Naked Genius | ||
INTRODUCTION.
Having met with the author of these works during the victorious march of our army through the State of North Carolina, he having been one of the many refugees who flocked to our lines for safety, I was astonished at his genius, and more so when he showed me some manuscripts written by himself. Knowing the various objections which many of our citizens, north as well as south, have against the black man being made free, and one of these being that he possessed no genius, I formed the idea that I would revise and compile his works and have them published to the public at large, that all might see that there are erroneous opinions entertained with regard to African genius, and also to show that God in his gifts was in no wise partial to the Uuropean, but that he gave genius to the black as well as the white man. With this object in view, I offer this little volume to the public, hoping that it may do away with some of the many prejudices so long existing against the poor down-trodden sou's of Africa. To those who doubt the author's genius, I offer the following references:
- EX-GOV. DAVID L. SWAIN, Chapel Hill, N. C.
- JUDGE BATTLE, Chapel Hill, N. C
- DENNIS HART, Editor Hillsboro' Recorder.
- HALL HART, his late master, who is now a resident of Chatham Co. N. C.
The above named gentlemen have been personally acquainted with Mr. Horton for the last forty years, and can testify to the wonderful genius he possesses, which is purely void of the garb of education. To still further remove any doubts which might arise in the minds of the public as to his being the author of the following poetical effusions, I refer them to the under named officers of the regiment to which I belong, who are all knowing to the fact of my being engaged with Mr. Horton in collecting and revising his poems.
- GEO. S. ACKER, Colonel.
- W. B. WAY, Lieutenant-Colonel.
- S. P. BROCKWAY, Major.
- W. C. STEVENS, Major.
- JAS. C. McBRIDE, Major.
- WM. H. YOUNG, Surgeon.
- A. FLETCHER.
- L. F. JOHNSON, Captain Company A.
- JAS. J. LISTER, Captain Company B.
- J. D. SMAILS, 1st Lieutenant Company C.
- T. E. CAMBERN, 2d Lieutenant Company D.
- JNO. J. HINCHEY, Captain Company E.
- A. B. HENDRICKS, Captain Company F.
- A HINES, Captain Company G.
- A. P. PIERSON, 1st Lieutenant Company H.
- G. E. TURNER, Captain Company I.
- L. F. LOCKWOOD, Captain Company K.
- D. P. INGRAHAM, Captain Company L.
- CHAS. H. SMITH, 1st Lieutenant Company M.
SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR.
GEORGE MOSES HORTON was born of slave parents in Northampton County, North Carolina, on the Roanoke river, the property of Wm. Horton, Sen. To account for his exact age is beyond the reach of the compiler, as slaves seldom know their ages; but from the most reliable information which he has been able to gain from those who have been acquainted with the author from childhood up to the present time, he was probably born about the year 1794. In the course of five or six years after his birth, from the sterility of his land, his old master moved with his family into Chatham County, a more fertile and fresh part of the country recently settled, and whose waters were far more healthy and agreeable. Here, as a field hand on his master's plantation he spent his days, till 1815, at which time his master died, leaving him the property of his oldest son, James. It was about this time he commenced composing poetry, and being without a knowledge of the use of letters, he dictated while others reduced his poems to writing. In this way he produced many beautiful poems and hymns which were eagerly sought for, and not a few of them were published extensively in different papers throughout the State. He soon, however, formed the resolve to learn to read and write, and how far he succeeded will hereafter be seen. In 1832 his second master died, and he was put up at auction, and purchased, unfortunately for the author, by his late master's son, “Hall,” who was a hard master, and denied him of every advantage which he might improve for the edification of his mind. But notwithstanding the accumulated difficulties which he had to surmount, he determined to study letters. Each Sabbath he would retire to some secluded spot and spend the day in looking over such old pieces of books as he could collect without exciting too strongly the suspicion of his master, who was ever ready and willing to chastise him for any attempt at learning. In the year 1841, he hired his time at twenty-five cents per day, and employed himself as a servant at the State University, located at Chapel Hill. Here, through the kindness of many of the students, he became a tolerable good reader and a passable writer, which gave him a far better chance to employ the wonderful powers he possessed. To the very distinguished Mrs. Hentz of Boston, the author owes much, for the correction of many poetical errors. Being a poetess herself, and a lover of genius, she discovered his uncultivated talent, and was moved by pity to uncover to him the beauties of correctness, together with the true object to which he aspired. This celebrated lady did not remain long at Chapel Hill, in 1843 she returned to her home in Massachusetts. The loss of a friend so kind and good was to Mr. Horton a severe blow; but, however much he felt the loss of her instructions, he continued writing, and in 1845 produced his first book, consisting of a series of miscellaneous poems, and published by Dennis Heart, Esq, Editor of the Hillsboro' Recorder. By this time the fame of the colored bard went with lightning speed wherever the prejudice of the people would permit his poems to go. Many of his books were sold in different parts of the State, and but for the fact of his being a slave, and the influence which a few of the leading men brought to bear against him, that precious gem of African genius would have found a ready place in the hands of one million of the people of the North. 'Tis true he had his friends and admirers, but where the laws of a State binds the African with fetters, a few private individuals can render him but little service. In 1832, Governor Owen, Doctor Caldwell and Doctor Henderson made propositions to his master for his purchase for the purpose of sending him to Liberia, but Mr. Horton saw a fortune in dat niggah, and wouldn't sell, unless he could get enough to buy about four good field hands. Such an exorbitant price these gentlemen were unwilling to pay, and abandoned their project. Having no other hopes of freedom, our author was doomed to remain in slavery—to toil without rest, under the unrelenting eye of his master, till the occupation of Raleigh by our troops, when he escaped to our lines for protection, and is now with the writer hard at work both night and day eomposing poems for his book, and writing acrostics for the boys on their sweethearts' names, in which he takes great delight.
THE MUSICAL CHAMBER.
Whilst I these my pleasures display;
Resort to my musical chamber,
The laurel crown'd desert in May.
Attend it by night and by day;
To feast on the dainties of pleasure
Which cannot be stinted in May.
A chamber both lov'ly and gay,
In the shade of a ne'er fading laurel,
Whose grace in December is May.
Whilst time passes hurrying away;
This place is a banquet of glory,
Which rings with the ditties of May.
A place of Comical play;
Gave place unto Lovell's fine folly,
The birds and sweet flowers of May.
Here Floras their suitors betray,
And uncommon secrets discover,
Which break from the bosom of May.
The wonders of youth to portray;
Excluding old age from defeating
The lads and the lasses of May.
Your joy will reward your delay;
Come feast with the lark and the linnet,
And drink of the waters of May.
You're welcome a visit to pay;
All things in the chamber are ready,
Resolve to be married in May.
GEORGE MOSES HORTON, MYSELF.
Of the inspiring strains of ancient lore,
My heart to lift, my empty mind to feed,
And all the world explore.
And never can recover what is past,
But for the future may some light unfold
And soar from ages blast.
My wish to prove, my calling to pursue,
Or mount up from the earth into the sky,
To show what Heaven can do.
Has fluttered like a bird within my heart;
But could not thus confined her powers employ,
Impatient to depart.
Would spread her wing, her power to be unfurl'd,
And let her songs be loudly heard,
And dart from world to world.
A DIRGE.
