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 A.isriD 
 
 XiO'V^E IDITTIIEJS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM ROLAND HOGOBOOM. 
 
 EAST RUTHERFORD, N. J. : 
 The Petrie Press. 
 
 PUBLISHERS, 
 
 1901 . 
 
COPYRIQHT SECURED, 1901. 
 

 
 / / ■ 
 
 
 ' / 
 ^ II 
 
 matter of apology for the shortcomingK 
 volume, the author humbly begs the gen- 
 arous indulgence of its c^ccasional reader and a 
 Mind consideration for the facts of his humble 
 Birth,, hard life, meager education and the absence 
 af that culture which sustains and nourishes the 
 feer poetic feelings ; against all of which he has 
 Been forced to struggle alone, with all the discour- 
 aging embarrassments commonly apparent. Also 
 tire fact of his youth, having only attained his 
 ^^ntiefh year, which he hopes may bear at least 
 mproi^etic import of something greater. 
 
 ^ ^ ''6km 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/poemslovedittiesOOhogo 
 
COKTEKTS. 
 
 \ 1 1 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Remembrance 1 
 
 How Sweet Ye Bloom 2 
 
 My Sweetheart and My Jennie. 0 2 
 
 My Heart is Sad 3 
 
 Thou Waning Orb 3 
 
 Deceptive Beauty 4 
 
 Roguish Nell 5 
 
 November Shivers O’er the Meads 6 
 
 O, Sweet the Day 7 
 
 Jean 8 
 
 A Broken Love 9 
 
 Ye Flowery Dales 11 
 
 Sin’ s Requiem 12 
 
 Thou Gentle Fairy 13 
 
 Now the Slender Moon 14 
 
 O, That My Love 15 
 
 Thou Happy Land 16 
 
 The Morning Breaks 17 
 
 O, Jennie, How I Love Thee 18 
 
 Beside the Grave of Mnry 18 
 
 Mother 19 
 
 Ruin 21 
 
 Oft I Swore 21 
 
 Extempore— Melancholy 22 
 
 Cease, Cease, Thy Song 22 
 
 O, were My Love 23 
 
 The Lad O’er the Moor 23 
 
 I’ll Fondly Shelter Thee 24 
 
 Now Death is Sweet 25 
 
 Dryden’s Lament 26 
 
 Sweet Ina 27 
 
 Y"e Gracious Powers. 2;. 
 
 The Vagrant’ s Return 29 
 
 Tis Not Thy Eye 29 
 
 Away O’er the Sea 30 
 
 Pride of the Villiage 31 
 
 Shepherd and Shepherdess (He) 32 
 
 -(She) 33 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 Now Chill’s the Night 33 
 
 Autumn 34 
 
 Oh ! Tell Me Where 35 
 
 In Gilded Coach 36 
 
 O, Thou That Reigns 36 
 
 Oharming Florence 37 
 
 Now the Harvest Waves Yellow 38 
 
 My Lady Love 38 
 
 My Sailor Love 39 
 
 To a Star 4o 
 
 Drear December 41 
 
 ■Glenallen’s Grove 41 
 
 "Sweet Jessie 42 
 
 Now Heavy Care 43 
 
 Tune 44 
 
 Patience 47 
 
 Now Bleak’s the Day 48 
 
 Oh ! the Land is Poor 48 
 
 Some Gentlemen There Are 49 
 
 Siight of the World 50 
 
 The World’s a Jest..., 51 
 
 Bonny Peggy Allen 52 
 
 Poverty Drear 54 
 
 Tlllen Gray 55 
 
 Under the Lilac .. 56 
 
 Summer 57 
 
 Nature Sketch 58 
 
 Slavery 62 
 
 Ton Dreary Moor 64 
 
 Sunrise 65 
 
 Age— Sketch 65 
 
 Asparation ... 66 
 
 To a Harvest Mouse 67 
 
 Fortune’s Blast 68 
 
 O, Memory Drear G9 
 
 Torsakeii 70 
 
 Te Little Flow’rs 71 
 
 The Sailor’ s home 71 
 
 Storm on Galilee 72 
 
 Xines on Birth of Niece 78 
 
 iHow Sv;<iet Ye Bloom 79 
 
 'To A Sle.^ping Drunkard 80 
 
 .December 82 
 
 My Sailor Lad 82 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ym 
 
 Libre Cuba 8^ 
 
 Washiiigtou 87 
 
 America 88- 
 
 Laus Deo 90 
 
 Thou Little Bird 91 
 
 Fair Molly Tweed 
 
 Written in a Time of Discontent and Wandering 98 
 
 Thou Bobolink 94 
 
 Now Wildly Raves 94. 
 
 Alice 95 
 
 O, Sad, the Day 97 
 
 To a Bird Twittering Pitiyfully at Midnight 98 
 
 Lines on Sister, when at the Brink of Death 90 
 
 On Same when Still Worse 99 
 
 On Hearing of the Unnecessary Slaughter in the 
 
 Transvaal .. 99 
 
 Bring Back My Darling to Me lOO 
 
 The Old Bard’s Lament 101. 
 
 To a Whippo- Wil lOS 
 
 To An Old Tree Uprooted by a Storm 104 
 
 Extempore 108 
 
 Faith 107 
 
 Hypocrisy 107 
 
 Old Winter Now 107 
 
 Gently Now the Closing Day ICO 
 
 Memory 118 
 
 Love’ s Reward Ill 
 
 Now the Wee Birdies Play 1 l‘A. 
 
 Far Over the North 112: 
 
 Last Evening 113. 
 
 Spring 114 
 
 A Father’s Protest 115. 
 
 Thou Little Bird on Yonder Tree 118. 
 
 Queen of the Lilies 117 
 
 A Night in J une 118 
 
 Just Over the West 119' 
 
 Love’s Lament 120- 
 
 The Angry Gale 120'. 
 
 Lines on an Old Deseited Sch«)ol House 122 
 
 Dear Little Lamp 128' 
 
 Do You Ask Me 129^ 
 
 O, Cruel Sea 130 
 
 Love’ s Sacrifice 130 
 
 The Christ- Heart 134 
 
Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 On Yonder Hill 133 
 
 Thou Little Brook 134 
 
 Discontent 135 
 
 The Month is May 135 
 
 Love’ s Despair 136 
 
 Ye Soulless Gods 137 
 
 Ha’ e Ye My Sweet Nannie Seen 138 
 
 Ye Little Stars 139 
 
 Sing on Thou’s Heard 141 
 
 Elegy 142 
 
POEMS. 
 
 I 
 
 REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Abo lit the Eeart, low fondly plays, 
 
 The memory of departed days, 
 
 And scenes we fondly clierisli ! 
 
 They cling, like vines, around the heart j 
 But, O, too soon, those dre.'ims depart. 
 They fade and fall and perish. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, fond remembrance, wet with tears. 
 Nor lessens, with the waste of years. 
 Can ye not cease to languish ? 
 
 One moment, cease tliis inward strain; 
 This mental passion and the pain. 
 
 This flood of grief and anguish. 
 
3 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 HOW SWEET YE BLOOM. 
 
 I. 
 
 How sweet ye bloom, ye little flowers, 
 
 That deck the woods and meadows round I 
 How sweet ye chant, ye little birds! 
 
 Wliile I, to aching care, am bound. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Ye little birds, ye well may soar, 
 
 And gayly sing, on bush and spraj^ ; 
 
 For my false lover loves, no more; 
 
 And, O, he’s ta’en my heart away. 
 
 MY SWEETHEART AND MY JENNIE, O. 
 
 I. 
 
 When Phoebus gilds adown the west, 
 
 And draws all beauty to her, O; 
 
 And like a queen, retires to rest. 
 
 There is a joy to view her, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 And yet, as fair as any sky, 
 
 As fair and true as an 3% O, 
 
 And dearer to tliis heari, will lie, 
 
 My sweetheart and my Jennie, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 As the leaf, from the topmost branch, comes 
 down; 
 
 As the bird flits o’er her nestlings; 
 
 ;So gently falls her smile or frown. 
 
 And rapture to my breast, brings. 
 
I 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 3 
 
 MY HEART IS SAD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mv heart is sad, my bosom sore; 
 
 And love’s the cause of all that; 
 
 For my false lover loves, no more, 
 
 And what, but grief, could follow that? 
 
 II. 
 
 O, once, he swore we ne’er should part, 
 Nor grief, our bliss, should bother; 
 
 Bat now, he’s stollen my aching heart, 
 
 And gone to love another. 
 
 III. 
 
 I have a ring, he gave to me. 
 
 So fondly sworn to share it ; 
 
 I took it, for his own sweet sake, 
 
 And, for his sake, will wear it. 
 
 THOU WANING ORB. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou waning orb, whose wandering light. 
 Around this world, discovers 
 The varied raptures, the delight 
 And scenes of happy lovers ; 
 
 II. 
 
 O, where, in all those regions known. 
 Where ere ye roam so weary, 
 
 O, tell me, where my joy has flown ; 
 
 And where, has gone my dearie. 
 
4 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where ere she plies her lonely flight, 
 This heart would follow ever; 
 
 And hieath thy soft and gentle light, 
 
 I can forget her, never. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I never see thee rising fair; 
 
 Nov wander where the roses bide; 
 But tender thoughts and happy smiles 
 Are ever beaming at my side. 
 
 V. 
 
 O time, O change, with heartless range, 
 Thy cruel touch hath severed 
 The happy scenes and blissful dreams 
 That more, return shall, never. 
 
 DECEPTIVE BEAUTY* 
 
 I. 
 
 Deceptive queen of beauty. 
 
 Thy raid has wrought no booty — 
 From my heart; 
 
 Un welcomed at its door, 
 
 Barred faster than l)efore — 
 
 Thou shalt depart ! 
 
 II. 
 
 How changed thy fond address, 
 At each entreaty pressed — 
 Baffled before; 
 
 How thy undaunted mien, 
 
 With only false between — 
 
 Bore up the more! 
 
POEMS. 
 
 b 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou art a blushing rose, 
 Alluring, that but clothes 
 An ugly thorn ; 
 
 Who plucks the faithless flower. 
 Pierced, rues the bleeding liour — 
 Untimely born ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Go to some fonder fool, 
 
 And fill his goblet full — 
 
 Of rosy wine ; 
 
 And when his spirits roll, 
 
 Happy, some noble soul — 
 
 May not repine ! 
 
 V. 
 
 One drop of honest blood, 
 
 Is worth a foaming flood, 
 
 Of polluted gore — 
 
 O, Heaven, with light devine, 
 Kindle this soul of mine — 
 
 Mid dangers sore. 
 
 ROGUISH NELL. 
 
 I. 
 
 Of all the pains this flesh sustains. 
 
 In battle or in duel. 
 
 There’s none so keen as those, I ween, 
 When a fellow’s love is cruel. 
 
6 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 11 , 
 
 To break a faithful lover*« heart, 
 
 And laugh, at her misdealings ; 
 
 Her fondest joy is to aiioy 
 And hurt a fellow’s feeling.v. 
 
 111 . 
 
 O, her jet flowing locks and her dark rolling 
 eye, 
 
 And her glances, so sweetly bewitching ! 
 My heart, at each bound, but leaps to the 
 wound, 
 
 Her glances, so cruel, are twiching. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet, Roguish Nell, this will I tell : 
 
 “Thou’lt rue thy fatal charming; 
 
 . They’ll find ye out, as I, no doubt, 
 
 And flee your false disarming.” 
 
 NOVEMBER SHIVERS O^ER THE MEADS. 
 
 1 . 
 
 November shivers o’er the meads ; 
 
 The wind is rude and wild ; 
 
 And bare’s the lonely path that leads, 
 
 Out on the moor, my child. 
 
 11 . 
 
 The swallows all have flown awaj^ 
 
 And the wee flow’rs, one by one ; 
 
 The little birds that cheered the day. 
 
 To their summer joys, have gone. 
 
I 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 7 
 
 III. 
 
 And I arn left, alone to stray 
 This heather wide and far; 
 
 But dear to me, as light of daj" — 
 
 That rugged path and bare. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tiiongh rough, I often climb the steep,^ 
 That ledge across the moor ; 
 
 And visit scenes so true and deep, 
 
 And sweeter, Vause they’re poor. 
 
 V. 
 
 A virtuous, ha|)py group, aside, 
 
 There dwells, with peace content; 
 
 Where never vain insulting pride, 
 
 Wreaks, on the poor, her foul intent,, 
 
 But only loves abide, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Within their peaceful lowlj^ bower. 
 
 From city’s ceaseless strife. 
 
 There love distills her genial power, 
 
 And lulls the ills of life. 
 
 O, SWEET, THE DAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, sweet, the day so bright and fair, 
 Whereon my lady’s love was given; 
 Fond nature imaged everywhere, 
 
 The bridal day of earth and Heaven. 
 
s 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 IL 
 
 And, O, that Heaven was mine to gain. 
 But, O, too soon, such bliss must fall ; 
 Death brooding o’er, with jealous pain. 
 He stole ray life, my love, rny all. 
 
 JEAN. 
 
 T. 
 
 Over the hills and far away. 
 
 This vagrant heart will ever stray ; 
 
 Over the hills and down the glen, 
 
 To a little cot, where I met my Jean, 
 
 And first, I found my dearie. 
 
 II. 
 
 If birds are gay, if flowers are fair. 
 
 They never can, with her, compare ; 
 
 A plighted hand, a heart to love, 
 
 A constancy that naught can move. 
 
 And a soul, so sweet and cheery. 
 
 III. 
 
 Give knaves their vice, and fools their wine; 
 They ne’er shall draw a drop of mine; 
 
 For in one short month and May will shine, 
 And the daisies, o’er the meadowst wine. 
 And she’s, aye, my own sweet dearie. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 9 
 
 A BROKEN LOVE* 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet, were those happy hours, 
 liightened by sunbeam showers, 
 
 That shed their gentle powers, 
 
 To cheer the day. 
 
 II. 
 
 Blithely, the swallows played. 
 
 Light in the gloaming’s shade, 
 
 As we enchanted strayed, 
 
 Alone, the while. 
 
 III. 
 
 Mild, were her eyes of blue. 
 
 Gentle as morning dew ; 
 
 No wiles, her whisper knew. 
 
 Nor snares, her smile. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fair, was her grace and slender; 
 Strong, was her heart and tender; 
 
 O, I thought naught could rend her. 
 To lose her way. 
 
 V. 
 
 Sweet, as a morn in June ; 
 
 Blithe, as the woods at noon. 
 
 All filled with happ}" tune. 
 
 Of songsters gay. 
 
 VI. 
 
 All then, was bliss expressed ; 
 
 Love was a vow confessed ; 
 
 Toil was, with pleasure, dressed, 
 Though reeked in pain. 
 
10 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lightly, the hours passed ; 
 
 Joy held all parting fast ; 
 
 Love her fond mantle cast, 
 
 But all in vain. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Often at summer’s eve, 
 Transported, I would leave ; 
 But I could ne’er deceive 
 The tryst, I swore. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Blithe, was our parting then, 
 Vowed soon to meet again ; 
 Light o’er the feathery fen, 
 
 As oft before. 
 
 X. 
 
 Little, thought I, ’twas the last 
 Chill — chill, the bitter blast, 
 That cruel o’er her past, 
 
 And round her sore. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Some wretch, with hellish art. 
 Has stoll’n her guileless heart; 
 With her I ne’er could part, 
 Whom I forswore. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Lonely, the village weeps ; 
 Bruised now, her virtue sleeps ; 
 Her, this fond heart still keeps,. 
 In memory dear. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 11 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Weary, alone I stray ; 
 
 Dark, falls the closing day ; 
 Far, sadly far, away, 
 
 Mid shadows drear. 
 
 YE FLOWERY DALES* 
 
 I, 
 
 Ye flowery dales and winding hills, 
 With many a careless blossom, O; 
 
 ’Tis well, ye out-live the human ills, 
 That wring this aching bosom, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 The parting tear, the long-drawn sigh. 
 The sorrow and the silent grief; 
 
 That look forlorn, the brooding eye. 
 Bespeak of woes beyond relief, 
 
 III. 
 
 And all, too vainly, do I seek, 
 
 A quiet in the kindly woods ; 
 
 The world would shun, or inly speak 
 My troubles, to the solitudes, 
 rv. 
 
 Of some fond grief, I inly pine; 
 
 My sorrow knows no healing, O ; 
 
 Yon distant stars, that coldly shine. 
 
 Is all, I hope of feeling, O. 
 
 V. 
 
 And could I now, with days of yore. 
 Recall a nameless pleasure, O ! 
 
 But, O, she’s gone, forever more, 
 
 My sweetheart and my treasure, O. 
 
12 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ye distant scenes, forever gone, 
 Like jewels in the memory set; 
 Ye faded joys, for aye undone, 
 
 Too fond, ye wake a sad regret. 
 
 SIN’S REQUIEM* 
 
 I. 
 
 Some hearts there are, still free from care. 
 But more are sad and weary; 
 
 Yet free’s the heart, from vice apart; 
 
 The wicked alone are dreary. 
 
 II. 
 
 For the pleasures of sin lie hard within, 
 And, O, my young friend, beware ; 
 
 That enticing flame is the light of shame. 
 And is lurking everywhere. 
 
 III. 
 
 O sin, O woe, where may we go, 
 ig} Nor hear thy constant grieving ? 
 
 1’o know some heart, from sin apart, 
 
 It is the soul’s relieving. 
 
 Thoughts are true things and accordingly impoverish or 
 enrich us. 
 
I 
 
 POEMS. 13 
 
 THOU GENTLE FAIRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thoii gentle fairy of my heart, 
 
 Sweet woodland nymph, of nature’s art, 
 
 O, may I never, from thee part. 
 
 My idol and my dearie. 
 
 II. 
 
 The courtly grace that princes share; 
 d'he queenly charms of beauties rare ; 
 
 Or sculptured art cannot compare 
 With thee, when the heart is weary. 
 
 III. 
 
 Of waking morn, the rosy light; 
 
 Nor jewelled stars, that gild the night ; 
 
 Nor living gems are half so bright. 
 
 As the beam of thy eyes, so cheery, 
 iv 
 
 The notes, that birds, the morning, greet; 
 The songs, that crown the muses seat. 
 
 Nor classic verse is half so sweet, 
 
 As the music of th}^ voice, O. 
 
 V. 
 
 Of fame’s eternal high decree ; 
 
 Or priceless treasures, preferred free ; 
 
 Or just the artless love of thee, 
 
 Ye’d be the richer choice, O. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Without thee, what were life beside? 
 
 A dreary wilderness and wide ; 
 
 A harvest morn, with this supplied, 
 
 To love thee and rejoice, O. 
 
14 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 NOW, THE SLENDER MOON. 
 
 1 . 
 
 Now, the slender moon dips his horn in the 
 west, 
 
 And the stars are sweetly shining, O ; 
 
 As I gaily stray with the lad I love best. 
 
 For ’tis only love that’s devining, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tlie little bird, in the lilac tree, 
 
 Beside his mate in the nest, O, 
 
 Has ceased his tuneful notes of glee ; 
 
 And folded his wings to rest, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 For now ’tis sweet summer and nature is 
 blessed ; 
 
 And her breath rides the odorous gale ; 
 While I’m roving with him, the lad I love best. 
 And love is the happy tale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O’er the hedge, comes the scent of the sweet 
 smelling crest, 
 
 Of the rose and the sweet flowering vine; 
 But sweeter to me, the fond thought of his 
 breast, 
 
 That pledges, for aye, to be mine. 
 
