the dark and heavy deep ! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands ; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, Till, calmed by Thee, the sinking Gale Serenely breathes, " Depart in peace." GOD of the forest's solemn shade ! The grandeur of the lonely tree, That wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee ; But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form, To wave on high their plumes of green, And fight their battles with the storm. GOD of the light and viewless air ! Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might/ The fierce and wintry tempests blow ; All from the Evening's plaintive sigh, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild Whirlwind's midnight cry, Breathe forth the language of thy power. GOD of the fair and open sky ! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow's rings ! FAIRFIELD. 175 Each brilliant star, that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud, that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives The beauty of its praise to Thee. GOD of the rolling orbs above ! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at thy burning throne. GOD of the world ! the hour must come, And Nature's self to dust return ; Her crumbling altars must decay, Her incense-fires shall cease to burn ; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man's warmest praises flow ; For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below. Sumner Cincoln Jmrfielb. AN EVENING SONG OF PIEDMONT. A VE MARIA ! 'tis the midnight hour, *^^ The starlight wedding of the earth and heaven, When music breathes its perfume from the flower, And high revealings to the heart are given ; 176 G OLD EN LEAVES. Soft o'er the meadows steals the dewy air Like dreams of bliss ; the deep-blue ether glows, And the stream murmurs round its islets fair The tender night-song of a charmed repose. Ave MARIA ! 'tis the hour of love, The kiss of rapture, and the linked embrace, The hallowed converse in the dim, still grove, The elysium of a heart-revealing face, When all is beautiful for we are blest ; When all is lovely for we are beloved; When all is silent for our passions rest ; When all is faithful for our hopes are proved. Ave MARIA ! 'tis the hour of prayer, Of hushed communion with ourselves and Heaven, When our waked hearts their inmost thoughts declare, High, pure, far-searching, like the light of even ; When hope becomes fruition, and we feel The holy earnest of eternal peace, That bids our pride before the Omniscient kneel, That bids our wild and warring passions cease. Ave MARIA ! soft the vesper hymn Floats through the cloisters of yon holy pile, And, mid the stillness of the night-watch dim, Attendant spirits seem to hear and smile ! Hark ! hath it ceased ? The vestal seeks her cell, And reads her heart a melancholy tale ! A song of happier years, whose echoes swell O'er her lost love, like pale Bereavement's wail. Ave MARIA ! let our prayers ascend From them whose holy offices afford MELLEN. 177 No joy in heaven on earth without a friend That true, though faded image of the LORD ! For them in vain the face of Nature glows, For them in vain the sun in glory burns ; The hollow breast consumes in fiery woes, And meets despair and death where'er it turns. Ave MARIA ! in the deep pine-wood, On the clear stream, and o'er the azure sky, Bland Midnight smiles, and starry Solitude Breathes hope in every breeze that wanders by. Ave MARIA ! may our last hour come As bright, as pure, as gentle, Heaven ! as this ! Let Faith attend us smiling to the tomb, And Life and Death are both the heirs of bliss ! vcnwlle flldlen. ON SEEING AN EAGLE PASS NEAR ME IN AUTUMN TWILIGHT. AIL on, thou lone, imperial bird, Of quenchless eye and tireless wing ; How is thy distant coming heard, As the night's breezes round thee ring ! Thy course was 'gainst the burning sun In his extremest glory. How ! Is thy unequalled daring done, Thou stoop'st to earth so lowly now ? Or hast thou left thy rocking dome, Thy roaring crag, thy lightning pine, 178 GOLDEN LEAVES. To find some secret, meaner home, Less stormy and unsafe than thine ? Else why thy dusky pinions bend So closely to this shadowy world, And round thy searching glances send, As wishing thy broad pens were furled ? Yet lonely is thy shattered nest, Thy eyry desolate, though high ; And lonely thou, alike at rest, Or soaring in the upper sky. The golden light that bathes thy plumes On thine interminable flight, Falls cheerless on earth's desert tombs, And makes the North's ice-mountains bright. So come the eagle-hearted down, So come the high and proud to earth, When life's night-gathering tempests frown Over their glory and their mirth : So quails the mind's undying eye, That bore, unveiled, Fame's noontide sun ; So man seeks solitude, to die, His high place left, his triumphs done. So, round the residence of Power, A cold and joyless lustre shines, And on life's pinnacles will lower Clouds, dark as bathe the eagle's pines. But, oh, the mellow light that pours From GOD'S pure throne the light that saves ! It warms the spirit as it soars, And sheds deep radiance round our graves. M ELL EN. 179 THE TRUE GLORY OF AMERICA. TTALIA'S vales and fountains, * Though beautiful ye be, I love my soaring mountains And forests more than ye ; And though a dreamy greatness rise From out your cloudy years, Like hills on distant stormy skies, Seen dim through Nature's tears, Still, tell me not of years of old, Or ancient heart and clime ; Ours is the land and age of gold, And ours the hallowed time ! The jewelled crown and sceptre Of Greece have passed away ; And none, of all who wept her, Could bid her splendour stay. The world has shaken with the tread Of iron-sandalled Crime And, lo ! o'ershadowing all the dead, The conqueror stalks sublime ! Then ask I not for crown and plume To nod above my land ; The victor's footsteps point to doom, Graves open round his hand ! Rome ! with thy pillared palaces, And sculptured heroes all, Snatched, in their warm, triumphal days, To Art's high festival ; l8o GOLDEN LEAVES. Rome ! with thy giant sons of power, Whose pathway was on thrones, Who built their kingdoms of an hour On yet unburied bones, I would not have my land like thee, So lofty yet so cold ! Be hers a lowlier majesty, In yet a nobler mould. Thy marbles works of wonder ! In thy victorious days, Whose lips did seem to sunder Before the astonished gaze ; When statue glared on statue there, The living on the dead, And men as silent pilgrims were Before some sainted head ! Oh, not for faultless marbles yet Would I the light forego That beams when other lights have set, And Art herself lies low ! Oh, ours a holier hope shall be Than consecrated bust, Some loftier mean of memory To snatch us from the dust. And ours a sterner art than this, Shall fix our image here, The spirit's mould of loveliness A nobler BELVIDERE ! Then let them bind with bloomless flowers The busts and urns of old, MARGARET FULLER. 181 A fairer heritage be ours, A sacrifice less cold ! Give honour to the great and good, And wreathe the living brow, Kindling with Virtue's mantling blood, And pay the tribute now ! So, when the good and great go down, Their statues shall arise, To crowd those temples of our own, Our fadeless memories ! And when the sculptured marble falls, And Art goes in to die, Our forms shall live in holier halls, The Pantheon of the sky I 0. fttavjaret -fuller. GANYMEDE TO HIS EAGLE.* TPON the rocky mountain stood the boy, ^"^ A goblet of pure water in his hand ; His face and form spoke him one made for joy, A willing servant to sweet Love's command ; But a strange pain was written on his brow, And thrilled throughout his silver accents now : " My bird," he cries, " my destined brother-friend, Oh, whither fleets co-day thy wayward flight ? * On seeing T}IORVVALDSEN'S statue of Ganymede. 182 GOLDEN LEAVES. " Hast thou forgotten that I here attend, From the full noon until this sad twilight ? A hundred times, at least, from the clear spring, Since the full noon o'er hill and valley glowed, I've filled the vase which our Olympian king Upon my care for thy sole use bestowed ; That, at the moment when thou shouldst descend, A pure refreshment might thy thirst attend. " Hast thou forgotten Earth forgotten me, Thy fellow-bondsman in a royal cause, Who, from the sadness of infinity, Only with thee can know that peaceful pause In which we catch the flowing strain of love Which binds our dim fates to the throne of JOVE. " Before I saw thee I was like the May, Longing for Summer that must mar its bloom, Or like the Morning Star that calls the Day, Whose glories to its promise are the tomb ; And as the eager fountain rises higher, To throw itself more strongly back to earth, Still, as more sweet and full rose my desire, More fondly it reverted to its birth ; For, what the rose-bud seeks tells not the rose The meaning foretold by the boy the man cannot disclose. " I was all Spring, for in my being dwelt Eternal youth, where flowers are the fruit ; Full feeling was the thought of what was felt Its music was the meaning of the lute : But Heaven and Earth such life will still deny, For Earth, divorced from Heaven, still asks the question, 'Why?' MARGARET FULLER. 