Void of faults but strictly true.
Fly far away
Without delay;
Adieu my love, adieu.
Hence to seek another bride;
I must be still,
Thou hast thy will;
The world is free and wide.
Ere I drunk the bitter cup,
I could with shame
Now bear the blame,
And freely give thee up.
Now in the depth of sorrow's gloom,
Like some dull sprite
In dead of night,
Bewailing o'er her tomb.
It is the fate of fools to-part,
With whom I know
Wedlock is wo,
Without the streams of love.
Pleasure has not long to dwell,
I view my fate,
Alas, too late,
So Henry fare thee well.
Hence we meet, and face to face,
Thy heart shall ache,
Thy soul shall quake,
Thou wretch of all disgrace.
DEATH OF A FAVORITE.
Whose mission was to crush,
And snatch the rose so quickly blown
Down from its native bush,
The flowers of beauty doomed to pine,
Ascends from this to worlds divine.
Let tears of sorrow dry.
The rose on earth but fades to bloom
And blossom in the sky;
Why should the soul resist the hand
That leads her to celestial land.
Till hence we meet again,
Perhaps I have not long to dwell
Within this cumbrous chain.
Till on Elysian shores we meet,
Till grief is lost and joy complete.
THE FEARFUL TRAVELLER IN THE HAUNTED CASTLE.
And shut with dread surprise,
And spirits murmur as they grope,
But break not on the eyes.
The phantom and the shroud,
And bids the pulse of horror beat
Throughout my ears aloud.
From one of falt'ring voice,
Till some one seems to walk the floor
With an alarming noise.
Which will not let me sleep,
When ghastly breezes float around,
And hidden goblins creep.
The din of all the dead,
While trembling thus I lie alone,
Upon this restless bed.
On my impatient view,
And truth or fancy told the joke,
And bade the night adieu.
Which ran with all their speed,
Pursued in haste by hungry cats,
Which on the vermin feed.
Which shrieked with all its might,
And drove the balm of sleep away
Throughout the live-long night.
Which on the table lay,
Some cats too quick the rogues to seize,
With rumbling lost their prey.
Who makes the night his ghost,
And shrinks with horror from himself,
Which is to fear the most.
TO CATHERINE.
Whate'er thy condition may be,
All else but my life would I give,
That thou wast as partial to me.
And fancy no other beside,
I languish thy pleasures to share,
Whatever my life may betide.
Grows dim in the visage of cares,
And trace back in time's rapid stream,
Thy beauty when sinking in years.
With blooms which the simple adore;
Let virtue forbid me to say
That Catherine is lovely no more.
THE SWAN—VAIN PLEASURES.
Whose nest was guarded by the waves,
Floated for pleasure till she died,
And sunk beneath the flood to lave.
The rose-bush now declines to bloom;
The gentle breezes of the Spring
No longer waft a sweet perfume.
Withers along her vital stream;
Proud fortune leaves her throne and flies
From pleasure as a flattering dream.
Which spread her pinions far to sail,
Struggled to fan his dying flame,
Till pleasure palled in every gale.
Whose plume has faded, once so gay,
Languishes 'mid her flowery train,
While pleasure flies like fumes away.
Like leaves which quick to ashes burn,
Which kindle from the slightest blast,
And slight to nothing hence return.
GEN. GRANT—THE HERO OF THE WAR.
Thou art the emblem of the morning star,
Transpiring from the East to banish fear,
Revolving o'er a servile Hemisphere,
At large thou hast sustained the chief command
And at whose order all must rise and stand,
To hold position in the field is thine,
To sink in darkness or to rise and shine.
To send them at thy pleasure through the land,
Whose martial soldiers never did recoil
Nor fail in any place to take the spoil,
Thus organized was all the army firm,
And led unwavering to their lawful term,
Never repulsed or made to shrink with fear,
Advancing in their cause so truly dear.
Which led them true and faithful from the start,
Whether upon water or on land,
They all obeyed their marshal's strict command,
By him the regiments were all surveyed,
His trumpet voice was by the whole obeyed,
His order right was every line to form,
And all be well prepared to front the storm.
Nor on the flag of Union fail to gaze;
Ye ladies of the South forego the prize,
Our chief commander here to recognize,
From him the stream of general orders flow,
And every chief on him some praise bestow,
The well-known victor of the mighty cause
Demands from every voice a loud applause.
Though many battles in his course he won?
What more has Alexander e'er achieved,
Who left depopulated cities grieved?
To him we dedicate the whole in song,
The verses from our pen to him belong,
To him the Union banners are unfurled,
The star of peace the standard of the world.
THE POWERS OF LOVE.
To fortune's bright alcove,
Its mighty sway few, few can tell,
Mid envious foes it conquers ill,
There's nothing half like love.
Who late through life have strove,
Like the bird which seeks its nest,
If you would hence in truth be blest,
Light on the bough of love
Constrained through wilds to rove,
On this his safety whole depends,
One faithful smile his trouble ends,
A smile of constant love.
Imploring Heaven above,
Till one with sympathetic pain,
Flew to his arms and broke the chain,
And grief took flight from love.
And hope's firm pillars move,
With storms behind and death before,
O, grant me this I crave no more,
There's nothing half like love.
The lark deserts the dove,
Compassion melts the creature through,
With palpitation felt by few,
The wrecking throbs of love.
From wedlock's peaceful grove,
While Union breaks the arm of fight,
With darkness swallowed up in light,
O, what is there like love.
TO A DEPARTING FAVORITE.
When thou art gone afar,
Where'er in life thy travels be,
If tost along the brackish sea,
Or borne upon the car.
Thy name my theme shall be,
With thee in heart I shall be there,
Content thy good or ill to share,
If dared to lodge with thee.
And leave thy sister train,
To roam the wilds where dangers sleep,
And leave affection sad to weep
In bitterness and pain.
To leave me thus alone,
Lamenting and bewailing sad:
Farewell, thy sunk deluded lad,
May rise when thou art gone.
SHERMAN THE GREAT.
Shall fly through the world,
From whom the Rebels fly in shame,
Who hence shall bear the torch of fame,
Till States to naught are hurled.
'Mid thunder, wind and rain;
Their States could not support the test,
They left their towns at his behest,
To languish and bewail.
And did not dare to fight,
But left their homes at his behest;
When once the sad report had spread,
Their hosts resumed their flight.
Before whom none can stand,
The rich, the proud forbear to boast,
For the Confederate powers are lost
And left without command.
And left his name behind,
Inviting his foes with him to feast
And did not imitate the beast,
But acted brave and kind.
By thus to show his power,
Life to destroy was not his will,
But right and justice to fulfill
And make his foes to cower.
Thou who spread alarm before,
An sent them flying as from pan,
And bade them save your lives who can;
Retreat and do no more.
THE HEROES OF THE LATE WAR.
Who o'er the rebels bore the sway;
The lambs have struck the lions dead
And taken falseright stores away.
And flourish in unfading prime,
Till nature's beauties shall assuage
And languish from the death of time.
The trumpet of the northern bands,
And bid the vassal doubt no more,
That grovelled hopeless thro' the land.
Thy hostile cloud will soon be o'er,
For sure thy God forbears to sleep
Or slumber on the western shore.