 V. 
 
 Though the morn, sore labor and care may 
 awake. 
 
 With brooding clouds of fear, O ; 
 
 Our blisses, all future fears, overtake, 
 
 And assassinate them here, O. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 15 
 
 O, THAT MY LOVE ! 
 
 I. 
 
 O, that my love were yon robin blest, 
 
 That sings so sweet in the lilac tree ; 
 
 And I, the mate beside his breast, 
 
 To spend the hours, so cheerily! 
 
 II. 
 
 My songs would wake the rising sun. 
 
 And lull his slumbers, in the west ; 
 
 My lot were then a Heavenly one. 
 
 To sing my robin to liis rest. 
 
 III. 
 
 No thought of care or sickening death 
 Would bid my warblings ever cease; 
 
 I’d tune, for him, my sweetest breath, 
 
 And sing, for aye, in joyous peace. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when wild winter’s raging wind 
 
 Howls round our nest, with angry sighs^ 
 
 We’d leave his bitterness behind. 
 
 And together, soar for summer skies. 
 
16 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THOU HAPPY LANDJ 
 
 L 
 
 Thou happy land, where virtue dwells. 
 And every scene is beauty, O ; 
 
 Where liill on hill, the landscape swells, 
 I greet thee, at my duty, O, 
 
 II. 
 
 As scene on scene, with joy I view. 
 
 That skirts my little mansion, O ; 
 
 Do thou inspire some ditty through. 
 
 To mount the scales of scansion, O, 
 
 III. 
 
 For sure, amid such lovely scenes. 
 
 Must dwell, the muse of Heaven, O; 
 
 Where peace and quiet intervenes. 
 
 And happy loves are given, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I love to roam thy uplands o’er. 
 
 While trees their gold are turning, O ; 
 
 And like a beacon on the shore. 
 
 In the west, the day is burning, O, 
 
 V. 
 
 To view each bare, and mossy stone, 
 Tlie brown and sunburnt heather, O; 
 
 The woodland and the desert lone, 
 
 I love thee all together, O. 
 
 iThe above lines refer to my first school house and the 
 surrounding country, which was, unexceptionally, the most 
 beautiful stretch of craggy hills and interlacing valllesand 
 woods I ever witnessed ; the beauty of which was greatly in- 
 tensified in the autumn, when nature takes especial pride in 
 her gaudy attire of purple and yellow. It was at this time 
 that I resigned the humble plow-handles for the more dig- 
 nified master’s rule. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 IT 
 
 VI. 
 
 The ragged and the cragged form, 
 
 The rough and cliilly weather, O; 
 
 The lightning and the angry storm. 
 
 That drives across the heather, O. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The tangled fern, and quiet dell ; 
 
 The brook that charms the noisy glen 
 The wild bird and his notes, full well. 
 Enlist the passing thoughts of meiu 
 
 THE MORNING BREAKS* 
 
 I, 
 
 The morning breaks, m}^ soul awakes; 
 
 The day ensues of anguish. 
 
 But while my sight is blessed with light^^. 
 And love, ITl never languish. 
 
 II. 
 
 Joy eomes; grief goes, with its throes. 
 
 Nor troubles care and sorrow ; 
 
 For day and night, my soul’s delight 
 Is ever with my Nora. 
 
 III. 
 
 ’Tis not her eyes, that stars defies. 
 
 Which fills my soul with rapture ; 
 
 Her form so fair, nor face so rare. 
 
 But his her lovely nature. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Than Norway’s coal or India’s gold, 
 
 Her mind’s a richer treasure ; 
 
 Each thought so mild, she nature’s child,. 
 And yields me naught but pleasrue* 
 
18 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 O, JENNIE, HOW I LOVE THEE* 
 
 I. 
 
 On flowering tree, and tangled spray, 
 
 The little birds sing together; 
 
 Their little throats ring with the joy of 
 Spring, 
 
 It is such bonny weather. 
 
 II. 
 
 And were my heart so blithe as theirs ; 
 
 My song, so sweet or fairly ! 
 
 But this poor heart’s borne down vvith cares, 
 I love thee, O, so dearly. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oould vocal wire my rapt lire tell, 
 
 Or song, to pity, move thee. 
 
 My laboring muse would strive full well, 
 
 O, Jennie, how I love thee. 
 
 BESIDE THE GRAVE OF MARY* 
 
 I. 
 
 Wild, sweeps the blast down the dale. 
 
 The winds of wild November, O ; 
 
 And bleek’s the blast, that sweeps this breast. 
 And chills each dying ember, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 The woods are tossed and cuffed and crossed. 
 The angry gale runs high, O ; 
 
 As I wander the waste, in confusion lost, 
 Like yon bewildered sky, O. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 19 
 
 III. 
 
 The falling leaves now, one by one, 
 
 Their dying tales are telling, O ; 
 
 And one by one, the joys are wrung. 
 
 That once, this breast were swelling, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I have no mind, the world to roam, 
 
 Nor yet, a mind to tarry, O ; 
 
 I only long to find a home. 
 
 Beside the grave of Mary, O. 
 
 V. 
 
 But one sweet day we lived to love. 
 
 And then fell death and cruel, O ; 
 
 He left me in this world to rove. 
 
 And robbed me of my jewel, O. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ye flowers, ye may ne’er bloom so gay, 
 
 To de('k my darling’s bosom, O; 
 
 Now heaves the turf, and cold’s the clay. 
 That holds my faded blossom, O. 
 
 MOTHERS 
 
 I. 
 
 No more the morn delights me. 
 Nor more tha setting sun ; 
 ’Tis grief alone invites me ; 
 
 Why is my mother gone ? 
 
 ' The language of this simple ditty is surely very childlike 
 j confess ; but the sympathive reader will surely pardon 
 his excessive fondues of nature. 
 
20 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, bow I miss lier kisses. 
 
 That fell like summer’s rain; 
 
 And her lovingly fond caresses;. 
 
 O, bring her back again. 
 
 III. 
 
 Lonely and sad, I wander, 
 
 These mortal windings o’er ; 
 
 And I sigh for an hour to sqiiandeiv 
 In the love that is no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oft, by her knee at evening, 
 
 I learned to lisp a prayer; 
 
 Twas then, I knew no grieving — 
 Peace loved to linger there. 
 
 V. 
 
 But death’s fell dart and savage. 
 Pierced deep her bleeding heart 
 
 And naught is left to ravish, 
 
 Or comfort to impart. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And cold, the blasts are blowing. 
 About her weeping child ; : 
 
 And soon may the grass be growing,. 
 Above his bosom wild. 
 
 VII. 
 
 O, time. O, change, and sorrow. 
 
 It were a bitter blast. 
 
 If life had no to-morrow, 
 
 When the soul may rest, at last.^ 
 
POEMS. 
 
 21 
 
 RUIN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Who made the human heart so frail, 
 ‘Tis he, alone, that knows it ; 
 
 The pang of grief, the silent tale. 
 
 In ruin that o’er throws it. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then why condemn our neighbor’s toil. 
 Nor weed our own wild garden ? 
 
 The worst, the meanest, in the broil, 
 May find a Father’s pardon. 
 
 It boots us little, if we be, 
 
 In fortune cast, or povert}^ ; 
 
 To be a man, is not the part 
 
 Of circumstance but of the heart. 
 
 OFT I SWORE. 
 
 Oft I swore, I ne’er would love thee ; 
 
 Yet when ere I happen near thee, 
 
 I can naught but fondly love thee; 
 
 Heaven and love so sweet endear thee. 
 
 -For to see thee, is to love thee ; 
 
 And to love thee, is to tremble; 
 
 For, witli thee, what clouds, above me 
 Anxious fear and care assemble ! 
 
 We apeing fools, astounded and perplexed, 
 To think upon the mass that gave us birth ; 
 With unfledged longings soar to reach the 
 next, 
 
 T hen sadly drop to this poor wreck of earth. 
 
22 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 EXTEMPORE— MELANCHOLY* 
 A day, without a sun ; 
 
 A night, witliout a star ; 
 
 A man, witliout a friend. 
 
 CEASE, CEASE, THY SONG* 
 
 I. 
 
 Cease, cea^e, thy song thou happy bird,. 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 
 Little, thou feels a soul disturbed, 
 
 And harrowed o’er, by fate. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, cease 1 by joys, or else, too soon, 
 
 Tliis troubled heart of mine, 
 
 Will sink in an eternal swoon. 
 
 And never think of thine. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thou art so happy, ga 3 ^ and free, 
 
 ’Tis Heaven, me thinks, alway; 
 
 Earth were a lonely place, with thee 
 
 And music done away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And were this heart so light as yours — 
 From grief and care, so free — 
 
 Gladly, Pd yield what life endures. 
 
 To sing an hour with thee. 
 
 V. 
 
 But since some life must fret and feaiv 
 I can but now resign ; 
 
 And where the human fails to cheer, 
 
 Still lean, on the devine. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 O, WERE MY LOVE* 
 
 T. 
 
 O, were my love yon little brook, 
 
 That sweetly sings its hanks, along,. 
 
 And I, a posy, on the brink, 
 
 To listen to his dreamy song ! 
 
 II. 
 
 How I would bloom, the live-long day. 
 
 And sweetly deck his rosy side ! 
 rd laugh to see the show’rs of May, 
 
 Come tumbling down his swollen tide^ 
 
 III. 
 
 But if, through drought or summer’s heat. 
 My little love should babble dry, 
 
 I’d pour my last tear, at his feet. 
 
 And, with him, wither up and die. 
 
 THE LAD O^ER THE MOOR* 
 
 I. 
 
 There is no one for me, like tlie lad o’er the 
 moor, 
 
 His spirit so light and his bosom still truer; 
 All day, by the [)low or the sweet-smelling^ 
 hay. 
 
 He thinks of his love as he whistles his lay. 
 Or tosses the blossoming clover. 
 
 II. 
 
 No sooner the sun, on the hill, is laid down. 
 And pillowed his head, for rest; 
 
 Than o’er the wild moor, light-footed and 
 sure. 
 
 He hastes to the one he loves best* 
 
^4 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 And oft, he has promised, that he sliall be 
 mine, 
 
 As sure as the water that flows ; 
 
 If the lark ever sang, on tlie maple or pine. 
 Or if green, is the grass, that grows. 
 
 PLL FONDLY SHELTER THEE* 
 
 I. 
 
 What makes iny gentle lady weep ? 
 
 What hidden griefs her bosom rend? 
 
 The lengthened sighs, that o’er her sweep. 
 Bespeak the parting of a friend. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ah, me ! and one so true and fair 
 Must weep a lover dead ? 
 
 O, do not droop, in such despair, 
 
 With sorrow’s aching head. 
 
 III. 
 
 Upon my breast, thy burdens cast. 
 
 And let me all thy comfort be ; 
 
 I’ll shield thee, from the raging blast ; 
 
 And fondly shelter thee. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 25 
 
 NOW DEATH IS SWEETJ 
 
 I- 
 
 Now from the dark and moaning shore, 
 The chilling tide is sinking ; 
 
 Trouble with me will soon be o’er, 
 
 For life, from its bounds, is shrinking^ 
 
 11 . 
 
 Farewell, thou sad and dreary strand, 
 
 I oft have trod so lonely ; 
 
 With but one liand to comfort lend,, 
 
 And one to cheer me, only. 
 
 111 . 
 
 Too long, upon this dreary waste, 
 
 Tve wept and sighed and beckoned,. 
 
 To the phantom ships tliat by me past;^ 
 With not a sail that reckoned. 
 
 IV. 
 
 At last, upon the lonely main. 
 
 My beckoned ship advances; 
 
 How this poor heart is eased its pain,. 
 
 To see how light she dances ! 
 
 V. 
 
 O, liaste, thou ship, that bears me o’er,. 
 And haste, thou pilot somber ; 
 
 And from this dark and dreary shore,, 
 
 O haste, to bear me yonder. 
 
 ' Written in a season of darkest melancholy, and at de- 
 pressing illness, when I fully— and almost gratefully— real- 
 ized how thin, the fragile veil that stretched between me and 
 that awful gulf. 
 
^6 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 DRYDEN^S LAMENT, 
 
 I. 
 
 Nature now tunes the heart of summer, 
 
 And the birds are blithe and gay, O; 
 
 But my heart is filled with a dreary murmur, 
 And lone is the sweetest day, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 JFar from the land of faithful kindred, 
 
 And the gentle fair I love, O; 
 
 Exiled in grief, from pleasure hindred, 
 Disconsolate I rove, O. 
 
 in. 
 
 And O, the nights are long and dreary. 
 With my darling far away, O; 
 
 And this sad heai t i§ sore and weary, 
 
 With longings of the day^ O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye powers in Heaven, whose gentle office 
 Is to guard the good and fair; 
 
 O! protect a kindred angel, 
 
 And where she is, O, bless her there. 
 
 v. 
 
 And if I thus must languish ever. 
 
 From the angel wife I love, 
 
 Grant, upon the eternal river, 
 
 We, at last, shall meet above. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 27 
 
 SV7EET ina : 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet Ina, empress of the heart, 
 
 That reigns, in this sa i bosom, 
 
 To love thee, is a prince’s part, 
 
 Thou lovel^' little blossom. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou art so sweet, yet not so fair, 
 
 No bright and golden tresses ; 
 
 But in thy face, an angel’s there, 
 
 And ere I look, she blesses. 
 
 III. 
 
 There’s many a lass, that hearts beguiles, 
 Yet none so sweet as thou art ; 
 
 With all tlieir fashions, arts and styles. 
 Thou modest little flowret. 
 
 tv. 
 
 And were my heart so pure as thine. 
 
 So mild each thought and gentle; 
 
 Much less this breast would need repine, 
 For Heav’n were then its rentab 
 
 ^ It was, I remember, during a late autumnal rain, while 
 going to worship in a Lutheran chapel, that I “ struck oft’ ’ 
 almost extemporaneously the above verses on the sweetest 
 young lady that ever soothed the pangs of an unhappy 
 heart. 
 
28 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 YE GRACIOUS POWERS.' 
 
 I, 
 
 Ye gracious powers, in Heav'n above,. 
 
 Whose first delight and pleasure 
 Is in a home of peace and love, 
 
 Here bless a double measure. 
 
 ic. 
 
 Here walks, in peace, a loving pair^ 
 The path of life together; 
 
 O, shield them from its desert air — 
 
 A calm and pleasant weather, 
 
 III. 
 
 And this, the angeP’ of their love. 
 With all thy sweetness, bless her ;; 
 And from the villain’s net of love — 
 For their fond sakes, release her. 
 
 1 On visiting my sister’s home, after some wanderingv- 
 my soul is regretfully flooded with the scene of its peace and 
 contentment, which I have here most miserably ‘ ‘ stniefc 
 off” retiring to-night.— Nov. 12, ’99. 
 
 This is the same infant niece, an address to whom^v 
 appears on another page. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 29 
 
 THE VAGRANT^S RETURN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Then clear to the end of the journey, 
 And way to the end of the road, 
 1*11 follow the beautiful pathway, 
 Tliat leads to my father’s abode, 
 
 II. 
 
 For there, sin or shame ever enter; 
 
 And this troubled scene is o’er ; 
 And the arrow that pieces its center, 
 Shall pain the heart never more. 
 
 III. 
 
 For 01 this breast is weary ; 
 
 And this heart is sad and lone. 
 With wanderings far and dreary. 
 From my father’s peaceful home. 
 
 ^TIS NOT THY EYE. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^Tis not tiiy eye of bonny blue, 
 
 That stai-like shint^s so clearly, 
 
 Thy form so fair, an angel true. 
 
 That moves me, O, so dearly. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou art so young, so sweet, so fair, 
 
 ’Tis Heaven in every feature ; 
 
 But more than these, that charm me sore, 
 Thy mild and lovely nature. 
 
30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 If thou hast faults, I ne’er, can find them, 
 My heart, thou hast so beguiled ; 
 
 About thy harp, my thoughts entwine them,, 
 Drawn by its music wild. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Upon the margin of thy love, 
 
 I drink me drunk with pleasure ; 
 
 I’ll seek no other joys above, 
 
 My soul’s devinest treasure. 
 
 AWAY O^ER THE SEA* 
 
 I. 
 
 Away o’er the sea, is the land for me. 
 
 Where summer is, aye, the weather; 
 
 W here the cotton grows and the sweet orange 
 blows. 
 
 With flower and fruit together. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Where the soft winds blow, and the stream- 
 lets flow, 
 
 And the woods, with birds, are merry ; 
 And to their song, the whole year long, 
 
 I’d ever list and tarry. 
 
 III. 
 
 But, to this ear, some voice’s more dear^ 
 Some face, more sweet and cheery ; 
 
 And from soiiie heart, I’ll never part. 
 
 And ne’er grow sad and weaiy. 
 
POEMS 
 
 3r 
 
 PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE* 
 
 I. 
 
 O, she pines ini<l the scenes of her triumph 
 And the heart within her is wild; 
 
 O, slie pines, like a flower in the shadow, 
 For ’lis long since the sun on her smiled., 
 
 II. 
 
 And that sun ? Ah ! who does not know it ? 
 
 What lieart, that’s not softened with years ? 
 O, she pines for an eye of pity ; 
 
 And her heart yearns a heart, of tears. 
 
 III. 
 
 For she’s dying, and broken hearted ; 
 
 And the flower on her cheek, grows dim^. 
 For she’s thinking of days departed. 
 
 And her heart is full of him. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As together, they strayed in the twilight,. 
 
 Where the swift little brooklet run; 
 
 And he decked her bonny sweet bosom,. 
 
 With the wild flowers in the sun. 
 
 V. 
 
 And with each little flower he gave her,. 
 
 A pledge of his love devine; 
 
 But he proved the false and left lu r, 
 
 In sorrow to waste and pine. 
 
 t""'' ‘ It was while reading Irving’ s pathetic ‘ ‘ The i^ride oi 
 the Village,’ ’ that the thought of this simple ditty occurred 
 to me. It is hardly worthy the relation assumed, j et I have- 
 bound it, like a scanty vine, about the lofty, yet the sweet 
 and tender, soul of the girl, he pictures, as slowly, yet un- 
 complainingly, pining away, as the fangs of disappointment 
 and grief silently fasten themselves upon her tender heart. 
 
32 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 SHEPHERD AND SHEPHERDESS* 
 
 HE. 
 
 1 . 
 
 Now summer’s breath, on hill and heath, 
 
 Is shed in all its sweetness, O ; 
 
 Then let us there, my dear, repair 
 And share in its completeness, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 There wild woods wave and waters lave, 
 
 The flowers that grow beside them, O ; 
 
 On tree and bush, the happy thrush. 
 
 With joyous songs, betide them, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then to the hills, where woods and rills 
 And flowers adorn our dwelling, O ; 
 Where breezes blo\/ and pleasures fl.ow. 
 
 And joy and love are swelling, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In palace hall and painted wall. 
 
 I’ve mixed in mirth and pleasure, O; 
 
 But the sweetest hour that was ere my 
 dower, 
 
 Was spent with my countless treasure, O. 
 
 V. 
 
 Then well away, on the hills to stray, 
 
 And list to the wild birds warble, O; 
 
 And thou shalt reign, my lovely queen, 
 
 To banish care and trouble, O. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 33^ 
 
 SHEPHERD AND SHEPHERDESS---Con. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The bonniest lad, that ere I had, 
 
 And many a one, liad I, O, 
 
 la the faithful lad, that makes me glad. 
 
