Specimens of American poetry :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ah me! while up the long, long vale of time,
Reflection wanders towards the eternal vast,
How starts the eye, at many a change sublime,
Unbosom'd dimly by the ages pass'd!
What mausoleums crowd the mournful waste!
The tombs of empires fallen! and nations gone!
Each, once inscribed, in gold, with “Aye to last,”
Sate as a queen; proclaim'd the world her own,
And proudly cried, “By me no sorrows shall be known.”

Soon fleets the sunbright form, by man adored.
Soon fell the head of gold, to time a prey;
The arms, the trunk, his cankering tooth devour'd;
And whirlwinds blew the iron dust away.
Where dwelt imperial Timur?—far astray,
Some lonely-musing pilgrim now inquires;
And, rack'd by storms, and hastening to decay,
Mohammed's mosque foresees its final fires;
And Rome's more lordly temple day by day expires.

As o'er proud Asian realms the traveller winds,
His manly spirit, hush'd by terror, falls;
When some deceased town's lost site he finds,
Where ruin wild his pondering eye appals;
Where silence swims along the moulder'd walls,
And broods upon departed grandeur's tomb.
Through the lone, hollow aisles sad echo calls,
At each low step; deep sighs the breathing gloom,
And weeping fields, around, bewail their Empress's doom.

Where o'er an hundred realms, the throne uprose,
The screech-owl nests, the panther builds his home;
Sleep the dull newts, the lazy adders doze,
Where pomp and luxury danced the golden room.
Low lies in dust the sky-resembled dome;
Tall grass around the broken column waves;
And brambles climb, and lonely thistles bloom:

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The moulder'd arch the weedy streamlet laves,
And low resound beneath, unnumber'd sunken graves.

Soon fleets the sun-bright form, by man adored;
And soon man's demon chiefs from memory fade.
In musty volume, now must be explored,
Where dwelt imperial nations, long decay'd.
The brightest meteors angry clouds invade;
And where the wonders glitter'd, none explain.
Where Carthage, with proud hand, the trident sway'd,
Now mud-wall'd cots sit sullen on the plain,
And wandering, fierce, and wild, sequester'd Arabs reign.

In thee, O Albion! queen of nations, live
Whatever splendors earth's wide realms have known;
In thee proud Persia sees her pomp revive;
And Greece her arts; and Rome her lordly throne:
By every wind, thy Tyrian fleets are blown;
Supreme, on fame's dread roll, thy heroes stand;
All ocean's realms thy naval sceptre own;
Of bards, of sages, how august thy band!
And one rich Eden blooms around thy garden'd land.

But O how vast thy crimes! through heaven's great year,
When few centurial suns have traced their way;
When southern Europe, worn by feuds severe;
Weak, doting, fallen, has bow'd to Russian sway;
And setting glory beam'd her farewell ray;
To waste, perchance, thy brilliant fields shall turn;
In dust, thy temples, towers, and towns decay;
The forest howl, where London's turrets burn;
And all thy garlands deck thy sad, funereal urn.

Some land, scarce glimmering in the light of fame,
Sceptred with arts, and arms (if I divine)
Some unknown wild, some shore without a name,
In all thy pomp, shall then majestic shine.
As silver-headed Time's slow years decline,
Not ruins only meet the inquiring eye:
Where round yon mouldering oak vain brambles twine,
The filial stem, already towering high,
Ere long shall stretch his arms, and nod in yonder sky.

Where late resounded the wild woodland roar,
Now heaves the palace, now the temple smiles;
Where frown'd the rude rock, and the desert shore,

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Now pleasure sports, and business want beguiles,
And commerce wings her flight to thousand isles;
Culture walks forth; gay laugh the loaded fields;
And jocund labor plays his harmless wiles;
Glad science brightens; art her mansion builds;
And peace uplifts her wand, and heaven his blessing yields.

O'er these sweet fields, so lovely now, and gay,
Where modest nature finds each want supplied,
Where home-born happiness delights to play,
And counts her little flock, with household pride,
Long frown'd, from age to age, a forest wide:
Here hung the slumbering bat; the serpent dire
Nested his brood, and drank the impoison'd tide;
Wolves peal'd, the dark drear night, in hideous choir;
Nor shrank the unmeasured howl from Sol's terrific fire.

No charming cot imbank'd the pebbly stream;
No mansion tower'd, nor garden teem'd with good;
No lawn expanded to the April beam;
Nor mellow harvest hung its bending load;
Nor science dawn'd; nor life with beauty glow'd;
Nor temple whiten'd, in the enchanting dell;
In clusters wild, the sluggish wigwam stood;
And, borne in snaky paths the Indian fell
Now aim'd the death unseen, now scream'd the tiger-yell.

E'en now, perhaps, on human dust I tread,
Pondering, with solemn pause, the wrecks of time;
Here sleeps, perchance, among the vulgar dead,
Some chief, the lofty theme of Indian rhyme,
Who loved ambition's cloudy steep to climb,
And smiled, death, dangers, rivals, to engage;
Who roused his followers' souls to deeds sublime,
Kindling to furnace heat vindictive rage,
And soar'd Cæsarean heights, the Phœnix of his age.

In yon small field, that dimly steals from sight,
(From yon small field these meditations grow,)
Turning the sluggish soil, from morn to night,
The plodding hind, laborious, drives his plough,
Nor dreams, a nation sleeps his foot below.
There, undisturbed by the roaring wave,
Released from war, and far from deadly foe,
Lies down, in endless rest, a nation brave,
And trains, in tempests born, there find a quiet grave.

