THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY REMOTE STOi-u^waE -J Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/harpofwillowsOOelvi 4^ HARP OF THE WILLOWS. BY ELVIRA. To Him who farmed the willow Shall be this olTering made, From humble harp bedewed with tears Beneath the willow *s shade. BOSTON: PBINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY GEO. C. RAND & AVERY. 1 8 5 9. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, By MRS. PERKINS, In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CONTENTS PAGE. Ransom, the Indian Captive, - - ■ " 1^ Appeal for the Indian, Parody, - - ' Lamentfor Rev. Jason Lee, - - - " Minot's Rock Lighthouse, ' ' ' ' ' ^ The Martyr's Grave, Minot's Light Ship, Gold! gold '.gold! - - - " - " " Blessed is he that considereth the poor," - - 45 Burritt's Appeal, World's Peace Convention, Sebastopol, Hungarian Heroine, - 62 Our Union, Two Thousand Liquor Shops, - - - - "Washing a Swearer's Mouth,'* - ■ - - The Unfaithful Servant, "Follow Mel" ^1 The Stormy Petrel, '^^ Lines Written in a Tempest, . - - - 75 Emigrant's Farewell, Missionaries' Farewell, To a Laborer in God's Vineyard, - - - - 79 To a Missionary to Hayti, Conversion of an Indian Chief, - - - " Autumn, CONTENTS. April, - 87 " The Ideal and the Actual," - - - . 90 The Dying Leaf, 91 The Lion and the Mouse, - - - - - 95 Second Ad ventism, - - - - - - 99 Pulpit in the Graveyard, - - - - -101 Infidel's Lament, - - - - - -104 Christian's Farewell, - - - - - -105 Death of a Child, 106 Emily, 108 Sudden Death of a Young Maiden, - - - 11 2 " Mother, do I look pretty now ? " - - - 115 Death of a Twin Daughter, - - - - 1 1 7 " When earthly prospects perish," - - - 1 1 9 Spirit Communings, - - - - - -120 " A Bird of Passage," 122 Be still, and know that I am God," - - - 123 To a Poetess, 124 To an Artist, 126 To my Harp," - - - - - - 128 Life's Changes, 129 City set on a Hill, — A Vision, - - - - 131 Communion with the Saviour, - - - - 135 Vision of Heaven, 137 Distant Music, 139 Oft in the Stilly Night,"- - - - - 141 Weary of Earth," 143 The Time is Short, 146 The Atlantic Telegraph, 148 NOTE. With grateful, tearful remembrance, is recalled the kindness of those friends who aided in publishing a for- mer edition of this little work. Offspring of weary- hours, these effusions, like her who penned them, might have preferred remaining in their own quiet obscurity, but at the call of duty tremblingly began to whisper, first into the ears of intimate friends, then unexpectedly cheered and entertained in other homes — thus minister- ing to the comfort of her household who sends them forth. God bless and reward a thousand fold, each kind benefactor. INTRODUCTORY. A row of spreading willows A shady bank hung o*er, Upon the dear old Kennebec, Close by a cottage door ; Where once a weary pilgrim Tarried a little while, And sought her hours of weariness With music to beguile. Once on Euphrates* willows Their harps the captives hung ; But by that green and waving group Was hers first fully strung. Beneath those shady willows. Her children, bright and fair, Were wont to sing their childish songs, And breathe the summer air. By those sad, drooping willows. From out that cottage door, A little form was carried forth, To enter there no more. INTRODUCTORY. Though nought beside was pleasant Around that cottage, yet She could not leave those willow trees Without this kind regret. " Farewell, ye waving willows ! Beneath your shade no more Shall children sport or pilgrim sing By yonder cottage door. "I'll go where lovelier willows The heavenly landscape deck, And crystal streams more brightly flow Than my own Kennebec. " Beneath those heavenly willows, No more earth's grief's 111 reck, But oft with pleasure think of thee, My own dear Kennebec. " I '11 tune a harp celestial, A crown my head will deck ; Farewell to thee, my Willow Harp I Farewell, my Kennebec ! " To Him who formed the willow Shall be this offering made. From humble harp bedewed with tears Beneath the willow's shade. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. RANSOM, THE INDIAN CAPTIVE. The sound of wailing is heard from an Indian village, at evening. — Funeral rites performed. — The dead laid in the sepulchre. — The friends return. — Ac- cording to custom they remove the lodge. — They con- tmue their wailings. The listener hears a voice from the sepulchre calling in agonizing tones for help. The scene changes to a chamber, where a female, who had heard of the captive's fate, prays to God for his preservation. — The prayer of faith prevails. — An angel is sent to relieve and soothe the sufferer. — The angel's song in the night. The captive is released. — Is carried to the home of the missionary. Becomes a bright, useful, happy boy. Appeal in behalf of the Indian. Hark ! ' tis the sound of wailing Comes on the evening breeze, Forth from an Indian village lone, By yon dark forest trees ; It tells of anguished hearts that bleed, Of hearts all filled with dread, As they bear unto his resting-place Their loved and early dead. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. They lay him in the sepulchre, With wailings loud and deep, The place where ages some have slept, In death, their silent sleep ; They turn from thence, and backward trace Their sad and dreary way, And gain once more their lonely home As fades the light of day ; Their lonely home, — but not the home That death has dared invade, That spot is now deserted, Their lodge in ruins laid ; And all that would remind them Of him so lately gone Must perish till no trace remain Of the departed one. Again they weep, they rend the air With cries of frantic grief, And naught, from memory of the past, Can bring their hearts relief ; Nor is there aught of future hope To cheer their dark despair, No voice comes from the sepulchre, — All, all is silent there. All silent there ? — Doth there no sound Come from the slumbering dead ? From those whose speech in life's career Hath filled the strong with dread ? From all the crowd who there have found A common home at last, No cheering word on their despair, One gleam of hope to cast ? HARP OF THE WILLOWS. But hush ! Mcthinks from out that shrine A mournful wail I hear. Falling in deep and plaintive tones Upon the listening ear ; Oh say, is it a spirit's voice Piercing the deepening gloom, To tell us of the mysteries That lie beyond the tomb ? Ah no, for sure that wailing sound ' Is one of human woe, — It is the voice of deep distress, Though heard in accents