And lowly cower at their feet;
We trace them with a smile and tear,
And sing, the conquest is replete.
Fought for so faithful night and day,
Who wrung our transports from the lyre;
Arise my friends and come away.
THE SOUTHERN REFUGEE.
From my dear residence I roam;
I must deplore the bitter fate,
To straggle from my native home.
And seems to bid a fare thee well;
The flowers with tears their fragrance shed,
Alas! their parting tale to tell.
Or Eden's garden left in gloom,
Where grief affords us no device,
Such is thy lot, my native home.
My sad departure far away,
Until the sun of life is set,
And leaves behind no beam of day.
And leave my ever devoted home,
And the dear garden which I love,
The beauty of my native home.
It is a mournful tale to tell;
'Tis like a lone deserted bride
That bade her bridegroom fare thee well.
And leave forever hence to roam,
Far from a residence so dear,
The place of beauty—my native home.
THE SLAVE.
To domineer with uncontroll'd command?
What philosophic wight has thus believed
That Heaven entailed on him the weaker band?
Whilst to the tribes of Europe more was given,
Does this impart to them a lawful right
To counterfeit the golden rule of Heaven?
And bid the fools to theft their rights betray,
To spread the seeds of slavery o'er the earth,
That you should hold them as your lawful prey?
And bid each nation to maintain her own,
Rolling between the deep, the wind and tide,
With all their rage to make his order known?
For killing Abel is in blood reveal'd,
For which the soldier falls among the slain,
A victim on the sanguinary field.
To gratify their lust is all the plea;
Like Cain you 've your consanguine brother slain,
And robbed him of his birthright—Liberty.
Or artful red man in his rude attire,
As well as with the Black man, split the wave,
And to his progeny with rage aspire.
Whose sable tincture was by nature struck,
Are you by justice bound to pull them back
And leave the sandy colored pigs to suck?
His kingdom through creation to display,
The sacred right of nature to defend,
And show to mortals who shall bear the sway?
The wrong abolish and the right restore;
To make a sacrifice of cruel laws,
And slavish murmurs will be heard no more.
FARE THEE WELL, BUT NOT FOREVER.
For we sure shall meet again;
'Tis not to part and meet more never,
For pleasure rises out of pain.
A tear is mixed with every smile,
For sweet and bitter flow together,
Then let us pause and think awhile.
Lest thou shouldst thy friend forget,
Thy presence is my only pleasure,
I was thy friend, and am 'till yet.
All's that from bitter flows,
The sting is only fresh when starting,
It then begins but soon to close.
But to cheer thee did I strive;
I was annoyed when first I left thee,
But trust to meet thee soon alive.
Hence we shall together dwell;
Nothing shall our union sever,
For a moment fare thee well.
THE TRAVELLER.
'Mid lonely valleys pensive far I roam,
'Mid rocks and hills where waters roll sublime,
'Tis sweet to think of home.
Bounds on a dark horizon far behind,
But yet the stars of homely pleasure blaze,
And glimmer on my mind.
And ruffian winds howl threat'ning life with gloom,
To Heaven's kind hand I then commit the whole,
And smile to think of home.
To languish at departure's gloomy shrine,
Still look in front and hail the joyful goal,
The pleasure teeming line.
I wander sailing mid the swelling foam,
Lost from the land by many a long degree,
O! then I think of home.
The bye-gone pleasures of my native shore,
Until the sun of life forbears to set,
And pain is known no more.
And life hangs trembling o'er the watery tomb,
Hope lifts her peaceful sail to brave the deep,
And bids me think of home.
Nor on the plane of sorrow drop thy train,
But on the bough of hope erect thy nest,
'Till friends shall meet again.
Where eager friends to cheer me fail to come,
Where zephyrs seem a joyful tale to tell,
No thought is sweet but home.
RECENT APPEARANCE OF A LADY.
Inspires the present stream of song,
A bonny belle,
That few excel,
And one with whom, I few compare,
Though out of sight so long.
When lads and lasses meet again,
But bonny belle,
Not long to dwell,
For soon upon the wing of flight
We haste away in pain.
A star emerging out of gloom,
Exalted belle,
Whose powers excel,
And draw the heart by every grace,
The queen of every bloom.
Eternal mem'ry holds its grasp,
Still bonny belle,
'T is sweet to tell
Of thee, when I am left behind,
In sorrow's lonely clasp.
MEDITATIONS ON A COLD DARK AND RAINY NIGHT.
When jet black darkness crowns the silent hour,
When shrill the owlet pours her hollow tone,
Like some lost child sequestered and alone,
When wills bewildering wisp begins to flare,
And Philomela breathes her dulcet air,
'Tis sweet to listen to her nightly tune,
Deprived of starlight on the smiling moon.
And tell of strangers lost without a bed,
Fond sympathy invokes her dol'rous lay,
And pleasure steals in sorrow's gloom away,
Till fost'ring Somnus bids my eyes to close,
And smiling visions open to repose;
Still on my soothing couch I lie at ease,
Still round my chamber flows the whistling breeze.
To all the threat'ning ills of life resigned;
Regardless of the wandering elfs of night,
While phantoms break on my immortal sight;
The trump of morning bids my slumber end,
While from a flood of light I straight ascend,
When on a busy world I cast my eye,
And think of nightly slumbers with surprise.
GEN'L KILPATRICK, THE BOLD CAVALIER.
The pride and glory of thy native State;
Too brave to die, for life must time survive,
For joys thy end await.
Quick to his post the warrior sped,
Without the slightest shade of dread,
He waves his bright shield o'er the dead;
Regardless of his life,
At once he spurns the rebels harm
And hurls the thunder with his arm,
And quells the rage of strife.
And drives the rebel troops without delay,
While scattering numbers fall beneath the blow,
And horsemen fleet away.
He strikes the cities of renown,
And throws the walls and cities down;
He speeds his way thro' ev'ry town,
In storm by night and day,
The blaze of wrath he kindles higher,
And mounds dissolve beneath the fire,
Their folly to betray.
And live immortal to the end of time,
And boast without occasion to complain,
But still ascend sublime.
Ye bards of victory, lift the pen
And shout and hail the chief of men,
He rises not to fall again,
Away let slavery fly as smoke,
The cloud which must the heavens provoke,
To curse the survile clime.
Who towers above and leaves the clouds below:
Bold cavalier, thro' time forever bloom,
Thy skill in war to show.
Let freedom's sons the trumpet sound
Aloud, and spread the triumph round,
And sing, rise brothers from the ground,
And brave the inveterate foe;
His nimble brute is like a star,
The martial steed, the horse of war
Defies the lurking foe.
LINCOLN IS DEAD.
The dove to his covet has fled;
Ye heroes lament his privation,
For Lincoln is dead.
Like Pheobus, that sets in the west;
The planet of peace and commotion,
Forever has gone to his rest.
No equal succeeds in his stead;
His wonders extend with the ocean,
Whose waves murmur, Lincoln is dead.
Whose great deeds eternal shall bloom;
When gold, pearls and diamonds are rotten,
His deeds will break fresh from the tomb.
A smile with the tear may be shed;
O, then let us tell the sweet story,
Triumphantly, Lincoln is dead.
ON AN OLD DELUDED SUITOR.