183 " Upon the highest mountains my young feet Ached, that no pinions from their lightness grew, My starlike eyes the stars would fondly greet, Yet win no greeting from the circling blue ; Fair, self-subsistent, each in its own sphere, They had no care that there was none for me : Alike to them that I was far or near, Alike to them, time and eternity. " But, from the violet of lower air, Sometimes an answer to my wishing came, Those lightning-births my nature seemed to share. They told the secrets of its fiery frame The sudden messengers of Hate and Love, The thunderbolts that arm the hand of JOVE, And strike sometimes the sacred spire, and strike the sacred grove. " Come in a moment, in a moment gone, They answered me, then left me still more lone ; They told me that the thought which ruled the world As yet no sail upon its course had furled, That the creation was but just begun, New leaves still leaving from the primal one, But spoke not of the goal to which my rapid wheels would run. " Still, still my eyes, though tearfully, I strained To the far future which my heart contained, And no dull doubt my proper hope profaned. At last, oh bliss ! thy living form I spied, Then a mere speck upon a distant sky ; Yet my keen glance discerned its noble pride, And the full answer of that sun-filled eye : 184 G OLDEN LEAVES. I knew it was the wing that must upbear My earthlier form into the realms of air. " Thou knowest how we gained that beauteous height, Where dwells the monarch of the sons of light ; Thou knowest he declared us two to be The chosen servants of his ministry Thou as his messenger, a sacred sign Of conquest, or with omen more benign, To give its due weight to the righteous cause, To express the verdict of Olympian laws. " And I to wait upon the lonely Spring, Which slakes the thirst of bards to whom 'tis given The destined dues of hopes divine to sing, And weave the needed chain to bind to heaven : Only from such could be obtained a draught For him who in his early home from JOVE'S own cup has quaffed. " To wait, to wait, but not to wait too long, Till heavy grows the burden of a song ; O bird ! too long hast thou been gone to-day, My feet are weary of their frequent way, The spell that opes the Spring my tongue no more can say. If soon thou com'st not, night will fall around, My head with a sad slumber will be bound, And the pure draught be spilt upon the ground. " Remember that I am not yet divine ; Long years of service to the fatal Nine Are yet to make a Delphian vigour mine. MRS. JUDSON. 185 Oh, make them not too hard, thou bird of JOVE ! Answer the stripling's hope, confirm his love ; Receive the service in which he delights, And bear him often to the serene heights, Where hands that were so prompt in serving thee Shall be allowed the highest ministry, And Rapture live with bright Fidelity." THE WEAVER. A WEAVER sat by the side of his loom, A-flinging his shuttle fast ; And a thread that would wear till the hour of doom Was added at every cast. His warp had been by the angels spun, And his weft was bright and new, Like threads which the morning unbraids from the sun, All jewelled over with dew. And fresh-lipped, bright-eyed, beautiful flowers In the rich, soft web were bedded ; And blithe to the weaver sped onward the hours : Not yet were Time's feet leaded ! But something there came slow stealing by, And a shade on the fabric fell ; And I saw that the shuttle less blithely did fly For Thought hath a wearisome spell ! 186 GOLDEN LEAVES. And a thread that next o'er the warp was lain, Was of melancholy gray ; And anon I marked there a tear-drop's stain, Where the flowers had fallen away. But still the weaver kept weaving on, Though the fabric all was gray ; And the flowers, and the buds, and the leaves, were gone, And the gold threads cankered lay. And dark and still darker and darker grew Each newly-woven thread ; And some there were of a death-mocking hue, And some of a bloody red. And things all strange were woven in Sighs, and down-crushed hopes, and fears ; And the web was broken, and poor, and thin, And it dripped with living tears. And the weaver fain would have flung it aside, But he knew it would be a sin ; So in light and in gloom the shuttle he plied, A-weaving these life-cords in. And as he wove, and, weeping, still wove, A tempter stole him nigh ; And, with glozing words, he to win him strove But the weaver turned his eye. He upward turned his eye to heaven, And still wove on on on ! Till the last, last cord from his heart was riven, And the tissue strange was done. MRS. JUDSQN. 187 Then he threw it about his shoulders bowed, And about his grizzled head ; And, gathering close the folds of his shroud, Laid him down among the dead. And I after saw, in a robe of light, The weaver in the sky : The angels' wings were not more bright, And the stars grew pale it nigh. And I saw, mid the folds, all the iris-hued flowers That beneath his touch had sprung ; More beautiful far than these stray ones of ours, Which the angels have to us flung. And wherever a tear had fallen down, Gleamed out a diamond rare ; And jewels befitting a monarch's crown Were the footprints left by Care. And wherever had swept the breath of a sigh, Was left a rich perfume ; And with light from the fountain of bliss in the sky Shone the labour of Sorrow and Gloom. And then I prayed, "When my last work is done, And the silver life-cord riven, Be the stain of Sorrow the deepest one That I bear with me to heaven !" 188 GOLDEN LEAVES. Hufu0 THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. ' I ^HE Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light, And wheels her course in a joyous flight ; I know her track through the balmy air, By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there ; She leaves the tops of the mountains green, And gems the valley with crystal sheen. At morn, I know where she rested at night, For the roses are gushing with dewy delight ; Then she mounts again, and round her flings A shower of light from her crimson wings ; Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high, That silently fills it with ecstasy. At noon she hies to a cool retreat, Where bowering elms over waters meet ; She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip, As it smilingly curls like a maiden's lip, When her tremulous bosom would hide, in vain, From her lover, the hope that she loves again. At. eve she hangs o'er the western sky Dark clouds for a glorious canopy, And round the skirts of their deepened fold She paints a border of purple and gold, Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay, When their god in his glory has passed away. DA WES. 189 She hovers around us at twilight hour, When her presence is felt with the deepest power ; She silvers the landscape, and crowds the stream With shadows that flit like a fairy dream ; Then wheeling her flight through the gladdened air, The Spirit of Beauty is everywhere. SUNRISE, FROM MOUNT WASHINGTON. ' I *HE laughing Hours have chased away the Night, Plucking the stars out from her diadem : And now the blue-eyed Morn, with modest grace, Looks through her half- drawn curtains in the east, Blushing in smiles and glad as infancy. And see, the foolish Moon, but now so vain Of borrowed beauty, how she yields her charms, And, pale with envy, steals herself away ! The clouds have put their gorgeous livery on, Attendant on the day the mountain-tops Have lit their beacons, and the vales below Send up a welcoming ; no song of birds Warbling, to charm the air with melody, Floats on the frosty breeze, yet Nature hath The very soul of music in her looks ! The sunshine and the shade of poetry. I stand upon thy lofty pinnacle, Temple of Nature ! and look down with awe On the wide world beneath me, dimly seen ; Around me crowd the giant sons of earth, Fixed on their old foundations, unsubdued ; 19 G OLDEN LEAVES. Firm as when first rebellion bade them rise Unrifted to the Thunderer now they seem A family of mountains, clustering round Their hoary patriarch, emulously watching To meet the partial glances of the day. Far in the glowing east the flickering light, Mellowed by distance, with the blue sky blending, Questions the eye with ever-varying forms. The Sun comes up ! away the shadows fling From the broad hills and, hurrying to the west, Sport in the sunshine, till they die away. The many beauteous mountain-streams leap down, Out-welling from^the clouds, and sparkling light Dances along with their perennial flow. And there is beauty in yon river's path, The glad Connecticut ! I know her well, By the white veil she mantles o'er her charms : At times, she loiters by a ridge of hills, Sportfully hiding then again with glee Out-rushes from her wild-wood lurking-place. Far as the eye can bound, the ocean-waves, And hills and rivers, mountains, lakes, and woods, And all that hold the faculty entranced, Bathed in a flood of glory, float in air, And sleep in the deep quietude of joy. There is an awful stillness in this place, A Presence, that forbids to break the spell, Till the heart pour its agony in tears. But I must drink the vision while it lasts ; For even now the curling vapours rise, Wreathing their cloudy coronals to grace These towering summits bidding me away : BISHOP D OA NE. 191 But often shall my heart turn back again, Thou glorious eminence ! and when oppressed, And aching with the coldness of the world, Find a sweet resting-place and home with thee. Bishop *0. ID. JDocme. "WHAT is THAT, MOTHER?" 