 And for my sake would die, O. 
 
 1 . 1 . 
 
 Where ere away, my love may stray. 
 
 This attendant heart will follow; 
 
 For summer’s treat was ne’er so sweet. 
 
 As the draught of love I swallow. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Then we'll away, on the hills to stray, 
 
 Nor care nor pain shall grieve, O ; 
 
 Nor fame nor wealth shall tempt our healthy 
 Nor happiness to leave, O. 
 
 NOW CHILLIS THE NIGHT, 
 
 1 . 
 
 Now chill's the night and pale each light ; 
 
 The driving clouds how dreary ! 
 
 Yet Pll be ga}^ though night and day 
 And skies were ne'er so weary. 
 
 II. 
 
 For the lass, I love all else above. 
 
 Has promised to be my dearie ; 
 
 And so much in sight of Heaven and light, 
 How could I then be weary ? 
 
34 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 For as in glee, delights the bee, 
 
 To feast upon a blossom, 
 
 My fancy’s flight, in rapt delight, 
 
 Still dwells upon her bosom. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But on flower or tree, the ravished bee 
 Ne’er found a sweeter treasure ; 
 
 JEaoh thought so mild, she’s nature’s child. 
 And yields me naught but pleasure. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 I. 
 
 The moaning gale, with angry blast, 
 
 Now beats the hill, full sorely, O; 
 
 Tne falling leaves, tiiey rustle fast, 
 
 For this is Autumn, surely, 0. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nature has doffed her cap of green ; 
 
 No more, the flow’rs are springing, O, 
 No brooding nest is longer seeiij 
 The birds, no more, are singing, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 The tempest and the angry air 
 
 Still sweep the moor and heather, O, 
 ^he shivering herds are well aware 
 That this is Autumn weather, O. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 35 
 
 IV, 
 
 The clouded and the lonely sky, 
 The snow and rain together, O ; 
 The dead leaves as they rustle by, 
 Assure us of the weather, O. 
 
 OH I TELL ME WHERE. 
 
 1 . 
 
 O, tell me, where my dove has flown 
 To build her downy nest; 
 
 And I will roam this wide world o’er. 
 To win her to my breast. 
 
 IT. 
 
 For, O! this lonely heart is sore; 
 
 And, O 1 my feet are weary ; 
 
 With wandering this desert o’er, 
 A-searching for my dearie. 
 
 III. 
 
 And could I now beside her rest. 
 
 And still my own, believe her; 
 Gladly I yield this aching breast, 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 The meanest man, or Turk or Yankee, 
 
 Is the one, who never says : I thank ye.'' 
 
36 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 IN GILDED COACH* 
 
 I. 
 
 In gilded coach, the rich may ride ; 
 
 While 1, for lack of gear, O, 
 
 A poor and shame-veiled head must hide, 
 And fret away in fear, O. 
 
 TI. 
 
 Yet liovv ere poor may be my door, 
 
 Or mean may be my standing, O ; 
 
 The lass I love will ever prove 
 My angel, fair attending, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then what cire I, how rogues ride by ; 
 
 How grand, how high or swelling, O ? 
 Their hearts are more bereft and sore. 
 Than ere the poor man’s dwelling, O, 
 
 O^THOU THAT REIGNS. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, Thou, that reigns in Heaven the light and 
 Lord, 
 
 The source and self of all its beauty, 
 Attune my heart thus sweetly to accord 
 With every sense of duty; — 
 
POEMS. 
 
 37 
 
 II. 
 
 To the cheerless wanderer, may home appear; 
 
 TLe rich and proud still learn to pity; 
 With poverty, still wipe the falling tear; — 
 The outcast, and the stranger city. 
 
 CHARMING FLORENCE. 
 
 Let the loud blasts blow, and the wild 
 streams flow, 
 
 Or hail descend in torrents, O; 
 
 They can ne’er molest my ravished breast. 
 Beside my charming Florence, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 She is not rich, yet, with careful hitch. 
 
 We’ll pull, I wean, together, O; 
 
 And a cottage door, with simple store, 
 Will shield us from the weather, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then winds may rave, and thief and knave 
 May steal and rob the other, O; 
 
 Nor care, nor fear can enter here. 
 
 Our happiness to bother, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I env3^ not the richer lot; 
 
 But rather sigh f(^r pity, O, 
 
 For those who bear their wealth and care 
 In the great and sinful city, O. 
 
38 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 NOW THE HARVEST WAVES YELLOW- 
 
 I. 
 
 Now tlie ])arvest waves yellow, in every 
 green field ; 
 
 For his ungatbered sweets, roves the bee; 
 Yet nature lier wonted delights can not yield, 
 My lover’s so far, far from roe. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now music nor mirth no more can engage, 
 Nor laughter nor song can please me; 
 
 He only my trouble and grief can assuage, 
 Now anguish and care sorely seize me, 
 
 HI. 
 
 If ere soon he’ll not return. 
 
 To cheer this aching bosom; 
 
 His flower of love, that is seared and burned, 
 For him no more shall blossom. 
 
 MY LADYILOVE- 
 
 I, 
 
 Thou art my true, my royal lady ; 
 
 The towering forests deep and shady, 
 
 Than thy lofty mien, is not more stately ; 
 Nor droops the flow’ret, more sedately, 
 Beside thy passing feet. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 S9 
 
 II. 
 
 M'is tliee alone, my sours adoring ; 
 
 Witlj tliee, to Ueav’n my heart is soaring. 
 Thou art so pure and sweet. 
 
 Queens may be blessed, in art refined ; 
 Though not high-born, thou art noble 
 minded; 
 
 And that’s a royal treat. 
 
 MY SAILOR LOVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Wlien the birdies come again, 
 
 And the fields, with flow’ra, are gay ; 
 
 And the sweet and welcome sunshine 
 warms the breeze ; 
 
 Tlien my poor heart will be glad, 
 
 For my roving sailor lad 
 
 Will be home from wandering o’er the 
 lonely seas. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now his hearth, for him to-night^ 
 
 Glimmers with a rosy light, 
 
 As if its glow could draw him nearer home. 
 Though the winds are wild without ; 
 
 And the tempest storms about, 
 
 I know he thinks of me where e’er he 
 
 roam. 
 
40 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Heaven, lead his sail to-night, 
 
 JSafely its uncertain flight, 
 
 Secure within the harbor and the bay. 
 May his nightly dreams at sea 
 Dwell upon his babes and me. 
 
 And Ids little lonely cottage^ far 
 
 TO A STAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, were my love 3^011 beaming star. 
 That sweetly sheds her gentle ray^ 
 
 And I, the moon that from afar. 
 
 Steals softly o’er the jewel way ! 
 
 II. 
 
 No tardy course would ere be rniae^ 
 To view her gentle beaming lights 
 
 And on my breast, would ever shine. 
 The sweetest gem of all the night- 
 111 . 
 
 But should her lovefor me growcold^ 
 And all 1113^ pleadings prove in yalu; 
 
 Forever from the staiiy fold, 
 
 Pd sink into the sullen main. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 41 
 
 DREAR DECEMBER* 
 
 I. 
 
 My heart is sad, I wist not why, 
 
 But, aye, tlie tear comes in 
 And still I weep and still I sigh, 
 
 I am so lone and weary, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 The snow drifts pile in frenzied heaps. 
 And o’er the drifts, tlie wild blast sweeps; 
 While throngli the clouds, the sun scarce 
 peeps,. 
 
 To elieer the day so dreary, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 But winter wild will soon be o’er, 
 
 And summer wanton, as of yore ; 
 
 But winter wild will soon be o’er, 
 
 And there comes home, my dearie, O. 
 
 GLENALLEN^S GROVE* 
 
 I* 
 
 ’Tis closing day, the woods are gay 
 And the flowers are sleeping fair. 
 
 While o’er the stream the shadow’s gleam 
 Is flitting,, everywhere. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then come my love, while the birds above 
 Their notes of joy declare ; 
 
42 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 For to this heart, no hour apart, 
 
 Thou seemed’st more sweet and fair. 
 
 III. 
 
 Air] we will rove, by stream and grove. 
 And care forget and sorrow; 
 
 From nature sweet, a kind retreat 
 Of love and pleasure borrow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bonny lassie, will ye go ? 
 
 The world’s so sweet and cheery 1 
 ril bind a wreath of wild wood flow’rs. 
 And crown thee, aye, my dearie. 
 
 SWEET JESSIE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Why sliould I yet yield to despair. 
 
 Or be an ill repiner ? 
 
 While Jessie is so sweet and fair, 
 
 I can naught but Heav’n devine her. 
 
 II. 
 
 Her eyes so deep and soul so sweet, 
 
 So pure in every feature ; 
 
 An angel sure might enter there, 
 
 Nor change, a whit, the creature. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 4a 
 
 HI. 
 
 Then oome what may, fear or dismay, 
 
 I know she my sorrow will share; 
 
 Her soul is so sweet, and her eyes such a 
 treat, 
 
 O, Jessie is queen of the fair. 
 
 NOW HEAVY CARE, 
 
 I. 
 
 Now heavy care and aching grief 
 
 This swelling breast, are thronging, 0; 
 
 And wilt thou never give relief 
 From this consuming longing, O ? 
 
 II. 
 
 When first I viewed thy magic charms, 
 Fancy was sweetly faring, O ; 
 
 Novv, thou hast me all disarmed. 
 
 Sighing, dumb, dispairing, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 If ere soon, thou’lt not allay 
 
 The throes, this bosom swelling, O, 
 
 Soon beneath the silent clay, 
 
 Shall this poor heart be dwelling, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lassie, then, with sweetest charms. 
 
 Say, thou be my dearie! 
 
 And, unto these lonely arms. 
 
 Haste, O, haste, and cheer me. 
 
44 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 I. 
 
 This is the month that mother earth makes 
 
 gay, 
 
 When held and wood, in verdant mantles 
 clad, 
 
 Forth walk, while sun and flitting shadows 
 
 play ; 
 
 And heavy hearts, by magic arts, made 
 glad. 
 
 II. 
 
 Blithe cities, birds are building in the trees; 
 
 With courteous songs, the courts of nature 
 fill. 
 
 Fresh in their freedom, from the southern 
 seas ; 
 
 And peaceful herds feed slowly on the 
 hill. 
 
 III. 
 
 With garlands green, Sjiring decks her 
 mother's head ; 
 
 And revels in the scene of beauty round; 
 
 Sweet tokens of Heav'n’s tryst, about are 
 spread, 
 
 While meadows swell, amid triumphant 
 sound, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Rosy her light, and dewy each fresh dawn. 
 
 That makes the morning tremulous, with 
 
POEMS. 
 
 45 
 
 Up froin the passing brook, the verdant 
 lawn, 
 
 All iiature one sweet swelling strain 
 prolong. 
 
 V. 
 
 Wliiie jolly June, in mimic minstrelsy, 
 
 Stands tip-toe, on Aurora’s ruddy beam ; 
 And picks, from his finger tips, with gayety, 
 The twinkling stars, like kisses, that 
 lightly gleam. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And throws tlum, at adoring earth and blue; 
 
 While the sweet earth, like suited maiden 
 stands, 
 
 Tiiat blushing dashes from the brush the 
 dew, 
 
 With looks of love concealed by locky 
 bands. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Amid such scenes, the robins choose their 
 mates ; 
 
 On flitting wing and pla3^ful warbling 
 throat. 
 
 Fling o|)en wide the happy trembling gates 
 Of song, and flood the earth, with festive 
 note. 
 
46 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Now sweetest sounds the happy maiden’s 
 song, 
 
 At fading fall of evening’s gentle close ; 
 
 The anxious lover fondly lingers long ; 
 
 ’Tis the natural time of love and sweet 
 repose. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And while our hands their loving deeds 
 employ, 
 
 Unwonted heautv, as in dreams, emblaze 
 
 The simple wa3^side blossom with a joy 
 
 For him, alone, who walks in nature’s 
 wedded ways. 
 
 X. 
 
 There’s sometldug in her look, tlsat seems 
 to lift 
 
 The soul, a fathcm farther towai d her God ; 
 
 And urg<‘s on, while pain and ])leasure shift, 
 
 The noble in us, to its last ab;)de. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 47 
 
 PATI£NCE< 
 
 H )ld ! gi-ievmg 8])irit, wljere fore dost com- 
 plain 
 
 Of tliy Fa I her ’s clinBleiiings, to tby good 
 coiifi]:e(l ; 
 
 Kii ow’sl Dot, Ibo purest, metal of the mind, 
 
 is Avrougbt, alone, tbrougb virtue’s silent 
 ])ain ? 
 
 Than temporal good, far greater joys to gain, 
 
 Tisy immortal sonl sbould’st 3^0 am, and in 
 the dust, 
 
 Earth’s broken toys cast down; and wait- 
 ing trust 
 
 For joys immutable. S]>irits that reign 
 
 O’er mortal’s wanderings, and their light 
 afford, 
 
 With guiding ray, nn^ darkening path attend; 
 
 And well attune my temper to acord, 
 
 With Heav’n’s own ecstacy, that to this end. 
 
 All present concord I may well insure; 
 
 Still patientl}", to suffer and endure. 
 
 ^Written on a bed of pain. 
 
48 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 NOW BLEAK’S THE DAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now bleak’s the day, and in fierce array. 
 The winds rusli wild together ; 
 
 O’er the white drifts deep, the storm 
 sweep ; 
 
 Surely ’tis wintry weather. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet winds and snow, how ere ye blow^ 
 The day, though ne’er so dreary; 
 
 Nor drifting tide, nor desert wide. 
 
 Can keep me from my dearie. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Were ye as deep or black and bleak* 
 
 As San tan ere could make ye; 
 
 Or rivers wild, with furies piled, 
 
 I’d never stop to take ye, 
 
 iv. 
 
 For her, I’d brave the mountain side; 
 
 For her, I’d stem the ferry; 
 
 For her, I’d brave the roaring tide. 
 
 Nor longer, will I tarry. 
 
 OH! THE LAND IS POOR. 
 
 I, 
 
 O, the land is poor where the mulleins 
 But hearts are true as any, O; 
 
 And tl le truest still of all, I know. 
 
 Is my sweetheart, my Jennie, O. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 4^ 
 
 II. 
 
 Love is her throne and grace, alone, 
 And beauty bend above her, O ; 
 
 May Ileav’n forbear, that I should ere,. 
 Too madly, cease to love her, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where ere I go, where ere I stray. 
 
 My path is ever dreary, O ; 
 
 And with my darling far away, 
 
 How can I be but weary, O, 
 
 SOME GENTLEMEN THERE ARE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Some gentlemen there are, and swell 
 In city ways, and all that; 
 
 To iheir fond ladies, sweetly tell 
 Their idle praise, and more than that. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet what I’ve heard and what I’ve seen, 
 I ken, their hearts are ill at rest ; 
 ’Twere better far, though poor, I wean,. 
 To trust a faithful lover’s breast. 
 
 III. 
 
 Fair lords of rank and honored race. 
 High-born but so low-minded ; 
 
 Masters of wealth and faultless grace,. 
 
 In the arts of hell refined. 
 
.^0 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 tv. 
 
 From virtue’s side, to cause to part, 
 Some modest houseliold treasure; 
 ^o ruin a life aud break a heart, 
 That were a passing pleasure. 
 
 LIGHT OF THE ^ORLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Light of the world, beneatli whose guiding 
 
 Our wandering feet may never stray; 
 
 Our hands ne’er grope their hidden way, 
 Along this nightly sliore; 
 
 For the Lord, himself, hath come to dwell, 
 Within His living oracle, 
 
 Forever more. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, for a gleam of that Heavenly ire, 
 
 Within this breast, to brighter burn; 
 Consume its choky false, and turn 
 That smouldering spark into a fire, 
 
 Of flashing truth, though hell’s dread urn 
 Be dried to quench that one desire! 
 
 III. 
 
 Through this vale of changing scenes, to 
 bear 
 
 Life’s little wrongs and mild distress. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 51 
 
 With sweet and unoomplaining care; 
 
 That is, me thinks, true nobleness 
 Of woman; she breathes TTeav’n’s native air; 
 The excellence of peace and happiness. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ho vv much lie needs, in hours of grief, 
 lleav’n’s golden urn to draw relief; 
 
 Wlio hapless holds no earthly hope, 
 
 To cheer him up life’s rugged slope; 
 
 No loving hand to dry his tears. 
 
 Allay his sorrows and his fears, 
 
 Or trim the fading light. 
 
 THE WORLD’S A JEST. 
 
 I. 
 
 The \v^orld’s a jest with many, at best; 
 
 To others, full of Miming : 
 
 And some find woe, where ere they go. 
 
 But others, joy and singing. 
 
 II. 
 
 And it matters not, what time or spot 
 May he our pla.(*e and dwelling; 
 
 In stabled stall, as in palace hall. 
 
 The springs of life are swelling, 
 
 III. 
 
 And life is what we make it, but ; 
 
 Whether liowers or withered stubble. 
 
 But the joys that are gain, to others are pain ; 
 And the test of the heart is troul)le. 
 
52 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 IV. 
 
 But our hearts grow cold, as the world wanes 
 old, 
 
 And the more we see of its sinning; 
 
 And the smile that peers through a mist of 
 tears, 
 
 Is the one that is worth the winning. 
 
 BONNY PEGGY ALLEN- 
 
 I. 
 
 A morn, when eartli was blusliing fair, 
 And I was pressed with grief and care,. 
 I sallied in the open air. 
 
 To kee}) my heart from failin’; 
 
 II. 
 
 At such a time whom should I meet. 
 
 Come tripping o’er the dewy wet; 
 
 On such a morn, so fresh and sweet. 
 
 But bonny Peggy Allen! 
 
 HI. 
 
 And in her hand, besprent with dew, 
 
 A bunch of violets white and blue; 
 And, O, me thought, ‘‘The soul of you,”’ 
 Bonny Peggy Allen. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 53 
 
 IV. 
 
 She stood so fresh, so pure, the while, 
 Then sweetly blushed a dimpled smile; 
 I helped Iier o'er the awkard stile, 
 
 To keep her feet from failin'. 
 
 V. 
 
 And there, I swore, I ne’er could part, 
 For, 0, see held my aching heart; 
 
 And then, I swore, I ne’er could part 
 From bonny Peggy Allen, 
 
 VI. 
 
 But she’d not listen to my vow ; 
 
 She only thought me fooling, O. 
 Should she refuse, I’d lay me low; 
 
 And all, for Peggy Allen, O. 
 
54 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 POVERTY DREARJ 
 
 T. 
 
 How many are they that night and dsiy, 
 
 Are ever sad and weary, 
 
 With the pains they bear, and their weight 
 of care; 
 
 And the world is, O, so dreary ! 
 
 IT. 
 
 Wiiile the rich and gay still speed away, 
 A?id careless seek for pleasure; 
 
 O, little, they know, in this world of woe. 
 The worth of that priceless treasure. 
 
 III. 
 
 And little, tliey feel, for the woe or weal 
 Of the poor, in the crowded city; 
 
 Of the thousands that bear their weight of 
 care, 
 
 Without a heart to pity. 
 
 ’Written while standing on the Brooklj-n Bridge, after 
 witnessing the disgusting poverty that exists in that vicinity 
 
POEMS. 
 
 5^ 
 
 ELLEN GRAY* 
 
 I. 
 
 When ends the weary toil of day, 
 And herds are home-returning ;; 
 Across the moor to my Ellen Gray^^ 
 My feet are ever turning. 
 
 II. 
 