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Oft have I heard the tale, when matron sere
Sung to my infant ear the song of wo;
Of maiden meek, consumed with pining care,
Around whose tomb the wild-rose loved to blow:
Or told, with swimming eyes, how, long ago,
Remorseless Indians, all in midnight dire,
The little, sleeping village, did o'erthrow,
Bidding the cruel flames to heaven aspire,
And scalp'd the hoary head, and burn'd the babe with fire

Then, fancy-fired, her memory wing'd its flight,
To long-forgotten wars, and dread alarms,
To chiefs obscure, but terrible in fight,
Who mock'd each foe, and laugh'd at deadliest harms,
Sydneys in zeal, and Washingtons in arms.
By instinct tender to the woes of man,
My heart bewildering with sweet pity's charms,
Through solemn scenes, with nature's step, she ran,
And hush'd her audience small, and thus the tale began.

“Through verdant banks where Thames's branches glide,
Long held the Pequods an extensive sway;
Bold, savage, fierce, of arms the glorious pride,
And bidding all the circling realms obey.
Jealous, they saw the tribes, beyond the sea,
Plant in their climes; and towns, and cities, rise;
Ascending castles foreign flags display;
Mysterious art new scenes of life devise;
And steeds insult the plains, and cannon rend the skies.”

[OMITTED]

“The rising clouds the savage chief descried,
And, round the forest, bade his heroes arm;
To arms the painted warriors proudly hied,
And through surrounding nations rung the alarm.
The nations heard; but smiled, to see the storm,
With ruin fraught, o'er Pequod mountains driven
And felt infernal joy the bosom warm,
To see their light hang o'er the skirts of even,
And other suns arise, to gild a kinder heaven.”

“Swift to the Pequod fortress Mason sped,
Far in the wildering wood's impervious gloom;
A lonely castle, brown with twilight dread;
Where oft the embowel'd captive met his doom,
And frequent heaved, around the hollow tomb,

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Scalps hung in rows, and whitening bones were strew'd;
Where, round the broiling babe, fresh from the womb,
With howls the Powaw fill'd the dark abode,
And screams, and midnight prayers, invoked the evil god.

“There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest,
Without, beside the moss-grown altar, stood,
His sable form in magic cincture dress'd,
And heap'd the mingled offering to his god,
What time, with golden light, calm evening glow'd,
The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom,
And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd;
Bright rose the curling flame; and rich perfume
On smoky wings upflew, or settled round the tomb.

“Then, o'er the circus, danced the maddening throng,
As erst the Thyas roam'd dread Nysa round,
And struck, to forest notes, the ecstatic song,
While slow, beneath them, heav'd the wavy ground.
With a low, lingering groan, of dying sound,
The woodland rumbled; murmured deep each stream;
Shrill sung the leaves; all ether sigh'd profound;
Pale tufts of purple topp'd the silver flame,
And many color'd forms on evening breezes came.

“Thin, twilight forms; attired in changing sheen
Of plumes, high tinctured in the western ray:
Bending, they peep'd the fleecy folds between,
Their wings light rustling in the breath of May.
Soft hovering round the fire, in mystic play,
They snuff'd the incense, waved in clouds afar,
Then, silent, floated toward the setting day;
Eve redden'd each fine form, each misty car;
And through them faintly gleam'd, at times, the western star.

“Then (so tradition sings,) the train behind,
In plumy zones of rainbow'd beauty dress'd,
Rode the Great Spirit, in the obedient wind,
In yellow clouds slow sailing from the west.
With dawning smiles, the God his votaries bless'd,
And taught where deer retired to ivy dell;
What chosen chief with proud command to invest,
Where crept the approaching foe, with purpose fell,
And where to wind the scout, and war's dark storm dispel.

“There on her lover's tomb, in silence laid,
While still, and sorrowing, shower'd the moon's pale beam,

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At times, expectant, slept the widow'd maid,
Her soul far wandering on the sylph-wing'd dream.
Wafted from evening skies, on sunny stream,
Her darling youth with silver pinions shone;
With voice of music, tuned to sweetest theme,
He told of shell-bright bowers, beyond the sun,
Where years of endless joy o'er Indian lovers run.

“But now no awful rites, nor potent spell,
To silence charm'd the peals of coming war;
Or told the dread recesses of the dell,
Where glowing Mason led his bands from far:
No spirit, buoyant on his airy car,
Control'd the whirlwind of invading fight:
Deep died in blood, dun evening's falling star
Sent sad o'er western hills its parting light,
And no returning morn dispersed the long, dark night.

“On the drear walls a sudden splendor glow'd,
There Mason shone, and there his veterans pour'd.
Anew the hero claim'd the fiends of blood,
While answering storms of arrows round him shower'd,
And the war-scream the ear with anguish gored.
Alone, he burst the gate; the forest round
Re-echoed death; the peal of onset roar'd,
In rush'd the squadrons; earth in blood was drown'd;
And gloomy spirits fled, and corses hid the ground.

“Not long in dubious fight the host had striven,
When, kindled by the musket's potent flame,
In clouds, and fire, the castle rose to heaven,
And gloom'd the world, with melancholy beam.
Then hoarser groans, with deeper anguish, came;
And fiercer fight the keen assault repell'd:
Nor e'en these ills the savage breast could tame;
Like hell's deep caves, the hideous region yell'd,
Till death, and sweeping fire, laid waste the hostile field.”

THE FARMER'S ADVICE TO THE VILLAGERS.

Not long since lived a farmer plain,
Intent to gather honest gain,
Laborious, prudent, thrifty, neat,
Of judgment strong, experience great,

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In solid homespun clad, and tidy,
And with no coxcomb learning giddy,
Daily, to hear his maxims sound,
The approaching neighbors flock'd around;
Daily they saw his counsels prove
The source of union, peace, and love,
The means of prudence, and of wealth,
Of comfort, cheerfulness, and health:
And all, who follow'd his advice,
Appear'd more prosperous, as more wise.

Wearied, at length, with many a call,
The sage resolved to summon all:
And gathering, on a pleasant Monday,
A crowd, not always seen on Sunday,
Curious to hear, while hard they press'd him,
In friendly terms, he thus address'd 'em.

“My friends, you have my kindest wishes;
Pray think a neighbor not officious,
While thus, to teach you how to live,
My very best advice I give.

