 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
WILLIAM RAY.
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TRIPOLI.
Ye lurid domes! whose tottering columns stand,Marks of the despot's desolating hand:
Whose weed-grown roofs and mouldering arches show
The curse of tyranny, a nation's wo;
In every ruin—every pile I find
A warning lesson to a thoughtful mind.
Your gloomy cells expressive silence break,
Echo to groans, and eloquently speak;
“The Christian's blood cements the stones he rears;
This clay was moisten'd with a Christian's tears;
Pale as these walls, a prisoner oft has lain,
Felt the keen scourge and worn the ruthless chain;
While scoffing foes increasing tortures pour,
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Here thy brave tars, America, are found
Lock'd in foul prisons and in fetters bound.
Heavens! what sad times! must free Columbians bow
Before yon tinsel tyrant's murky brow?
Cringe to a power which death and rapine crown?
Smile at a smile, and tremble at a frown?
Kneel at a throne, its clemency implore,
Enrich'd by spoils, and stain'd with human gore?
Bear the sharp lash, the ponderous load sustain,
Suppress their anger, and revenge restrain?
Leave a free clime, explore the treacherous waves,
The sport of miscreants and the slave of slaves?
Heavens! at the sight each patriot bosom glows
With virtuous hatred on its country's foes;
At every blow indignant passions rise,
And vengeance flashes from resentful eyes.
But heaven is just, though man's bewilder'd mind
To the dark ways of providence is blind;
Else why are some ordain'd above the rest,
Or villains treated better than the best?
Why, martyr'd virtue, hang thy injured head?
Why lived an Arnold, while a Warren bled?
Earth's murderers triumph, proud oppressors reign,
While patriots bleed, and captives sigh in vain?
Yet slumbering justice soon shall wake and show
Her sword, unsheath'd, aud vengeance wing the blow:
Columbia's genius, glorious as the sun,
With thy blest shade, immortal Washington!
Unite to guard us from nefarious foes,
And heaven defend, and angels interpose,
Devoted tyrants cause just wrath to feel,
Make Beys and Bashaws in submission kneel;
Man's equal right, sweet liberty, restore,
And despotism crush, to rise no more.
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
Do troubles overwhelm thy soul,
Like billows of the ocean,
That o'er the shipwreck'd victim roll,
In terrible commotion;
Seize bold Imagination's wing,
And soar to heaven, so seeming,
Or reign a potentate and king—
'T is all obtain'd by—dreaming.
Like billows of the ocean,
That o'er the shipwreck'd victim roll,
In terrible commotion;
Seize bold Imagination's wing,
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Or reign a potentate and king—
'T is all obtain'd by—dreaming.
Do pain and poverty unite
To rob thee of all pleasure—
Like thieves break in at dead of night,
And steal away thy treasure,
The treasure of a tranquil mind
With joy and rapture teeming,
Seek—seek, my friend, and thou shalt find
More solid joy in—dreaming.
To rob thee of all pleasure—
Like thieves break in at dead of night,
And steal away thy treasure,
The treasure of a tranquil mind
With joy and rapture teeming,
Seek—seek, my friend, and thou shalt find
More solid joy in—dreaming.
For let the world still darker frown
Than night-clouds on creation,
And shower its tenfold vengeance down,
Its wrath and indignation,
On this devoted head of mine,
One star is still left gleaming,
One light that will for ever shine—
The hope—the bliss of dreaming.
Than night-clouds on creation,
And shower its tenfold vengeance down,
Its wrath and indignation,
On this devoted head of mine,
One star is still left gleaming,
One light that will for ever shine—
The hope—the bliss of dreaming.
The world can neither give nor take
Away these mental riches;
They 're mine—and sleeping or awake,
I love the little witches;
They charm my senses to repose,
While cares and wants are screaming
My eyes and ears, to misery close,
And give me peace in—dreaming.
Away these mental riches;
They 're mine—and sleeping or awake,
I love the little witches;
They charm my senses to repose,
While cares and wants are screaming
My eyes and ears, to misery close,
And give me peace in—dreaming.
Whene'er I lay me down to rest,
With toils and sorrows weary—
A heart most feelingly distress'd,
And all on earth looks dreary;
Aerial powers around me throng,
With light and glory beaming,
And waft my raptured soul along
The paradise of—dreaming.
With toils and sorrows weary—
A heart most feelingly distress'd,
And all on earth looks dreary;
Aerial powers around me throng,
With light and glory beaming,
And waft my raptured soul along
The paradise of—dreaming.
And oft as pensively I walk
In solitary places,
I hear celestial spirits talk,
And think I see their faces;
They bid me leave all earthly things,
While tears of grief are streaming—
I mount Imagination's wings,
And find my heaven in—dreaming.
In solitary places,
I hear celestial spirits talk,
And think I see their faces;
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While tears of grief are streaming—
I mount Imagination's wings,
And find my heaven in—dreaming.
VILLAGE GREATNESS.
In every country village, where
Ten chimney smokes perfume the air,
Contiguous to a steeple,
Great gentlefolks are found, a score,
Who can't associate, any more,
With common “country people.”
Ten chimney smokes perfume the air,
Contiguous to a steeple,
Great gentlefolks are found, a score,
Who can't associate, any more,
With common “country people.”
Jack Fallow, born amongst the woods,
From rolling logs, now rolls in goods,
Enough awhile to dash on—
Tells negro stories—smokes segars—
Talks politics—decides on wars—
And lives in stylish fashion.
From rolling logs, now rolls in goods,
Enough awhile to dash on—
Tells negro stories—smokes segars—
Talks politics—decides on wars—
And lives in stylish fashion.
Tim Ox-goad, lately from the plough,
A polish'd gentleman is now,
And talks of “country fellows;”
But ask the fop what books he 's read—
You'll find the brain-pan of his head
As empty as a bellows.
A polish'd gentleman is now,
And talks of “country fellows;”
But ask the fop what books he 's read—
You'll find the brain-pan of his head
As empty as a bellows.
Miss Faddle, lately from the wheel,
Begins quite lady-like to feel,
And talks affectedly genteel,
And sings some tasty songs, too;
But my veracity impeach,
If she can tell what part of speech
Gentility belongs to.
Begins quite lady-like to feel,
And talks affectedly genteel,
And sings some tasty songs, too;
But my veracity impeach,
If she can tell what part of speech
Gentility belongs to.
Without one spark of wit refined,
Without one beauty of the mind—
Genius or education,
Or family, or fame, to boast,
To see such gentry rule the roast,
Turns patience to vexation.
Without one beauty of the mind—
Genius or education,
Or family, or fame, to boast,
To see such gentry rule the roast,
Turns patience to vexation.
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To clear such rubbish from the earth,
Though real genius—mental worth,
And science to attend you,
You might as well the sty refine,
Or cast your pearls before the swine,
They 'd only turn and rend you.
Though real genius—mental worth,
And science to attend you,
You might as well the sty refine,
Or cast your pearls before the swine,
They 'd only turn and rend you.
| Specimens of American poetry | |