 The setting sun that gilds the west^^ 
 A kindled flood of fire, 
 
 Is not so bright as I am blest, 
 
 When fondly roving by her. 
 
 m. 
 
 As one by one, the stars appear, 
 
 When darkness broods the night, 
 Her jeweled charms to me are dear,. 
 And glitter on my sight, O. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The little daisy by the Ava}^, 
 
 The very eye of beauty. 
 
 Before her, droops its head to say i 
 ‘Tt is my modest duty.” 
 
 V. 
 
 Each budding tree and flower declare^ 
 ‘‘She is own, my dearest ; ” 
 
 And were she not so kind and fair,. 
 Earth were a desert drearest. 
 
56 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 VJ. 
 
 The brooks that clown their cliannels fret, 
 By flow’rj banks of May, O, 
 
 Will all go dry ere I forget : 
 
 ‘Tm happier than they, O.’’ 
 
 UNDER THE LILAC. 
 
 I. 
 
 Over the hill, down by the rill, 
 
 Under the lilac tree; 
 
 While the little stars shine, 
 
 T’il pledge I am thine. 
 
 Dear Robin, forever to be, 
 
 II. 
 
 There let us go, there let us stay, 
 
 There let us, Robin dear; 
 
 There flee from anxious care away. 
 
 From sorrow and from fear. 
 
 III. 
 
 There odorous sweets, 
 
 The grateful sens-e meets, 
 
 Under the lilac tree; 
 
 And one little hour, in that happy bower. 
 
 Is Heaven itself, with thee. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The birds to their nest, have now gone to 
 rest. 
 
 Up in the lilac tree; 
 
 Yet happier than they, dear Robin, and gay. 
 This heart that is lost in thee. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 57 
 
 V. 
 
 No intrusive cry shall invade our joy, 
 Under the lilac tree; 
 
 But supremely blest, with love. I’ll rest„ 
 In ecstacy with thee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A prince’s bride such bliss ne’er enjo3^ed,. 
 As under a lilac tree ; 
 
 So honor’s pride and wealth may slide; 
 m covet naught, but thee. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, this is the season that nature is gay. 
 
 And the flow’rets peep up, in the shadow ; 
 While over the haze, the soft wind plays. 
 And the bobolink sings o’er the meadow., 
 
 II . 
 
 The little birds telling their tales of love,. 
 
 Flit round on the boughs together; 
 
 And the gentle herds low, by the- brooklei 
 below, 
 
 O, surely, ’tis sweet bonny weather. 
 
 HI. 
 
 O, thin is the season of all the year. 
 
 For there’s hardly a day that’s dieary; 
 
 And the soul seems to rise, as Heav’n draws 
 near. 
 
 And the days are to sweet and cheery. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 ^18 
 
 NATURE SKETCH. 
 
 When heaves the troubled breast, with ach- 
 ing care, 
 
 And sorrow, like a shadow, falls of night, 
 ‘O-o roam the fields and woodlands wild, and 
 find 
 
 How amiable sweet nature is; how strong, 
 The drooping heart to lift, and flush with life 
 The spirit fading into languor; when 
 The soul is true, and faithful glows upon 
 The hearth of all her human sympathies. 
 
 To you, a choice companion and a friend, 
 Long-sought — at last restored in fond em- 
 bra(!e, 
 
 The dearer for his absence — will she prove. 
 Beneath her warm familiar smile, that far 
 Transcends the smiles of royalty, tlie heart’s 
 Long frozen snows begin to drip and melt; 
 From her rnaturnal lips that ever bless, 
 
 Her tender words of fond endearment fall. 
 Like the softened strains that lulled our 
 infancy. 
 
 And yet her guilt-directing frown doth 
 make 
 
 The villain shudder, ’neath his conscious 
 shroud 
 
POEMS. 
 
 59 
 
 Of inner darkness dread; and from ber flee, 
 As from a wasting* [)t‘stile{ice,to hide. 
 
 How low, ids state tl'.at can no higher rise, 
 Than ’long the dark and chilly wall of dull 
 Material, to gro[)e — foreign to the natural. 
 Who, comfoi tless and wholly unaware 
 Of that infinite beauty, silent and 
 Sustaining, doth all power deny save in 
 The tangible. While sure, though softlj^ 
 glides 
 
 Beldnd the curtain of the seen, that high 
 And pure Invisible. The simplest flow er 
 That decks yon towTing wood or meadow 
 green. 
 
 Betrays the hidden touches of His person; 
 The fathomless heights of heav’n are teeming 
 with 
 
 His presence; all the refulgent gloiy that 
 smiles 
 
 Upon a low^er \vorld and makes it bright 
 And beauteous, is but the streakings of 
 A brighter dawn, where manifest and free 
 From mortal insult, the ‘‘ Long-felt, Unseen 
 Is clad in garments visible. 
 
 Yet ere, 
 
 To that far-distant realm, the ravished soul 
 Repair ; and pass Death’s mighty threshhold 
 to that 
 
 Familiar hearth whose genial glow regales 
 
60 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 The wondering visitor, with distant memories,. 
 A solemn voice, more deep than audible. 
 Ever persuades: ‘‘The hand for ages, that 
 Has held, without a jar, the infinite orbs 
 Of heaven in intermingled multitudes 
 Thai swing, each in his destined circuit, shall 
 For his own dear image in the human, care. 
 Or far to the West, lead their inquiring stepfr 
 Where stand, like surly sentinels to guard 
 The outposts of existence, many a mass 
 Of huge and heaving rock, inpenetrable ; 
 Whose awful feet, in adamantine depths. 
 
 Are stayed ; yet thei'e, within those mighty 
 depths 
 
 XJnfathomed, that eloquent Invisible 
 Abideth ; which the gay forget and fools 
 Deny in vain; but which in milder hours 
 Of purer being, stands confessed in all 
 The 0])en beauty of His eloquen('e. 
 
 And like the bird escaped the prison bars 
 Of its long-loathed cage, flies straight against 
 The sun, the spirit of this prison-house 
 Of clay still anxious waits the fatal stroke 
 That unbars the gruesome gate and the cap- 
 tive soul 
 
 Sets fre *, that joyously on silent wings, 
 Retires, through milder gales to beat it 
 flight; 
 
 And blissful soar in that deep-raptured realm. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 6L 
 
 Nor is, nor earth was ever meant for thine 
 Eternal sad abode — earth claims her own, 
 But Heav’n requires tl»e rest. Her peacful 
 vales ; 
 
 Her lakes; her verdant fields; and deserts 
 wild, 
 
 Of vast untreasnred ores; lier ancient woods 
 That majestic in their solitudes have reigned 
 For ages; her lifeless wastes, and ocean’s 
 broad 
 
 Expanse, whose depths the finny tribes 
 ti’averse 
 
 And treasures lie, were made for thee to tread 
 Upon; and in themselves, to spurn beneath 
 A hastening heel for broader vision — this, 
 But the listless infant of a greater world; 
 The grub-state of a loftier being. 
 
 This, shalt thou only tread upon and in 
 A liigher and etheral atmosphere, 
 
 Shalt move and wake thy natural being. 
 
 And when this mortal round of sombre care 
 Is wrought, wrapt in the radiant folds of that 
 Propitious robe, homeward thy happy way, 
 To lead, this mortal mold that shakles thee, 
 Asid binds the fiuttering impulse of a pure 
 And higher being, thou shalt disdain, and in 
 Due season, calm resign, and willingly; 
 
 To leave its present precincts where sharp 
 frosts 
 
62 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 And winds untimely blast the spirit’s growth ; 
 And caught from that gloomy gulf’s nether 
 domain, 
 
 Shall soar, at last, in that untainted and 
 Clear ether, where no hoary night broods o’er 
 Its depths; but warmed by the golden light, 
 of an 
 
 Eternal sun, thou long shall bask in balm, 
 All uiicreaied, of a calm, eternal noon. 
 
 SLAVERY. 
 
 Arise, stern guardian of our land. 
 And stretch thy awful hand, 
 From shore to shore ; 
 
 And grasp that venomed curse. 
 Of hell-hound pests, the nurse,. 
 That plague us sore. 
 
 And from our sickened sight,, 
 Remove this hell-born blight, 
 
 For ever more; 
 
 ’Till the last traitor stand 
 Chained on thy bleeding strand,^ 
 And trembling sore. 
 
 Freed from the tyrant’s claim. 
 And his hard servile chain. 
 
 Firm, may we still remain ; 
 
 Our strength restored. 
 
POEM.^. 
 
 GB: 
 
 Thou, our avenger be ; 
 
 Union and liberty, 
 
 Forever, one in thee, 
 
 Our peace afford; 
 
 While empires stand in awe, 
 
 Of freedom’s light and law, 
 Forever more. 
 
 And when the clouds of war 
 Bedim our nation’s star. 
 Regardless, stand thou not afar — 
 Still reigning o’er. 
 
 Loud, let the tempests rage ! 
 
 Hell, her foul pests engage ! 
 
 Thy words the wind assuage. 
 With quiet o’er. 
 
 Prom a dishonored grave, 
 Master of wind and wave. 
 
 Our country’s honor save, 
 Forever more ; 
 
 And when the storm is past. 
 
 Of cloud and reeking blast, 
 
 Fix our ffrm anchor fast, 
 
 Upon the shore. 
 
 The author is unfortunately late in producing this essays 
 hut it shows, however, a clear and decided aversion to the 
 principles that it opposes ; and, in our humble opinion, would* 
 probably have made a strong impression on the public mind:^ 
 if written forty years ago. —Publisher. 
 
154 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 YON DREARY MOOR* 
 
 I. 
 
 The rising moon is on the mead, 
 
 Yon stormy moor, yon dreary moor ; 
 The wind now breaks, with angry heed, 
 Across it sore, across it sore . 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet dearer far than sunny plains. 
 
 Yon lonely moor, yon dreary moor ! 
 For there my lovely lassie reigns, 
 
 So sweet and pure, so sweet and pure. 
 
 III. 
 
 'The richest scenes of distant skies. 
 Cannot compare, cannot compare, 
 With the glory of her beaming eyes. 
 
 So bright and fair, so bright and fair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The constant laws of earth and air 
 Are not so sure, not half so sure. 
 
 As tlie pledgings of her bosom fair, 
 
 So sweet and pure, so sweet and pure. 
 
 v. 
 
 Theblushings of the morning ray. 
 
 Or waking light, or waking light 
 Were far more drear, with her away. 
 That darkest night, than darkest night. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 65 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 Hail, liappy roorii, that com’st, with kind- 
 ling grace, 
 
 A slumbering world and sorrowful, to bless ; 
 That loyest the infant day to fondly press. 
 And showT tli}^ kisses o’er his laughing face. 
 From thy native seat of light, thou com’st 
 to chase. 
 
 In thy angelic rage, the brooding night. 
 To his dark cell ; and spread thy peaceful 
 light, 
 
 Over a troubled world ; while man his place 
 Of various toil and care, doth now regain; 
 And all the world is waking with a sense 
 Of duty. O, holy light, if can’t’st remain. 
 To bless us with thy native innocence, 
 
 Within our hearts, renew the blissful tide. 
 Our paths to lighten and our feet to guide. 
 
 AGE-A SKETCH. 
 
 ‘‘The world’s at fault,’' and on his cane. 
 
 The old man rested his head again; 
 
 “ The hope of youth, that bore me up. 
 Has left but the foam in pleasure’s cup, 
 And in the heart sad tears.” 
 
 Here ’rose a sigh from his heavy breast, 
 Hard with the cares of age oppressed. 
 
 And the loneliness of years. 
 
€6 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 ‘‘ Is this the common fate of all ? 
 
 And doth no happier ere befall 
 The old man than existence ? 
 
 O, what a luckless, false mirage^ 
 
 This reaching after lofty stars, 
 
 Against a world’s resistance! 
 
 And yet, what is that pean strain, 
 
 I hear so oft, but list in vain. 
 
 With this dull comprehension ? 
 
 Though age is there, peace doth attend; 
 Hope is renewed, and that great end, 
 
 We dread with so sharp apprehension, 
 
 That hope renews, that peace supplies. 
 That strength affords, that end defies. 
 With all its weird grimaces. 
 
 ’Tis Heav’n ’s the spark that strikes the 
 flame. 
 
 That lights this dark and earthly frame. 
 With all her angel faces.” 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 “The famous cry for obscurity ; 
 The obscure cry for fame ; 
 And where ere you go, 
 
 In this world of woe, 
 
 '^i'he murmur is the same.” 
 
POEMS. 
 
 67 
 
 TO A HARVEST MOUSED 
 
 I. 
 
 Poor little helpless thing I 
 What pain do I bring 
 By this unaimed sting ! 
 
 Thy wee breast tells 
 What terror swells 
 Tliy fearful heart with pain. 
 
 II. 
 
 How frail, thy trembling form 
 Pierced by this cruel thorn ! 
 
 Fierce is the raging storm 
 Thy shortened cries reveal ; 
 Truly, I deeply feel 
 This hard and cruel harm. 
 
 III. 
 
 Foot and fork Fve closely guarded; 
 Thus has fate sorely rewarded 
 All the care for thee, Fve hoarded, 
 And thy timid weal ; 
 
 That now with heartless steel. 
 Our injured friendship ’s bordered. 
 
 ’ The occasion of writing this poem was one day while in 
 the harvest field, the tine of my fork was accidently thrust 
 through the body of a little harvest mouse. Its little shrieks 
 of agony were so piteously painful as to solicit the keenest 
 touch of human sympathy. And as 1 knelt down over the 
 little creature, struggling so hopelessly for its unoffending 
 life, the above thoughts formulated themselves into expres- 
 sion. 
 
68 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Soon 110 more beside thy nest, 
 
 Walls and ceilin^f snugly pressed, 
 Daisies bend tlieir nodding crest. 
 
 To the rising sun 
 Or sinking one, 
 
 For lo ! thou art, now, at rest, 
 
 V. 
 
 Nor on the grass, the dew 
 Shall gleam at morn for you ; 
 
 No more shall skies be blue. 
 
 Nor sun shall shine 
 Nor weeds entwine 
 For thee to wander through. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What miser nipping, knaving. 
 
 What niggard, wildly raving, 
 
 Would do thee harm for saving 
 His unhappy store, 
 
 Loses that and doubly more, 
 
 With Heaven’s smile for all his slaving. 
 
 O, FORTUNE’S BLAST, 
 
 I. 
 
 O, Fortune’s blast now sweeps me past, 
 With angry sighs and surly, O ; 
 
 My friends, they all now crowd the wall, 
 And that’s unchristian surely, 0 , 
 
POEMS. 
 
 69 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet wealth may flee and friends, to sea ; 
 
 I’ll ne’er grow sad and weary, O, 
 While the lass, I love ail else above, 
 
 Is aye so sweet and cheery, O. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Ye anxious watching powers above. 
 That joy in scenes of virtuous love, 
 
 Can ye not weep for pity, O ? 
 
 O, snatch from her pale Want’s alarms. 
 And bless these lonely waiting arms. 
 With all I love, my Kitty, O, 
 
 O, MEMORY DREAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now the wee swallows twitter about the nest, 
 Or skim o’er the daisied meadows; 
 
 While the wearied sun pales low in the west 
 And settles the gloom and the shadows. 
 
 II. 
 
 And the slender moon drops out of the sight 
 And hope in this breast is sinking; 
 
 For the gloom comes on with the gathering 
 night, 
 
 And, aye, of the past I’m thinking. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye distant joys, forever gone, 
 
 Ye may wring this sad heart ever; 
 
 But while life shall cling to this achingbreast 
 I can forget ye, never. 
 
70 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I think on ye, and I could weep. 
 
 And a light flashes up in the shadow; 
 Then returns the gloom and the brooding 
 deep, 
 
 And all’s more dark and sad, O. 
 
 V. 
 
 liike the sudden glare of the mid-night flash 
 Strikes out on the gloom and the night, O; 
 Tlien returns the dark and the thunderous 
 crash, 
 
 And no more hope of the light, O. 
 
 FORSAKEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Kow the wee daisies bloom in the flowery 
 vales. 
 
 And the lambkins bleat over the meadow ; 
 And the little birds, telling their love-born 
 tales. 
 
 Flit by in the sun and shadow. 
 
 II. 
 
 But I am sad and all alone, 
 
 And sighing for my lover; 
 
 Yet I may weep and sigh and moan. 
 
 But he’ll return to me, never. 
 
 III. 
 
 For he has found a fairer love — 
 
 But is her heart more kind and true ? 
 
 I would do — what would I not ? — 
 
 For the love I bear for you, for you. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 71 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye Heav’n of loves, ye mocking bliss, 
 That smile on me so sore, so sore; 
 I’m for a brighter world than this, 
 For I can bear no more, no more. 
 
 YE LITTLE FLOWERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye little flovv’rs, that bloom so fair, 
 And gaily deck the meadows sweet, 
 Ye are so pure so free from care. 
 
 To see you, is a bonny treat. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet as I look on ye, my heart 
 With aching grief is swelling; 
 
 And all unbidden, rise and start 
 Fond thoughts, too sad for telling, 
 III. 
 
 I gaze on ye, and I could weep, 
 
 Ye mind me of my dearie ; 
 
 Now sad and lone is her silent sleep; 
 And O, this fond heart is weary. 
 
 THE SAILOR’S HOME. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now the waning moon drops out of the west> 
 Nor more shall cheer the lonely night, O ; 
 And my true lover’s far abreast 
 
 On distant seas and lost to sight, O. 
 
72 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 On angry seas and lost to sight, 
 
 By howling gale and tempest driven ; 
 With thoughts of home and peaceful light, 
 I know his lonely heart is riven. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where ere he roams, his aching breast 
 Will, aye, for Ids sweet home be pining; 
 For the little ones, he loves tiie best, 
 
 And the love-liglits, for him shining. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou withering orb, haste thy return ! 
 
 And with thee, bring our dearie, O; 
 
 No matter then if ne’er ye burn, 
 
 No night will ere be dreary, O. 
 
 STORM ON GALILEE.’ 
 
 Slowly with tlie sun departing 
 From the shores of Galilee, 
 
 In a flood of glory starting 
 On the bosom of the sea. 
 
 Sprang a vessel sprightly hounding 
 O’er the long waves deep and blue; 
 
 While from the fainting distance sounding, 
 vSoiigs upon the billows blew. 
 
 * With a few exceptions, I have left these purile verses 
 in their original simplicity and inelegance that inexperi- 
 ence and lack of culture has besmeared them, being one of 
 jny very early efforts. 
 
POE^^S. 
 
 7 a 
 
 Scarce from land, tlie sailors gladly 
 Flapping sail and rigging, gave 
 
 To tlie wind that stirring madly 
 Moved to foam the sportive wave. 
 
 TIP quiet harbor soon had vanished 
 In the pleasures of the sea; 
 
 Peevish fears and care were banished 
 In their native, nautic glee. 
 
 Plied she well, their gallant vessel, 
 Straining eager in her course ; 
 
 While tlie climbing sailors wrestle 
 With the gale now growing hoarse. 
 
 Slow, the silent moon ascended 
 O’er the rolling, roaring tide, 
 
 Like a gracious queen attended. 
 
 By radiant myriads at her side ; 
 
 Yet the loveliness that crowned her, 
 
 Mid the grandeur of the night. 
 
 Threw a misty mantle round her. 
 
 Like a robe of satin white. 
 