44 XTTTHAT is that, Mother ?" " The lark, my child ! The Morn has but just looked out, and smiled, When he starts from his humble grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise." " What is that, Mother ?" " The dove, my son ! And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure, by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For her distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove In friendship as faithful, as constant in love." " What is that, Mother ?" " The eagle, boy ! Proudly careering his course of joy ; Firm, on his own mountain vigour relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying, 19 2 G OLDEN LEAVES. His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward, and upward, and true to the line." " What is that, mother ?" " The swan, my love !- He is floating down from his native grove ; No loved one now, no nestling nigh, He is floating down, by himself to die : Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home." A CHERUB. " Dear Sir, I am in some little disorder by reason of the death of a little child of mine, a boy that lately made us very glad 5 but now he rejoices in his little orbe, while we thinke, and sigh, and long to be as safe as he is." JEREMY TAYLOR TO EVELYN (1656.) T> EAUTIFUL thing ! with thine eye of light, ^ And thy brow of cloudless beauty bright, Gazing for aye on the sapphire throne Of Him who dwelleth in light alone Art thou hasting now, on that golden wing, With the burning seraph-choir to sing ? Or stooping to earth, in thy gentleness, Our darkling path to cheer and bless ? Beautiful thing ! thou art come in love, With gentle gales from the world above, Breathing of pureness, breathing of bliss, Bearing our spirits away from this, MRS. KINNE7. 193 To the better thoughts, to the brighter skies, Where heaven's eternal sunshine lies ; Winning our hearts, by a blessed guile, With that infant look and angel smile. Beautiful thing ! thou art come in joy, With the look and the voice of our darling boy Him that was torn from the bleeding hearts He had twined about with his infant arts, To dwell, from sin and sorrow far, In the golden orb of his little star : There he rejoiceth in light, while we Long to be happy and safe as he. Beautiful thing ! thou art come in peace, Bidding our doubts and our fears to cease ; Wiping the tears which unbidden start From that bitter fount in the broken heart ; Cheering us still on our lonely way, Lest our spirits should faint, or our feet should stray, Till, risen with CHRIST, we come to be, Beautiful thing, with our boy and thee. iHr0. #. <. Kinneg. TO POWERS'S GREEK SLAVE. D EAUTIFUL model of creative art ! My spirit feels the reverence for thee, That felt the ancients for a deity : And did the sculptor shape thee, part by part, 194 G OLDEN LEAVES. Fair, as if whole from Genius' mighty heart Thou'dst sprung, like Venus from the foaming sea ? Ah ! not for show, in a disgraceful mart, Is that calm look of conscious purity ; Nor should unhallowed eye presume to steal A sensual glance, where holy minds would kneel, As to some goddess in her virgin youth. But who could shame in thy pure presence feel, Save those who, false themselves, must shrink, forsooth, From the mild lustre of ungarnished truth ? THE WOODMAN. TTE shoulders his axe for the woods, and away Hies over the fields at the dawn of the day, And merrily whistles some tune as he goes, So heartily trudging along through the snows. His dog scents his track, and pursues to a mark, Now sending afar the shrill tones of his bark Then answering the echo that comes back again Through the clear air of morn, over valley and plain. And now in the forest the woodman doth stand : His eye marks the victims to fall by his hand, While true to its aim is the ready axe found, And quick do its blows through the woodland resound. The proud tree low bendeth its vigorous form, Whose freshness and strength have braved many a storm And the sturdy oak shakes that never trembled before, Though the years of its glory outnumber threescore. MRS. EAMES. 195 They fall side by side just as man in his prime Lies down with the locks that are whitened by time : The trees which are felled into ashes will burn, As man, by Death's blow, unto dust must return. But twilight approaches : the woodman and dog Come plodding together through snow-drift and bog ; The axe, again shouldered, its day's work hath done ; The woodman is hungry the dog wants his bone. Oh, home is then sweet, and the evening repast ! But the brow of the woodman with thought is o'ercast : He is conning a truth to be tested by all That man, like the trees of the forest, must fall. (Hijabetl) 3. C?ame0. CROWNING OF PETRARCH. A RRAYED in a monarch's royal robes, "*** With gold and purple gleaming, And the broidered banners of the proud Colonna o'er him streaming With the gorgeous pomp and pageantry Of the Anjouite's court attended, He came, that princely son of song : And the haughtiest nobles rendered Adoring homage to the laureate bard, Whose sky was luminous with fame and glory starred. 196 G LDEN LEAVE S. And following his triumphal car, Rome's youthful sons came singing His passion-kindled melodies, With the silver clarion ringing A prouder music harp, and lute, And lyre, all sweet sounds blending And the orient sun-god on his way In dazzling lustre bending : And radiant flowers their gem-like splendour shed O'er the proud march that to the Eternal City led ! In all its ancient grandeur was That sceptred city dressed, And pealing notes and plaudits rang For him its sovereign guest : The voice of the Seven Hills went up From kingly hall and bower, And throngs with laurel-boughs poured forth To grace that triumph-hour; While censers wafted rich perfume around, And the glowing air with mirth and melody was crowned. On, onward to the Capitol, Italia's children crowded Over three hundred triumphs there The sun had sat unclouded : For crowned kings and conquerors haught Had trod that path to glory, And poets won bright wreaths and names To live in song and story ! But ne'er before, king, bard, or victor came, Winning such honours for his name and poet-fame. MRS. EAMES. 197 The glittering gates are passed, and he Hath gained the imperial summit, And deep rich strains of harmony Are proudly floating from it : Incense sunshine and the swelling Shout of a nation's heart beneath him, Go up to his glorious place of pride, While the kingly Orsos wreathe him ! Well may the bard's enraptured heart beat high, Filled with the exulting thought of his gift's bright victory. Crowned one of Rome ! from that lofty height Thou wear'st a conqueror's seeming Thy dark, deep eye with the radiance Of inspiration beaming ; Thou'st won the living wreath for which Thy young ambition panted ; Thy aspiring dream is realized : Hast thou one wish ungranted ? Kings bow to the might of thy genius-gifted mind ; Hast thou one unattained hope, in the deep heart enshrined ? O wreathed lord of the lyre of song ! Even then thy heart was haunted With one wild and passionate wish to lay That crown, a gift enchanted, Low at her feet, whose smile was more Than glory, fame, or power For whose dear sake was won, and worn, The glittering laurel-flower ! Oh, little worth thy bright renown to thee, Unshared by her, the star of thy idolatry ! 19 8 G OLDEN LEAVES. Thanks to thy lyre ! she liveth yet, O poet, in thy numbers The peerless star of Avignon, Who shone o'er all thy slumbers : Entire and sole idolatry At LAURA'S shrine was given, Yet was her life-lot severed far From thine as earth and heaven ! And thou, the crowned of Rome gifted and great- Stood in thy glory still alone and desolate ! orbon Brook0. GREECE IN 1832. T AND of the brave ! where lie inurned "^ The shrouded forms of mortal clay, In whom the fire of valour burned, And blazed upon the battle's fray : Land, where the gallant Spartan few Bled at Thermopylae of yore, When Death his purple garment threw On Helle's consecrated shore ! Land of the Muse ! within thy bowers Her soul-entrancing echoes rung, While on their course the rapid hours Paused at the melody she sung Till every grove and every hill, And every stream that flowed along, BROOKS. 