“And first, industrious be your lives;
Alike employ'd yourselves, and wives:
Your children, join'd in labor gay,
With something useful fill each day.
Those little times of leisure save,
Which most men lose, and all men have;
The half days, when a job is done;
The whole days, when a storm is on.
Few know, without a strict account,
To what these little times amount:
If wasted, while the same your cost,
The sums, you might have earn'd, are lost.

“Learn small things never to despise:
You little think how fast they rise.
A rich reward the mill obtains,
Though but two quarts a bushel gains:
Still rolling on its steady rounds,
The farthings soon are turn'd to pounds.

“Nor think a life of toil severe:
No life has blessings so sincere.
Its meals so luscious, sleep so sweet,
Such vigorous limbs, such health complete,

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A mind so active, brisk, and gay,
As his, who toils the livelong day.
A life of sloth drags hardly on;
Suns set too late, and rise too soon;
Youth, manhood, age, all linger slow,
To him, who nothing has to do.
The drone, a nuisance to the hive,
Stays, but can scarce be said to live;
And well the bees, those judges wise,
Plague, chase, and sting him, till he dies.
Lawrence, like him, though saved from hanging,
Yet every day deserves a banging.

“Let order o'er your time preside,
And method all your business guide.
Early begin, and end, your toil;
Nor let great tasks your hands embroil.
One thing at once, be still begun,
Contrived, resolved, pursued, and done.
Hire not, for what yourselves can do;
And send not, when yourselves can go;
Nor, till tomorrow's light, delay
What might as well be done today.
By steady efforts all men thrive,
And long by moderate labor live;
While eager toil, and anxious care,
Health, strength, and peace, and life impair.

“What thus your hands with labor earn,
To save, be now your next concern.
Whate'er to health, or real use,
Or true enjoyment, will conduce,
Use freely, and with pleasure use;
But ne'er the gifts of heaven abuse:
I joy to see your treasured stores,
Which smiling plenty copious pours;
Your cattle sleek, your poultry fine,
Your cider in the tumbler shine,
Your tables, smoking from the hoard,
And children smiling round the board.
All rights to use in you conspire;
The laborer's worthy of his hire.
Ne'er may that hated day arrive,
When worse yourselves, or yours, shall live
Your dress, your lodging, or your food,
Be less abundant, neat, or good;
Your dainties all to market go,
To feast the epicure, and beau;

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But ever on your tables stand,
Proofs of a free and happy land.

“Yet still, with prudence, wear, and taste;
Use what you please, but nothing waste:
On little, better far to live,
Than, poor and pitied, much survive.
Like ants, lay something up in store,
Against the winter of threescore.
Disease may long your strength annoy;
Weakness and pain your limbs destroy;
On sorrow's bed your households lie;
Your debtors fail, your cattle die;
Your crops untimely seasons kill,
And life be worn with many an ill.

[OMITTED]

“'T is folly in the extreme, to till
Extensive fields, and till them ill.
The farmer, pleased, may boast aloud
His bushels sown, his acres plough'd;
And, pleased, indulge the cheering hope,
That time will bring a plenteous crop.
Shrew'd common-sense sits laughing by,
And sees his hopes abortive die;
For, when maturing seasons smile,
Thin sheaves shall disappoint his toil.
Advised, this empty pride expel;
Till little, and that little well.
Of taxing, fencing, toil, no more,
Your ground requires, when rich, than poor;
And more one fertile acre yields,
Than the huge breadth of barren fields.

[OMITTED]

“When first the market offers well,
At once your yearly produce sell.
A higher price you wait in vain,
And ten times lose, where once you gain.
The dog, that at the shadow caught,
Miss'd all he had, and all he sought.
Less, day by day, your store will grow,
Gone, you scarce know or when, or how;
Interest will eat, while you delay,
And vermin steal your hopes away.
In parcels sold, in ways unknown,
It melts, and, unobserved, is gone.
No solid purpose driblets aid,
Spent, and forgot, as soon as paid:

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The sum, a year's whole earnings yield,
Will pay a debt, or buy a field.

[OMITTED]

“Neat be your farms: 't is long confess'd,
The neatest farmers are the best.
Each bog, and marsh, industrious drain,
Nor let vile balks deform the plain;
No bushes on your headlands grow,
Nor briars a sloven's culture show.
Neat be your barns; your houses neat;
Your doors be clean; your court-yards sweet;
No moss the sheltering roof inshroud;
No wooden panes the window cloud;
No filthy kennel foully flow;
Nor weeds with rankling poison grow:
But shades expand, and fruit-trees bloom,
And flowering shrubs exhale perfume.
With pales your garden circle round;
Defend, enrich, and clean the ground:
Prize high this pleasing, useful rood,
And fill with vegetable good.

“With punctual hand your taxes pay,
Nor put far off the evil day.
How soon to an enormous size,
Taxes, succeeding taxes, rise!
How easy, one by one, discharged!
How hardly, in the mass enlarged!
How humbling the intrusive dun!
How fast, how far, the expenses run!
Fees, advertisements, travel, cost,
And that sad end of all, the post!
This gulf of swift perdition flee,
And live, from duns and bailiffs free.

“In merchants' books, from year to year,
Be cautious how your names appear.
How fast their little items count!
How great, beyond your hopes, the amount!
When shelves, o'er shelves, inviting stand,
And wares allure, on either hand;
While round you turn enchanted eyes,
And feel a thousand wants arise,
(Ye young, ye fair, these counsels true
Are penn'd for all, but most for you,)
Ere fancy lead your hearts astray,

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Think of the means you have to pay;
What wants are nature's; fancy's what;
What will yield real good, when bought;
What certain, future means you find,
To cancel contracts, left behind;
What means to make the first of May
To you and yours a welcome day.

“To you, let each returning spring
That day of certain reckoning bring;
All debts to cancel, books t' adjust,
And check the wild career of trust.
From frequent reckonings friendship grows,
And peace, and sweet communion, flows.