See sad deluded love in years too late,With tears desponding o'er the tomb of fate;
While dusky evening's veil excludes the light,
Which in the morning broke upon his sight.
He now regrets his vain, his fruitless plan,
And sadly wonders at the faults of man;
'Tis now from beauty's torch he wheels aside,
And strives to soar above affection's tide;
'Tis now that sorrow feeds the worm of pain,
With tears which never can the loss regain;
'Tis now he drinks the wormwood and the gall,
And all the sweets of early pleasure pall;
When from his breast the hope of fortune flies,
The songs of transport languish into sighs.
Fond lovely rose that beamed as she blew,
Of all the charms of youth the most untrue;
She with delusive smiles prevail'd to move,
This silly heart into the snares of love.
Then like a flower closed against the bee,
Folds her arms and turns her back on me;
The torch by which deluded love was led.
Then like a lark from boyhood's maze I soared,
And thus in song her flattering smiles adored;
My heart was then by fondling love betray'd,
A thousand pleasures bloomed but soon to fade;
From joy to joy my heart exulting flew,
In quest of one though fair, yet far from true.
THE WOODMAN AND THE MONEY HUNTER.
The bee tree bursts with honey;
Wild birds we tame of ev'ry kind,
At once they seem to be resigned;
I know but one that lags behind—
There's nothing lags but money.
The opossum, coon and coney;
They are all tame and venture nigh,
Regardless of the public eye;
I know but one among them shy,
There's nothing shy but money.
The cunning fox is funny;
When thus the public debts are paid,
Deceitful cash is not afraid,
Where funds are hid for private trade,
There's nothing paid but money.
And drive the coon and coney;
Our lead is good, our powder strong,
To shoot the pigeons as they throng,
But sing no more the idle song,
Nor prowl the chase for money.
THE EYE OF LOVE.
Has more expression than her tongue,
And from that heart extorted sigh,
At once the peal of love is rung.
Of doating fondness as we part,
The stream is from a cause sincere,
And gushes from a melting heart.
The life-watch beating from her soul,
When all the power of hate is slain,
And love permits it no control?
Her eye declares it must be true,
And every sentence seemed to tell
The tale of sorrow told by few.
I saw her blushing temples fade;
Her smiles were sunk in sorrow's tide,
But love was in her eye betray'd.
THE CREDITOR TO HIS PROUD DEBTOR.
But think of what your feathers cost;
Your crowing days are short at most,
You bloom but soon to fade.
Surely you could not stand so wide,
If strictly to the bottom tried;
The wind would blow your plume aside,
If half your debts were paid.
Then boast and bear the crack,
With the Sheriff at your back,
Huzza for dandy Jack,
My jolly fop, my Jo—
Offensive to my nose and eyes,
The most of people would be wise,
Your presence to evade.
Your pockets jingle loud with cash,
And thus you cut a foppish dash,
But alas! dear boy, you would be trash,
If your accounts were paid.
Then boast and bear the crack, &c.
Had you in justice served me right,
Like you, I then could step as light,
Before a flaunting maid.
As nicely could I clear my throat,
And to my tights, my eyes devote,
But I'd leave you bear, without coat,
For which you have not paid.
Then boast and bear the crack, &c.
And to a poor man pay no care,
I could rock cross-legged in my chair,
Within the cloister shade.
I'd gird my neck with a light cravat,
And creaming wear my bell-crown hat;
But away my down would fly at that,
If once my debts were paid.
Then boast and bear the crack,
With the Sheriff at your back,
Huzza for dandy Jack,
My jolly fop, my Jo—
PLEASURES OF HOPE.
The soul of man discontent mounts from a sigh,
Exhaled as to Heaven in mystical prayer,
Invoking that love which forbids him to die.
And scatter the gloom which veils pleasures bright ray,
O! lend me thy wings and assist me to trace
The flight of my own fair one when gone far away.
The planet of beauty on life's dreary shore,
And the fair bird of fancy forever is flown,
On pinions of haste to be heard of no more.
To flourish still sweetly and blossom as gay,
Expelling like morning the gloom of regret,
When the lark of affection is gone far away.
Where oceans of pleasure continually roll,
Far, far, from the limited borders of time,
With a total division of body and soul.
That love will be sweeter when nature is o'er,
And still without pain through eternity live,
In the triumph of pleasure when time is no more?
Let the vesper of death break on life's dusky even,
Let the faint sun of time set in peace as it rose,
And eternity open thy morning in Heaven.
Effusing on nature life's last feeble ray,
While the night-maid of love sets her taper on fire,
To guard smiling beauty from time far away.
A SLAVE'S REFLECTIONS THE EVE BEFORE HIS SALE.
The fate of an exit unknowing—
Tears trickled from every eye—
'Tis going, 'tis going, 'tis going!
An evening of gladness or sorrow,
Thick clouds of emotion evolve,
The sun which awaits us to-morrow,
O! to-morrow! to-morrow!
Thick clouds of emotion evolve,
The sun awaits us to-morrow.
Will the end of our course be completed,
The progress of long fleeting years,
Triumphant or sadly regretted.
On a passage so treacherous and narrow,
What tongue shall the question decide,
The end which awaits us to-morrow?
O! to-morrow, to-morrow!
What tongue shall the question decide,
The end which awaits us to-morrow?
As he rides on his chariot of glory,
A king with a torch and a crown,
But fears to exhibit his story.
O! prophet thy light would I borrow,
To steer through the desert alone,
And gaze on the fate of to-morrow;
O! to-morrow, to-morrow!
To steer through the desert alone,
And gaze on the fate of to-morrow.
FAREWELL TO FRANCES.
Though distant calls my flight impel,
I shall not less thy grace adore,
So friend forever fare thee well.
What! never more thy face to see?
Then take the last fond look to-day,
And still to-morrow think of me.
Has many a tender bosom torn,
While desolation spread around,
Deserted friendship left to mourn.
The dormant rill from sorrow's eye,
Expressed from one by nature dear,
Whose bosom heaves the latent sigh.
When fond association ends,
And fate expands her lofty sail,
To show the distant flight of friends.
Far separated long to dwell,
I leave thee with a broken heart,
So friend forever fare thee well.
Words cannot my feeling tell,
Fare thee well, and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well.
THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW.
Fire, fire, in the city all cry;
Like quails from the eagle all flee,
Escape in a moment or die.
The storm rises higher and higher;
The scene of destruction all hearts must annoy,
The whirlwinds, the smoke and the fire.
Augmenting the rage of the wind,
Which blows it from south unto north,
And leaves but the embers behind.
Is moving still nigher and nigher;
Aloud from all quarters the people proclaim,
The whirlwind, the smoke and the fire.
A blue circle darkens the air,
With tones as the pealing of bells,
Farewell to the brave and the fair.
Consigned to a dread burning pyre,
With morning to ev'ning, with sorrow I trace,
The whirlwinds, the smoke and the fire.
The wether takes flight with the ox;
Appall'd on the wing is the fowl,
The pigeon deserting her box.
'Mid hillocks and bogs I retire;
Thro' lone deadly vallies I steer by its light,
The wild storm, the smoke and the fire.
The stars glimmer dull in the sky;
The shrieks of the women I hear,
The fall of the kingdom is nigh.
And all things in nature expire;
May I thus, with safety keep distant before,
The whirlwind, the smoke and the fire.