199 From morn to night repeated still The winning harmony of song. Land of dead heroes ! living slaves ! Shall Glory gild thy clime no more ? Her banner float above thy waves Where proudly it hath swept before ? Hath not Remembrance then a charm To break the fetters and the chain, To bid thy children nerve the arm, And strike for freedom once again ? No ! coward souls, the light which shone On Leuctra's war-empurpled day, The light which beamed on Marathon Hath lost its splendour, ceased to play ; And thou art but a shadow now, With helmet shattered spear in rust Thy honour but a dream and thou Despised degraded in the dust ! Where sleeps the spirit, that of old Dashed down to earth the Persian plume, When the loud chant of triumph told How fatal was the despot's doom ? The bold three hundred where are they, Who died on Battle's gory breast ? Tyrants have trampled on the clay Where Death hath hushed them into rest. Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill A glory shines of ages fled ; And Fame her light is pouring still, Not on the living, but the dead ! 200 GOLDEN LEAVES. But 'tis the dim, sepulchral light Which sheds a faint and feeble ray, As moonbeams on the brow of Night, When tempests sweep upon their way. Greece ! yet awake thee from thy trance- Behold, thy banner waves afar ; Behold, the glittering weapons glance Along the gleaming front of war ! A gallant chief, of high emprise, Is urging foremost in the field, Who calls upon thee to arise In might in majesty revealed. In vain, in vain the hero calls In vain he sounds the trumpet loud ! His banner totters see ! it falls In ruin, Freedom's battle-shroud : Thy children have no soul to dare Such deeds as glorified their sires ; Their valour's but a meteor's glare, Which gleams a moment, and expires. Lost land ! where Genius made his reign, And reared his golden arch on high ; Where Science raised her sacred fane, Its summits peering to the sky ; Upon thy clime the midnight deep Of Ignorance hath brooded long, And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep The sons of Science and of Song. Thy sun hath set the evening storm Hath passed in giant fury by, MRS. M. E. BROOKS. 201 To blast the beauty of thy form, And spread its pall upon the sky ! Gone is thy glory's diadem, And Freedom never more shall cease To pour her mournful requiem O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece ! fttaro C Uvook0. DREAM OF LIFE. T HEARD the music of the wave, As it rippled to the shore, And saw the willow-branches lave, As light winds swept them o'er The music of the golden bow That did the torrent span ; But I heard a sweeter music flow From the youthful heart of man. The wave rushed on the hues of heaven Fainter and fainter grew, And deeper melodies were given As swift the changes flew : Then came a shadow on my sight ; The golden bow was dim And he that laughed beneath its light, What was the change to him ? I saw him not ; only a throng Like the swell of troubled ocean, 202 GOLDEN LEAVES. Rising, sinking, swept along In the tempest's wild commotion : Sleeping, dreaming, waking then, Chains to link or sever Turning to the dream again, Fain to clasp it ever. There was a rush upon my brain, A darkness on mine eye ; And when I turned to gaze again, The mingled forms were nigh : In shadowy mass a mighty hall Rose on the fitful scene ; Flowers, music, gems, were flung o'er all, Not such as once had been. Then in its mist, far, far away, A phantom seemed to be ; The something of a by-gone day But oh, how changed was he ! He rose beside the festal board, Where sat the merry throng ; And, as the purple juice he poured, Thus woke his wassail song : SONG. " Come ! while with wine the goblets flow, For wine, they say, has power to bless ; And flowers, too not roses, no ! Bring poppies, bring forgetfulness ! " A lethe for departed bliss, And each too well remembered scene : Earth has no sweeter draught than this, Which drowns the thought of what has been. HOFFMAN. 203 " Here's to the heart's cold iciness, Which cannot smile, but will not sigh : If wine can bring a chill like this, Come, fill for me the goblet high ! " Come and the cold, the false, the dead, Shall never cross our revelry ; We'll kiss the wine-cup sparkling red, And snap the chain of Memory." Cljarles Jimno fjoffmcm. THE MYRTLE AND STEEL. E bumper yet, gallants, at parting, One toast, ere we arm for the fight ; Fill round, each to her he loves dearest ! 'Tis the last he may pledge her to-night. Think of those who of old at the banquet Did their weapons in garlands conceal, The patriot heroes who hallowed The entwining of myrtle and steel ! Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! 'Tis in moments like this, when each bosom With its highest-toned feeling is warm, Like the music that's said from the ocean To rise ere the gathering storm, 204 G OLD EN LEAVES. That her image around us should hover, Whose name, though our lips ne'er reveal, We may breathe mid the foam of a bumper, As we drink to the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! Now mount ! for our bugle is ringing To marshal the host for the fray, Where proudly our banner is flinging Its folds o'er the battle-array ; Yet, gallants one moment remember, When your sabres the death-blow would deal, That MERCY wears her shape who's cherished By lads of the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! SPARKLING AND BRIGHT. OPARKLING and bright, in liquid light, ^ Does the wine our goblets gleam in ; With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in. Then fill to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. H FFMA N. 205 Oh, if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life's dominions, We here a while would now beguile The graybeard of his pinions To drink to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. But since Delight can't tempt the wight, Nor fond Regret delay him, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, Nor sober Friendship stay him, We'll drink to-night, with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. FOREST MUSINGS. 'T^HE hunt is up The merry woodland shout, That rung these echoing glades about An hour agone, Hath swept beyond the eastern hills, Where, pale and lone, The moon her mystic circle fills ; A while across the setting sun's broad disk The dusky larch, As if to pierce the blue o'erhanging arch, Lifts its tall obelisk. 206 G OLDEN LEAVES. And now from thicket dark, Where, by the mist-wreathed river, The fire- fly's spark Will fitful quiver, And bubbles round the lily's cup From lurking trout come coursing up, The doe hath led her fawn to drink ; While, scared by step so near, Uprising from the sedgy brink The lonely bittern's cry will sink Upon the startled ear. And thus upon my dreaming youth, When boyhood's gambols pleased no more, And young Romance, in guise of Truth, Usurped the heart all theirs before ; Thus broke Ambition's trumpet-note On visions wild, Yet blithesome as this river On which the smiling moonbeams float, That thus have there for ages smiled, And will thus smile forever. And now no more the fresh green-wood, The forest's fretted aisles, And leafy domes above them bent, And solitude So eloquent ! Mocking the varied skill that's blent In Art's most gorgeous piles No more can soothe my soul to sleep Than they can awe the sounds that sweep HOFFMAN. 207 To hunter's horn and merriment Their verdant passes through, When fresh the dun-deer leaves his scent Upon the morning dew. The game's afoot ! and let the chase Lead on, whate'er my destiny Though Fate her funeral-drum may brace Full soon for me ! And wave Death's pageant o'er me Yet now the new and untried world, Like maiden banner first unfurled, Is glancing bright before me ! The quarry soars ! and mine is now the sky, Where, "at what bird I please, my hawk shall fly !" Yet something whispers through the wood A voice like that, perchance, Which taught the haunter of EGERIA'S grove To tame the Roman's dominating mood And lower, for a while, his conquering lance Before the images of Law and Love Some mystic voice, that ever since hath dwelt Along with Echo in her dim retreat, A voice whose influence all, at times, have felt By wood or glen, or where on silver strand The clasping waves of Ocean's belt Do clashing meet Around the land : It whispers me that soon too soon The pulses which now beat so high, Impatient with the world to cope, Will, like the hues of autumn sky, 208 G OLDEN LEAVES. Be changed and fallen ere life's noon Should tame its morning hope. It tells me not of heart betrayed, Of health impaired, Of fruitless toil, And ills alike by thousands shared, Of which each year some link is made, To add to " mortal coil :" And yet its strange, prophetic tone So faintly murmurs to my soul The fate to be my own, That all of these may be Reserved for me Ere manhood's early years can o'er me roll. Yet why, While Hope so jocund singeth, And with her plumes the graybeard's arrow wingeth, Should I Think only of the barb it bringeth ? Though every dream deceive That to my youth is dearest, Until my heart they leave Like forest-leaf when searest Yet still, mid forest-leaves, Where now Its tissue thus my idle fancy weaves, Still with heart new-blossoming While leaves, and buds, and wild flowers spring, At Nature's shrine I'll bow; Nor seek in vain that truth in her She keeps for her idolater. HOFFMAN. 