low. She nearer drew, and then was heard From out that dwelling lone, A youthful voice thus murmuring. In a sepulchral tone : — II. *^ Help ! help ! have pity on me ! " The captive feebly moans, — Oh, soothe my dreadful anguish ; Hear, hear my dying groans, — For cruel hands have bound me, And left me here to die, And the mouldering dead of ages Around, above me lie» *^ 0 ! spirit of my mother. Come, help thy hapless son ; Sad, sad the weary days have passed To thy forsaken one. Since, near the dreadful battle, Where my father bleeding lay, They tore me from thy bosom, And forced me far away. HAKP OF THE WILLOWS. * See ! here I lie in anguish, In terror and in fear, With the dead above, around me And doleful sounds I hear ! Unloose, unloose my fetters, Unbar my prison-door, The pure, sweet air of heaven 0 let me breathe once more. * Spread o'er me, as a curtain, The clear and calm blue sky ; On the lap of her who bore me. Glad I 'd lay me down and die ! A drop, one drop of water, To cool my parched lip. Permit me, 0 my mother. From thy dear hand to sip ! ^Alas! no mother hears me, — No pitying friend is nigh, — With the loathsome dead around me, Here I terror-stricken die!" III. In yonder lowly chamber, While all are slumbering round, At the silent hour of midnight, A female form is found Before her father kneeling In fervent, earnest prayer, With as deep a tide of feeling As human heart can bear. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. For since the hour of twilight, When she heard the captive's fate, Until now — the lone, dark midnight — She hath in anguish sat ; And her heart was with the captive, In groans of sympathy ; She longed to break his fetters, And would glad have set him free. But the sepulchre was distant On a small and lonely isle, And there was none to guide her To the dark funereal pile. But the prayer of faith prevailed, And she begged her Father's arm To comfort and to save him, And shield him from all harm. An angel went from heaven, Entered his prison-door, And words of peace and comfort To his anguished spirit bore ; He loosed his galling fetters. And the corpse that o'er him lay, And told him that relief should come As came the rising day. Then he sang a song of heaven, To cheer the lonely hour. And the captive's heart was comforted By that heavenly music's power. HAKP OF THE WILLO^VS. The AngeVs Song in the Night, ^* Darkest night is nearest dawn, Joy is near to deepest sorrow ; When thy night's despair is gone, Hope shall greet thee on the morrow. Fiercest storms bring brightest calms ; Thunderbolt, from dark cloud gleaming, Not in vain thy fear alarms. Purer sky above is beaming. War brings peace, and hate brings love, Enters life at death's dark portal ; Bitter curse shall blessing prove, Grief shall change to bliss immortal. Wisely hidden is the path Which thy Father sets before thee ; Threatening clouds, portending wrath, Soon will break in blessings o'er thee.'' IV. Ere the first ray of morning was beaming. Ere the first tuneful note of the bird, Sweet hope on his darkness was gleaming, And gently and softly he heard A sound — as if some one . were calling ; He listens all breathless to hear ; A voice, — oh, how welcome, — is falling Like melody .sweet on his ear : HARP OP THE WILLOWS. " Captive, captive, dost thou live ? Has thy Guardian One been near thee ? Speak, I come to comfort give ; Not to fright, but bless and cheer thee." ^* Yes, I live," in accents low, Feebly, sad, the words were spoken ; Wilt thou let me with thee go ? " — Thus the angel gave me token. Near fainting and gasping he found him, Most spent with his groans and his sighs And eagerly then he unbound him, And quickly he bade him arise. No morn e'er so lovely was beaming, No birds ever carolled so sweet ; He seemed to himself to be dreaming, His joy was so full and complete. Soon a shade is passing o'er him, He heaves a heavy sigh, And a tear, the tear of sorrow. Sadly trembles in his eye : For he feels that though returning From his gloomy prison free, Yet there still remains upon him The chain of slavery. As slowly now, and thoughtfully, They to the beach repair. To where lay moored the light canoe, He whispered low his prayer : HARP OF THE WILLOWS. * 0 Thou, who in the silent night Didst hear my feeble cry, And in the dark and silent tomb Didst suffer not to die ; Back to my house of bondage Oh, let me not be borne, For to that cruel master I would not e'er return." Then loosed was the boat from its moorings, As quiet they sped down the stream, Again to their village returning, It seemed to him only a dream ; Till his comrade, the silence then breaking, Poured forth on his wondering ear. These strains as of music delightful, — He listened astonished to hear : " Thou art no more a slave ; No chains are on thee now ; The blessings of the free and brave Kest ever on thy brow. The teacher, good and kind, Who gives Jehovah's word. No rest unto his soul could find When he thy fate had heard. 'T is he thy ransom paid. He bade me seek for thee ; He bought thee from the gates of death, And from thy master, free. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Thou art no more a slave ; No chains are on thee now ; The blessings of the free and brave Rest ever on thy brow." Then on to the village of Wasco Their bark soon triumphantly sped, Where many, in silence awaiting, Beheld him — the raised from the dead. Though gazing with fear and with terror, They shrink as he passes along, — Yet on to the house of the teacher, There follows a wondering throng. V. Yonder see the captive ! Yonder see him come ! Captive, faint and weary. Welcome to our home ! Welcome home, thou captive, Welcome from the dead. Free among the living, Rest thy fainting head ; On this couch so lowly, Rest — there 's nought to fear ; There 's no dead around thee, There 's no bondage here. We will bring thee water From the living spring ; Drink, and bathe thee freely, Healing ointment bring, HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Pouring on thy bruises, On each bleeding wound, Made by cruel fetters, All so tightly bound ; Filthy and dishevelled Though be now thy hair, We will dress and trim it With the nicest care, And with fitting garments Clothe thy naked frame. Thee, our child and brother, Henceforth we will claim ! Food we set before thee, Eat, nor be afraid ; — Slave thou art no longer, — We 've thy ransom paid ! And thy name of bondage We will cast away, And the name of Ransom Thou wilt take to-day ! " All these words of welcome. Both with heart and tongue, To the trembling captive Thus delighted sung She, who at lone midnight Raised her faith's strong prayer To her Heavenly Father, Praying Him to spare. VT. Now the child, refreshed and strengthened, With alternate smiles and tears. All the tale of his deliverance Soon from hi^ companions hears. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. When they point to his deliverer, Tears, like rain, pour down his cheeks And he, grateful, looks the language Stronger far than words can speak. While a group fast gathering round him, Filled with wonder and with awe, — Question him of all his feelings, All he heard, and all he saw ; And he told them of his strivings. In his prison-house forlorn, Trying to undo his fetters — Showed his wrists and ancles torn ; Told them how he half succeeded. After he had suffered long, — How lie heard the angels singing Unto him their midnight song ! — And they heard with silent wonder — Heard they him, that listening throng — Heard with wonder, and believed him, — Then they mused in silence long. VII. His companions have departed. Each one, on his way to roam, — Leaving now the little Ransom In the teacher's quiet home. Soon he showed his grateful feelings In a thousand pleasant ways ; Trying how he might be useful, Win his benefactor^s praise. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Then they told him of the Saviour, Taught him how to pray and read ; And to all their godly lessons Quick he gave an earnest heed. And a bright and playful being, Full of life and full of joy, Was the happy captive Ransom — Was the little Indian boy. APPEAL FOR THE INDIA'N. I. I have finished now my story Of the little Indian slave ; But this boon, before I leave you, Reader, I will humbly crave : When, to God at eve and morning. You your sacred offerings raise, For the blessings he has given, In your fervent prayer and praise ; Then remember Indian Ransom, Now perhaps to manhood grown ; Pray that God will bless and keep him, Pray ye not for him alone ; HARP OF THE WILLO^yS. But for ev'ry tribe and kindred Of the suffering Indian race ; Dear as thine his deathless spirit, Though of olive hue his face. Many a noble soul is covered By a black or tawny skin ; View him as thy friend and brother, White as thou, perchance, within. II. Ye who in the halls of Congress Nations' themes and laws debate, Pity, pity the poor Indian, And his sad and helpless state. Well I know that he is savage. And his foe he will not spare ; But who blames the lion's fierceness. When you drive him from his lair ? If the fiat comes from Heaven, If God speaks to thee the word. We will not so greatly blame thee. If thou then unsheathe thy sword. But the voice of sweet forgiveness Thou hast heard from Calvary ; — Has he wronged thee? — 0 forgive him As thy God forgiveth thee. Talk not of extermination ; But oh, spare the remnant, spare ! Lest thy God, in judgment, visit Thus the nation of thy care. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Give them place to dwell among us, Give them houses, lands, and friends ; For on them, as well as others, God the rain and sunshine sends. III. Ye who unto God have given Of your goods, with heart sincere, For the poor and suffering Indian, — You 've not lost them, never fear. Many a poor and shivering creature Have your Dorcas-garments warm Covered from the cold of winter, Shielded from the raging storm ; Many an almost naked female Have in decent vesture clad, Fitted for the house of worship, Making her and teacher glad, While with serious, calm deportment, Grateful heart, and tearful eyes, She hath listened to the gospel, Which hath made her truly wise. In the heart of many a savage Where the Word had taken root. Springing up, though some hath withered, Oft it bore delightful fruit. Some have died in holy triumph, Praising God with latest breath. That to them were sent the tidings Cheering through the gates of death. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. 25 Numbers large of orphan children, From the tribes both bond and free, Has your bounty fed and clothed, — Taught them arts of industry ; Furnished home, and book, and teacher, Taught to read the sacred word ; Many from the gospel preacher Gladly have the message heard. IV. Many weary, way-worn travellers, Thousands there were wont to roam Far beyond the Rocky Mountains, Seeking for a Western home, Round the teacher's cot have lingered, While his heart, with pity stirred, Ministered to all their sufferings. Preached to them God's holy word. Though perchance in their own country They its peaceful offers spurned, Now their feet to Zion's pathway Gladly, willingly have turned. Live amid the darkness shining, Lights in a benighted land ; To the Indian and the white man Lend a cheerful, helping hand. v. Oh, the grief, the heartfelt sorrow Of the teachers you have sent, Who their time, their strength, their talents, For the heathen glad have spent, \ \ 26 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. When from Christian countries roaming, Wicked white men find their way To the hind where now the gospel First has shed its glimmering ray. Oft the wolf around is prowling Round the shepherd's quiet fold, And the lamb, so watched and guarded, In his clutches seeks to hold. Hast thou seen the vulture hover Round the traveller on his way ? Waiting for his strength to fail him. Pouncing then upon his prey? Knowst thou the familiar fable Of the wolf and little lamb, Who unto the quiet streamlet. Weary, thirsty, panting, came ? How for vain and false pretences, When he found him in his power. Slew the wolf the feeble lambkin, Slew him, that he might devour ? Hast thou seen the eagle, darting On a feebler bird of prey, And, by skill and strength superior. Basely force his game away ? These may be but hidden sayings Unto those who will not hear, — But a word is all-sufficient When the wise man lends his ear. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. VI. Thus to white, as well as red man, Has your bounty been applied ; Laying for their future welfare Strong foundation, deep and wide. While upon the western prairies Schools and colleges arise, — Churches, laws, and Christian teachings, Fit to make the people wise. Throw a stone into the lakelet. First it makes a tiny wave ; On it widens, farther, farther, — Soon yon distant shore 't will lave. Thus one pure and single effort Made for Grod shall never cease ; But its influence ever widens, Onward ever will increase. And when long thy dust hath slumbered Quiet in the silent tomb, Shall the good by thee accomplished. Then as living laurels bloom. VII. Cast thy bread upon the waters, And though now thou seest it not, Safe thy Heavenly Father keeps it, 'Twill not be by him forgot. Thou in future days mayst find it Springing up, all fresh and green ; Bearing fruit a hundred thousand. From thy little scanty grain. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Seed that long hath seeming slumbered. Oft shall suddenly arise, Bearing stalk, and fruit, and flower, Filling us with glad surprise. Thus, within the heart of savage, Hidden oft the sacred word, — When a-near to death he draweth^ In his soul is deeply stirred. Then the spark, now seeming smothered, Of the pure celestial fire, Oft unto a flame may kindle, Burning bright, and rising higher ; Lighting, cheering all his pathway Through the shadowy vale of death ; Telling him of life immortal, When he yields his fleeting breath. Then regret not, talk' no longer Of your bounty thrown away, Give a thousand-fold the more, God shall bless you in your day. Peace shall soothe your dying pillow, As upon a life well spent Ye shall look, — nor then will sorrow That to Him your goods were lent. And when you with all the millions Stand around the judgment throne, Then your name, among the ransomed, Christ, the righteous Judge, shall own HARP OF THE WILLOWS. 29 Saying, " Come with me, ye blessed, In my house forever be ; Not alone to them ye did it, But ye did it unto me.'' PARODY ADDRESSED TO THE REV. JASON LEE, MISSIONARY. Try again, Christian hero, Try again, try again ! Ere you yield hope forever. Try again ; There 's a tide in nature's law, And some blessed breeze may blow ; Try again, — Though 3^ou meet with many a foe, Try again ! Dost thou see, Christian hero, Dost thou see, dost thou see, Through the lapse of future ages, Dost thou see ? That, upon thy efforts bold. There depends a sum untold, Dost thou see ? Many a precious name enrolled In the book of life, my brother, Dost thou see ? HARP OP THE WILLOWS. In that lonely, savage land, Far away, far away, With that little praying band, Far away, We have tried and tried again, In sorrow and in pain, Far away, — Some dear, precious sonls to gain, And like thee would try again, If we may. See ! a band upon our knees ! Speed away ! speed away ! — To pray success to thee Speed away ! Thy helpers here to be, Now we pledge thee solemnly, — Speed away ! Thou art fixed, and so are we ; So God speed thee, Christian brother, Oregon shall yet be free ! — So God speed ! HARP OF THE WILLOWS. LAMENT FOR THE REV. JASON LEE. Thou hast tried, Christian hero, Thou hast tried ; la the trial, in the conflict, Thou hast died. Of thy sorrow, of the anguish Of thy heart, Hath the praying band that loved thee Borne a part. But thy memory ! — shall it perish, Shall it die ? No, thy virtues we will cherish, While we sigh O'er the dearest hopes so blighted By a stroke, — O'er the heart so sadly slighted, Crushed and broke. When the western tribes were calling For the Word, On the ear their accents falling, Many heard. Who will bring to us the Gospel? " Was the* cry ; Then thy noble heart responded. Here am I ! TIARP OF THE WILLOWS. Tbou diflsfc leave thy home and kindred And thy rest, For the mountains and the prah'ies Of the West ; Through the deserts, o'er the mountain Urge thy way, The glad tidings to the red man To convey. Where the footsteps of the white man Scarce had trod, Thou didst raise a sacred altar To thy God ; On the banks of fair Multnomah Fresh and green. And around it, huuibly kneeling, Might be seen, — Yes, around it, humbly kneeling, There we saw The Noz Perce, Calapooyah, Iroquois. Of the bounty of thy table They partook, Wallah wallah, Clamath, Shaste, And Chenook- The Hawaiian, the Tahitian, J apanese. Highland, English, the Canadian, And the Swiss ; French and Spanish, with the Creole, x\nd the Creek Ethiopian, and the Cayuse, Heard thee speak HARP OF THE WILl.OWS. Of the Saviour, that from liL^'aven Came to die, To make for them a pathway To the skk. While the Catholic, so rigid, Of old Rome, At thy large and ample altar Sought a home ; With streaming eyes exclaiming, *' Teacher, kind, Home within your place of worship Let us find, For we 've here no priest to bless us Give us food ; Your religion, well we like it, It is good." Yet thy hand disdained not labor, Nor the toil That gathered forth the blessing From the soil, — Not to pamper, or to lavish, On thyself ; Not to lay up heaps of treasure — Of the pelf. While thy comrade and thy kinsman, Worthy thee, The name and spirit bearing Of a Lee, - — (And of the ancient Hebrew, Which he bears,) In thy sufferings and thy labors Meekly shares. *Rev. Daniel Lee. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. And the pious, sainted Shepard, Friend indeed To all those who were around him, In their need. Well the feeble flock ye gathered, Knew to keep ; And was guide, as well as shepherd Of the sheep. All the lambs he gently folded With his arm ; Kept the weak, the sick, the wounded. From all harm. Teacher, brother, sister, mother, Guide, and friend, In his character and conduct Sweetly blend. In mem.ory of your virtues, Pause I here ; O'er your sorrows, o'er your sufferings Drop a tear. Ye, in life, were one in friendship, One in heart ; But in death, your bodies severed Far apart. His, by flowing fair Multnomah Of the west ; In the realm of Queen Victoria, Thine doth rest. Yet your spirits both shall mingle In that home, Where no grief, nor wrong, nor sorrow Ever come. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. 35 Where the good we strive to render Shall not be Ever spoken of as evil. Carelessly ; Where the heart, o'erburdened, wearied. May repose — From the friends who would betray it, And from foes. Where no angry frown will meet us, When opprest, — ■ Deep in body, soul and spirit, Seeking rest ; Where the heart's unuttered yearnings, Sorely tried For true sympathy and friendship, Are supplied. Where no chilling word will greet us, *' Why hast come, While for thee, among the savage, There is room ? " But the cheering word awaits us : Come, ye blest. Welcome to your Father's mansion, Come and rest ! " Thou hast finished, faithful servant, Good and true, Nobly done the work assigned thee, Thou art through, All thy tears, and all thy sorrows. Bid them cease. And enjoy with us in Heaven Rest and peace." 