IMPLORING TO BE RESIGNED AT DEATH.
But smile at the close of my day,
And then at the flight of my breath,
Like a bird of the morning in may,
Go chanting away.
No horrors my soul shall dismay,
And with faith's pillow under my head,
With defiance to mortal decay,
Go chanting away.
And martial distinction display;
Nor shrink from a thought of the grave,
No, but with a smile from the clay,
Go chanting away.
No pang to this world betray,
And the spirit cut loose from its chains,
So loath in the flesh to delay,
Go chanting away.
When death veils the last vital ray;
Since I have but a moment to live,
Let me, when the last debt I pay,
Go chanting away.
THE GRADUATE LEAVING COLLEGE.
The morning peal, departure's knell.
My eyes let fall a friendly tear,
And bid this place farewell.
The carriage wheels like thunder roar.
To bear the pensive seniors home,
Here to be seen no more.
The morning sweeps the College clean;
The graduate takes his last long flight,
No more in College seen.
Must with some pain itself employ,
And then fly, at the day's last hour,
Home to its hive with joy.
TO THE KING OF MACEDONIA.
PHILIP THOU ART MORTAL.
And greet the morning's eye;
Remember King, the night comes on,
The fleeting day will soon be gone,
Nor distant land proclaims the fun'ral tone;
Philip thou hast to die.
May spread her wings to fly,
Or smile to trace the num'rous hords,
Thunders form the Lord of lords;
I hear some peal surpassing human words,
Philip thou hast to die.
And neighboring kings defy,
Whilst round thy retinues flit gay,
Beneath thy pomps imperial ray,
Make merry on the tide of joy to-day,
To-morrow thou shalt die.
A sorrow's teeming sigh;
The mornings fluttering bird has flown,
The roses fade so quickly blown,
The lofty king falls lifeless from his throne,
Philip was born to die.
Strove to ascend the sky;
Lifting his adamantine lance,
He bade his dauntless war horse prance,
Defied the world and rode the car of chance,
To rage, to fume and die.
He pours his distant brag;
Regardless of his millions slain,
Regardless his pale surviving train,
Was but wrapped in his infernal chain,
Dies on the ocean crag.
Creation far and wide;
It is the fate from Adam's fall,
The Swain, the King, the low and tall,
The watchman of the grave must give the call,
Mortal, thou hast to die.
DIVISION OF AN ESTATE.
It well bespeaks a man beheaded, quiteDivested of the laurel robe of life,
When ev'ry member struggles for its base;
The head, the power of order, now recedes,
Unheeded efforts rise on ev'ry side,
With dull emotion rolling thro' the brain
Of apprehending slaves. The flocks and herds
In sad confusion now run to and fro,
And seem to ask, distressed, the reason why
That they are thus prostrated. Howl, ye dogs!
Ye cattle low! Ye sheep astonish'd bleat!
Ye bristling swine trudge squealing thro' the glades
Void of an owner to impart you food.
Sad horses lift your head and neigh aloud,
And caper, frantic, from the dismal scene;
Mow the last food upon your grass clad lea,
And leave a solitary home behind.
The traveling sun of gain his journey ends;
In unavailing pain he sets with tears—
A King, sequestered, sinking from his throne;
Succeeded by a train of busy friends,
Like stars which rise with smiles to mark the flight
Of awful Phœbus to another world.
Stars after stars in fleet succession rise;
Into the wide empire of fortune cleave,
Regardless of the donor of their lamps,
Like heirs forgetful of parental care,
Redound in reverence to expiring age.
But soon parental benediction flies
Like vivid meteors in a moment gone,
As though they ne'er had been; but O, the state,
The dark suspense in which poor vassals stand,
Each mind upon the spire of chance hangs, fluctuate,
The day of separation is at hand.
Imagination lifts her gloomy curtain
Like evening's mantle at the flight of day,
Through which the trembling pinnacle we spy,
On which we soon must stand with hopeful smiles,
Or apprehending frowns to tumble on
The right or left forever.
PRIDE IN HEAVEN.
With hostile rage ambition first begun,
When the arch rebel strove himself to reign,
And take Jehovah's throne,
Swift to the fight the seraphim,
On floods of pride were seen to swim,
And bold defy the Power Supreme,
And thus their God disown.
From azure fields he cast his glaring eye,
Licentious trains his magazines await,
At whose command they fly;
The gloom excludes celestial charms,
When all the angels rush to arms,
Heaven shakes beneath the vast alarms,
And earth begins to sigh.
And seven fold thunder rock the hills,
While starry throngs desert the worlds above, below,
Beneath Jehovah's brow.
O Lucifer! thou mourning son,
To glut thy pride what hast thou done?
Sing O, ye Heavens, the plague is gone,
And weep thou earth for woe.
And trembling nature heav'd a dismal groan,
For that rebellion brought her into thrall,
She must her fate bemoan;
See angels fall no more to rise,
And feed the worm that never dies,
No ear of grace can hear their cries,
And hoarse lamenting tone.
And felt the wound in pleasing heat concealed,
And void of fear the secret charm dissolved,
Which every ill revealed;
The venom struck through every vein,
And every creature felt the pain,
But undefiled a lamb was slain,
By which the wound was healed.
TO MISS TEMPE.
And leaves her last lorn lover to complain,
Like Luna mantling o'er the brow of night,
Thy glowing wing dispels the gloom of pain.
Thy vital lamp remains to burn behind,
While by-gone pleasures like a setting star,
Reflects her glory o'er the twilight mind.
Expanded o'er the mansion of the brave,
To fan and set the heaving breast on fire,
That soars in triumph from affliction's wave.
Hope yet forbids my cheerful soul to weep,
But marks thy passage with affection's tears,
And hails thee on the bosom of the deep.
I smile to think that I am not left alone,
Auspicious hope shall yet my peace restore,
When thou art from the beach forever gone.
MAN, A TORCH.
Blown up with painful care and hard to light,A glimmering torch blown in a moment out,
Suspended by a web, an angel's bait,
Floating at stake along the stream of chance,
A silent cavern is his last abode,
The king's repository veiled with gloom,
The umbrage of a thousand oziers bowed,
The couch of hallowed bones, the slave's asylum,
The brave's retreat and end of ev'ry grace.
LIKE BROTHERS WE MEET.
And still the loud thunders of strife,
The blaze of fraternity kindles most sweet,
There's nothing more pleasing in life.
The poor is no longer depressed,
See those once discarded resuming their seats,
The lost strangers soon will find rest.
But soon shall land safely ashore,
Each soon will arrive at his own native home,
And struggle in warfare no more.
Whose wives and children do come,
Their sons and fair daughters with pleasure they greet,
When long absent fathers come home.
Nor discord their union shall break,
When brothers no longer lament and complain,
Hence never each other forsake.
By peace killing foes never driven,
The storm of commotion eternally ends,
And earth will soon turn into Heaven.
THE DYING SOLDIER'S MESSAGE.
A tear when parting must be shed,
The falling tribute is due the dead,
Which leaves the world in gloom below.
Go flitting bird that splits the sky,
Where sits my mother sighing,
And should she rise and ask you why,
O, tell her I am dying.
I travel to return no more,
But sorrow cannot life restore,
I leave the whole to God alone.