209 THE ORIGIN OF MINT JULEPS. " And first behold this cordial Julep here, That flames and dances in its crystal bounds, With spirits of balm and fragrant sirups mixed j Not that Nepenthes which the wife of THOME In Egypt gave to Jove-born HELENA, Is of such power to stir up Joy as this, To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst." MILTON Comus. ^'TMS said that the gods, on Olympus of old (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt ?) One night, mid their revels, by BACCHUS were told That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out ! But, determined to send round the goblet once more, They sued to the fairer immortals for aid In composing a draught, which, till drinking were o'er, Should cast every wine ever drunk in the shade. Grave CERES herself blithely yielded her corn ; And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth in the dews of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. POMONA, whose choicest of fruits on the board Were scattered profusely in every one's reach, When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard, Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach. The liquids were mingled, while VENUS looked on, With glances so fraught with sweet magical power, That the honey of Hybla, e'en when they were gone, Has never been missed in the draught from that hour. 210 G OLDEN LEAVES. FLORA then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook, And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl, All dripping and fresh, as it came from the brook, The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole. The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim, Though something yet wanting they all did bewail ; But juleps the drink of immortals became, When JOVE himself added a handful of hail. ROSALIE CLARE. "IX^HO owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE, Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harnessed in proof, he must perish or yield ; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couched for young ROSALIE CLARE. When goblets are flowing, and wit at the board Sparkles high, while the blood of the red grape is poured, And fond wishes for fair ones around offered up, From each lip that is wet with the dew of the cup, What name on the brimmer floats oftener there, Or is whispered more warmly, than ROSALIE CLARE ? They may talk of the land of the olive and vine, Of the maids of the Ebro, the Arno, or Rhine ; Of the houris that gladden the East with their smiles, Where the sea's studded over with green summer isles ; But what flower of far-away clime can compare With the blossom of ours bright ROSALIE CLARE ? MRS. OLIVER. 211 Who owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Let him meet but the glances of ROSALIE CLARE ! Let him list to her voice, let him gaze on her form ; And if, seeing and hearing, his soul do not warm, Let him go breathe it out in some less happy air Than that which is blessed by sweet ROSALIE CLARE. ia fytltn CHfoer. MINISTERING SPIRITS. ' I *HEY are winging, they are winging * Through the thin blue air their way ; Unseen harps are softly ringing Round about us, night and day. Could we pierce the shadows o'er us, And behold that seraph band, Long-lost friends would bright before us In angelic beauty stand. Lo ! the dim blue mist is sweeping Slowly from my longing eyes, And my heart is upward leaping With a deep and glad surprise. I behold them close beside me, Dwellers of the spirit-land ; Mists and shades alone divide me From that glorious seraph band. Though life never can restore me My sad bosom's nestling dove, 212 GOLDEN LEAVES. \ Yet my blue-eyed babe bends o'er me With her own sweet smile of love ; And the brother, long departed, Who in being's summer died Warm, and true, and gentle-hearted Folds his pinions by my side. Last called from us, loved and dearest Thou the faultless, tried, and true, Of all earthly friends sincerest, Mother I behold thee too ! Lo ! celestial light is gleaming Round thy forehead pure and mild, And thine eyes with love are beaming On thy sad, heart-broken child ! Gentle sisters there are bending, Blossoms culled from life's parterre ; And my father's voice ascending, Floats along the charmed air. Hark ! those thrilling tones Elysian Faint and fainter die away, And the bright seraphic vision Fades upon my sight for aye. But I know they hover round me In the morning's rosy light, And their unseen forms surround me All the deep and solemn night. Yes, they're winging yes, they're winging Through the thin blue air their way ; Spirit-harps are softly ringing Round about us night and day. MAR Y E. LEE. 213 . fee. THE POETS. >TnHE poets the poets -* Those giants of the earth ; In mighty strength they tower above The men of common birth : A noble race they mingle not Among the motley throng, But move, with slow and measured steps, To music-notes along. The poets the poets What conquests they can boast ! Without one drop of life-blood spilt, They rule a world's wide host ; Their stainless banner floats unharmed From age to lengthened age ; And History records their deeds Upon her proudest page. The poets the poets How endless is their fame ! Death, like a thin mist, comes, yet leaves No shadow on each name ; But as yon starry gems that gleam In evening's crystal sky, So have they won, in memory's depths, An immortality. 214 GOLDEN LEAVES. The poets the poets Who doth not linger o'er The glorious volumes that contain Their bright and spotless lore ? They charm us in the saddest hours, Our richest joys they feed ; And love for them has grown to be A universal creed. The poets the poets Those kingly minstrels dead, Well may we twine a votive wreath Around each honoured head : No tribute is too high to give Those crowned ones among men. The poets the true poets Thanks be to GOD for them ! to. iDilliam (Sroarodl, JB. ED. THE CLOUDS. "Cloud land ! gorgeous land !" COLERIDGE. T CANNOT look above and see Yon high-piled, pillowy mass Of evening clouds, so swimmingly In gold and purple pass, And think not, LORD, how thou wast seen On Israel's desert way, OR OS WELL. 215 Before them, in thy shadowy screen, Pavilioned all the day ! Or, of those robes of gorgeous hue Which the Redeemer wore, When, ravished from his followers' view, Aloft his flight He bore, When lifted, as on mighty wing, He curtained his ascent, And, wrapped in clouds, went triumphing Above the firmament. Is it a trail of that same pall Of many-coloured dyes, That high above, o'ermantling all, Hangs midway down the skies Or borders of those sweeping folds Which shall be all unfurled About the Saviour, when He holds His judgment on the world ? For in like manner as He went, My soul, hast thou forgot ? Shall be his terrible descent, When man expecteth not ! Strength, Son of Man, against that hour, Be to our spirits given, When Thou shalt come again with power, Upon the clouds of heaven ! 216 GOLDEN LEAVES. IDilliam |)itt JJ aimer. LINES TO A CHRYSALIS. MUSING long, I asked me this " Chrysalis, Lying helpless in my path, Obvious to mortal scath From a careless passer-by, What thy life may signify ? Why, from hope and joy apart, Thus thou art ? "Nature surely did amiss, Chrysalis, When she lavished fins and wings, Nerved with nicest moving-springs, On the mote and madrepore. Wherewithal to swim or soar ; And dispensed so niggardly Unto thee. " E'en the very worm may kiss, Chrysalis, Roses on their topmost stems, Blazoned with their dewy gems, And may rock him to and fro As the zephyrs softly blow ; Whilst thou liest, dark and cold, On the mould." Quoth the Chrysalis : " Sir Bard, Not so hard PALMER. 217 Is my rounded destiny In the great Economy . Nay, by humble reason viewed, There is much for gratitude In the shaping and upshot Of my lot. " Though I seem of all things born Most forlorn, Most obtuse of soul and sense, Next of kin to Impotence, Nay, to Death himself; yet ne'er Priest or prophet, sage or seer, May sublimer wisdom teach Than I preach. " From my pulpit of the sod, Like a god, I proclaim this wondrous truth : Farthest age is nearest youth, Nearest Glory's natal porch, Where, with pale, inverted torch, Death lights downward to the rest Of the blest. " Mark yon airy butterfly's Rainbow-dyes ! Yesterday that shape divine Was as darkly hearsed as mine ; But to-morrow I shall be Free and beautiful as she, And sweep forth on wings of light, Like a sprite. 