[OMITTED]

“With steady hand your household sway,
And use them always to obey.
Always their worthy acts commend;
Always against their faults contend;
The mind inform; the conscience move;
And blame, with tenderness, and love.
When round they flock, and smile, and tell
Their lambkin sport, and infant weal,
Nor foolish laugh, nor fret, nor frown;
But all their little interests own;
Like them, those trifles serious deem,
And daily witness your esteem:
Yourselves their best friends always prove,
For filial duty springs from love.
Teach them, with confidence t' impart,
Each secret purpose of the heart:
Thrice happy parents, children bless'd,
Of mutual confidence possess'd!
Such parents shall their children see
From vice, and shame, and anguish, free.

[OMITTED]

“How blest this heaven-distinguish'd land!
Where schools in every hamlet stand;
Far spread the beams of learning bright,
And every child enjoys the light.
At school, beneath a faithful guide,
In teaching skill'd, of morals tried,
And pleased the early mind to charm
To every good, from every harm,
Learn they to read, to write, to spell,
And cast accompts, and learn them well:

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For, on this microscopic plan,
Is form'd the wise and useful man.
Let him a taste for books inspire;
While you, to nurse the young desire,
A social library procure,
And open knowledge to the poor.
This useful taste imbibed, your eyes
Shall see a thousand blessings rise.
From haunts and comrades vile secure,
Where gilded baits to vice allure,
No more your sons abroad shall roam,
But pleased, their evenings spend at home;
Allurements more engaging find,
And feast, with pure delight, the mind.
The realms of earth their thoughts shall scan,
And learn the works and ways of man;
See, from the savage, to the sage,
How nations ripen, age by age;
How states, and men, by virtue rise;
How both to ruin sink, by vice;
How through the world's great prison-bounds,
While one wide clank of chains resounds,
Men slaves, while angels weep to see,
Some wise, and brave, and bless'd, are free.
Through moral scenes shall stretch their sight;
Discern the bounds of wrong and right;
That loathe; this love; and, pleased, pursue
Whate'er from man to man is due;
And, from the page of heaven derive
The motives, and the means, to live.

[OMITTED]

“In this new world, life's changing round
In three descents, is often found.
The first, firm, busy, plodding, poor,
Earns, saves, and daily swells, his store:
By farthings first, and pence, it grows;
In shillings next, and pounds, it flows;
Then spread his widening farms, abroad;
His forests wave; his harvests nod;
Fattening, his numerous cattle play,
And debtors dread his reckoning day.
Ambitious then t' adorn with knowledge
His son, he places him at college;
And sends, in smart attire, and neat,
To travel, through each neighboring state;
Builds him a handsome house, or buys,
Sees him a gentleman, and dies.

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“The second, born to wealth, and ease,
And taught to think, converse, and please,
Ambitious, with his lady-wife,
Aims at a higher walk of life.
Yet, in those wholesome habits train'd,
By which his wealth and weight were gain'd,
Bids care in hand with pleasure go,
And blends economy with show.
His houses, fences, garden, dress,
The neat and thrifty man confess.
Improved, but with improvement plain,
Intent on office, as on gain,
Exploring, useful sweets to spy,
To public life he turns his eye.
A townsman first; a justice soon;
A member of the house anon;
Perhaps to board, or bench, invited,
He sees the state, and subjects, righted;
And, raptured with politic life,
Consigns his children to his wife.
Of household cares amid the round,
For her, too hard the task is found.
At first she struggles, and contends;
Then doubts, desponds, laments, and bends;
Her sons pursue the sad defeat,
And shout their victory complete;
Rejoicing, see their father roam,
And riot, rake, and reign, at home.
Too late he sees, and sees to mourn,
His race of every hope forlorn,
Abroad, for comfort, turns his eyes,
Bewails his dire mistakes, and dies.

“His heir, train'd only to enjoy,
Untaught, his mind or hands t' employ,
Conscious of wealth enough for life,
With business, care, and worth, at strife,
By prudence, conscience, unrestrain'd,
And none, but pleasure's habits, gain'd,
Whirls on the wild career of sense,
Nor danger marks, nor heeds expense.
Soon ended is the giddy round;
And soon the fatal goal is found.
His lands, secured for borrow'd gold,
His houses, horses, herds, are sold.
And now, no more for wealth respected,
He sinks, by all his friends neglected;

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Friends, who, before, his vices flatter'd,
And lived upon the loaves he scatter'd.
Unacted every worthy part,
And pining with a broken heart,
To dirtiest company he flies,
He gambles, turns a sot, and dies.
His children, born to fairer doom,
In rags, pursue him to the tomb.

“Apprenticed then to masters stern,
Some real good the orphans learn;
Are bred to toil, and hardy fare,
And grow to usefulness, and care;
And, following their great-grandsire's plan,
Each slow becomes a useful man.

[OMITTED]

“But should contentions rise, and grudges,
Which call for arbitrating judges,
Still shun the law, that gulf of woe,
Whose waves without a bottom flow;
That gulf, by storms for ever toss'd,
Where all, that 's once afloat, is lost;
Where friends, embark'd, are friends no more,
And neither finds a peaceful shore:
While thousand wrecks, as warnings, lie,
The victims of an angry sky.

“Each cause let mutual friends decide,
With common-sense alone to guide:
If right, in silent peace be glad;
If wrong, be neither sour, nor sad:
As oft you'll find full justice done,
As when through twenty terms you 've run;
And when, in travel, fees, and cost,
Far more than can be won, is lost.

“Learn, this conclusion whence I draw.
Mark what estates are spent in law!
See men litigious, business fly,
And loungers live, and beggars die!
What anger, hatred, malice fell,
And fierce revenge their bosoms swell!
What frauds, subornings, tamperings rise!
What slanders foul! what shameful lies!
What perjuries, blackening many a tongue!
And what immensity of wrong!