Go, gentle zephyrs, bear the tale,
While sweet the dove is sighing,
Tell mother never long bewail,
However, I am dying.
Death is about to close the scene—
Short is the space that lies between
My soul and better worlds above.
Let thunder storms my fate betray,
Ye sable vapors flying,
Sound that my life has past away,
Tell mother I am dying.
For one thus passing out of time;
From this to other worlds sublime,
I shut my eyes and take my leave.
The favorite bird will soon have fled;
The fate there's no denying,
I soon shall lodge among the dead,
For I am surely dying.
THE TREACHEROUS WOMAN.
From whose charms my sorrows rise,
To thee I'd live and die a stranger;
He who shuns thee must be wise.
Wise to shun thy hidden snare;
Man is better far without thee,
So deceitful, tho' so fair.
Causing many a bitter sigh;
Why, fondness leads to melancholy
And leaves a hopeful wretch to die.
Be thy fondness to evade,
From one slight touch I'm gone forever;
With once my trust in thee betray'd.
THE SPECTATOR OF THE BATTLE OF BELMONT, NOVEMBER 6, 1863.
The blood-crimson veil which spreads over the field,
When battle commenc'd on the sixth of November,
With war-beaming aspect, the sword and the shield.
The watchman is tolling the death-tuning knell,
The heroes are clustering from quarter to quarter;
What mortal, the fate of this combat shall tell?
Spectators the pain of the conflict explore;
The fugitives fly to the cave on the mountain,
Betray'd by the vestige of blood in their gore.
And ends with the peal of a tragical tale;
O yes, it subsides like a storm into summer,
No less for the dead shall the living bewail.
I've heard of the wonderful conflict of Troy,
And battles, with bloodshed, thro' all generations,
But nothing like this could my feelings annoy.
Alone can the scene of the combat display,
For surely no dull earthly mortal can merit
A wonder to equal this tragical lay.
LIBERTY.
We must aspire to thee,
Whose wings thy pinions must release,
And fan Columbia free.
Moves active from thy glee,
And own the declamation just,
That nations should be free.
Far, far, beyond the sea;
The sun declares in every beam,
All nations should be free.
Distressing vapors flee,
And bear the news from shore to shore,
Columbia, still be free.
EXECUTION OF PRIVATE HENRY ANDERSON,
Co. D., 9th Mich. Cav. Vols., at Lexington, North Carolina, May 13th, 1865.
The scene is solemn and expressly grand;
The must'ring concourse form'd in grand array,
Betrayed the fate of the expiring day;
Gazing spectators seemed completely dumb,
Beneath the sound of bugle and the drum.
To see the trembling malefactor die;
O, memorable eve, not soon forgot,
'Tis written on a tablet ne'er to blot;
We never can the scene portray,
The ghastly aspect of the fatal day.
From which an adamantine heart would break;
We've heard of victims on the fun'ral pyre,
Containing sacrifice and set on fire,
When victims died beneath the ruthless flame,
The brutal torture of eternal shame.
A case that every sober man may shun;
'Twas for the deed of open homicide,
This guilty malefactor fell and died.
See well arrayed the attentive squadrons stand,
Thus to discharge their guns at one command;
'Till pointing at one mark the shaft of death,
He breaths at once his last decisive breath.
To one's own self, thus hurried out of time;
He introduces first the murderous strife,
By his own hand he spurns away his life!
How many creatures thus have fell,
Imbibing nectar from the bowls of hell!
And thus betrayed the death at morning light;
Thus flies the deadly shaft without control—
He fell upon his coffin, O, my soul!
Let all that live the scene appall—
He dies! no more to live at all, at all!
A DIRGE ON THE SAME. [EXECUTION OF PRIVATE HENRY ANDERSON.]
Tears distil from every eye;
Soul and body torn asunder—
What a dreadful death I die!
Just before me lies the grave!
For the pain there's no controlling—
Shoot! I fall! no longer brave!
What a dreadful sight to see!
All my hopes are now confounded,
Say, what will become of me?
Every pleasure sinks in gloom;
Doleful music still repeating—
Drag the culprit in his tomb!
In this land, to take my part;
Void of sister or a brother
To appease my broken heart.
Rattling in accursed chains;
Crowded by a group of devils
Wailing in eternal pain!
THE GUILTY JUDGE.
Not guilty of some dirty plan,
Utters the charge, yet breaks behind—
Thou art the man!
Let every mortal live that can;
Detecting fraud, I hear it thrill—
Thou art the man!
Since the creation first began;
We hear the trump of conscience sound—
Thou art the man!
Nor cast my friend in battle's van;
And hear, whilst I upbraid the same—
Thou art the man!
The cruel blaze of guilt to fan;
To them the sounding wheel distinct—
Thou art the man!
To death, from which he rose again,
And tells thee while power arrayed—
Thou art the man!
Or whether in some gloomy plan,
'Tis written on my heart the same—
Thou art the man!
Who next shall close another span;
Some voice may answer from the grave—
Thou art the man!
THE FLAG OF THE FREE.
Effuse the stream of jubilee;
Proclaim aloud in earth and sky,
The flag floats over the free.
Let it be spread by land and sea,
The Union is in honor clad,
The flag floats over the free.
The echo's break the vast decree;
The soldiers cease and fight no more,
The flag floats over the free.
Nor to the woods for shelter flee;
Vain shall the threat'ning tyrant save,
The flag floats over the free.
And from a rebel scorn to flee;
No more thro' sultry valley's roam,
The flag floats over the free.
From vassals on the bended knee;
Forbidden to return a word,
The flag floats over the free.
ONE GENERATION PASSETH AWAY AND ANOTHER COMETH.
And leave the globe where first we try;
While others to our place succeed,
And in a moment die.
To tarry but a transient day;
Break into time to gather fame,
And pass at once away.
To catch the flitting birds of gain;
'Till burdened with a thousand cares,
And life turns into pain.
Here entering 'mid a hawk-like throng;
Quickly hatched out, as quick to fly,
And dare not tarry long.
Who lived this fading world to crave;
Left and forever gone without,
A stone to show their grave.
A VISIT TO MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.
Like spirits from some fun'ral cave,
I 'mid the dormitory found,
My mother's lonely grave.
Beneath the swell of sorrow's grave,
The scene awakes a filial tear,
My mother's lonely grave.
Nor let my locks in sorrow lave,
While bending o'er the sacred sign,
My mother's lonely grave.
Which bends the stout and stills the brave,
And I in silence left behind,
My mother's lonely grave.
I have no good on earth to crave;
On thee, O let me drop a smile,
My mother's lonely grave.
DEATH OF AN OLD CARRIAGE HORSE.
Constrained to travel weak or strong,
With orders from oppressing force,
Push along, push along.
And took at forks the roughest prong,
Still by the cruel driver pressed,
Push along, push along.
To charm me with her artless song,
But pleasure lingered from the word,
Push along, push along.
Was push, the peal of every tongue,
The only word was all the way,
Push along, push along.
Had I to travel right or wrong,
'Till death my sweet and favored friend,
Bade me from life to push along.
THE RISING SUN.
To give the placid morning light;
On wheels of glory moves his throne,
Whose light adorns the earth.
Has the imperial course begun,
The lark deserts the dusky shade,
And soars to meet the sun.