2l8 G OLDEN LEAVES. " Soul of man in crypt of clay ! Bide the day When thy latent wings shall be Plumed for immortality, And with transport marvellous Cleave their dark sarcophagus, O'er Elysian fields to soar Evermore !" JITarj) Noel fttriga. THE SPELLS OF MEMORY. TT was but the note of a summer bird, But a dream of the past in my heart it stirred, And wafted me far to a breezy spot, Where blossomed the blue forget-me-not. And the broad, green boughs gave a checkered gleam To the dancing waves of a mountain-stream ; And there, in the heat of a summer day, Again on the velvet turf I lay, And saw bright shapes in the floating clouds, And reared fair domes mid their fleecy shrouds, As I looked aloft to the azure sky, And longed for a bird's soft plumes to fly, Till lost in its depths of purity. Alas ! I have waked from that early dream : Far, far away is the mountain-stream ; And the dewy turf, where so oft I lay, And the woodland flowers, they are far away ; MRS. MEIGS. . 219 And the skies that once were to me so blue, Now bend above with a darker hue : And yet I may wander in fancy back, At Memory's call, to my childhood's track, And the fount of Thought hath been deeply stirred By the passing note of a summer bird. It was but the rush of the autumn wind, But it left a spell of the past behind, And I was abroad with my brothers twain In the tangled paths of the wood again : Where the leaves were rustling beneath our feet, And the merry shout of our gleesome mood Was echoed far in the solitude, As we caught the prize which a kindly breeze Sent down in a shower from the chestnut-trees. Oh ! a weary time hath passed away Since rny brothers were out by my side at play ; A weary time, with its weight of care, And its toil in the city's crowded air, And its pining wish for the hill-tops high ; For the laughing stream and the clear blue sky ; For the shaded dell, and the leafy halls Of the old green wood where the sunlight falls. But I see the haunts of my early days The old green wood where the sunshine plays, And the flashing stream in its course of light, And the hill-tops high, and the sky so bright, And the silent depths of the shaded dell. Where the twilight shadows at noonday fell ; And the mighty charm which hath conquered these Is naught, save a rush of the autumn breeze. 220 GOLDEN LEAVES. It was but a violet's faint perfume, But it bore me back to a quiet room, Where a gentle girl in the spring-time gay Was breathing her fair young life away, Whose light through the rose-hued curtains fell, And tinted her cheek like the ocean-shell ; And the southern breeze on its fragrant wings Stole in with its tale of all lovely things ; Where Love watched on through the long, long hours, And Friendship came with its gift of flowers ; And Death drew near with a stealthy tread, And lightly pillowed in dust her head, And sealed up gently the lids so fair, And damped the brow with its clustering hair, And left the maiden in slumber deep, To waken no more from that tranquil sleep. Then we laid the flower her hand had pressed To wither and die on her gentle breast ; And back to the shade of that quiet room I go with the violet's faint perfume. (oatc0 JTmkneg. ITALY. thou the land which lovers ought to choose ? Like blessings there descend the sparkling dews ; In gleaming streams the crystal rivers run, The purple vintage clusters in the sun ; Odours of flowers haunt the balmy breeze, Rich fruits hang high upon the verdant trees ; PINK NET. 221 And vivid blossoms gem the shady groves, Where bright-plumed birds discourse their careless loves. Beloved ! speed we from this sullen strand, Until thy light feet press that green shore's yellow sand. Look seaward thence, and naught shall meet thine eye But fairy isles, like paintings on the sky ; And, flying fast and free before the gale, The gaudy vessel with its glancing sail \ And waters glittering in the glare of noon, Or touched with silver by the stars and moon, Or flecked with broken lines of crimson light, When the far fisher's fire affronts the night. Lovely as loved ! toward that smiling shore Bear we our household gods, to fix forever more. It looks a dimple on the face of Earth, The seal of Beauty, and the shrine of Mirth ; Nature is delicate and graceful there, The place's Genius, feminine and fair ; The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud ; The air seems never to have borne a cloud, Save where volcanoes send to heaven their curled And solemn smokes, like altars of the world. Thrice beautiful ! to that delightful spot Carry our married hearts, and be all pain forgot. There Art, too, shows, when Nature's beauty palls, Her sculptured marbles, and her pictured walls ; And there are forms in which they both conspire To whisper themes that know not how to tire ; The speaking ruins, in that gentle clime, Have but been hallowed by the hand of Time, 222 G OLDEN LEAVES. And each can mutely prompt some thought of flam< The meanest stone is not without a name. Then come, beloved ! hasten o'er the sea, To build our happy hearth in blooming Italy. Ket). eorge U). Bettyune, JB. I NIGHT STUDY. AM alone ; and yet In the still solitude there is a rush Around me, as were met A crowd of viewless wings ; I hear a gush Of uttered harmonies heaven meeting earth, Making it to rejoice with holy mirth. Ye winged Mysteries, Sweeping before my spirit's conscious eye, Beckoning me to arise, And go forth from my very self, and fly With you far in the unknown, unseen immense Of worlds beyond our sphere what are ye ? whence ? Ye eloquent Voices, Now soft as breathings of a distant flute, Now strong as when rejoices The trumpet in the victory and pursuit ; Strange are ye, yet familiar, as ye call My soul to wake from earth's sense and its thrall. B-ETHUNE. 223 I know you now I see With more than natural light ye are the good The wise departed ye Are come from heaven to claim your brotherhood With mortal brother, struggling in the strife And chains, which once were yours in this sad life. Ye hover o'er the page Ye traced in ancient days with glorious thought For many a distant age ; Ye love to watch the inspiration caught From your sublime examples, and so cheer The fainting student to your high career. Ye come to nerve the soul, Like him who near the ATONER stood, when HE, Trembling, saw round him roll The wrathful portents of Gethsemane, With courage strong : the promise ye have known And proved, rapt for me from the Eternal throne. Still keep, oh, keep me near you ! Compass me round with your immortal wings : Still let my glad soul hear you Striking your triumphs from your golden strings, Until with you I mount and join the song, An angel, like you, mid the white-robed throng. 224 GOLDEN LEAVES. (gcorge |p. fllorrta. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. VK7OODMAN, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough ! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now. 'Twas my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot ; There, woodman, let it stand Thy axe shall harm it not ! That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o'er land and sea, And wouldst thou hew it down ? Woodman, forbear thy stroke ! Cut not its earth-bound ties ; Oh, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies ! When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; In all their gushing joy Here too my sisters played. My mother kissed me here ; My father pressed my hand Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand ! My heart-strings round thee cling Close as thy bark, old friend ! MORRIS. 225 Here shall the wild-bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree ! the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm it not ! THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. \T7HY dost thou come, at set of sun, Those pensive words to say ? Why whip poor Will ? what has he done ? And who is Will, I pray ? Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill, A suppliant at my door ? Why ask of me to whip poor Will ? And is Will really poor ? If poverty's his crime, let mirth From out his heart be driven ; That is the deadliest sin on earth, And never is forgiven. Art Will himself? It must be so I learn it from thy moan ; For none can feel another's woe As deeply as his own. Yet wherefore strain thy tiny throat While other birds repose ? What means thy melancholy note ? The mystery disclose. 226 G OLDEN LEAVES. Still " Whip poor Will !" Art thou a sprite From unknown regions sent, To wander in the gloom of night, And ask for punishment ? Is thine a conscience sore beset With guilt ? or, what is worse, Hast thou to meet writs, duns, and debt, No money in thy purse ? If this be thy hard fate indeed, Ah ! well mayst thou repine ; The sympathy I give I need The poet's doom is thine. Art thou a lover, Will ? hast proved The fairest can deceive ? Thine is the lot of all who've loved, Since Adam wedded Eve. Hast trusted in a friend, and seen No friend was he in need ? A common error men still lean Upon as frail a reed. Hast thou, in seeking wealth and fame, A crown of brambles won ? O'er all the earth 'tis just the same, With every mother's son. Hast found the world a Babel wide, Where man to Mammon stoops Where flourish arrogance and pride, While modest merit droops ? MORRIS. 