36 HARP OF THE WILLO^VS. There awhile I leave your q3irit8, To renew Yet the story of your labors, — Or pursue Still awhile the weary pathway Which ye trod, In your labors for the red man, And for God. MINOT'S EOCK LIGHT-HOUSE. " It stands upon nine wrought-iron pillars, sunk five feet into the rock, which, though only twenty feet across, has destroyed more ships than any other single ledge upon our coast." As o'er the broad Atlantic wandering, Near to its rock-bound coast I drew, Delighted on the scenery pondering, There rose upon my wondering view A dome, on iron pillars resting. Firmly inserted in the rock, — The storms and billows nobly breasting, Though trembling oft beneath their shock. Majestic o'er the billows towering, A giant-sentinel it seemed, And midst the storm and tempest lowerirg. Calmly its light on ocean gleamed ! That light hath many an ocean-ranger Warned of the rocks and ruin near, And bade him timely flee the danger, And reach the port of safety clear. HARP OF THE VriLLOWS. 37 That bcacon-firc some hand is lighting, Those tlangcM's some strong heart must bravo, Who there, amid these scenes affrighting, Alone may meet a watery grave. Bat who would fix his lonely dwelling In such a place of wild alarm, Where whirls and angry waves are swelling? — Fit home for genii of the storm ! And on those rocks of greater danger, Upon the coast of life's rough sea, Where many a heedless, wandering ranger Hath met a fearful destiny, — Oh, who shall have the noble daring To light the beacon-fires of truth, — His bosom to the tempest baring, To save from ruin age and youth ? While thus I mused, a sleep came o'er me, And in my dream, methought there stood A spirit-form — it passed before me, And thus its w^ords I understood : Mortal, whenever duty calls thee, Upon the rock or desert shore, Thou 'rt safe ; no hLirm can e'er befall thee ; Thy God is there — \\hat need'st thou more ? Go light the fires on life's daik ocean, Nor fear, though lone thy dwelling be ; For in each scene of dread connnotion, Thy God shall ever be with thee ; And at the post of duty falling, Glorious, not sad thy fall shall be, For others, oft thy deeds recalling. Shall light the beacon after thee ! " 38 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. MINOT'S ROCK LIGHT-HOUSE;^ OR, THE martyrs' grave. I passed by the spot where the light-house had stood, As a giant- watcher o'er the flood, With its beacon-light brightly beaming there, To tell of the hidden danger near. But alas ! all the signs I there could trace Of the watchers' lonely dwelling-place, Were the broken shafts, that rose through the wave. To mark the place of the martyrs' grave ! O sad is the tale those pillars tell Of the fate that the watchers there befell ; No marble pile may such records show. Or more plainly speak of the heart's deep woe. After it was swept away. HARP OP THE WILLOWS. 39 Thou Spirit that guardest the mighty deep, And thy nightly watch o'er the sailor dost keep, Tell me, 0 tell, how the true and the brave In that sad, dark hour met their watery grave. They had watched through many a weary night, With their beacon shining clear and bright ; 'Mid the tempest's howl and the billows' roar, They had guided thousands safe to the shore ; Oh, sank not their hearts in that fearful hour When they felt the force of the tempest's power — And their dome the fearful tokens gave That alone they must meet their ocean-grave ? " 0 ask not, mortal, how they died ; — Though hurried deep 'neath the whelming tide, They were found, to the last, at duty's post, — Let not their example to thee be lost. There are rocks on life's tempestuous sea, Where the friendly beacon must lighted be ; Raise it bright and clear o'er the threatening wave, And fear thou not the martyr's grave ! " MINOT'S LIGHT SHIP. As I stood on the bank 'neath a wide spreading willow, Where old Massachusetts Atlantic doth lave, A vessel I saw proudly launched on the billow, 'Mid the shouts of the people she greeted the wave. 40 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Her timbers were firm and well jointed together, Her helm would steer true 'mid the roughest of weather, Yet she skimmed o'er the ocean as light as a feather, And many the hearts that rejoiced in the sight. Time passed, and the autumn gales round me were sighing With thousands borne on by the favoring wind, I passed where a vessel at anchor was lying, And yet in my spirit I lingered behind. With others, though bound to the shrine of devotion, My heart it was filled with a saddened emotion. As I thought on that lonely fair gem of the ocean Once so buoyant and free, now so sad in its plight. Ah, why noble ship, why so idly art lying? Come weigh now thy anchor, unfurling thy sail, Through the depths of the ocean thy helm should be plying, Thy canvas be spread to the favoring gale, Now rouse thee, and put all thy timbers in motion. Go forth with thy mates, thou fair gem of the ocean. 'Twas thus I exclaimed with enkindled emotion. When a voice sad and sorrowful greeted my ear. " And well mayest thou pity my fate, 0 thou stranger, Held fast by my anchor, my sails tightly furled ; 0 had I the power I would brave every danger. And glad would be urging my way round the world. Give, give me my wings and I'll quickly be flying, O'er the fields of the ocean will swiftly be hieing. So weary, so weary at anchor thus lying With my comrades around me so active, so gay. IIAKP OP THE WILLOWS. 41 " Lo, bound with rich freight to the isles of the ocean, See gliding before me yon fair Morning Star ; To raise 'mid their darkness the light of devotion, And some to the nations in sorrow afar. In each port of the earth shall their pennons bo waving, All waters of ocean their keels shall be laving, Some the stormy south capes or the Arctic be braving, And others cast anchor on Palestine's shore." Again on my ear the faint echo seemed falling Of a voice I had long ago heard in my sleep — So sweetly, so gently, yet earnestly calhng, 'Twas the voice of the angel that guarded the deep, — Hold, mortal, nor deem who abroad may be roving. Or 'mid life's busy scenes may be actively moving, Alone are their time or their talents improving. For those truly serve who but stand still and wait." Though vainly and useless to thee, O thou stranger. The Light Ship seems idly to rest on the wave. She holdeth the beacon that warneth of danger, She saveth her thousands from death and the grave. Wliile some the rough dangers of ocean are daring, And abroad in the commerce of nations are sharing Her pai't she with them ever nobly is bearing, And she truly doth serve, though she seems but to wait.'