Aurora comes without delay,
With brooms of light the shade to sweep,
And drive the gloom away.
Our king is coming now in sight,
Beaming the diadem of day,
Whose crest expels the night.
To groves, and hide from every eye;
Our slumbering dust will rise and meet
Its morning in the sky.
Now hid within empyreal gloom,
Will break forth in a brighter theme,
And call us from the tomb.
THE SETTING SUN.
While blushing down the west,
When his diurnal race is run,
The traveler stops the gloom to shun,
And lodge his bones to rest.
But still throws back his light,
From oceans of resplendent grace,
Whence sleeping vesper paints her face,
And bids the sun good night.
My thoughts in vision stray,
Like spirits stealing into light,
From gloom upon the wing of flight,
Soaring from time away.
Takes his departing peep,
And hails the accidental world,
Swift round whose base the globes are whirl'd.
Whilst weary creatures sleep.
MEMORY.
Still lends a dull and feeble ray;
For ages with her vestige teems,
When beauty's trace is worn away.
Sits silent to be heard no more,
Or leaves them on the willows hung,
And pastime glee forever o'er.
With evening dew drops from thine eye;
The twilight bursting from thy wheels,
Ascends, and bids oblivion fly.
Designed to fade, no, never, never;
We'll stamp thy memory on the tomb.
And bid th' immortal live forever!
And bid his smiling day expire,
Memory, thy torch steals up behind,
And sets thy hidden stars on fire.
PROSPERITY.
Nature calls thee to her arms,
Love sits gay on every feature,
Teeming with a thousand charms.
Greet me in the citron grove,
Where I saw the belle of flowers
Dealing with the bloom of love.
Bids thee rise and come away,
From a vale both dry and barren,
Come to one where life is gay.
Fair Feronia—mountain glee—
Lovelier than the garden flourish,
Or the goddess of the bee.
Fertilize the teeming field,
From thy stran dissolved at leisure,
Bid the bee her bounty yield.
Nature calls thee to her arms,
Love sits gay on every feature,
Teeming with a thousand charms.
DEATH OF GEN. JACKSON
—AN EULOGY.
I hear a voice proclaim,
A sound which fills the world with gloom,
But magnifles his name.
And wail from State to State,
And sound abroad from shore to shore,
The death of one so great.
And fought his passage through;
He dies, the prince of all the brave,
And bids the world adieu.
Ye vagrant mountaineers;
Ye rustic peasants drop a shower
Of love for him in tears.
With that trans-piercing eye;
Ceases to roam the mountain o'er
And gets him down to die.
While marching from his tomb,
Aloud let all the world proclaim,
Jackson forever bloom.
He goes down like a star,
He sets and leaves his friends behind,
To rein the steed of war.
I hear a voice proclaim,
A sound which fills the world with gloom,
But magnifies his name.
MR. CLAY'S RECEPTION AT RALEIGH, APRIL, 1844.
With every tuneful band,
The mighty brave,
His country bound to save,
Extends his aiding hand,
For joy his vot'ries whoop and stamp,
Excited by the blaze of pomp,
Let every eye
The scene descry,
The sons of freedom's land.
To give the hero praise—
Immortal Clay,
The cause is to portray,
The light of Columbian sun,
Breaks from his patriot throne,
Let all admire,
The faithful sire,
The chief musician plays.
And give the patriot room,
The cannon's sound,
The blast of trumpets bound,
Be this our father's home,
Now let the best musician play,
A skillful tune for Henry Clay,
Let every ear,
With transport hear,
The President is come.
With each admiring guest,
Thou art our choice,
Let ev'ry joyful voice,
Sound from the East to West,
Let haughty Albions lion roar,
The eagle must prevail to soar,
And in lov'ly form,
Above the storm,
Erect her peaceful nest.
Which lifted to the sky,
No thunders roll,
To agitate her soul,
Beneath her feet they fly,
Strike every ear, set hearts on fire,
Let monarchs sleep,
Beyond the deep,
And howling faction die.
When every heart was gay,
The universal swell,
Rushed from the loud town bell,
In awful, grand array,
We see them from the bright parade,
And hark! a gladdening march is played,
Along the street,
The theme is sweet,
For every voice is, Clay.
Resort with princely fears,
And homage pay;
A long huzza for Clay,
Falls on our ears,
Loud from his lips the thunders roll,
And fill with wonder every soul:
Round the sire of the State,
All concentrate,
And every mortal hears.
CLAY'S DEFEAT.
The aim of the marksman is vain,
The wish of destruction completed,
The soldier eternally slain.
The bird is too chilly to sing,
No music is played for the drummer,
No cawl is heard on the wing.
An edifice stripped of its dome,
Its fame from her pinnacle shaken,
Like the sigh heaving downfall of Rome,
The prince of republican power,
The star-crown of Washington city,
Descends his political tower.
The brave of the West is before
The bowl at the fountain is broken,
The music of fame is no more.
Is told for the brave whig to hear,
Whose sun leaves his circuit of glory,
Or sinks from the light of his sphere.
SLAVERY.
We can't but look with frowns on thee,
Without the balm which gives relief,
The balm of birthright—Liberty.
Thy vessel toss'd from wave to wave,
By stormy winds 'mid billows hurl'd—
Such is the fate of every slave.
Through sultry bogs we trudging go;
Thy rusty chains we frown to wear,
Without one inch of wealth to show.
Were dragged across the brackish deep,
Bound fast together, hand in hand,
O! did the God of nature sleep?
The pirate dragged them o'er the sod,
Devoid of pity and of love,
They seemed as left without a God.
Born to enjoy the good of earth,
Brought in creation from the clay,
To reap a blessing from our birth?
Who take our lives and wealth away,
Since all were placed on earth to live,
And prosper by the light of day.
Pervade the dwindling world we see;
He hurls the vengeance with his rod,
And thunders, let the slave be free!
THE TERRORS OF WAR.
And empires tremble at his burning tail;
Commanding troops without delay,
The distant land his calls obey,
Ye proud imperial powers give way,
And at the cause bewail.
Pallid he floated with a hideous yell;
Napoleon bellowed at his side,
And saw compassion all denied;
Beneath his stroke, ten thousand died,
And wounded millions fell.
Pursued at once by heavy rending peals;
He heaved his thunders from the main,
In purple gore he dyed the plain,
Then boasted his legions slain,
Beneath the ruthless wheel.
He breathed his stenched diseases from afar;
A quiet world no more was still,
And terrors broke from hill to hill,
Whose bloody thirst was all to kill,
Which stood before his car.
THE HAPPY BIRD'S NEST.
When evening calls the laborer home to rest;
When glad the bee deserts the hermid flower,
O, then the bird assumes her peaceful nest.
And sol's resplendant wheel descends the west,
The knell of respiration tolls for all,
And Hesper smiles upon the linnet's nest.
The night bird tells her day departing jest,
She gladly leaves her melancholy dell,
And spreads her pinions o'er the linnet's nest.
And glides through ether with her silver crest;
Bidding the watchful bird still pour her tale,
And cheer the happy linnet in her nest.
And o'er thy tomb departed genius rest;
Whilst thou shalt take thy long eternal flight,
And leave some faithful bird to guard thy nest.
THE FATE OF AN INNOCENT DOG.