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Where peace and kindness dwelt before,
See peace and kindness dwell no more!
Ills to good offices succeed,
And neighbors bid each other bleed!

“Esop, the merry Phrygian sage,
Worth half the wise men of his age,
Has left to litigants a story,
Which, with your leave, I'll set before you.

“‘The bear and lion on the lawn,
Once found the carcase of a fawn.
Both claim'd the dainty; neither gave it;
But each swore roundly he would have it.
They growl'd; they fought; but fought in vain:
For neither could the prize obtain;
And, while to breathe they both retreated,
The lawyer fox came in, and ate it.’”

[OMITTED]

Thus spoke the sage. The crowd around,
Applauding, heard the grateful sound;
Each, deeply musing, homeward went,
T' amend his future life intent;
And, pondering past delays, with sorrow,
Resolved he would begin tomorrow.

COLUMBIA.

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies!
Thy genius commands thee; with rapture behold,
While ages on ages thy splendors unfold.
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime;
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name,
Be freedom, and science, and virtue thy fame.

To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire;
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire;
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.
A world is thy realm: for a world be thy laws,
Enlarged as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.

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Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star.
New bards, and new sages, unrivall'd shall soar
To fame unextinguish'd, when time is no more;
To thee, the last refuge of virtue designed,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odors of spring.

Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And genius and beauty in harmony blend;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire;
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refined,
And virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind,
With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.

Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display,
The nations admire, and the ocean obey;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and the south yield their spices and gold.
As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendor shall flow,
And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow:
While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd,
Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world.

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread,
From war's dread confusion I pensively stray'd—
The gloom from the face of fair heaven retired;
The winds ceased to murmur; the thunders expired;
Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along,
And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung:
“Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise,
The queen of the world and the child of the skies.”

THE CRITICS.

A FABLE.

'T is said of every dog that's found,
Of mongrel, spaniel, cur, and hound,
That each sustains a doggish mind,
And hates the new, sublime, refined.
'T is hence the wretches bay the moon,
In beauty throned at highest noon,

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Hence every nobler brute they bite,
And hunt the stranger-dog with spite;
And hence, the nose's dictates parrying,
They fly from meat to feed on carrion.
'T is also said, the currish soul
The critic race possesses whole;
As near they come, in thoughts and natures,
As two legg'd can, to four legg'd creatures;
Alike the things they love and blame,
Their voice, and language, much the same.

The muse this subject made her theme,
And told me in a morning dream.
Such dreams you sages may decry;
But muses know they never lie.
Then hear, from me, in grave narration,
Of these strange facts, the strange occasion.

In Greece Cynethe's village lay,
Well known to all, who went that way,
For dogs of every kindred famed,
And from true doggish manners named.
One morn, a greyhound pass'd the street;
At once the foul-mouth'd conclave met,
Huddling around the stranger ran,
And thus their smart review began.
“What tramper,” with a grinning sneer
Bark'd out the clumsy cur, “is here?
No native of the town, I see;
Some foreign whelp of base degree.
I'd show, but that the record 's torn,
We true Welsh curs are better born.
His coat is smooth; but longer hair
Would more become a dog by far.
His slender ear, how straight and sloping!
While ours is much improved by cropping.”

“Right,” cried the blood-hound, “that straight ear
Seems made for nothing but to hear;
'T is long agreed, through all the town,
That handsome ears, like mine, hang down;
And though his body's gaunt and round,
'T is no true rawboned gaunt of hound.
How high his nose the creature carries!
As if on bugs, and flies, his fare is;
I'll teach this strutting stupid log,
To smell 's the business of a dog.”

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“Baugh-waugh!” the shaggy spaniel cried,
“What wretched covering on his hide!
I wonder where he lives in winter;
His straight, sleek legs too, out of joint are;
I hope the vagrant will not dare
His fledging with my fleece compare.
He never plunged in pond or river,
To search for wounded duck and diver;
By kicks would soon be set a skipping,
Nor take one half so well a whipping.”

“Rat me,” the lap-dog yelp'd, “through nature,
Was ever seen so coarse a creature?
I hope no lady's sad mishap
E'er led the booby to her lap;
He 'd fright Primrilla into fits,
And rob Fooleria of her wits;
A mere barbarian, Indian whelp!
How clownish, countryish, sounds his yelp!
He never tasted bread and butter,
Nor play'd the petty squirm and flutter;
Nor e'er, like me, has learn'd to fatten,
On kisses sweet, and softest patting.”

“Some parson's dog, I vow,” whined puppy;
“His rusty coat how sun-burnt! stop ye!”
The beagle call'd him to the wood,
The bull-dog bellowed, “Zounds! and blood!”
The wolf-dog and the mastiff were,
The muse says, an exception here;
Superior both to such foul play,
They wish'd the stranger well away.

From spleen the strictures rose to fury,
“Villain,” growl'd one, “I can't endure you.”
“Let 's seize the truant,” snarl'd another,
Encored by every foul-mouth'd brother.
“'T is done,” bark'd all, “we'll mob the creature,
And sacrifice him to ill nature.”

The greyhound, who despised their breath,
Still thought it best to shun their teeth.
Easy he wing'd his rapid flight,
And left the scoundrels out of sight.

Good Juno, by the ancients holden
The genuine notre-dame of scolding,

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Sat pleased, because there 'd such a fuss been,
And in the hound's place wish'd her husband;
For here, even pleasure bade her own,
Her ladyship was once outdone.
“Hail, dogs,” she cried, “of every kind!
Retain ye still this snarling mind,
Hate all that 's good, and fair, and new,
And I'll a goddess be to you.