227 What ! none of these ? Then whence thy pain To guess it who's the skill ? Pray have the kindness to explain Why I should whip poor Will ? Dost merely ask thy just desert ? What ! not another word ? Back to the woods again, unhurt I would not harm thee, bird ! But treat thee kindly for my nerves, Like thine, have penance done ; Use every man as he deserves, Who shall 'scape whipping ? NONE ! Farewell, poor Will ! not valueless This lesson by thee given ; Keep thine own counsel, and confess Thyself alone to Heaven ! MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. book is all that's left me now ! Tears will unbidden start With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree ; My mother's hands this Bible clasped She, dying, gave it me. Ah ! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear, 228 ' G OLDEN LEAVES. Who round the hearthstone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill : Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still ! My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear ; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who leaned GOD'S word to hear ! Her angel face I see it yet ; What thronging memories come ! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home ! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried ; Where all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasure give That could this volume buy : In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. THE WEST. T TO ! brothers come hither, and list to my story- Merry and brief will the narrative be : Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory Master am I, boys, of all that I see. MORRIS. 229 Where once frowned a forest a garden is smiling The meadow and moorland are marshes no more ; And there curls the smoke of my cottage, beguiling The children who cluster like grapes at the door. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest The land of the heart is the land of the West. Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! Talk not of the town, boys give me the broad prairie, Where man, like the wind, roams impulsive and free ; Behold how its beautiful colours all vary, Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea ! A life in the woods, boys, is even as changing ; With proud independence we season our cheer, And those who the world are for happiness ranging Won't find it at all if they don't find it here. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; I'll show you the life, boys, we live in the West. Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil and danger, We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own ; We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, And care not a fig for the king on his throne. We never know want, for we live by our labour, And in it contentment and happiness find ; We do what we can for a friend or a neighbour, And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind. Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; You know how we live, boys, and die in the West ! Oho, boys ! oho, boys ! oho ! n* 230 GOLDEN LEAVES. ta lane JJUrson. THE WILD-WOOD HOME. , show me a place like the wild-wood home, Where the air is fragrant and free, And the first pure breathings of Morning come In a gush of melody ! She lifts the soft fringe from her dark-blue eye With a radiant smile of love, And the diamonds that o'er her bosom lie Are bright as the gems above ; Where noon lies down in the breezy shade Of the glorious forest bowers, And the beautiful birds from the sunny glades Sit nodding amongst the flowers, While the holy child of the mountain-spring Steals past with a murmured song, And the honey-bees sleep in the bells that swing Its garlanded banks along ; Where Day steals away, with a young bride's blush, To the soft green couch of Night, And the Moon throws o'er, with a holy hush, Her curtain of gossamer light ; And the seraph that sings in the hemlock dell (Oh, sweetest of birds is she !) Fills the dewy breeze with a trancing swell Of melody rich and free ; There are sumptuous mansions with marble walls, Surmounted by glittering towers, GREENE. 231 Where fountains play in the perfumed halls Amongst exotic flowers : They are suitable homes for the haughty in mind, Yet a wild-wood home for me, Where the pure bright streams, and the mountain-wind, And the bounding heart, are free ! Albert (&. @mnc. THE BARON'S LAST BANQJJET. /^"VER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay The stern old Baron RUDIGER, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. " They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege-lord and master born, that I ha ! ha ! must die. "And what is Death? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear ; Think ye he's entered at my gate has come to seek me here ? 232 GOLDEN LEAVES. Pve met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot ; I'll try his might I'll brave his power ; defy, and fear him not ! " Ho ! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the cul- verin ; Bid each retainer arm with speed : call every vassal in. Up with my banner on the wall ! the banquet-board pre- pare, Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armour there !" A hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, And rang the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board ; While at its head, within his dark, carved,- oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern RUDIGER, with girded falchion, sate. " Fill every beaker up, my men pour forth the cheering wine ! There's life and strength in every drop thanksgiving to the vine ! GREENE. 233 Are ye all there, my vassals true ? mine eyes are waxing dim : Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim ! "Ye're there; but yet I see ye not. Draw forth each trusty sword, And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board. I hear it faintly. Louder yet ! What clogs my heavy breath ? Up all, and shout for RUDIGER ' Defiance unto Death !' " Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deaf- ening cry, That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high. " Ho ! cravens, do ye fear him ? Slaves, traitors, have ye flown ? Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ? " But I defy him let him come !" Down rang the massy cup, While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half way up ; And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old RUDIGER sat, dead. 234 GOLDEN LEAVES. OLD GRIMES. S~\LD GRIMES is dead! that good old man ^-^ We never shall see more : He used to wear a long, black coat, All buttoned down before. His heart was open as the day ; His feelings all were true : His hair was some inclined to gray He wore it in a queue. Whene'er he heard the voice of pain, His breast with pity burned ; The large, round head upon his cane From ivory was turned. Kind words he ever had for all ; He knew no base design : His eyes were dark and rather small, His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind, In friendship he was true : His coat had pocket-holes behind, His pantaloons were blue. Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes He passed securely o'er, And never wore a pair of boots For thirty years or more. GREENE. 235 But good old GRIMES is now at rest, Nor fears Misfortune's frown : He wore a double-breasted vest The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert : He had no malice in his mind, No ruffles on his shirt. His neighbours he did not abuse Was sociable and gay : He wore large buckles on his shoes, And changed them every day. His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He did not bring to view, Nor make a noise town-meeting days, As many people do. His worldly goods he never threw In trust to Fortune's chances, But lived (as all his brothers do) In easy circumstances. Thus undisturbed by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran ; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. 