* 42 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. And thou who perchance some great work wouldst be doing, The humblest of callings must meekly fulfil, Wbile onward the pathway of duty pursuing, Must learn well the art and the time to stand still. If love to thy God in thy heart deep is burning, And thine eye to thy Master thou ever art turning, This lesson thou patient wilt need to be learning, That often to do, is to suffer ^nd wait." How oft while 'mid seens of this life I've been pressing. And barriers around me have hedged up my way, When my heart would go forth breathing mercy and blessing Like a vessel at anchor compelled still to stay, Have I thought of the time that I stood 'neath the willow, And the voice of the angel that came o'er the billow, Whispering soft in my ear as I lay on my pillow, — " AH those truly serve who but stand still and wait." Then three cheers for the Light Ship at anchor though lying. And blessings and prayers for her officers brave ; Ye wearily watch while your comrades are flying. Ye are guarding the beacon our brothers to save. Watch on, while your mates o'er the ocean are bounding. Watch on though mid tempests and thunders re- sounding ; Watch on, — shed your light o'er the darkness sur- rounding, God guard the Light Boat as she floats on the wave. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. GOLD ! GOLD ! GOLD ! Away ! away ! to the land of gold ! We will all enlist with a daring bold, We will fill up our coffers with wealth untold, To the favored land we go ! Now farewell care and foreboding fears, We will bid adieu to sorrow and tears, We will lay up treasure for many years, So on to San Francisco ! California's mines we will well explore, We will search all her hills and valleys o'er, In the clefts of the rocks by the ocean shore We will fearlessly wend our way ; We will carefully trace all her winding streams, And each precious grain will grasp as it gleams, From the moment the first ray of morning beams, To the darkening close of day ! Alas ! alas ! for your joyous schemes ! They are all but empty and idle themes, Deceitful visions and golden dreams, To bewilder and lead estray ; For there's naught but labor and toil and care. With sad disappointment and sorrow and fear, Thick strown in the pathway for each one to share Who for riches would hasten away ! Ye may fill your coffers with wealth untold, Ye map heap like the dust your shining gold. In the book of fame have your names enrolled, But, alas I they cannot buy One moment's peace for the guilty breast, Nor give to the weary spirit rest, Nor supply for the heart with grief oppressed, The tear of sympathy. 44 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Yet perchance with this golden mania fired^ Thou art still with a noble aim inspired, And dost purpose in generous acts untired Thy spoils of wealth to spend ; To visit the homes of wretchedness, To aid the widow and fatherless, And all that need with comforts to bless, And become the poor man's friend ! But gold hath a fearful power to freeze The heart's most tender sympathies, And once possessed of its treasuries, Thy aim thou mayst forget. Plant not in thy heart that bitter root, — The love of money — whence many a shoot Of evil will spring, to bring forth the fruit Of bitterness and regret. Oh, it is not the gold that ye need, to fill The aching void which your spirits feel ; Possessed of this treasure, in.satiate still Will be the immortal mind ; — There's a heavenly mine of wealth untold. More precious far than the choicest gold — True wisdom, that cometh to young and to old. And each one who seeketh may find. Oh come, then, enlist, and this prize obtain ; Here no one that searcheth will searcli in vain. But the only true riches will surely gain, That never will fade away ; 'Twill ever remain unsullied and pure, While endless ages shall endure ; Oh, make then this heavenly treasure sure Enlist ye without delay. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. 45 It will fill the void of your aching breast, Will soothe the heart with grief opprest, And give to the weary spirit rest, — The fear of death remove ; 'Twill give you all in this life that you need, And when from its toils your spirit is freed, 'Twill give you a heaven of bliss indeed, At God's right hand above. -BLESSED IS HE THAT CONSIDEEETH THE POOR." A thousand blessings on your heads When plenty crowns your store, If minding those that lack for bread, You seek the suffering poor ; If not in Fame's fair temple Your name may graven be, 'Twill live in many a thankful heart With blessed memory. Oh, little know ye, or can know, Whom plenty always fills, The sorrow, or the depth of woe, That poverty reveals ; Nor can ye measure well the joy Or gladness ye impart, As ye your time and goods employ To cheer the poor man's heart. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Here's one, perchance, who long has borne, In suffering silence on, The weight of sickness, pain and want, — His strength and hope are gone ; He feels there's none that cares for him ; But when your gifts arrive, His wants relieved — his heart is cheered, His strength and hope revive. Ye seek the lonely widow's cot ; Of guide and friend bereft, How sad and cheerless is her lot, With helpless orphans left ! With earnest heart and tearful eye, She plies her utmost skill, And yet she fails to meet their wants, — Grief doth her spirit fill. Oh, could ye only read the joy. The heart-felt thankfulness That dwells within that widow's heart As ye her orphans bless, 'Twould nerve your hearts for nobler deeds, 'T would well your care repay, As scattering blessings round your path. Ye urge your onward way. And here is one whom God has called To labor in his field. Whose time and strength for other's good He cheerfully would yield ; But poverty at every step Impedes his wonted course, He strives to labor on in hope. Though with an empty purse. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. He looks abroad upon the world, And at that earnest view, He sees the harvest field is ripe, The laborers are few. He longs to enter on the work With all his heart and soul, But feels the prospect is but dark 'Neath poverty's control. Not for himself the anxious thought. The falling tear is shed, But for those helpless ones that look To him for daily bread ; Sorrow and want, and toil and pain, Himself might well endure, — Those helpless ones from suffering He gladly would secure. Just at that hour when hope is gone, And he with anguish feels His work must e'er remain undone, Kind Providence reveals A friendly hand, that needed aid And present want supplies ; He lifts his heart with gratitude, And then with tearful eyes. Again he nerves him for the work, And on he gladly runs. Becomes a bright and shining light To cheer benighted ones. That friendly hand which needed aid So timely did impart, In all the good that he hath done, Hath surely borne a part. 48 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Then cease ye not your works of love, But seek the needy still ; Rich blessings on your heads shall rest, From Him your stores who fills ; And when the day of reckoning comes, Ye then shall hear the sound — "Ye did it unto me ! " — and then Shall your reward be found ! LINES ON READING BURRITT's APPEAL FOR A SHIP-OF-WAR TO CONVEY DELEGATES TO THE " WORLD's PEACE CONVENTION." Thy vessels, 0 America ! Are borne on numerous seas ; Thy sails are seen in every port. Unfurled to catch the breeze ; Thy banner waves where'er the helm Of mariner hath plied. And on the breast of many a wave Thy war-ships proudly ride ! HARP OF THE WILLOWS. In each pursuit that e'er engaged The busy heart of man, Thy seamen bold their way have urged, — A noble, hardy clan, — Amid the icebergs of the north, And through the tropics borne, And round the dreary, stormy capes Of Good Hope and the Horn ! With Europe, and with Asia's ports, Thou hast a commerce free. And in thine arms encirclest The isles of every sea ; — I cannot speak of Afric's name. That wronged and injured land. Without a burning blush of shame ! — Without a trembling hand ! And thou hast lent thy share of aid In Science' high pursuit. Around the world thy tour hast made. And reaped abundant fruit ; And even upon the sacred shore Of loved Palestina, Thou now her places dost explore, Of hallowed memory.^ 0 say, if on those sacred plains No echo now ye hear Of those delightful heavenly strains That met the shepherds' ear, * Referring: to an exploring expedition then making searches in Palestine. HARP OP THE WILLOWS. As guided by the Eastern Star They onward urged their way, . And hastened to the lowly spot Where the infant Saviour lay ? Do not those heavenly accents sweet, Of music linger still Upon that dear and lovely spot By Bethlehema's hill — " Grood-will henceforth to men be breathed, And to the earth be peace." Oh, catch the sound, nor let it die Till war's dominion cease. Upon that mount where Jesus spake To listening multitudes, And in their willing ears proclaimed Those high beautitudes, Say, hear ye not the echo still ? — " Blest is the man of peace — Return to each one good for for ill — Love, love your enemies." And deeper still the echo hear, While ye with sacred awe, Approach the revered Gethsemane, And near to Calvary draw ! There, 'mid the groans and deep distress That rung a Saviour's heart, Oh, hear ye not a thrilling sound To make the warrior start ? Put up thy sword ! put up thy sword ! " That mandate dost thou hear As Peter there his blade unsheathed, And smote the servant's ear ! — HARP OF THE WILLOWS. And listen to those warning words : " All they that take the sword, And make its bloody work their choice, Shall perish by the sword." Hear'st thou not still on Calvary's mount. That dying sound, " Forgive ? " May it henceforth within thy heart Forever, ever live ! And while the Christian name is thine. His blest example love, And to a title so divine, Thy right by mercy prove. Too many a battle-field has seen Thy blood-bought victories ; Full many a widow's tears are thine, Full many an orphan's cries ; — 52 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Then send one ship across the wave, The demon War to slay ; The nations of the earth to save From his dark, fearful sway ! Let not the sound of musketry. Or cannon loud, be heard, But take ye for your weapons strong The Spirit's mighty sword ! And bear ye not a warlike name, But one of Peace " and ^' Love,'' — Messiah's banner o'er you wave, Its emblem be the Dove ! " LINES ON READING THE APPOINTMENT OF THE FIRST world's peace CONVENTION." When shall the reign of peace, By prophets long foretold, Throughout the world its victory trace. In every clime and every place. And all the earth enfold? — Though ruin seemeth nigh. And war and tumult reign ; Though storm and tempest sweep the sky. And desolate the plain, — HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Not ever shall the storm And tempest rage on high, — Behold ! amidst the dread alarm, The bow of promise, bright and calm, Appears, to glad the eye ! Soon shall earth's raging cease — Its threatening waves subside ; And all its nations, hushed to peace, In mutual love henceforth increase, — In harmony abide. See ! the glad dawn appears ! Light on the morning hills ! The rising sun in radiance nears, To dissipate our gloomy fears, — Each heart with gladness fills ; That glorious time draws near, Exult we in the thought ! The many signs which now appear Are all with meaning fraught. Glad are our waiting eyes, These long- wished signs to see, And while we view in yonder skies The star of Bethlehem arise, Which tells that war must flee — " Good-will and peace to men Be sung anew on earth, By holy angels yet again, With those of mortal birth ! The blessed sound prolong. One shout of victory raise, From every tribe and every tongue, Of love, and joy, and praise ; 54 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. All heaven and earth shall ring With strains that ne'er shall cease. And hail as Universal King, Messiah — Prince of Peace ! SEBASTOPOL. FIRST VOICE. " Sebastopol is taken ! " " Sebastopol is taken ! " What joy, what wonder, and what glad surprise Are spread through every nation ; What pride and exultation Are felt by Turkey and her brave allies ! The Northern Bear " is humbled, His power will soon be crumbled ; Proud Russia now is conquered in the fight ; Before their foes they 're bending. The Crescent high ascending, Adorned by the Rose " and " Flower of Light." Loud let the cannon thunder, Listen with joy and wonder, While chiming bells peal forth with all their might. Rejoice ye, all ye people. Let minaret, tower and steeple. And every dwelling gleam with cheerful light. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Around each hamlet straying, Bright bands of music playing, Forth let the strains in joyful numbers flow, While every heart rejoices. And forth from unnumbered voices Triumphant shouts of victory loudly go. SECOND VOICE. Sebastopol is taken ! Ah ! never more shall waken The many thousands in the siege laid low ; No favored ones are singled, But in the dust are mingled Alike the invader and invading foe. How many wounded languish, What sorrow and what anguish ! What floods of tears, what seas of groans and From sisters, daughters, mothers, From fathers, sons, and brothers, Widows and orphans, on the ear arise ! Were it our own loved city, What sighs, what grief and pity Would from the heart of every freeman go ! What deep commiseration. Throughout the saddened nation. What bitter feeling to the invading foe ! Foe ! — Is not each our brother ? Should we not help each other Kindly, to bear the varied ills of life ? Oh, when will every nation, Throughout the wide creation. Forever cease their war and endless strife ! 56 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. THIRD VOICE. Sebastopol is taken ! What thoughts these words awaken, What varied feelings in the bosom rise ! Though war seems heavy-fingered, And long the siege has lingered, It seems at last to take us by surprise ! Sebastopol is taken, And all the earth is shaken With fear and wonder at what next may rise ! Thick clouds that gather o'er us Proclaim that just before us Some great event in the dark future lies. Sebastopol is taken ! What hero's name shall waken Applause and wonder in the future age, Whose deeds of fame and glory- Shall live in endless story, And dwell with honor on the historic page ? Oft, of the brave six hundred, Who met, while cannon thundered Their fate undaunted, shall be told the tale, — "But wreathed with purest glory, Shall live in future story. The name — the deeds of Florence Nightingale ! Oh, England's dearest daughter ! As pool of purest water, Or green oasis on the desert sand ; Like views from bright Elysium, So to a world's glad vision. Is sight of thee and thy devoted band. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. 57 Oh, England's blessed daughter ! 'Mid carnage and 'mid slaughter, Thy way thou foundest to the dreadful field ! Though near the stormy battle, Heeded not cannon's rattle, But comfort to the wounded thou didst yield ! And thou, the fair Victoria Regina, excelsae gloriae, Oh, gild with loftier deeds thy fairest reign ! With pure white banner flying, Go forth to victory, crying — " Peace ! peace on earth — let War himself be slain ! " In whitest vesture shining, With olive-leaves entwining, White banners waving with the Dove of Peace, New sprinkled at God's altar. Go forth — and never falter, Till through the earth War's dark dominion cease ! And with thy sisters pleading, — Thy help so greatly needing, — That yonder dwell, in fair Columbia's land, Methinks I hear thee singing. While earth and sea are ringing Heroic strains from thee and all thy band : ** Eouse, ye slumbering millions Of America ! Arm ye for the battle ! Death or victory ! Nations loud are calling, Sisters, for our aid ; Towns and cities falling, Homes in ashes laid. HARP OP THE WILLOWS. Pestilence and famine, i True, have lent their aid, But a foe far mightier Doth our lands invade. War, that scourge of nations, — Long and dark his reign, — Though a giant mighty, Shall himself be slain. ^' Listen, 0 Columbia ! — Sweet that peaceful name, — Gird thee for the contest, Let the foe be slain, — But the weights that hold thee Thou must lay aside, And thy loins be girded Ere the contest tried. " First, thy millions groaning In their slavery, 'Neath thy lashes moaning, — Set, oh, set them free ! Wash thy robes so crimsoned With the red man's blood, And with spirit chastened, Turn unto thy God. " Let us with repenting For our youthful crimes, And the ripened hardness Of these later times. Take awhile our station, Bowed in humble prayer, Near the cross of Jesus, Whose blest name we bear. HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Send no more our servants Forth to preach the word, In one hand the Bible, One to clasp the sword ! Not with carnal weapons Be the victory won. But with gospel armor, Firmly girded on. Take us for our mottoes, Sayings such as these : ^ Father, oh, forgive them ! ' ' Love your enemies I ' Graved in golden splendor, On our front to view, ■ Do ye unto others As ye 'd have them do to you ! ' These golden mottoes keeping. Though going forth with weeping, Ye shall return with laurels richly crowned ; Nations shall lift their voices, While earth and heaven rejoices. Angels shall tune their harps to swell the sound The reign of war is ended, By all its ills attended, And o'er the earth forevermore shall cease. All glory, honor, power. Shall ever from this hour Be given to the blessed Prince of Peace.'' 60 HARP OF THE WILLOWS. Thus heard I music pealing, Across the water stealing, From humble harp on fair Columbia's hill ! And England's daughters listened, Tears in their bright eyes glistened — Will they this glorious vision e'er fulfil ? TO THE HUNGARIAN HEROINE, A LADY WHO HAD FOUGHT IN BATTLE. A welcome we give thee, O Hungary's daughter, A welcome sincere to the land of the free ; An exile from home o'er Atlantic's wide water, We pity thy country, we sorrow for thee. But say, for thy brow shall our fingers be wreathing Those laurels the hero hath gloried to bear ? Thy praise shall our lips in those accents be breathing The warrior's minstrel pours forth on the ear ? With the lays of a Hemans, O friend, shall we greet thee, And chant in her songs of a patriot's fame ? In the list of her heroes on high shall we set thee ? With glory and honor encircle thy name ? Ah no ! though from sorrow, and conflict, and danger, A refuge thou hast in the land of the free, Not thus can her daughter receive thee, fair stranger. Though her heart beat with pity and sorrow for thee. HARP OP THE WILLOWS. 61 presses Alas! that the hand which in friendship she Should wear the dark stairi jif ^" '^ Yes, thol pveas fl-vers He-^^^^^ lay the Th<. li sheet of thin ooi'^ covering them i \ flowers caretuUy on p ttiug d with another fjl\«*Vht pressure. Some- More fitl the wi^ole ««der shgh P ^l^iej-, ami The J times, ^vhen t eflovve .^^^.^e, she , ' contain a go^i^ ^^^""^ottou the nest day, puts them in fresh CO 7^.^^^^.^, knd after that Ooes 11 ^^^^ ^^^^^ But in Pr'''?ron need not be changed flowers, the cfto" f ^,,e„ed until tlie . at all, and ^ot «v«n open ^^^.^^^ ] flowers _»re Pi'^^^^.^^^i^^a'am's pressed the- Little Schof ma y Yea, stroni flowers ha-l a s«"'" =j ones prettily ! pared, in othei J, y een leaves an