“Nor this the only good you prove;
Learn what the fruits of Juno's love.
Your souls, from forms, that creep all four on,
I'll raise, by system Pythagorean,
To animate the human frame,
And gain my favorite tribe a name.
Be ye henceforth (so I ordain)
Critics, the genuine curs of men.
To snarl be still your highest bliss,
And all your criticism like this.
Whate'er is great or just in nature,
Of graceful form, or lovely feature;
Whate'er adorns the enobled mind,
Sublime, inventive, and refined;
With spleen, and spite, for ever blame,
And load with every dirty name.
All things of noblest kind and use,
To your own standard vile reduce,
And all in wild confusion blend,
Nor heed the subject, scope, or end.
But chief, when modest young beginners,
'Gainst critic laws, by nature sinners,
Peep out in verse, and dare to run,
Through towns and villages your own,
Hunt them, as when yon stranger dog
Set all your growling crew agog;
Till stunn'd, and scared, they hide from view,
And leave the country clear for you.”

This said, the goddess kind caressing,
Gave every cur a double blessing.
Each doggish mind, though grown no bigger,
Henceforth assumed the human figure:
The body walk'd on two, the mind
To four still chose to be confined;
Still creeps on earth, still scents out foes,
Is still led onward by the nose;
Hates all the good, it used to hate,
The lofty, beauteous, new, and great;

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The stranger hunts with spite quintessent,
And snarls, from that day to the present.

THE WORSHIP OF THE GIBEONITES.

Now o'er the hills red streams began to burn,
And bursting splendors usher'd in the morn;
With living dyes the flowers all beauteous glow'd,
O'er the glad fields etherial odors flow'd;
The forest echoed with a boundless song,
And rising breezes pour'd the strains along.

Adorn'd with green before the palace lay
A spacious square, and smiled upon the day.
Here, ere the dawn the kindling skies illumed,
Or opening flowers the fragrant gales perfumed,
Of every age, a vast, assembled train
Pour'd from the lofty domes, and fill'd the plain.

High in the midst two sacred altars shone,
Adorn'd with honors to their God, the Sun.
This, deck'd with art, and bright in royal pride,
With sable gore the quivering victim dyed:
On that, gay flowers in rich profusion lay,
And gales of Eden bore their sweets away.

Here, white with age, in snowy vesture dress'd,
Aradon stood, their monarch, and their priest;
Red in his hand a torch refulgent shone,
And his fix'd countenance watch'd the rising sun.

When first the flaming orb, with glorious rays,
Roll'd o'er the hills, and pour'd a boundless blaze;
Charmed at the sight, the monarch stretch'd his hand,
And touch'd the tributes with the sacred brand;
Through freshen'd air perfumes began to rise,
And curling volumes mounted to the skies.
Thrice to the earth the raptured suppliants bow'd,
Then struck the lyre, and hymn'd the rising god.

“O thou, whose bursting beams in glory rise,
And sail, and brighten, through unbounded skies!
The world's great Parent! heaven's exalted King!
Sole source of good! and life's eternal Spring!
All hail, while cloth'd in beauty's endless ray,
Thy face unclouded gives the new-born day!

“Above all scenes is placed thy heavenly throne;
Ere time began, thy spotless splendor shone;
Sublime from east to west thy chariot rolls,
Cheers the wide earth, and warms the distant poles;

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Commands the vegetable race to grow,
The fruit to redden, and the flower to blow.
This world was born to change: the hand of Time
Makes, and unmakes the scenes of every clime.
The insect millions scarce the morn survive;
One transient day the flowery nations live;
A few short years complete the human doom;
Then pale death summons to the narrow tomb.
Lash'd by the flood, the hard rocks wear away;
Worn by the storm, the lessening hills decay;
Unchanged alone is thine exalted flame,
From endless years to endless years the same;
Thy splendors with immortal beauty shine,
Roll round the eternal heavens, and speak thy name divine

“When thy bright throne, beyond old ocean's bound,
Through nether skies pursues its destined round,
Lost in the ascending darkness, beauty fades;
Through the blank field, and through the woodland, spreads
A melancholy silence. O'er the plain
Dread lions roam, and savage terrors reign.

“And when sad autumn sees thy face retire,
And happier regions hail thy orient fire,
High in the storm imperious winter flies,
And desolation saddens all the skies.
But when once more thy beam the north ascends,
Thy light invigorates, and thy warmth extends;
The fields rejoice, the groves with transport ring,
And boundless nature hails the sky-born spring.

“Nor even in winter's gloom, or night's sad reign,
Darts the warm influence of thy beams in vain.

“Beyond the main some fairer region lies,
Some brighter isles beneath the southern skies,
Where crimson war ne'er bade the clarion roar,
Nor sanguine billows dyed the vernal shore:
No thundering storm the day's bright face conceals,
No summer scorches, and no frost congeals;
No sickness wastes, no grief provokes the tear,
Nor tainted vapors blast the clement year.
Round the glad day-star endless beauties burn,
And crowned with rainbows, opes the imperial morn;
A clear unbounded light the skies display,
And purple lustre leads the the changing day.
O'er conscious shades, and bowers of soft repose,
Young breezes spring, and balmy fragrance blows,
The fields all wanton in serenest beams,
Wake fairer flowers, and roll diviner streams;

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Through the long vales aerial music roves,
And nobler fruitage dyes the bending groves.

“Through spotless nations as the realm refined,
Thy influence there sublimes the immortal mind;
Its active pinions swift through nature roam,
Lose the low world, and claim a nobler home.
Their limbs, of endless life, with glory crown'd,
New youth improves, and growing charms surround:
On the bless'd shore thy splendors love to shine,
And raise thy sons each hour, to raptures more divine.”

Thus ceased the sound: the harp's melodious strain
Join'd the glad hymn, and charm'd the listening train;
A sparkling joy each speaking face display'd,
While light expanding lessen'd every shade.

BATTLE BEFORE THE WALLS OF AI.