 Soon a sombre shroud o’er spread her, 
 Veiling queen and courtiers gay ; 
 
 While the vessel, laboring led her 
 
 Passage through the boisterous spray^ 
 
 High and heavy heaved each billow ; 
 
 And the vessel rooked and rolled, 
 
74 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Like a babe on sleepless pillow, 
 
 In a fever uncontrolled. 
 
 Banks of darkness, dense, menacing, 
 Frowning, rose beneath her feet ; 
 
 Swaying each his sceptre, chasing, 
 Flashing, furious, lierce and fleet. 
 
 Winds unbridled fiercely wrangle. 
 
 For the struggling prize and frail ; 
 
 Making of the mast a mangle, 
 
 And a tangle of the sail. 
 
 Careless glee and sportive laughter. 
 
 In the pleasures of the sea. 
 
 Faded fast and fearful, after 
 Terror followed jollity. 
 
 On the shore, the songs no longer 
 Resonant and merry rise ; 
 
 But a weary wailing, stronger. 
 
 Of their danger-driven ties. 
 
 In a mountain, nearer Heaven — 
 
 Where the watch is still and lone — 
 
 With the darkness of eleven. 
 
 Like a garment round Him thrown, 
 
 Prayed our ‘ Blessed Lord,’ there kneelin|^ 
 To the Father of all light ; 
 
 Who in tenderness was feeling 
 All the terror of the night. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 7B 
 
 Prayed He there, amid the quiet, 
 
 And the stillness of the hour, 
 
 For His dole of Heavenly diet, 
 
 And His Father’s love and power. 
 
 Fully satisfied, prayer ending, 
 
 Hastened the ‘ Heavenly Host ’ away^. 
 
 And — the mountain He descending — 
 Sped unto their native day. 
 
 Black, the niglit, the clouds mix madly; 
 Fishers’ wives along the shore 
 
 Left the lonely candles sadly 
 
 Flickering all the dread night o’er. 
 
 He, our Lord, across tlie ocean, 
 
 Kenned the darkness o’er the sea; 
 
 Saw the shij), amid commotion. 
 
 Tumbling over Galilee. 
 
 Ship and sailor weary growing. 
 
 As waves were heaving mountain high. 
 
 Seemed like a willow helpless blowing 
 ’Neath a mountain in the sky. 
 
 Then as on the crest she wavered, 
 
 Like impending rock or cliff, 
 
 Gallantly the sailors labored 
 
 Lest their bark should hell-vvard drift 
 
 Wasting with the waves, she drifted 
 To engulfing de2}ths below; 
 
76 
 
 POE^^S. 
 
 Slowly her bruised beak slie lifted, 
 
 As she rose a feeble foe. 
 
 Then as on the top she rested, 
 
 O’er the waters far away, 
 
 Sailors saw the billows crested 
 With the light of dawning da}^; 
 
 Some supposing it a spirit. 
 
 Or a demon from below, 
 
 fn affright, gave way to fear it, 
 
 As a fiend or fatal foe. 
 
 Others deeming it the morning 
 Or the messenger of day. 
 
 Banished maddened fear and mourning. 
 Ceding hope a brighter sway. 
 
 Suddenly, as if it lightened. 
 
 All the sea was bathed in light ; 
 
 As th’ approaching vision brightened — 
 Now half human, spectral sight. 
 
 Swiftly o’er the waters, winding, 
 
 Of the boisterous sea, it sped ; 
 
 Breathing terror with it, binding 
 All aghast with mortal dread. 
 
 Near and nearer drew the vision, 
 
 O’er the script-like billows blue; 
 
 Wrapt in robes of light elisian, 
 
 Toward the enchanted vessel drew. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 77 
 
 Mid dismay, the sailors trembled, 
 
 Each the other’s terror read ; 
 
 111 each fearful face assembled, 
 
 Anxious hope and pallor spread. 
 
 Hardy hearts dissolved to water ; 
 Boisterous billows broad and steep 
 
 Rolled the vessel wild, and caught her 
 Madly tumbling o’er tiie deep. 
 
 Mid the tumult and commotion 
 Of the vessel bounding wild, 
 
 Helmsman left bis stern devotion. 
 
 Like a thoughtless, frightened child. 
 
 Oarsmen wandered from their duty. 
 
 Idle left the loosened oar ; 
 
 Ruin almost grasped her booty 
 At destruction’s open door. 
 
 Such a guest of light celestial, 
 
 Mid the darkness of the hour, 
 
 Fear compelled and terror bestial. 
 
 To enlist their perilous power. 
 
 In an attitude deploring, 
 
 Prone upon the vessel’s floor, 
 
 Christian, Pagan, Jew imploring 
 Beat upon his altar’s door. 
 
 Hands outstretched in prayer entreating, 
 Each his God and idol prayed 
 
78 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 To deliver them from meeting. 
 Death, in his destructive raid. 
 
 Suddenly the darkness faded 
 
 Into the light of the lovely moon ; 
 
 All the twinkling stars were laded 
 With the sweetness of the noon; 
 
 Billows bold, like ripples, trembled® 
 O’er the bosom of the sea ; 
 
 Quiet lovliness assembled, 
 
 Over lovely Galilee, 
 
 As in tender tones the Master 
 Of the mountain, storm and sky, 
 
 Spoke, in pity of a pastor: 
 
 ‘‘ Peace, be not afraid, ‘fcis I.’’ 
 
 LINES ON BIRTH OF NIECE* 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet little helpless one, 
 Thou’s, with the waking sun, 
 An unknown day begun, 
 o sweetly blest. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, may misfortune’s grasp 
 Ne’er, on thy tender breast, 
 Be laid, as so cruel wast 
 On mine and sore ; 
 
I'OEMS. 
 
 79 
 
 But many a cherished smile 
 Linger on thee the while; 
 
 And care and grief exile, 
 
 For joys the more. 
 
 III. 
 
 Over life’s restless sea, 
 
 Bright may thy voyage be ; 
 
 And in yon harbor see 
 Thy distant rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Strong be the ship ^^ou sail, 
 
 Kind every driving gale; 
 
 True may your guide prevail 
 Till yonder shore, 
 
 In peaceful calm, you reach; 
 There on tlie sunny beach, 
 Through smootlier seas to stretch. 
 For ever more. 
 
 HOW SWEET YE BLOOM I 
 
 I. 
 
 How sweet ye bloom, ye flow’ry vales. 
 As ye were aye so cheery ; 
 
 As Winter ne’er with howling gales. 
 Swept down ye, O, so dreary. 
 
 II. 
 
 The swallows wanton through the eve. 
 With twittering never weary ; 
 
 While I am sad and left to grieve. 
 
 In absence of my dearie. 
 
80 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Ye memories of departed years, 
 
 Ye’re over kind for pity; 
 
 Ye sear the heart, with unshed tears — 
 A sweet forgotten ditty. 
 
 ''TO A SLEEPING DRUNKARD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sick, senseless sleeper, art thou he, 
 
 But yesterday, whose infancy 
 Was basked in beams of charity ! 
 
 Wiiom a fond heart nursed 
 And oft rehearsed 
 
 Her joys, her hopes and prayers for thee. 
 
 II. 
 
 Alt thou that happy lad, who bade 
 That drooping fiowT rise, when the shade 
 Of grief fell dark and chill ? And happy made 
 Her anxious heart. 
 
 Whose every part 
 Of care, upon thy weal, was laid. 
 
 III. 
 
 Art thou that youth that stood so strong, 
 
 In Heaven’s light; thy path along, 
 
 That lit ihe way througli life’s mad throng ; 
 Burnished the right. 
 
 With radiant light. 
 
 And marked full well, the monstrous wrong ? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 81 
 
 IV. 
 
 Art thou that true, when somber Death 
 Breathed on her lips that chilling breath. 
 That charged full well thy plighted breast,^ 
 With Heaven’s strength, 
 
 And thine, at length, 
 
 To crown her long eternal rest ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Ma}^ Heav’n forbid her ravished sight, 
 Supremely blest in realms of light, 
 
 Ere to behold this bitter blight, 
 
 That fades her flower! 
 
 O, chill, the hour 
 
 That bade thee bloom, that ill-starred nigbt- 
 
 VI. 
 
 But wake, for now ’tis courteous day ; 
 Heav’n smiles and all the earth is gay ; 
 
 All nature, in her sweet array, 
 
 Invites to holy living ; 
 
 And Heaven itself is all-forgiving, 
 
 O, haste, and to thy better self away. 
 
 VII. 
 
 To quench thy hot eternal thirst, 
 
 Heav’n’s gushing founts of healing burst 
 A soul may grovel in the dust, 
 
 And die an angel yet ; 
 
 Though ne’er so low, his day star set. 
 May still regain his native trust. 
 
«2 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 I. 
 
 As now, my dear, with lonely eyes, 
 
 Iscan tliis bleak December ; 
 
 The clouded and the angry skies; 
 
 How can I but remember, 
 
 IT. 
 
 Tlie wooded knoll, the shady green, 
 
 The brown and sunburnt heather ; 
 
 The mooidight sheen and shade between, 
 Where oft, we roved together ? 
 
 III. 
 
 But now, that you’re so far away, 
 
 And I’m so sad and weary ; 
 
 What else, could nalture but decay, 
 
 And all the world be dreary ? 
 
 MY SAILOR LAD. 
 
 I. 
 
 T^ature again herself adorns; 
 
 The wee birds warble mid the thorns, 
 But I am sad and weary. 
 
 Ye little birds, ye’re over kind; 
 
 Ye wist not that ye hurt my mind. 
 
 Ye are so sweet and cheerjr. 
 
 II. 
 
 For I am lone and I am sad. 
 Long-parted from my sailor lad. 
 
 Out on a sea so dreary. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 83 
 
 What pains my bosom more forlorn, 
 
 I know his heart is sad and torn, 
 
 With longings for his dearie. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye powers above, whose anxious care 
 Delights in human grief to share, 
 
 Watch ye around my dearie 1 
 O, ward him safe from Death’s alarms, 
 
 And bring him back to these waiting arms; 
 And then, I’ll ne’er be dreary. 
 
 'LIBRE CUBA/i 
 
 Bold tides of cruel carnage, murd’ring 
 thunder’s roar. 
 
 Devouring flames of fury sweep our ravished 
 shore; 
 
 From gushing gores and cruel, to Thee, 
 the dying call. 
 
 For Thou, O, Father God, art good and 
 over all ; 
 
 To Thee, when all things human fail and find 
 an end. 
 
 Good ship of Peace and Freedom to our 
 harbor send. 
 
 ’Again, we lament the late date of publishing this essay. 
 Although there is nothing of timerity expressed throughout 
 it, yet we must infer that his only reason for not publishing 
 it before was his being too fearful of criticism. However, 
 the extravagant sentiment and pictures herein given 
 are only loo faithfully portrayed. — Publisher. 
 
84 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 Clouds gather ; darkness broods ; brave 
 souls are palled with fear ; 
 
 Of present woes and cruel, great God of 
 Battles, hear. 
 
 Our homes and habitation are choked with 
 Imnian gore ; 
 
 And truth seems all forgotten ; is faith and 
 love no more ? 
 
 Humanity and honor lie prostrate on the 
 plain ; 
 
 And pierced by a heartless villain, bleed 
 at every vein. 
 
 Harsh hands of tyranny the tongue of jus- 
 ice, seize ; 
 
 And weeping virtue, all in vain, presses the 
 coward’s knees. 
 
 Pale Death, in sombre trains, traverse our 
 wasted lands ; 
 
 And leaves her crimson vestige on the 
 bleeding sands. 
 
 Cruel she rolls and ruthless wheels her 
 gloomy course, 
 
 Besmeared with human carnage, led on by 
 cruel force. 
 
 And many a helpless victim, beneath her 
 grating wheels. 
 
 In depths of dying anguish, every baffle 
 feels. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 85 
 
 Through threatening clouds of fear, grope 
 our lame unpitied arms, 
 
 While Dread and Impotence the fainting 
 goul disarms ; 
 
 If auglit of tender pity pass us on the way, 
 
 Tis but the breath of noontide, lost in the 
 heat of day. 
 
 Her train, now in the distance, leads a piti- 
 ous trail, 
 
 And at the sight, souls tremble, and war- 
 riors’ blades turn pale. 
 
 The few who have escaped are held by a 
 heartless power. 
 
 Beneath whose stinging lash and steel, 
 they helpless cower. 
 
 Oppression all unfeeling holds the hapless 
 land ; 
 
 And voiceless honor trembles ’neath his iron 
 hand. 
 
 Stalwart he stalks across the bleeding 
 plain : 
 
 And at each stride, the ground shrieks 
 forth a groan of pain. 
 
 O’er hearts that feel the human, he ruthless 
 stalks along, 
 
 To join the noisy orgies of a savage throng; 
 
 There drunken in a heathen temple wildly 
 feasts 
 
POEMS. 
 
 The monster, on our children’s blood, 
 warm from their tender breasts; 
 
 Red, from^the crimson urn, he lifts his drip- 
 ping hands ; 
 
 And surfeited, he shrieks across the weeping 
 sands. 
 
 Omnipotent Jehovah, now ])erform Thy 
 name. 
 
 Ere innocence be ruined in a parent’s 
 shame. 
 
 As blinding mists disperse, at the waking of 
 the morn ; 
 
 As noisy clamors cease, beneath the echoing 
 horn. 
 
 So drive forever, from our sad and mourn- 
 ful shore. 
 
 The murderous din and mists that crimson 
 round us pour. 
 
 Grild our lone landscape with a gleam of 
 that peaceful dawn, 
 
 Ere fostering hope be drowned in gloom, 
 and every charm be gone ; 
 
 Too long, humanity is torn with pains and 
 fears ; 
 
 O ! touch, once more, the tender strain 
 that softens into tears. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 gT 
 
 WASHINGTON. 
 
 All hail, our glorious chief, that timely came,, 
 And led’stour embattled patriots to fight ^ 
 And^crowiied’st their deeds with laurels^ 
 of their might. 
 
 Forever thus, shall we adore thy name, 
 
 ‘‘ Fair statue on the pedestal of fame.” 
 
 Nor storm nor tide thy beauty, shall 
 assail ; 
 
 But succeeding suns shall brighten, m 
 they sail ; 
 
 And in thy country’s love, art still the same. 
 No French blood, this, that strove beyond 
 control. 
 
 Insatiate ardor, worthy of its end ; 
 
 Grasped at what most, his hand could 
 never hold — 
 
 A bloody grave, his tribute to a friend ; 
 
 But rather thou, mild shepherd of the* 
 brave , 
 
 Did’st risk thine own, thy country’s voio^ 
 to save. 
 
«8 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 AMERICA; 
 
 America, my dear, my native soil, 
 
 That gave to liberty and justice, birth ; 
 
 Land, where the freedrnan reaps his chosen 
 toil, 
 
 Nor frets, in chains, that gall a shackled 
 earth ; 
 
 Land, where the ]dlgrim finds liis long- 
 sought rest. 
 
 The world’s ambition and envied paradise; 
 
 Thou noble land, we proudly call ‘‘the 
 best,” 
 
 Whose praises in sweet concord ever rise; 
 
 Stern, are the dangers, that upon thy peace- 
 ful strand. 
 
 Like palid specters, in lone mid might, 
 stand. 
 
 Yet, land of light and golden liberty. 
 
 Thou safe amid all dangers standest free; 
 
 What foe, presumptuous, would dare to vie, 
 
 With Heaven’s light, earth’s proudest 
 hope and thee ? 
 
 In vain, a hostile world ’gainst thee would 
 strive. 
 
 With feeble bands, thy conquorer to be; 
 
 Heroes assemble at thy just command. 
 
 'Written at the begining of the Spanish- American war 
 when the United States was threatened by the combined 
 forces of Europe. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 89 
 
 Tyrants and cowards turn dismayed and 
 flee ; 
 
 Brave myriads, all brightly armed, stand. 
 
 Before thee, hearts aglow and souls alive. 
 
 With light device and liberty and thee ; 
 
 Let tyrants threaten and villians stain 
 Heaven’s law, 
 
 Kingdoms shall tremble and kings shall 
 stand in awe ; 
 
 And thou, fair land, the torch of freedom 
 bright, 
 
 Shalt reign, unrivaled in thy radiant 
 light. 
 
 For thee, our warmest prayers to Heaven 
 ascend ; 
 
 Warm, glow our hearts, thee eager lo de- 
 fend. 
 
 For thee, our proudest hopes still fondly 
 rise ; 
 
 With thine, our hands are clasped in 
 sacred ties. 
 
 For thee our willing hearts would freely pour 
 
 Their warmest life blood, thy loved garments 
 o’er. 
 
 To shield thee in the fight. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 m 
 
 LAUS DEO.' 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 Lord of our liberty, won and preserved ; 
 
 Ood of our fathers, ’ honored and served; 
 
 Guard of our nation, we praise and adore. 
 
 Exalted Thy name and revered evermore. 
 
 Thanks for the care, Thou hast kept when 
 most needed ; 
 
 Care that sustained in the midst of the 
 fight. 
 
 Thanks for the strength. Thou hast proved 
 which we pleaded. 
 
 Power, that maintained the dread stand- 
 ard of right. 
 
 We know the hand that points our path so 
 true, 
 
 In this land of light, from death and 
 dangers through ; 
 
 And long may the light of Thy presence 
 devine. 
 
 O’er a worshiping people in liberty, shine. 
 
 Well might Israel chant Thy omnipotent 
 name, 
 
 At the alter, and priests touch the Heavenly 
 flame ; 
 
 For Thou went’st before them, to spend 
 vthe foe ; 
 
 Written at the close of the Spanish- American war. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 91 
 
 Thou marshaled’st their journey; Thou 
 dealPst tlie blow, 
 
 That brought us our freedom, our cause, 
 our name ; 
 
 The ‘ Idol of Nations,’ imperishable fame. 
 
 Yet ours, be the message, and Thine, be 
 the glory. 
 
 Till Kingdoms shall crumble and Time 
 shall turn hoary. 
 
 THOU LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou little bird, on yonder bush. 
 
 That sweetly wakes the morning ; 
 
 Thou’lt break my heart, with songs so sweet. 
 The arts of nature ’doming. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou minds me of a silent voice. 
 
 That once as sweetly warbled ; 
 
 Thou tells of joys, forever gone, 
 
 And of a heart, sore troubled. 
 
 III. 
 
 And could I now, with days of yore. 
 
 Recall a nameless pleasure ! 
 
 But, O, she’s gone, forever more. 
 
 My sweetheart and my treasure. 
 
92 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thou too, gone, tliou boiiuy bird ? 
 
 And why so soon departed? 
 
 When thy wee breast’s so sweetly blest. 
 To soothe tlie broken-hearted ? 
 
 Sense makes the humorist ; 
 The want of it, tlie fool.” 
 
 FAIR MOLLY TWEED* 
 
 I. 
 
 O, tlie strawberry blows, by tlie brook, in 
 the mead ; 
 
 For nectar, the bee roams tiie lea ; 
 
 Yet fairer than flowers, is my own Molly 
 Tweed, 
 
 And sweeter than nectar of bee. 
 
 II. 
 
 In a shadowy nook, by a bend in the way^ 
 Her little cot may be seen ; 
 
 Yet empire’s palace, all gilded and gay. 
 Never sheltered a worthier queen. 
 
 III. 
 
 As light as the lambkins, that gambol the 
 morning ; 
 
 As sweet as the lark, that sings o’er the lea ; 
 All nature’s arts, to perfection adorning. 
 
 Fall sweetest on her, that is dearest to me* 
 
POEMS. 
 
 93 
 
 IV. 
 
