Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems

When my last summer's sun was spent with thee,
I thought to find another friend on earth,
A dream untold—a dream it is I see!
Then, lovely mother! author of my birth!
Thou who didst teach me innocence and mirth!
To seek thy like is searching the unknown!
For who, when found, could be of so much worth?
And who has been so kind to me, mine own!
Who call'st me thy dear child as if I were not grown!

II.

And I have been two years or more away
From thee, and still my feelings are not changed!
I love thee as if absent but one day,
For nothing earthly have my thoughts estranged!
I have, with beauty, many smiles exchanged,
And fed my soul on sentiments divine;
But these are trifles—they have nothing changed—
For I am, as it were, a spark of thine,
And that which thou dost own, the same sweet things are mine.

III.

My mother! still I feel the day we parted
Fresh in my remembrance—thy good advice
Was like relief unto the broken-hearted—
A precious incense from a sacrifice!
That caused upon my soul a sun to rise,
That ne'er shall set!—for, since the day I left,
I have adored thine absence—nor mine eyes
Been tearless but in sleep!—The wing is cleft
That made my journey—else thou wert no longer reft!

IV.

Thus basking in thy kindness, I proceed
In my devotion—and, with love that flows
From an unbridled current, teem and bleed
In my soul's worship, till my kindness knows
No barrier—feels no bounds—but onward goes.
Like a majestic river which sweeps down
All opposition—ending where it rose
In the soul's ocean—that it may redown
To make me happy—crown me with a righteous crown.

V.

Those scenes which I would willingly descry,
Are far beyond the mountains—but these strings
Are not awakened from a theme so high
To sing perspective—they are trivial things—
Which I can see at pleasure—that which brings
Contentment, mixed with sorrow, hath its source
In the heart's fiery mountain—there it springs
From an unfathomed fountain—and its course
Wends onward to the soul to spend affection's force.

VI.

There is no voice to mortal ears so sweet
As chidings from a mother's fervent love;
And that dear kindness which I used to greet,
Now pours upon me as from heaven above!
But I have left thine ark—a faithful dove—
Of all within most surely to return—
And be it long or late, where'er I rove,
I never will forget my native bourne,
The place where thou didst teach me that I loved to learn.

VII.

I taste much that is sweet, and hear the voice
Of pleasantness salute mine ear—I feel
As if my hopes would soon rejoice
In their completion, and my future weal
Be centred in a heart—but not of steel!
As if transported on the wings of bliss,
I hold thee near me—seal thee with a seal
Of unrelenting kindness—with a kiss
Which is not of this world—to cancel all distress.

VIII.

My mother! may thy joys on earth increase,
As did the widow's cruise of precious oil;
May all thy paths be paths of perfect peace,
To lead thee o'er an unadulterate soil.
May weal and wisdom crown thy daily toil,
And learn, like Deborah, what thou shouldst know,
And have revealed that which shall never spoil,
As was the voice that went to Jericho,
Beyond the oak of Ophrah unto old Shiloh.

IX.

Man's life is as a shadow!—Let thy sun—
The chastener of my spirit—shine again!
Let that which I had long ago begun,
Take root and flourish—let my heart obtain
Some recompense for absence and for pain!
That I may come at the appointed hour,
Enthroned in love—that I may always gain
Thy confidence—then will my soul have power
To pour down on thy latter age a bounteous shower.

X.

May God be with thee—heaven dispense thee aid—
That all around and over thee may shine!
May life be precious—death a pleasant shade—
To lead thee unto blessedness divine!
And may no less be granted unto thine.
That when resolved to pass from life to death—
From death to life—no longer to repine—
Which beams upon me with awakened faith—
May we unite in heaven to breathe each other's breath.

University of Virginia Library

TO MY MOTHER.

WRITTEN WHILE SOJOURNING IN A DISTANT LAND.

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VIII.

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