236 GOLDEN LEAVES. Cooper. LEGENDS OF FLOWERS. , gorgeous tales, in days of old, Were linked with opening flowers, As if in their fairy urns of gold Beat human hearts like ours ; The nuns in their cloister, sad and pale, As they watched soft buds expand, On their glowing petals traced a tale Or legend of Holy Land. Brightly to them did thy snowy leaves For the sainted MARY shine, As they twined for her forehead vestal wreaths Of thy white buds, cardamine ! The crocus shone, when the fields were bare, With a gay, rejoicing smile ; But the hearts that answered Love's tender prayer Grew brightened with joy the while. Of the coming spring and the summer's light, To others that flower might say ; But the lover welcomed the herald bright Of the glad St. VALENTINE'S day. The crocus was hailed as a happy flower, And the holy saint that day Poured out on the earth their golden shower To light his votaries' way. On the day of St. GEORGE, the brave St. GEORGE, To merry England dear, MISS HO OPE It. 237 By field and by fell, and by mountain-gorge, Shone hyacinths blue and clear : Lovely and prized was their purple light, And 'twas said in ancient story, That their fairy bells rang out at night A peal to old England's glory ; And sages read in the azure hue Of the flowers so widely known, That by white sail spread over ocean's blue Should the empire's right be shown. And thou of faithful memory, St. JOHN, thou " shining light," Beams not a burning torch for thee, The scarlet lychnis bright ? While holy MARY, at thy shrine, Another pure flower blooms, Welcome to thee with news divine, The lily's faint perfumes ; Proudly its stately head it rears, Arrayed in virgin white So Truth, amid a world of tears, Doth shine with vestal light. And thou, whose opening buds were shown A Saviour's cross beside, We hail thee, passion-flower alone, Sacred to CHRIST, who died. No image of a mortal love, May thy bright blossoms be Linked with a passion far above A Saviour's agony. 238 G OLDEN LEAVES. All other flowers are pale and dim, All other gifts are loss ; We twine thy matchless buds for Him Who died on holy cross. James 3Tack. SPRING IS COMING. OPRING is coming ! Spring is coming ! Birds are chirping, insects humming ; Flowers are peeping from their sleeping ; Streams, escaped from Winter's keeping, In delighted freedom rushing, Dance along in music gushing ; Scenes of late in deadness saddened, Smile in animation gladdened : All is beauty, all is mirth, All is glory upon earth. Shout we, then, with Nature's voice " Welcome, Spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" Spring is coming ! Come, my brother, Let us rove with one another To our well-remembered wild-wood, Flourishing in Nature's childhood, Where a thousand flowers are springing, And a thousand birds are singing ; Where the golden sunbeams quiver On the verdure-bordered river ; SIM .US. 239 Let our youth of feeling out To the youth of Nature shout, While the waves repeat our voice " Welcome, Spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" lUilUam CBnlmon Sirnrna. THE LOST PLEIAD. in the sky, Where it was seen, Nor on the white tops of the glistering wave, Nor in the mansions of the hidden deep, Though green, And beautiful its caves of mystery, Shall the bright watcher have A place and, as of old, high station keep. Gone, gone ! Oh, never more to cheer The mariner who holds his course alone On the Atlantic, through the weary night, When the stars turn to watchers and do sleep, Shall it appear, With the sweet fixedness of certain light, Down-shining on the shut eyes of the Deep. Vain, vain ! Hopeful most idly then, shall he look forth, That mariner from his bark Howe'er the North Doth raise his certain lamp when tempests lower- 240 G OLDEN LEAVE S. He sees no more that perished light again ! And gloomier grows the hour Which may not, through the thick and crowding dark., Restore that lost and loved one to her tower. He looks, the shepherd on Chaldea's hills, Tending his flocks, And wonders the rich beacon doth not blaze, Gladdening his gaze ; And, from his dreary watch along the rocks, Guiding him safely home through perilous ways ! How stands he in amaze, Still wondering, as the drowsy silence fills The sorrowful scene, and every hour distils Its leaden dews how chafes he at the night, Still slow to bring the expected and sweet light, So natural to his sight ! And lone, Where its first splendours shone, Shall be that pleasant company of stars : How should they know that death Such perfect beauty mars ; And, like the earth, its common bloom and breath, Fallen from on high, Their lights grow blasted by its touch, and die All their concerted springs of harmony Snapped rudely, and the generous music gone ? A strain a mellow strain Of wailing sweetness, filled the earth and sky ; The Stars lamenting in unborrowed pain That one of the selectest ones must die ; SIMMS. 241 Must vanish, when most lovely, from the rest ! Alas ! 'tis ever more the destiny, The hope, heart-cherished, is the soonest lost ; The flower first budded soonest feels the frost : Are not the shortest-lived still loveliest ? And, like the pale star shooting down the sky, Look they not ever brightest when they fly The desolate home they blessed ? THE EDGE OF THE SWAMP. ?' I ^IS a wild spot, and hath a gloomy look; The bird sings never merrily in the trees, And the young leaves seem blighted. A rank growth Spreads poisonously round, with power to taint With blistering dews the thoughtless hand that dares To penetrate the covert. Cypresses Crowd on the dank, wet earth ; and, stretched at length, The cayman a fit dweller in such home Slumbers, half-buried in the sedgy grass. Beside the green ooze, where he shelters him, A whooping crane erects his skeleton form, And shrieks in flight. Two summer ducks, aroused To apprehension, as they hear his cry, Dash up from the lagoon, with marvellous haste, Following his guidance. Meetly taught by these, And startled at our rapid, near approach, The steel-jawed monster, from his grassy bed, Crawls slowly to his slimy, green abode, Which straight receives him. You behold him now, 242 G OLDEN LEAVES. His ridgy back uprising as he speeds In silence to the centre of the stream, Whence his head peers alone. A butterfly, That, travelling all the day, has counted climes Only by flowers, to rest himself a while, Lights on the monster's brow. The surly mute Straightway goes down so suddenly, that he, The dandy of the summer flowers and woods, Dips his light wings, and spoils his golden coat, With the rank water of that turbid pond. Wondering and vexed, the plumed citizen Flies, with a hurried effort, to the shore, Seeking his kindred flowers : but seeks in vain Nothing of genial growth may there be seen, Nothing of beautiful ! Wild, ragged trees, That look like felon spectres fetid shrubs, That taint the gloomy atmosphere dusk shades, That gather, half a cloud and half a fiend In aspect, lurking on the swamp's wild edge, Gloom with their sternness and forbidding frowns The general prospect. The sad butterfly, Waving his lackered wings, darts quickly on, And, by his free flight, counsels us to speed For better lodgings, and a scene more sweet Than these drear borders offer us to-night. MRS. STEPHEN'S. 243 . Stepljats. DROPPING LEAVES. E leaves are dropping, dropping, And I watch them as they go ; Now whirling, floating, stopping, With a look of noiseless woe. Yes, I watch them in their falling, As they tremble from the stem, With a stillness so appalling And my heart goes down with them ! Yes, I see them floating round me Mid the beating of the rain, Like the hopes that still have bound me To the fading past again. They are floating through the stillness, They are given to the storm And they tremble off like phantoms Of a joy that has no form. But the proud tree stands up prouder, While its branches cast their leaves And the cold wind whispers louder, Like a sobbing breath that grieves ; A heart that's long in breaking, As a single flower may cling, All withered, shorn, and quaking, On the naked stalk till spring. Then I thought " That tree is human, And its boughs are human too ; 244 GOLDEN LEAVES. For while the leaves were wealthy With kindling sap and dew While the sun shot golden lances Through all its billowy green, And the birds poured love and music Where the slanting rays had been " Then its great roots gathered fragrance, Like wine-drops from the ground, Till it sparkled through the foliage, As faith fills the profound Of souls that live together In kindred trust and love, Till their union seems immortal As the burning stars above. " But the very dews of summer Had left their own decay ; And Change, a ruthless vampire, That steals the soul away, Came with the mellow autumn, And touched those leaves with blight ; Then the frost came stealing earthward, Like a ghost upon the night. " When the frost had done its death-work, When the golden leaves were sear, And the brown crept dimly on them In the old age of the year, Ah ! the roots withdrew their nurture, While the tree stood firm and high ; When the leaves had lost their greenness, Lo, it cast them off to die !" P E. 245 Then I thought, " Those leaves were weary, And thrilled with human pain, As they fell so cold and dreary Beneath the beating rain. While the boughs waved slow and grimly, And shook them all away - Those leaves that fell so dimly, Like shadows on the day !" Then my soul went sadly after, As they quivered from my sight, And it followed faster, faster, As my hopes had taken flight. So I watched the pale leaves flutter, Flutter downward from the stem; And I said, " The cold earth under Is enough for me and them."