 O ! riclies and honor, the world may deny me ; 
 
 I covet them not, for they only betray. 
 
 In one little hour, she will ever be nigh me, 
 And then 'twill be Heaven, with Molly for 
 aye. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A TIME OF DISCONTENT 
 AND WANDERING- 
 
 Now beauteous nature 
 Her fair self arrays; 
 
 And over the landscape 
 And vale, lightly plays. 
 
 There’s mirth in her measure, 
 
 There is joy in her play ; 
 
 But what is all pleasure 
 When one’s far away 
 From the friends of his bosom ; 
 
 And sadly must rove 
 From the land of his liking 
 And the fair of his love ? 
 
 When the heart beats with anguish 
 And falls the sad tear, 
 
 And the soul can but languish 
 For scenes once so dear ? 
 
94 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THOU BOBOLINK. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou Bobolink, that sings so blithe o'er the 
 leas, 
 
 “ Give over your songs for pity, O;" 
 
 Thou minds me of the happy days, 
 
 I spent with thee and Kitty, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 ’Twas never thus, thou sang so sad, 
 
 When I was with my dearie, O; 
 
 'Twas only joy, thy numbers had, 
 
 And hours were ne’er so dreary, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 ‘ Twas never thus, thou grieved my heart;. 
 
 Nor filled me thus, with anguish, O ; 
 
 Now grief alone, thou dost impart. 
 
 And lost ’s my soul, to languish, O. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Beneath the oak, beside the hill, 
 
 She promised to be my dearie, O;. 
 
 But now her heart is so cold and still. 
 
 How can I be but weary, O ? 
 
 NOW WILDLY RAVES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now wildly raves the woods of winter, 
 Neath the mad and driving cloud. 
 And wildly sweeps the tempest toiling,,. 
 In angry blasts and loud. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 9^^ 
 
 n. 
 
 And grief now breaks my heart to languish 
 O, Death, thy cruel dart! 
 
 Now I must still live on in anguish 
 Of a lone and fainting heart. 
 
 HI. 
 
 For joy is gone from me forever, 
 
 Forever and for aye ; 
 
 For in the church yard sleeps my lover;. 
 There, too, I soon shall lay. 
 
 ALICE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sweet Alice, thy name 
 In the passionate flame 
 
 Of the furious, ravishing fire, 
 
 Tliat within this breast. 
 
 At Heaven’s behest, 
 
 Is fed, by immortal desire I 
 
 II. 
 
 When the wind breaks cold. 
 
 And the day wanes old. 
 
 Then its embers are glowing the longer 
 When my heart would fail. 
 
 Or harsh fortune bewail. 
 
 Then, inspiring, it rises the stronger.. 
 
m 
 
 PvOEMS 
 
 III. 
 
 0 ! for once, to own 
 The sweet tender tone 
 
 Of a soul, that’s so gentle and mild ! 
 
 How glad in the rapture, 
 
 Fd yield to the capture 
 
 And move, with its melody wild ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Has Heaven forbidden ; 
 
 Or hast thou but hidden 
 
 The friendship I feel so, between us? 
 
 By all that is fair, 
 
 1 promise and swear, 
 
 There’s naught, from our love, that shall 
 wean us. 
 
 v. 
 
 Long in silence adoring. 
 
 Thy virtue exploring, 
 
 I’ve waited nor dared I, to break it; 
 
 But now, like a dream, 
 
 A vague something doth seem, 
 
 Within, to arise and awake it. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And if thou wilt fire 
 This kindling desire, 
 
 And give the fond welcome to me ; 
 Supremely blest. 
 
 With love I’ll rest, 
 
 In sweet content with thee. 
 
Yet if lonely and lost, 
 
 All aimless Fm tost, 
 
 To wander life’s restless main. 
 
 May Heaven’s kind wand, 
 
 To yon glittering strand, 
 
 Guide safe, through the billows of pain. 
 
 vm. 
 
 And perhaps, on that shore, — 
 
 Where partings are o’er, — 
 
 As I wander the realms of the blest. 
 Thy like I may find — 
 
 So gentle and kind — 
 
 But in no other place, can it rest. 
 
 O, SAD, THE DAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now drearily the sad rain falls. 
 
 On grassy hill and furrowed lea; 
 
 Wiiile I am sad, for my sailor lad 
 Is far away from me. 
 
 n. 
 
 Still falls the show’r, on blade and flow’rj^ 
 All withered by an early frost ; 
 
 And beneath the wave, in a watery grave^ 
 My faithful sailor lad is tossed. 
 
98 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 O, sad, the day he went away, 
 
 From home and from his lover ; 
 
 For she must weep and he must sleep, 
 In silence now forever. 
 
 TO A BIRD TWITTERING PITIFULLY AT 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou little bird tliat breaks the night. 
 
 With notes of thy unliappy plight. 
 
 What pains thy little bosom ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Perchance the fowler’s heartless snare 
 Has reeked on thee his foul dispair, 
 
 May Heav’n and mercy lose him ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Thy wee mate’s wing there caught and bled^ 
 She nestles down so cold and dead, 
 
 Where the little flowrets blossom. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or was thy little mate untrue ; 
 
 Hast hurt or sorely slighted you, 
 
 To bring such sad dispairing ? 
 
 V. 
 
 No peaceful sleep attends my rest; 
 
 •While aching care disturbs thy breast^ 
 
 Nor grief nor anguish sparing. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 99 
 
 VI, 
 
 O, that the power, that watches o’er us, 
 Some louder notes of grief would store us 
 And save this inward tearing ! 
 
 LINES ON SISTER, WHEN AT THE BRINK 
 OF DEATH. 
 
 In vain, ye wipe the falling tear, 
 
 In vain, ye weep and sigh ; 
 
 ’Tis Heaven itself inhabits here; 
 
 And angels never die. 
 
 ON SAME WHEN STILL WORSE. 
 
 O, Thou, that metes our earthly bliss, 
 If virtue move Tiiee any; 
 
 Deprive us not of all we love, 
 
 But spare us yet our Jennie. 
 
 ON HEARING OF THE UNNECESSARY 
 SLAUGHTER IN THE TRANSVAAL. 
 
 Great God, these erring mortals ’ve gone 
 too far, 
 
 That share a common Father’s love and 
 care! 
 
 Like beasts in the arena, tear each other 
 down, 
 
 And glory in the mischief they have done. 
 
100 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BRING BACK MY DARLING TO ME. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou moon that looks over the mountain, 
 Thou moon that looks over the sea, 
 
 Thou moon that looks over the mountain, 
 Bring thoughts of rny darling to me; 
 
 The thought that he ever is faithful. 
 
 The thought that he’s happ^^ and free; 
 
 S\v(‘et thought that he ever is thinking, 
 And ever is thinking of me, 
 
 II. 
 
 Ye birds that fly over the ocean, 
 
 Ye birds that fly over tlie sea. 
 
 Ye birds that fly over the ocean, 
 
 Bring news of my darling to me. 
 
 Bring news that he ever is sighing. 
 
 And longing his darling to see ; 
 
 Sweet news that he ever is sighing ; 
 
 And longing and sighing for me. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye ships that sail over the ocean, 
 
 Ye ships that sail over the sea, 
 
 Ye ships that sail over the oceaiv 
 O, bring back my darling to me. 
 
 For, Oh ! this sad heart is lonely, 
 
 And never from sighing is free; 
 
 Yet I’d ever be happy if only 
 
 Te’d bring back my darling to me. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 101 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye winds that blow over the ocean, 
 
 Ye winds that blow over the sea, 
 
 Ye winds that blow over the ocean, 
 
 O, blow back my darling to me, 
 
 O, spread o’er his sails your soft pinions, 
 And gently breath over the sea ; 
 
 O, spread o’er his sails your soft pinions, 
 And blow him back gently to me. 
 
 THE OLD BARD^S LAMENT* 
 
 My hands are stiffened with the cold, 
 
 And I can feel no more ; 
 
 For I am weak and I am old^ 
 
 I can not walk as yore. 
 
 Come, kindly lead me to the fane. 
 
 Where fans that sacred fire ; 
 
 That I may warm that wistful strain, 
 
 And touch the soul’s desire. 
 
 In youth, when love provoked the soul. 
 
 Its currents swelling rose; 
 
 And harmless joys did happy roll, 
 
 And flood, in dream’s repose. 
 
 Then, through the green and flowery grove, 
 Wraj)t ill the arms of high delight, 
 
 1 wandered with my lofty love, 
 
 In radiant robes and white. 
 
102 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 And sang the song our bliss expressed — 
 
 So happy! So divine 1 
 As tenderly, our joys confessed 
 And love, with mirth, entwined. 
 
 O, sweet, the influence of the hour 
 That innocent love doth grace I 
 Then nature seems one budding flower 
 And earth, a resting place. 
 
 Then morn awoke, in her beauty dressed ; 
 
 Noon basked in a lovely light, 
 
 And eve reclined on a placid breast, 
 
 In the soft arms of the night. 
 
 But, O, the stern, cold hand of age, 
 
 That love and youth are past. 
 
 Hath senseless chilled that noble rage ; 
 
 Yet memories, aye, will last.' 
 
 All hushed eve goes and comes the dawn, 
 But their light is not the same. 
 
 And, O, for the touch of a hand that is gone. 
 The sound of a silent name.’’ 
 
 Sadly, I yearn to yield the touch — 
 
 A lone, unhappy heart ; 
 
 Yet, groping toward yon flickering torch, 
 
 I hope the better part. 
 
 He is not best, that sineth least. 
 
 But who is most forgiven ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 103 
 
 This makes his home with man and beast; 
 That enters league with Heaven. 
 
 Oh, my life, have we not had roses bloom,^^ 
 When the world was chilled to the core ; 
 Sweet rapture, when life without was but 
 gloom, 
 
 And shall they not be any more ? 
 
 Let fickle fools presumtuous say, 
 
 ‘‘The world estranged from love is;” 
 
 First know, what prompts the heart to pray 
 And lose itself above us. 
 
 Earth is not all of bitter taste. 
 
 All lights are not misleading ; 
 
 Yet the meadow brook is first to waste, 
 
 And the loveliest flowV, in bleeding. 
 
 TO A WHIPPO-WIL. 
 
 I. 
 
 O, cease your noise, ye senseless lute, 
 
 YeVe never seen my Kitty ; 
 
 For one sweet look would melt your note. 
 To pleadings, full of pity. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet if ye'd share an equal treat, 
 
 But view that lily yonder; 
 
 A soul as pure, an eye as sweet. 
 
 And a lady’s sense of honor. 
 
104 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 But though she’s sweet, and though she’s 
 fair, 
 
 To me, she’s often cruel ; 
 
 Yet still. I’ll wait and still I’ll bear. 
 
 To count my precious jewel. 
 
 TO AN OLD TREE UPROOTED BY A STORM- 
 
 I. 
 
 Hail, my old familiar friend. 
 
 With arms stretched to defend 
 My languid way. 
 
 From the heat of day, 
 
 Lies lowly slain. 
 
 The tempest’s wild storm 
 With stately form 
 Thou long hast braved, 
 
 When he loudly raved 
 ’Gainst thee in vain ; 
 
 But now at last 
 
 With a wild shriek and blast 
 
 He strides o’er thy crest amain ; 
 
 And thee, no more, 
 
 Shall he adore. 
 
 As he rides the swift harnessed plain, 
 
 II. 
 
 I know each end 
 And broken bend. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 105 
 
 In the liollow iiiider the hill; 
 
 Over field and fen 
 And tlie noisy glen, 
 
 Where the hawks call loud and shrill,,. 
 And through thy bowers, 
 
 Of the soft cooling hours, 
 
 The squirrel oft chirruped away; 
 
 And the little bird 
 
 His sweet ditty heard 
 
 And joined in his happy lay. 
 
 And thy love-weary swain 
 Heart-broken has lain 
 As he languished to grief, a prey, 
 "Neath thy soothing shade. 
 
 In the plashy glade, 
 
 And dreamed of his love in the lane; 
 
 And the noisy brook 
 
 And the silent nook 
 
 Where he sought for her hand in vain..- 
 
 III. 
 
 And the cold barren rock 
 
 Shattered, too, by the shock 
 
 Tliy state to the brook doth deplore; 
 
 O’er the quiet green. 
 
 And the silvan scene, 
 
 Where pleasure and love are no more. 
 
 Alas that we, 
 
 Like unhappy thee, 
 
 Must cease when but we begin to be I 
 
106 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, my soul awake 
 And the warning take ; 
 
 To arms ! ere the conflict is past ; 
 
 For swift time will blow, 
 
 Where, thou inayest not know, 
 
 Thy deeds that forever will last* 
 Thou, too, art a tree. 
 
 Of fair unity ; 
 
 And pleasure or sorrow will cast. 
 
 Thy branches sliould’st raise. 
 
 O’er the sad weary gaze — 
 
 A solace and strengtii for the weak ; 
 
 Thy ignoble roots 
 
 And dark-seeking shoots 
 
 Their native caverns should seek ; 
 
 There to mold and to rust. 
 
 In oblivion’s dust, 
 
 No more their mean summons to 
 speak. 
 
 EXTEMPORE. 
 
 Cursed be these stones ; 
 
 And cursed the bones 
 
 Of the brainless road commissioner ! 
 The Devil give ’im the task, 
 
 His roads to make, 
 
 And nobody’ll ever travel ’em. 
 
 These words were justly provoked by an ill- kept moun- 
 tain road. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 107 
 
 FAITH* 
 
 Who knows each uncomplaining care, 
 Each inner jo^^, and soul’s despair ; 
 Wlio knows each aching human grief, 
 Tis He, best knows for our relief, 
 Heav’n’s sweetened balm to bear. 
 
 Why grieve then, troubled soul forlorn, 
 With many burdens sorly worn ? 
 
 The hand with sorrow, bears the down, 
 Will lift thee up, again. 
 
 HYPOCRISY* 
 
 Poor, is that grace that eye can see. 
 Of lame and put-on holiness; 
 
 Give me a man, whose heart is free 
 To speak and act his open part ; 
 
 A plain and honest man to trust, 
 
 Is all I ask for me* 
 
 OLD WINTER NOW* 
 
 Old Winter now, with surly frown, 
 Drives o’er the hills full sorely ; 
 Nature has donned his icy gown, 
 
 O I he must fare but poorly. 
 
 No wild bird cheers the lonely air ; 
 
 The sun half sinks from shining. 
 It paints too well my soul's despair, 
 8o dark and so repining. 
 
108 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Upon this dreary waste of life, 
 
 Too long, has been my dwelling ; 
 
 No sun nor song but only strife. 
 
 With care and anguish swelling ; 
 
 Half sick of life, its aches and care. 
 Neglected and unknown ; 
 
 Nor Heavhi accepts my anxious prayer, 
 Though it embrace the throne. 
 
 Lean Povert}^ stands in the door 
 
 And stares with grinning vengence ; 
 
 Tis hell behind, and fear before. 
 
 With all their racking engines. 
 
 Wliile wealth is lavished on the air. 
 For some fond lordling's notion ; 
 
 And worth must wallow in dispair. 
 
 And take the swine’s proportion. 
 
 How oft beneatli the briar’s shade. 
 Some delicate flow’r is blasted ; 
 
 That, had the sun his healing stayed, 
 Would blossom while it lasted. 
 
 Yet mine is but the plaintive cry 
 Of many another one. 
 
 Who lacks the Christian sympathy. 
 Beneath a cliristian sun ; 
 
 Mid walls of mocking cares to dwell, 
 Unknown and sore neglected ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 10^ 
 
 With all the mental imps of hell, 
 
 Around us close collected. 
 
 Yet, O ! for some deviner power, 
 
 Within this silly breast; 
 
 To know the way and feel the hour, 
 
 That I am truly blest. 
 
 Then from these trials, songs would rise^ 
 And hope spring from despair; 
 
 And in the valle}^ leave behind 
 A needless load of care. 
 
 GENTLY NOW THE CLOSING DAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Gently now the closing day 
 Folds its wearied wing to rest; 
 
 While I am sad and far awa}^ 
 
 From him, the one I love the best. 
 
 II. 
 
 Unfold thy wing, O, setting Sun, 
 
 And through the azure, soar amain; 
 
 Until thou findst my wandering one. 
 
 And bring him back to me again. 
 
 m. 
 
 But now, thou’rt gone ; thy heavy eye 
 Is closed to rest and quiet sleep; 
 
 While through the gathering darkness, I 
 Must still live on, and watch and weep. 
 
110 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 MEMORY* 
 
 When the great eye of day is closed in quiet 
 sleep, 
 
 And Heaven’s roof leaks drops of glitter- 
 ing gold, 
 
 Dame Memory glides in with musings deep 
 
 And at our side, doth sweet communion 
 hold. 
 
 How sweet, to listen to her stories old; 
 
 And dear forgotten days to live once more ; 
 
 And warm our hands, to the kindly fire 
 that told 
 
 Some simple tale, sweet rural scenes of yore, 
 
 Fond homely joys with Ileav’n presiding o*er. 
 
 Where parental graces blessed the happy 
 hour 
 
 That prattling children thronged the hearth 
 before, 
 
 Or climbed their grandsire’s knee his praise 
 to share ; 
 
 And feel the pressure of a mother’s tender 
 care; 
 
 Fond memories of home and that lost hour, 
 
 When indulgent Heaven grants her richest 
 store. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 LOVERS REWARD* 
 
 I. 
 
 Beneath yon drooping willow tree, 
 
 IVe lingered long and sighed full sore, 
 For him, that once was far from me, 
 
 My soldier lad, on a distant shore, 
 
 II. 
 
 Fall, heaved this breast, with bodings drear^ 
 Of death and dangers of the field; 
 
 But now, rny soldier lad is near, 
 
 To soothe my heart and bosom shield, 
 
 III. 
 
 No more shall thoughts of sickening fear 
 This bosom rend, with bodings sore ; 
 
 For now, my soldier lad is near, 
 
 And I am happy evermore. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Blow winds, your wildest blasts enrage! 
 
 Boom cannons, with your murdering roar! 
 My grief no longer ye engage. 
 
 Nor sorrow troubles any more. 
 
 V. 
 
 Angels may harp, with happy sway, 
 
 And feast on beauty round the throne ; 
 Yet I am happier than they; 
 
 For now my soldier lad is home. 
 
112 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 NOW THE WEE BIRDIES PLAY* 
 
 I. 
 
 ^ow tlie wee birdies play. 
 
 As the gentle winds swa}^ 
 
 The rree tops so bright and sunny, O ; 
 And ilieir little liearts beat. 
 
 To the melody sweet, 
 
 For their lives are so light and bonny, O. 
 
 n. 
 
 And their little throats swell, 
 
 With the notes, they love well, 
 
 And their songs are sweet and cherry, O; 
 Yet this bosom is sad, 
 
 Though theirs seem so glad. 
 
 And the day is long and weary, O. 
 
 in. 
 
 But how else, could my heart be 
 When so far, a party 
 
 Has wandered away from his dearie ? 
 
 I think on tiie ph a.^ure. 
 
 My sweetheart and treasure. 
 
 And how could my heart be but weary! 
 
 FAR OVER THE NORTH* 
 
 I. 
 
 ^i’ar over tlie North, on a mountain side. 
 Where the smooth lakes dimple deep and 
 wide; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 113: 
 
 Where the birds sing sweet and the soft 
 winds glide, 
 
 And the banks are bright and sunny, O » 
 II. 
 