Now near the burning domes, the squadrons stood,
Their breasts impatient for the scenes of blood:
On every face a deathlike glimmer sate,
The unbless'd harbinger of instant fate.
High through the gloom, in pale and dreadful spires,
Rose the long terrors of the dark red fires;
Torches, and torrent sparks, by whirlwinds driven,
Stream'd through the smoke, and fired the clouded heaven.
As oft tall turrets sunk with rushing sound,
Broad flames burst forth, and swept the etherial round,
The bright expansion lightened all the scene,
And deeper shadows lengthen'd o'er the green.
Loud through the walls that cast a golden gleam,
Crown'd with tall pyramids of bending flame,
As thunders rumble down the darkening vales,
Roll'd the deep solemn voice of rushing gales:
The bands admiring gazed the wondrous sight,
And expectation trembled for the fight.

At once the sounding clarion breath'd alarms;
Wide from the forest burst the flash of arms;
Thick gleam'd the helms; and o'er astonish'd fields,
Like thousand meteors, rose the flame-bright shields.
In gloomy pomp, to furious combat roll'd
Ranks sheath'd in mail, and chiefs in glimmering gold;
In floating lustre bounds the dim-seen steed,
And cars, unfinish'd, swift to cars succeed;
From all the host ascends a dark red glare,
Here in full blaze, in distant twinklings there;
Slow waves the dreadful light; as round the shore
Night's solemn blasts with deep concussion roar,

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So rush the footsteps of the embattled train,
And send an awful murmur o'er the plain.

Tall in the opposing van, bold Irad stood,
And bade the clarion sound the voice of blood.
Loud blew the trumpet on the sweeping gales,
Rock'd the deep groves, and echo'd round the vales:
A ceaseless murmur all the concave fills,
Waves through the quivering camp, and trembles o'er the hills.

High in the gloomy blaze the standards flew;
The impatient youth his burnish'd falchion drew;
Ten thousand swords his eager bands display'd,
And crimson'd terrors danced on every blade.
With equal rage, the bold, Hazorian train
Pour'd a wide deluge o'er the shadowy plain;
Loud rose the song of war; loud clanged the shields;
Dread shouts of vengeance shook the shuddering fields;
With mingled din, shrill, martial music rings,
And swift to combat each fierce hero springs.
So broad, and dark, a midnight storm ascends,
Bursts on the main, and trembling nature rends;
The red foam burns, the wat'ry mountains rise,
And deep unmeasured thunder heaves the skies;
The bark drives lonely; shivering and forlorn,
The poor, sad sailors wish the lingering morn:
Not with less fury rush'd the vengeful train;
Not with less tumult roar'd the embattled plain.
Now in the oak's black shade they fought conceal'd;
And now they shouted through the open field;
The long, pale splendors of the curling flame
Cast o'er their polish'd arms a livid gleam;
An umber'd lustre floated round their way,
And lighted falchions to the fierce affray.
Now the swift chariots 'gainst the stubborn oak
Dash; the dark earth re-echoes to the shock.
From shade to shade the forms tremendous stream,
And their arms flash a momentary flame.
Mid hollow tombs, as fleets an airy train,
Lost in the skies, or fading o'er the plain;
So visionary shapes, around the fight,
Shoot through the gloom, and vanish from the sight;
Through twilight paths the maddening coursers bound,
The shrill swords crack, the clashing shields resound.
There, lost in grandeur, might the eye behold
The dark red glimmering of the steel and gold,
The chief, the steed, the nimbly rushing car,

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And all the horrors of the gloomy war.
Here the thick clouds, with purple lustre bright,
Spread o'er the long, long host and gradual sunk in night;
Here half the world was wrapp'd in rolling fires,
And dreadful valleys sunk between the spires.
Swift ran black forms across the livid flame,
And oaks waved slowly in the trembling beam:
Loud rose the mingled noise; with hollow sound,
Deep rolling whirlwinds roar, and thundering flames resound.

As drives a blast along the midnight heath,
Rush'd raging Irad on the scenes of death;
High o'er his shoulder gleam'd his brandish'd blade,
And scatter'd ruin round the twilight shade.
Full on a giant hero's sweeping car
He pour'd the tempest of resistless war;
His twinkling lance the heathen raised on high,
And hurl'd it, fruitless, through the gloomy sky;
From the bold youth the maddening coursers wheel,
Gash'd by the vengeance of his slaughtering steel:
'Twixt two tall oaks the helpless chief they drew;
The shrill car dash'd; the crack'd wheels rattling flew;
Crush'd in his arms, to rise he strove in vain,
And lay unpitied on the dreary plain.

EVENING AFTER A BATTLE.

Above tall western hills, the light of day
Shot far the splendors of his golden ray;
Bright from the storm with tenfold grace he smiled,
The tumult softened, and the world grew mild.
With pomp transcendent, robed in heavenly dyes,
Arch'd the clear rainbow round the orient skies;
Its changeless form, its hues of beam divine,
—Fair type of truth and beauty's—endless shine
Around the expanse, with thousand splendors rare;
Gay clouds sail'd wanton through the kindling air;
From shade to shade, unnumber'd tinctures blend;
Unnumber'd forms of wond'rous light extend:
In pride stupendous, glittering walls aspire,
Graced with bright domes, and crown'd with towers of fire,
On cliffs cliffs burn; o'er mountains mountains roll:
A burst of glory spreads from pole to pole:
Rapt with the splendor, every songster sings,
Tops the high bough, and claps his glistening wings:

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With new born green, reviving nature blooms,
And sweeter fragrance freshening air perfumes.

Far south the storm withdrew its troubled reign;
Descending twilight dimm'd the dusky plain;
Black night arose; her curtains hid the ground:
Less roar'd, and less, the thunder's solemn sound;
The bended lightning shot a brighter stream,
Or wrapp'd all heaven in one wide, mantling flame;
By turns, o'er plains, and woods, and mountains, spread
Faint, yellow glimmerings, and a deeper shade.

From parting clouds, the moon outbreaking shone,
And sate, sole empress, on her silver throne;
In clear, full beauty, round all nature smiled,
And claim'd o'er heaven and earth, dominion mild;
With humbler glory, stars her court attend,
And bless'd, and union'd, silent lustre blend.

PROCESSION OF ISRAELITISH VIRGINS TO MEET THE RETURNING ARMY.