 Though the land is poor and the rocks are 
 steep, 
 
 Yet over the moss, the ivies creep; 
 
 And through the grass the posies peep^ 
 
 To greet the day, so bonny, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ill such a land, on such a side, 
 
 Does the idle of this heart reside. 
 
 Of all that land, the life and pride ; 
 
 And the hope of many a lover. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But in one short year when Spring returns^ 
 And the sun again on the heather burns; 
 But in one short year when Spring returns,. 
 And she’s my own, forever. 
 
 LAST EVENING* 
 
 I. 
 
 Last evening as the sun went down 
 And stars their watch were waking, 
 My heart received her mortal wound ; 
 This love-lorn breast is breaking, O* 
 
114 
 
 ["OEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 T?was then, she said, she’d ne’er be mine, 
 Nor longer, would she tarry, O ; 
 
 My heart its grief can ne’er confine, 
 
 My sweet heart and my Carrie, O, 
 
 III. 
 
 "'Though I may mourn, love’s bosom torn, 
 To me she’ll ne’er return, O ; 
 
 Yet the love I bear, shall wither ne’er, 
 But for her ever burn, O. 
 
 SPRINGS 
 
 hill and wood and through each slum- 
 b’ring vale. 
 
 Now maiden Spring, with gentlest graces, 
 trips ; 
 
 Each sleeping flower presses to her lips. 
 And kisses it to making, with some tale, 
 And pleasant told, its blushes to avail ; 
 
 And while she waits, the birds their notes 
 renew; 
 
 "^rhe skies grow mild and flow’rs distill 
 their dew ; 
 
 A?id soars on rising wing, the buxom gale. 
 
 Composed on a most lovely morning in the early spring of 
 "^©8, while lying in great pain ; nature’ s seeming mockery 
 my misfortune, produced in me an unwonted gloom of 
 i^eiancholy. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 115 
 
 But as for me tlirough woods of waking 
 green, 
 
 With her to roam, alas, I may no more; 
 
 As ere this sorry hour — which should 
 have been — 
 
 That bids me tlms to suffer long and sore; 
 
 Yet wisdom whispers, folly to refrain, 
 
 ’Tis noble, still to bear and not com- 
 plain.” 
 
 A FATHER^S PROTEST. 
 
 T. 
 
 Yon castle’s walls are chill and lonely, 
 Though crowned with every art : 
 
 And their frowning lord is old and stony 
 Is his polished heart. 
 
 II. 
 
 Tliere grace and rank and wealth’s display, 
 Thou freely may’st partake ; 
 
 But these humble joys, when fled away. 
 
 Will make thy poor heart break. 
 
 HI. 
 
 And to see my blossom bent and torn, 
 
 And weeping bitter dew ; 
 
 With a cruel world to pass in scorn, 
 
 Will make my heart break, too. 
 
116 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 THOU LITTLE BIRD ON YONDER TREE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou little bird on yonder tree, 
 
 That tells thy tale so piteously, 
 
 Has sorrow's arrow pierced thee 
 Or grief, thy little bosom ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Has death thy little birdies pressed. 
 
 That nestled neath thy pitying breast ? 
 
 Or some mean villain robbed tliy nest 
 Of its wee blossom ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Or was thy little mate unkind; 
 
 And thou cant'st no sweet pity find, 
 
 That thus thou tells thy sorrowing mind 
 So piteously ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, tune, for me, thy sweeter lay. 
 
 Of budding joys and opening day ; 
 
 With grief and sorrow far away, 
 
 So soothingly. 
 
 V. 
 
 Earth has ’nough sorrows of its own. 
 
 With piteous sighs, to weep and moan 
 Troubles in throngs and grief alone, 
 
 Plods on in tears. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 117 
 
 VI. 
 
 Earth were a dreary lot and waste, 
 
 If Heav’n with all her glories pressed, 
 Spared not thy sweeter lay, to bless 
 And charm our cares. 
 
 QUEEN OF THE LILIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Queen of tlie garden, lily of girls. 
 
 Come out for your lover is sighing ; 
 
 And smile on his grief, with your shining 
 curls, 
 
 Ere the spark in his bosom is dying. 
 
 II. 
 
 <3ome out from the dancing and out from the 
 light. 
 
 Come out to your seat in the garden ; 
 
 For his aching bosom is brooding the night, 
 And sighing and sighing for pardon. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Queen of the lilies, garland of girls, 
 
 O, haste to j^our lonely lover ; 
 
 And smile on his grief with your shining 
 curls. 
 
 Ere he leaves you to weep forever. 
 
IIB 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 A NIGHT IN JUNE, 
 
 The moon, her golden horn in crescent set, 
 Now rests upon the margin of the wood, 
 And the soft wind steals by in silent mood, 
 
 Beneath the stars that, mid the dewy wet, 
 
 Trip o’er the milky path, or brightly set 
 Their jeweled faces on Heav’ns concave old ; 
 That his broad roof leaks drops of glitter* 
 ing gold ; 
 
 Or seem the angels round their portals 
 flitting. 
 
 O, sweet, the scene, while earth’s thus 
 kindly lighted, 
 
 And gentle lovers rove by hill and stream; 
 Earth seems not half so sad, with sin be* 
 flighted ; 
 
 Now sin and sorrow pass, as in a dream, 
 
 And Heav’fl indulgent-half beholds the 
 shame, 
 
 And fires the soul vvdth her eternal flame. 
 
I'OKMS. 
 
 il® 
 
 JUST OVER THE WEST. 
 
 I. 
 
 Just over the West, 
 
 Lives the lad I love best ; 
 
 And the lad tliat loves me dearly, O.. 
 And his heart is as true. 
 
 As the heavens are blue, 
 
 Or the stars that twinkle so clearly, O.. 
 
 II. 
 
 With a fond caress. 
 
 On liis gentle breast, 
 
 And a pledge drawn full sincerly, 
 
 He promised me. 
 
 That my home would be, 
 
 Out in the West full early, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 There meadows grow. 
 
 Where the brooklets flow, 
 
 And the flo wVs in the grass peep cheery,, 
 And the woodland rings, 
 
 Where the wild bird sings. 
 
 And the days are never dreary, O^ 
 
 IV. 
 
 There his herd slowly feeds, 
 
 On the odorous meads, 
 
 As the moon glides by so fleet, 0 ? 
 
 And the soft wind blows, 
 
 Where the wild stream flows, 
 
 And the nights are, aye, so sweet, O*^ 
 
120 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 LOVERS LAMENT, 
 
 1 . 
 
 O’er vale and hill, and heather still, 
 Now flits the sun and shadow ; 
 
 With a heart sore wrung, 
 
 For a joy long gone, 
 
 This aching breast is sad, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 O, for again to meet, and rapture sweet 
 Embrace each ravished bosom ! 
 
 But fell’s the blow that laid so low, 
 
 My sweet and tender blossom. 
 
 III. 
 
 O, Death ! O, Woe ! where may I go. 
 Tracing with cheerless measure. 
 
 To find some fold, where thou so bold. 
 Hast not la’en the sweetest treasure ? 
 
 THE ANGRY GALE,’ 
 
 I. 
 
 The angry gale now sweeps the vale. 
 Complaining and resistless ; 
 
 My heart again, her joys, in vain, 
 Now seeks but, O, so restless. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 121 
 
 TI. 
 
 O, aching soul, whose ceaseless roll 
 Discovers naught but anguish; 
 
 Here, rest the while and care beguile, 
 
 And cease, thou heart, to languish. 
 
 III. 
 
 The rich and proud may seek the crowd, 
 
 Yet seek, in vain, for pleasure ; 
 
 A contented mind is as rare to hnd, 
 
 I wean, as any treasure, 
 
 IV. 
 
 For believe me, joy is ever coy 
 And flees when we pursue her ; 
 
 And the man she blesses, with her fond, 
 caresses, 
 
 He never seeks to view her. 
 
 ' During my early struggles and wandering, I had ofter& 
 witnessed, with much pleasure and regret, the peace and: 
 quiet of a simple rural home ; the wholesome condition oi 
 which I had frequently contrasted with my own restless- 
 one. Of which, the result is the above sentiment. 
 
122 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 ONES ON AN OLD DESERTED SCHOOL 
 HOUSE. 
 
 -Farewell, old home of memories to the heart. 
 Bound fast and dear, that never can depart ; 
 Sweet healing influence of those blissful 
 hours, 
 
 When gentle love distilled her lavish, 
 showers. 
 
 Farewell, mild mother of fair industry. 
 
 In low complaint, my heart still turns to thee ; 
 To thee, when simple happiness reclined. 
 Beneath thy mandate and thy mantle kind. 
 When sweet content, within thy rustic bower, 
 Usurped all care and blessed the happy hour; 
 When hardy sports thy children strong im- 
 pelled. 
 
 The foremost prize, their noisy cry was held; 
 But now the sports that once bedecked thy 
 green. 
 
 No more, beneath the lonely shades are seen. 
 The mindful master now no longer hears 
 The busy murmur, swallowed up in tears. 
 Like patches of snow, on some bare moun- 
 tain spread. 
 
 The foam of time had settled on his head. 
 His smiles, no more, upon their merits shine, 
 Nor looks reprove the ill-behaving line. 
 
 His rule no longer on their mischief plays, 
 
POEMS. 
 
 123 
 
 Pond memories of thy sweet and happy 
 days. 
 
 No more at morn, with mild and reverend 
 mien, 
 
 The gentle master at his desk is seen ; 
 
 With open book, and venerable gaze, 
 
 Explaining God's high works and wond'rous 
 ways. 
 
 How Daniel, in a den of lions slept ; 
 
 Or the seven plagues o’er stricken Egypt 
 swept. 
 
 How through the sea, his chosen tribes he 
 led 
 
 And manna, dropped from Heav’n, his people 
 fed. 
 
 Or Moses on the Mount of Sina's range. 
 
 Beheld the burning and the visage strange. 
 
 As through its clay, his eager soul devine 
 
 In pleading earnestness did yearning shine; 
 
 How once, the loving Savior died to save 
 
 The kind, the coward, the severe, the brave. 
 
 Or how Elijah, earth^s long-honored sire, 
 
 Swept Heaven’s vault in chariots of fire ; 
 
 His noble soul, with these high themes in- 
 spired, 
 
 Exultant to its native realms retired ; 
 
 And mid-way flung his mantle o’er his kin. 
 
 Happy to wrap some thoughtless wanderer in. 
 
 Hb aged voice did full of earnest ring, 
 
124 
 
 P0BM8. 
 
 As some Zion sonnet he would ever sing. 
 Then low in chorus, all rejoined in prayer ; 
 O, sweet ! the scene, to listless memory deaiv 
 Alas ! no more, return those happy days, 
 
 In painful cities’ unfamiliar ways. 
 
 Of scenes, like these, sad memories arise ; 
 Their mournful music swells and sader dies,. 
 The master now in foreign climes must roam. 
 Far from his children and deserted home. 
 Mild was the murmur when at the long 
 day’s close. 
 
 The ready noise of ill-used bdoks uprose, 
 Thrown careless in the old rough desks de- 
 faced, 
 
 By nature’s youthful artists rudely traced. 
 No more, tlie merry buzz of lips shall bloom. 
 Nor stiffled laughter titters round the room. 
 No more, the indignant master’s voice m 
 heard ; 
 
 The busy murmur is no longer stirred. 
 Within these hoary walls the master’s rule 
 In frolic oft has played on me, old school ; 
 ^ut crushed amid thy ruins now it lies, 
 Unheard, unheaded, ne’er obeyed to rise ; 
 No more, its stinging eloquence shall give 
 The mild offender better aims to live. 
 
 Nor more, within thy portals open flung, 
 
 In pressing chorus, throng thy happy youngs 
 As some bold chief, with laurels bravely won^ 
 
POEMS. 
 
 125 
 
 Bears his soiled piaines so proudly to the 
 sun, 
 
 Thy battered turret once did’st lordly raise, 
 O’er many a poor yet proud admirer’s gaze i 
 But now deserted and tliy honors gone, 
 
 The S})oiler heaps thy beauty o’er the lawn. 
 Now ruin carves her image in deca}^, 
 
 And all thy happy ciiarms have fled away ; 
 All but the charms that chase in memory’s 
 train 
 
 Aiid over-taking, turn the past to pain. 
 
 Too soon, this wretched yet this sacred spot, 
 That once so sweetly smiled, shall know thee 
 not. 
 
 Beneath the elms where in reposeful shade. 
 Thy kindred rested, and thy honor stayed ; 
 Now mean dishonor marks thy resting place, 
 And desolation dost thy form embrace. 
 Where once, the happy voice of laughter 
 played, 
 
 Somber and still, repose thy mournful glade ; 
 The oriole resigns his warblings mild. 
 
 To the lone owl that mopes with screeches 
 wild. 
 
 And all around upon thy dismal green. 
 Where game and gambol once bedecked the 
 scene, 
 
 Disconsolate, within thy lonely bower, 
 
 Thy ruins waste reveal the tyrant’s power* 
 
126 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Soon empty grandeur holds thy modest 
 place, 
 
 All sad deception of thy kindly grace ; 
 
 O, heartless pomp, O, all unfeeling pride, 
 
 Still, still for thee, we lay life's little sweet 
 aside, 
 
 Ohange and decay usurp thy blissful place, 
 
 The tyrant's grasp thy simple charms deface ^ 
 
 Thy cold remains confess the spoiler's hand,. 
 
 Shame and dishoner linger o'er the land. 
 
 The spot, where once in honored state thou 
 rose, 
 
 In sloth and indolence doth now repose ; 
 
 The loveliness that once adorned thy door. 
 
 To thy lone children shall be known no 
 more. 
 
 Sad ! sad ! the sight that meets their languid 
 eyes. 
 
 Where on the green, thy shapeless ruins rise.. 
 
 Beneath the towering elm-tree’s spreading: 
 shade. 
 
 In sweet content thy happy children 
 played. 
 
 Now, helpless grown and indigent with 
 years. 
 
 Thy beauty faded with maternal years, 
 
 Like some lone outcast, thou art left to die,. 
 
 Endure their charity who pass you by ; 
 
 Or brook the hard hand of the tyrant’s power. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 12T 
 
 In this, thy helpless and degenerate hour. 
 Thy beauty round in rude confusion lay, 
 
 The funereal fragments of that blissful day.. 
 Sad ! sad ! my eyes behold the dismal scene^ 
 Where dust and ashes only intervene. 
 
 And, O, to satisfy man’s paltry pride. 
 
 The passions of the heart are laid aside. 
 Grief claims my heart and pain requires my 
 soul. 
 
 While thus, I see thy helpless form unroll* 
 No more, these wandering feet shall ere 
 return. 
 
 To scenes so dear that can no longer burn^^ 
 A fond farewell; and yet where ere I stray^ 
 Sweet memories of thee will cling for aye.. 
 Now rests thy honored embers in the dust ; 
 Thy end, attained and well-performed, thw 
 trust. 
 
 Hence, thou shalt live in dreams, if live at, 
 all ; 
 
 Vanished from view and from thy children^a 
 call. 
 
 O ! tranquil be thy rest, thy sleep serene. 
 While memory still marks the gentle scene,. 
 
128 
 
 POEMS 
 
 DEAR LITTLE LAMP. 
 
 Dear little lamp so trim and bright 
 That glimmers so sweetly thy soft beaming 
 light, 
 
 And royally feasts 1113^ poor ravished sight 
 On all sorts of dainties so pure and so white; 
 Torch of fair Wisdom that points to the 
 right, 
 
 Like the beacon that guides through the 
 dark gathering night. 
 
 Dear little lamp by whose soft beaming light, 
 Tis so quiet to read and so pleasant to write, 
 Dear little lamp so trim and bright. 
 
 Pictures I’ve seen and stories read 
 Of deluded swains afar that were led 
 By will-o-the-wisp or wild-fire dread ; 
 
 And down in their caverns of glimmering red 
 The gray old witches their sorceries said. 
 But none of their spells in the heart ever 
 bred 
 
 A faith in the living or love for the dead ; 
 And none of them hath the sweet charm to 
 spread 
 
 Hope in the heart and a calm in head, 
 
 Like the dear little lamp that so sweetly has 
 fed 
 
 My mind with the pictures and stories I’ve 
 read. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 129 
 
 DO YOU ASK ME. 
 
 Do you ask me why I say, 
 
 Heav'n were drear with thee away ; ” 
 Must I still assert for aye 
 O, Jessie, that I love you ? 
 
 Were I a bird and thou a rose, 
 
 How I would sing in love's repose 
 From earliest dawn to evening's close ! 
 Could songs to pity move you. 
 
 But thou art human and confine 
 My notes to themes far less sublime, 
 
 Nor let'st me strike one chord of thine, 
 Though far deviner. 
 
 Inly I seek with notes of grief 
 From love’s treasure-house to draw relief, 
 Or on thy lips to play the thief 
 Nor feel myself, a sinner. 
 
 Yet in my heart Pll sing of thee, 
 
 Sweet nymph of mirth and jollity, 
 
 That filPst my soul with thoughts so free 
 Of joy and pleasure. 
 
 But did poet ere sing the whole he knew; 
 Or the woodlark, half his ditty through ? 
 Nor can this heart, its love for you 
 In full round measure. 
 
130 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 O, CRUEL SEA. 
 
 I. 
 
 I stand on the shore as the ships roll by, 
 And list to the roar and the sea-gull’s cry ; 
 And watch the waves break, break in vain 
 On the great dark rocks again and again, 
 And seemingly forever. 
 
 II. 
 
 I stand on the shore and gaze o’er the foam. 
 The restless tide and the sailor’s home ; 
 
 The sailor’s home and the grave, I fear, 
 
 Of many a hope and loved one dear 
 That more return shall never. 
 
 III. 
 
 O, sea of love, O, sea of life, 
 
 O, sea of calm and restless strife, 
 
 How fondly dreams the heart of thee, 
 
 O, sea of Death and m3^stery, 
 
 Whose hopes thou long hast severed 
 
 LOVE’S SACRIFICE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou ne’er hast walked life’s dreary way, 
 Nor trod the path alone; 
 
 Where thorns and briars thick array. 
 
 O’er drifting sand and stone. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 131 
 
 II. 
 
 But mid the flow’ry realms of love, 
 Where only grace reposes ; 
 
 And gentle show’rs, amid their bow’rs, 
 Awake the sleeping roses. 
 
 III. 
 
 And would’st thou all thy joys forsake, 
 To share my lot of anguish ? 
 
 Nay, rather, let this poor heart break, 
 Than ever thou should’st languish. 
 
 THE CHRIST-HEART. 
 
 Earth heaps its urn, with sorrows of its own ; 
 Heav’n holds her healing balm at faith’s 
 arm’s length, 
 
 For somber insults in pity to atone 
 A fallen race, endowed with nobler strength, 
 T’ attain its native heights and grateful own 
 The care that led their happ}^ steps, at length. 
 Our groans, our sighs sink deep as we make 
 them ; 
 
 In pitchy dark, alone, we grope along ; 
 Yearn for the light, to mingle in its throng. 
 And feel the leaping pulses of a world un- 
 known. 
 
 Yet morning breaks, its beauties, fain to 
 wake them. 
 
132 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 We stand enchanted by its song. 
 
 And still are loath to take them; 
 
 And come what will, some few will still for- 
 sake them ; 
 
 Who ask they know not what and still com- 
 plain, 
 
 When good is wrought and evil is denied. 
 
 The spotless robe is soiled with bloody stain; 
 
 Again, the lowly Lord is crucified. 
 
 Yet hands that were foul in the wounds of 
 the cruel nails. 
 
 Are washed and cleansed by that self-same 
 gore; 
 
 Infinite love in harmony prevails 
 
 O’er the soul that raved in blinding night 
 before. 
 
 Touched by the hand that’s softer than the 
 dew 
 
 Of crystal gems, on rarest flow’ry hue, 
 
 The eager soul in stately stature stands ; 
 
 Out-stretches wide its answering hungry 
 hands; 
 
 Feels the new life, new light, new happy all 
 
 Steal through his being and leap its prison 
 wall ; 
 
 Light, at the touch, in all its glories shine. 
 
 And all the world within is rapturous 
 devine. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 133 
 
 ON YONDER HILL. 
 
 I. 
 
 By yon flow’ry hill, where all is still, 
 
 And the daisies spread their cover ; 
 Through field and grove, I love to rove, 
 
 And muse on my true lover. 
 
 II. 
 
 Though far away yet niglit and day, 
 
 I'm ever with him straying ; 
 
 Nor time nor place nor ocean’s space 
 Can ere our loves betraying. 
 
 III. 
 
 For day and night my prayers take flight 
 To Heav’nto still watch o’er him ; 
 
 Back to these arms from the war’s alarms 
 In safty to restore him. 
 
 rv. 
 
 For o’er the wild wave, my hero brave 
 Is fighting for his nation, 
 
 And fear nor foe, nor threat nor blow 
 Can drive him from his station. 
 
 V. 
 
 But soon he’ll come, to his love and home 
 And joys will ever blossom ; 
 
 And the cruel dart that would pierce this 
 heart 
 
 He’ll shield it from my bosom. 
 
134 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 THOU LITTLE BROOK* 
 
 T. 
 
 Thou little brook tliat babbles ou, 
 
 Nor ever stops to tarr^^, 
 
 O, tell me where my love has flown ; 
 
 And have ye seen my Carrie ? 
 
 TI. 
 
 Beneath the moonbeams’ gentle ray, 
 
 Adown the distant heather; 
 
 Or ’long the old familiar way, 
 
 We oft, have roved together. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Or crossed the sands that girt the stream ; 
 
 Or watched the minnows wander ; 
 
 But O, those days are all a-dream — 
 
 Alone, I sit and ponder. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And now wherere these feet may roam, 
 
 With wandering ever weary, 
 
 I look in vain, I weep alone, 
 
 In absence of my dearie. 
 
 V, 
 
 Ye pitying powers in Heav’n above, 
 
 That weep when mortals languish. 
 
 Bind up this broken heart of love ; 
 
 This aching grief and anguish. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 135 
 
 DISCON TENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 “ How pleaf^ant tlie life of a bird Doustbe/^ 
 We say and sigli for our portion ; 
 
 But if we bad to work for a meal, as he, 
 We'd sigli, with a different notion. 
 
 II. 
 
 To rise with tlie earliest peep of day, 
 
 And sing o'er a world of troubles ; 
 
 And if we did’nt get out and scratch away. 
 Could live on the fame of our bubbles. 
 
 III. 
 
 And how many are they that fret away 
 Without a heart to ]>ity ; 
 
 With their hopes crushed in the thong and 
 hurried on, 
 
 In the great and crowded city. 
 
 THE MONTH IS MAY. 
 
 I. 
 
 The month is May, the fields are gay, 
 With warblings sweet and many, O; 
 Yet nature's treat was ne'er so sweet. 
 As a passing glance of Jennie, O. 
 
 II. 
 
 I pulled a rose from off its thorn. 
 
 To deck her bonny bosom, O ; 
 
 But, O, her eyes and sweet surprise ! 
 They shamed that silly blossom O. 
 
136 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 III. 
 
 Then what matters if the nights come on, 
 And the days, with clouds, are dreary, O ? 
 While my love is kind I ne’er can find 
 A thought, but ’s sweet and cheery, O. 
 
 LOVERS DESPAIR. 
 
 Jean, with eyes of opening day, 
 
 Spare this heart their conquering sway ; 
 
 O, remove those tempting lips. 
 
 Sweet as roses’ blushing tips ; 
 
 Who so late has given vovv 
 To love anotiier, never now! 
 
 Take away those lips forsworn. 
 
 Ere I die of love forlorn. 
 
 Tempt me not to taste the pleasure ; 
 
 Lovers know not end nor measure. 
 
 They were made to bless another. 
 
 Spare this heart witli grief to cover ; 
 
 Spare thee still, my heart to languish, 
 
 Lest my love should die of anguish. 
 
 Had we never met to sever. 
 
 Sweet, were life to live forever. 
 
 Now death were sweet and hell were cheery 
 Beside this breast so lone and dreary; 
 Heart-wrung joys and moans sore grieve me, 
 Only, love, that I must leave thee. 
 
 Fare thee well, alas, forever 1 
 
POEMS. 
 
 im 
 
 (r 
 
 Meetings bind us but to sever; 
 
 Dark’s the world, my path how lonely I 
 Tet ’twere bright if only — only — 
 
 It were vain to mock with telling ; 
 
 All too deep this sad breast’s swelling. 
 
 Now, farewell, I swear, but never 
 Can this heart ere love another. 
 
 Lonely grief iny breast is thronging,, 
 
 Fears and unrequited longing. 
 
 Yet I know, our love’s not wasted ; 
 
 Love so true was ne’er misplaced. 
 
 Yet if we had never parted, 
 
 I had ne*er been broken-liearted. 
 
 YE SOULLESS GODS, 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye soulless gods, that strut and stare 
 And sneer at us poor mortals, 
 
 We only ask you what is fair ; 
 
 We’ll guard our own mean portals, 
 
 II. 
 
 Time’s cycling wheel shall soon turn roun# 
 When Fortune may forecast, O, 
 
 And we poor spokes, tliat bite the groun^,^ 
 JShall reach the top at last, O. 
 
138 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 HA^E YE MY SWEET NANNIE SEEN/ 
 
 i. 
 
 Ha’e ye my sweet Nannie seen ? 
 
 Ha’e ye seen her, ha'e ye seen her ? 
 
 Ane wee glance wad set ye keen 
 On't to win lier, on ’t to win her. 
 
 II. 
 
 For Nannie 's 3^oung and Nannie ’s fair 
 And Nannie has a queenly air, 
 
 And eyes wad set ye wheeling, O; 
 
 My heart, Pve put in trust wi* hers. 
 And all its throes and aches she cures ; 
 And aye, wi’ joy. I’m reeling, O. 
 
 III. 
 
 Could ere a lass so faithful prove. 
 
 To bless a heart so, bless a heart so ; 
 Could Heav’n an equal transport move 
 Or joy impart so, joy impart so ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then Heav’n were fair, indeed, and sweet. 
 Then lleav’n were all our fancies mete, 
 And Heav’n were love itself replete ; 
 
 But Heav’n were no more than it. 
 
 ' For these few meager words borrowed from the Scotish 
 dialect, I suppose an apology is forthcoming to those who 
 are not aware of the natural aptitude of that language to 
 "music. But the rather, it has been instead a source of much 
 regret to me that 1 did not have the courage to use it more. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 139 
 
 Cs 
 
 V. 
 
 But cease, thou love-provoking lass, 
 
 To tempt my heart beyond repast, 
 
 For if Heav’n were love and long should 
 last, 
 
 In Heav’n, I ne’er could stan’ it 
 
 YE LITTLE STARS* 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye little stars that coldly shine, 
 
 0,^how ye mock this soul of mine. 
 
 This heart so frail and human ; 
 
 This little pause of joys and fears. 
 
 This breath of sorrow and of tears 
 And woes, so justly due man. 
 
 Silent and calm ye swing 
 Ages beneath your wing 
 No question justice ; 
 
 Serving the common plan 
 Of Father God and man 
 Though we oft condemn it. 
 
 In all the ages ye have rolled 
 What varied scenes ye must behold 
 Upon this little planet. 
 
 Our best laid schemes though ne’er so small. 
 Ne’er see their finish all in all 
 No matter how we plan it. 
 
140 
 
 POEMS.^ 
 
 II. 
 
 And in tliiy world of show and seeing, 
 
 How few are good for love of the beings 
 How many ’cause they dare not be other- 
 wise ! 
 
 For the show is so enhancing 
 And the seeing so entrancing, 
 
 Like moths, we flit to where the danger 
 lies. 
 
 And so sweet is the deceiving, 
 
 But alas — the stern retrieving ! 
 
 Oh, there’s the fire that all our virtue tries^ 
 
 And that tender little blossom. 
 
 Within this human bosom, 
 
 Ere we know it, withers with the heat and 
 dies, 
 
 III. 
 
 O, this idle, idle dreaming, 
 
 And this sad deceptive seeming 
 
 That robs the soul of what it prizes most! 
 
 And this dark and sad devining 
 And this drear and ill-repining 
 
 Of broken hopes and vanished pleasures 
 lost ! 
 
 Yet if the soul were more in earnest 
 Of the purer food it yearneth. 
 
 To lift itself above the common host;. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 141 
 
 (i 
 
 Then earth were sweeter than it seemeth, 
 And Heav’n were nearer than we dreameth, 
 In spite the smiling comics’ cruel boast. 
 
 SING ON THOU^S HEARDJ 
 
 I. 
 
 Sing on, thou’s heard, thou little bird, 
 Thou art so blithe and merry, 
 
 From the jostling throng, that hurries on, 
 A moment will I tarry. 
 
 II. 
 
 Thou hurts my breast, thou bonny thrush, 
 Thy joy overflows with singing; 
 
 But seething woe, with careless throe, 
 
 This aching heart is wringing. 
 
 III. 
 
 For o’er her grave, the willows wave ; 
 
 Her grave, that was my Carrie, 
 
 And if this breast soon finds no rest, 
 Forever will I tarry. 
 
 ’ Near the scene of a burial, under operation, a little 
 thrush chanced to alight on a grave stone, near which I 
 was sitting, and poured forth such pitiously sweet music, as 
 to deepen the passion of the above verses far beyond intel- 
 lectual recognition. This, together with the scene, I wit- 
 nessed, so solicitous of sympathy and pity, and a tremor of 
 tender memories so wrought upon me that I broke down ut- 
 terly in a flood of grief and tears. 
 
142 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 ELEGY* 
 
 Thou pale and silent kingdom of the dead, 
 Within thy sacred precincts and thy power 
 
 Here may I bow a reverential head, 
 
 With Heav’n and thee, to spend a hallowed 
 hour. 
 
 With Heav’n and thee ; for what holds 
 Heav’n more dear, 
 
 Than this, thy ancient solitary place? 
 
 Where in their mouldering ruins now appear. 
 The crumbling shrines of an eternal race. 
 
 Here may I rest, here muse all undisturbed. 
 Beneath the solemn stillness of thy shade ; 
 
 Save that mid-summer’s songster’s voice is 
 heard ; 
 
 Tlie falling stroke of yonder sexton's 
 spade. 
 
 Save where yon brooklet murmers to the 
 wind 
 
 That heaves a low and melancholy sigh ; 
 
 Or that yon lover with distracted mind. 
 Weeps o'er some grave and turns away 
 to die. 
 
 Within these walls, that liold the silent dead,. 
 Full many a heart, that care hath sorely 
 pressed ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 14a 
 
 Feet that no more this mortal path shall 
 tread 
 
 Have laid them down to their eternal rest*. 
 
 Here Death hath struck full many a fatal 
 dart ; 
 
 The reverend sire his last farewell hatlr 
 said ; 
 
 And many a tlow’r of some fond mother’s 
 heart 
 
 Now blossoms in the kingdom of the dead^ 
 
 Here many a saint thus far his race hath run;. 
 
 Here laid him to his long-expected rest; 
 
 Here waits the rising of another sun ; 
 
 A brighter world of peace and quiet blest. 
 
 Here many an unknown hero’s found repose^ 
 
 After the weary toils of battle o’er; 
 
 Here Death has brought to an untimely 
 close 
 
 Full many a book of care and trouble 
 sore. 
 
 Yet for the few how smooth, the years have 
 fled, 
 
 In sweet domestic | eace and happy sway I 
 
 No star of gloiy her false luster shed ; 
 
 Nor honor, pride to vice allured away. 
 
144 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 S^re rests tlie soul in its embodied clay, 
 'Guarded, we feel, by Heaven’s attendant 
 power ; 
 
 Does soul with soul here intercouse convey. 
 Or in oblivion, wait the appointed hour ? 
 
 Some emblem of that fondly wished-for rest, 
 By loving hands upon the grave is spread ; 
 'To point the mourner to that kingdom blest, 
 Where never grief intrudes with heartless 
 tread. 
 
 For th’ many here no more life’s feast shall 
 spread ; 
 
 The ceaseless train of care nor longer roll; 
 Fast in the silent recess of the dead. 
 
 And the eternal kingdom of the soul. 
 
 Here rest together in a common place. 
 
 The fool too oft in error’s path that trod ; 
 And feet that loved the Heavenly way to 
 grace, 
 
 That led unto their Father and their God. 
 
 Is there a soul so lost to faith and love. 
 That as he lays some darling in the grave, 
 With no fond longing hopes to meet above ; 
 Nor feels the power from death and sin 
 to save ? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 146 
 
 
 There is a power, wliose soul-asserting love 
 Touches the heart with that eternal flame ; 
 Teaches the soul its excelence to prove ; 
 And feel the kinship in a Father’s name. 
 
 Upon the brow of care, the aching breast, 
 Some gentle hand is laid with loving care; 
 And at His touch the soul receives new rest. 
 And loves to linger in the arms of prayer. 
 
 Why from that Heavenly star, whose guid- 
 ing ray 
 
 Leads safe across this restless flood of 
 strife, 
 
 Should we, with moorings lost, still choose 
 to stray — 
 
 Lost pilots on the trackless sea of life ? 
 
 And here above this solitary vale, 
 
 How towers old Time, proud monarch of 
 the field ; 
 
 For ages nourished, tempest toiled and hale; 
 For angels, pastime, and to man, a shield. 
 
 And yet beneath this mighty tree of life, 
 How many leaves have fallen into sear ! 
 Whole branches that have yielded to the 
 strife. 
 
 Leave but faint traces of existance here. 
 
146 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Back to her bosom, mother of us all, 
 
 Earth draws her weeping children with a 
 kiss ; 
 
 And on our cares her pitying hand lets 
 fall ; 
 
 And bears the laboring bosom to its rest. 
 
 Too oft, in vain, we wipe the falling tear ; 
 
 Too often, mourn for earthly concord 
 riv’n. 
 
 Tis better far for some they are not here — 
 
 -From sorrow’s pall, to sweet repose of 
 Heav’n. 
 
 Here, in this rude and ill-neglected isle — 
 
 Lone avenue of the poor and nameless 
 dead — 
 
 Where vaunting pride ignores a human 
 smile, 
 
 Sweet nature’s artless gifts around are 
 spread. 
 
 Is this the place to sigh or shed the tear ; 
 
 To mourn a friend that quits the scene of 
 strife ; 
 
 Or this, the place to calm the anxious 
 fear, 
 
 For those wbo’ve anchored in the vale of 
 life ? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 147 
 
 And yet, for those of whom no Heavenly 
 thought 
 
 Of ^weet hereafter, soothes the troubled 
 breast, 
 
 The heaving sigh and tear is timely wrought 
 Alas ! who hope not that eternal rest. 
 
 Earth has no night, this spirit to subdue, 
 
 So furrowed o’er with sorrow or with grief? 
 
 But Heaven's smiling angel presses through ; 
 And on the wings of mercy flies relief. 
 
 Yet ’neath this mortal night the star of 
 hope, 
 
 Too often, shines but to make visible 
 
 Tiie brooding darkness where we blindly 
 grope ; 
 
 And feel the present state more miserable. 
 
 By yon proud shaft that rears its awful head, 
 In grand repose some honored ashes rest; 
 
 What is that voice that mocks pride’s boast- 
 ing spread ; 
 
 On the canopy of beauty writes a jest ? 
 
 And who by force of wisdom can forcast 
 Or mete the bounds of some small kind- 
 ness done ? 
 
 The dew-drop, by the image that it casts, 
 Displays the hidden glories of the sun. 
 
148 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 There is in poverty that spreads a feast, 
 
 An unseen temple rears of Heavenly show; 
 
 There is in vice that levels with the beast, 
 Makes life a jest and every scene is woe. 
 
 Along his solitary waste at eve, 
 
 Black Ignorance wheels his slow and 
 dreary flight ; 
 
 To darker shades where melancholies leave 
 The soul to grope through ghostly caves 
 of night. 
 
 There is a loathing of this mortal breath ; 
 
 A longing for a brighter world than this; 
 
 There is a sweetness in repose of death, 
 
 That mocks our ecstacy of earthly bliss. 
 
 Full many a busli that bore the Heavenly 
 Are, 
 
 Consumed, doth pass away unheard, 
 unseen ; 
 
 Yet the dread spot where the last red coals 
 expire. 
 
 Doth mark the palace where the Lord hath 
 been. 
 
 Each in his somber path plods on alone ; 
 
 His chosen way that leads to his fancied 
 fane ; 
 
POEMS. 
 
 mm 
 
 Unmindful of its sweet and mellow tone,. 
 
 Lets pass unheard, the Heavenl^^ 
 frain. 
 
 Upon this silent sea, grave-billowed o’^ei^ 
 Tne phantom-ships of spirits come and g©^;; 
 
 And on the main, and on the sounding;^' 
 shore. 
 
 Are strewn the shattered wrecks of Bm% 
 and woe. 
 
 And Death, that subtle enemy of all, 
 
 That steals upon us ere we are aware 
 
 What force of wisdom save the Eternal 
 Can scan his scourings through the des- 
 sert air ? 
 
 And yet how sweet, the fondly cherisheil 
 thought 
 
 That lifts the soul above the opening; 
 tomb ; 
 
 That soothes the breast with peaceful quist^ 
 wrought ; 
 
 The solace of a bright eternal home. 
 
 Back from his field of conquest, blood asa^ 
 pain. 
 
 In proud procession and with heartle^v 
 tread. 
 
150 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Time leads his humbled captives in his traii)^ 
 
 To the pale and silent kingdom of the 
 dead. 
 
 But must we mourn, Death consumates the 
 end ; 
 
 Nor list the pean note, the spirit sing ; 
 
 Her exultant triumph nor her peace at- 
 tend, 
 
 That calms the soul and plumes her ready 
 wing ? 
 
 And what, the fear to lay this mortal down 
 
 To yield this brief and weary-panting 
 breath ; 
 
 When mid the drear and darkening pall 
 draws on, 
 
 The closing hour and article of death ? 
 
 Does this dull life determine what we are ? 
 
 Is man the fool and instrument of chance, 
 
 To sweat and labor neath a load of care ; 
 
 And at the finish hope no recompense ? 
 
 And whence, the thought that soothes the 
 aching breast ; 
 
 After the toil of battle, gives repose ; 
 
 That arms witli valor many a soul oppressed, 
 
 To quit the field with a triumphant close? 
 
POEMS. 
 
 151 
 
 G 
 
 There is a place of peace and quiet rest, 
 Where never care with her incessant 
 train, 
 
 Intrudes to harass the sore troubled breast ; 
 But peaceful pleasures do eternal reign. 
 
 This life’s a scene of conflict and of blood 
 With occassional pause of mirth or rest 
 between ; 
 
 Death comes at last and plays the interlude 
 To the last act, and the unending scene. 
 
 FINIS, 
 
 
4