The sun declined; besmear'd with dust and blood,
Slow o'er the plain the wearied squadrons trod;
When fair as Phosphor leads the morning train,
Dress'd in new beams, and beauteous from the main;
Crown'd with white flowers, that breath'd a rich perfume,
And clothed in loveliness of gayest bloom,
Rose in soft splendor Caleb's youngest pride,
A thousand maidens following at her side.
In snow white robes of flowing silk array'd,
First of the virgins walk'd the blushing maid;
Her long, dark hair loose floated in the wind;
Her glowing eyes confess'd the etherial mind;
A wreath of olive flourish'd in her hand;
A silver lyre obey'd her soft command;
With sounds harmonious rang the warbled strings,
And thus the maids, and thus Selima sings.
“Who comes from Ai, adorn'd with gay attire,
Bright as the splendor of the morning fire?
Fair as the spring, ascends the lovely form,
And dreadful as the blaze that lights the storm!
Ye maids, with flowerets strew the conqueror's way,
Strike the loud harp, and sing the dreadful day!”

To Irad's steps the matchless fair one came,
Her breast quick panting, and her cheeks on flame;

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Her beauteous hand the verdant crown display'd;
Graceful he bow'd, and placed it on his head.
Slow to her train the trembling fair withdrew,
The charm'd youths following with a moveless view.
So, wing'd with light, and dress'd in strange array,
The mantling glory of the rising day,
With sweet complacence, such as angels show
To souls unprison'd from this world of woe,
Parted soft smiling from our general sire
Some bright-eyed virtue, of the heavenly choir,
Far in the solar walk, with wondrous flight,
The form celestial lessen'd on his sight.

LAMENTATION OF SELIMA FOR THE DEATH OF IRAD.

Canst thou forget, when, call'd from southern bowers,
Love tuned the groves, and spring awaked the flowers,
How, loosed from slumbers by the morning ray,
O'er balmy plains we bent our frequent way?
On thy fond arm, with pleasing gaze, I hung,
And heard sweet music murmur o'er thy tongue;
Hand lock'd in hand, with gentle ardor press'd,
Pour'd soft emotions through the heaving breast,
In magic transport heart with heart entwined,
And in sweet languors lost the melting mind.

'T was then, thy voice, attuned to wisdom's lay,
Show'd fairer worlds, and traced the immortal way;
In virtue's pleasing paths my footsteps tried,
My sweet companion, and my skilful guide;
Through varied knowledge taught my mind to soar,
Search hidden truths, and new-found walks explore:
While still the tale, by nature learn'd to rove,
Slid, unperceived, to scenes of happy love.
Till weak, and lost, the faltering converse fell,
And eyes disclosed what eyes alone could tell;
In rapturous tumult bade the passions roll,
And spoke the living language of the soul.

With what fond hope, through many a blissful hour,
We gave the soul to fancy's pleasing power;
Lost in the magic of that sweet employ
To build gay scenes, and fashion future joy!
We saw mild peace o'er fair Canaan rise,
And shower her pleasures from benignant skies.
On airy hills our happy mansion rose,
Built but for joy, nor room reserved for woes.

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Round the calm solitude, with ceaseless song,
Soft roll'd domestic ecstacy along:
Sweet as the sleep of innocence, the day,
By raptures number'd, lightly danced away:
To love, to bliss, the union'd soul was given,
And each, too happy! ask'd no brighter heaven.
Yet then, even then, my trembling thoughts would rove,
And steal an hour from Irad, and from love,
Through dread futurity all anxious roam,
And cast a mournful glance on ills to come.
“Hope not, fond maid,” some voice prophetic cried—
“A life, thus wafted down the unruffled tide:
Trust no gay, golden doom, from anguish free,
Nor wish the laws of heaven reversed for thee.
Survey the peopled world; thy soul shall find
Woes, ceaseless woes, ordain'd for poor mankind.
Life 's a long solitude, an unknown gloom,
Closed by the silence of the dreary tomb.

“For soon, ah soon shall fleet thy pleasing dreams;
Soon close the eye, that, bright as angel's, beams
Grace irresistible. To mouldering clay
Shall change the face, that smiles thy griefs away:
Soon the sweet music of that voice be o'er,
Hope cease to charm, and beauty bloom no more:
Strange, darksome wilds, and devious ways be trod,
Nor love, nor Irad, steal thy heart from God.”

And must the hours in ceaseless anguish roll?
Must no soft sunshine cheer my clouded soul?
Spring charm around me brightest scenes, in vain?
And youth's angelic visions wake to pain?
Oh come once more, with fond endearments come;
Burst the cold prison of the sullen tomb;
Through favorite walks, thy chosen maid attend;
Where well known shades for thee their branches bend:
Shed the sweet poison from thy speaking eye;
And look those raptures, lifeless words deny!
Still be the tale rehearsed, that ne'er could tire;
But, told each eve, fresh pleasure could inspire:
Still hoped those scenes, which love and fancy drew;
But, drawn a thousand times, were ever new!

Again all bright shall glow the morning beam;
Again soft suns dissolve the frozen stream:
Spring call young breezes from the southern skies,
And, clothed in splendor, flowery millions rise.
In vain to thee—no morn's indulgent ray
Warms the cold mansion of the slumbering clay.

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No mild etherial gale, with tepid wing,
Shall fan thy locks, or wast approaching spring:
Unfelt, unknown, shall breathe the rich perfume,
And unheard music wave around thy tomb.

A cold, dumb, dead repose invests thee round;
Still as a void, ere nature form'd a sound.
O'er thy dark region, pierced by no kind ray,
Slow roll the long, oblivious hours away.
In these wild walks, this solitary round,
Where the pale moon-beam lights the glimmering ground,
At each sad turn, I view thy spirit come,
And glide, half seen, behind a neighboring tomb;
With visionary hand, forbid my stay,
Look o'er the grave, and beckon me away.