He did not many ills regard,
Indeed he was a trusty dog,
And did not through the pasture prog,
The grazing flock to stir, poor dog.
The grazing flocks to stir.
In quest of game, not far ahead,
And made one active leap,
When all at once, alarmed, he espied
A creature weltering on its side,
A deadly wounded sheep, alas!
A deadly wounded sheep.
Apprised of lurking danger near,
And there he left his trail;
Indeed, he was afraid to yelp,
Nor could he grant the creature help,
But wheeled and dropped his tail, poor dog,
But wheeled and dropped his tail.
At morn the nimble hare to run,
When frost was on the grass;
Returning home, who should he meet,
The wether's owner coming fleet,
Who scorned to let him pass, alas!
Who scorned to let him pass.
A surly complement he pays,
Insulted shows his wrath,
Returns a just defensive growl,
And does not turn aside to prowl,
But onward keeps the path, poor dog!
But onward keeps the path.
But could afford no recruit,
Nor raise it up to stand;
'Twas mangled by some other dogs,
A set of detrimental rogues,
Raised up at no command, alas!
Raised up at no command.
But lure the blame of other dogs,
With powder, fire and ball;
They killed the poor unlawful game,
And then came back and eat the same,
But tiger paid for all, poor dog,
But tiger paid for all.
Lest he be taken in the snare;
And scorn such fields to roam,
A creature may be frought with grace,
And suffer for the vile and base,
By straggling off from home, alas!
By straggling off from home.
Who die without a shade of guilt—
Look out or cease to roam—
Whilst up and down the world he plays,
For pleasure, man, in danger strays
Without a friend from home, alas!
Without a friend from home.
THE TIPPLER TO HIS BOTTLE.
Defeated every good endeavor,
I never can through life agree
To place my confidence in thee,
No, never! no, never!
Thou nothing hast availed me ever,
Vain have I thought myself inspired;
Say have I else but pain acquired?
Not ever! no, never!
Flows from thy fount thou cheerful giver,
From thee affluence sinks to stealth,
From thee I pluck no bloom of health,
Whatever! no, never!
Power from my tongue flows like a river,
The gas flows dead I'm left behind,
To all that's evil down conjured,
To flourish more, never!
Thy powers at large will union sever,
Disgorge no more thy killing bane,
The bird, hope, flies from thee in vain,
To return more, never!
ROSABELLA—PURITY OF HEART.
I set on fire the congregations all,
'Tis but a brazen bell that I have rung,
And I to nothing fall,
My theme is but an idle air,
If Rosabella is not there.
And hurl the blaze of oratoric flowers,
Others I move but fail myself to save.
With my declaiming powers,
I sink, alas! I know not where,
If Rosabella is not there.
And closely circumscribe the path to Heaven,
And pour my melting prayer without delay,
And vow my sins forgiven,
I sink into the gloom, despair,
If Rosabella is not there.
And make the valleys vocal with my song,
I'm vain without a stream of mystic love,
For all my heart is wrung,
I've laid myself a cruel snare,
If Rosabella is not there.
I fly proclaiming Heaven from land to land,
Or cross the seas and reach their distant shores,
'Mid gothic groups to stand,
O, let me of myself beware,
If Rosabella is not there.
And with their flow'ry tongue's to ashes burn,
And not one groat a mortal wit bewail,
Upon his last return,
Be this the creature's faithful prayer,
That Rosabella may be there.
The babe of Heaven and cannot be defiled,
The soul is dead and in a state forlorn,
On which she has not smiled,
Vain are the circle and the fair,
If Rosabella be not there.
And mortal glories fade to glow no more,
She with the wing of truth augments her fire,
And still prevails to soar,
All else must die the good and wise,
But Rosabella never dies.
FALSE WEIGHT.
And let the scales be even;
Forbid the prising beam to rear,
And pull thee down from Heaven.
For every sin forgiven;
Give back my right, my weight decrease,
And mount like mine to Heaven.
Take ten and give eleven;
Or else be fair, I ask no more,
'Tis all required of Heaven.
Which is but four for seven;
Keep nothing back, but pay it all,
It is not hid from Heaven.
The truth in Scriptures given;
Last shall be first, and first be last,
In time, in earth and Heaven.
DEPARTING SUMMER.
And summer fails her charms to yield;
Bleak nature turns another page,
To light the glories of the field.
The forest smiles no longer gay;
Gardens are left without perfume,
The rose and lilly pine away.
As one divested of her store;
Or, like a queen whose train has fled,
And left her sad to smile no more.
And hopp'd along the flow'ry spray;
Now silent holds her warbling tongue,
Which dulcifies the feast of May.
No change of nature is in vain;
'Tis just, alternate, cold and heat,
For time pleasure mixed with pain.
REFLECTIONS FROM THE FLASH OF A METEOR.
Psalm X, 12.
How small a point my life appears;
One gleam to death the whole betrays,
A momentary flash of years.
Life's gaudy bloom at once we shed;
And sink beneath affliction's blast,
Or drop as soon among the dead.
Which oft runs down and stops at noon;
Thus in a moment man is born,
And lo! the creature dies as soon.
Dim burning on its dreary shore;
Just like that star which downward shot,
It glimmers and is seen no more.
With conscious awe my end to prove;
Early to make my peace with death,
And thus in haste from time we move.
Direct me with a burning pen;
Thus shall I, on a tuneful gale,
Fleet on my three score years and ten.
TRUE FRIENDSHIP.
I must aspire to thee,
Whose breezes bid the heart be still,
And render sweet the patient's pill,
And set the prisoner free.
Which feels another's pain,
And must with equal sighs condole,
While sympathetic streamlets roll,
Which nothing can restrain.
Of mortals to be seen,
She does not thus her gifts impart,
Her aid is from a feeling heart—
A principle within.
Comes shiv'ring to her door,
At once he finds a welcome home,
The torch of grace dispels the gloom,
And bids him grope no more.
The voice of need to hear,
When ruthless ills our peace assail,
When from our heart she draws the veil,
And dry's the falling tear.
She hides and dwells alone,
When friends and kindred disunite,
With pity she surveys the sight,
And gives to each his own.
Her wonders to exceed,
She is the queen of all her race,
Whose charms the stoutest must embrace,
When in the vale of need.
The sympathising tear,
Constrained to flow till others dry,
Nor let the needy soul pass by,
Nor scorn to see or hear.
ON THE CONVERSION OF A SISTER.
Resigned to the treasure above,
Inviting the strangers to come
And feast at the banquet of love.
'Tis the voice of a culprit forgiven,
Restored from a prison of pains
With the sound of a concert from Heaven.
A torch of beatific fire,
A spirit exulting for flight,
With a strong and impatient desire.
A foretaste of pleasure to come,
Distill'd from the fountain above,
The joy which awaits her at home.
EARLY AFFECTION.
When first I saw thy beauty's ray,
And will, until life's eve comes on,
And beauty's blossom fades away;
And when all things go well with thee,
With smiles and tears remember me.
And wheedling gallantry is o'er,
When youth is lost in ages blast,
And beauty can ascend no more,
And when life's journey ends with thee,
O, then look back and think of me.
'Mid sorrow's gloom or pleasure's light,
And when the chain of life runs down,
Pursue thy last eternal flight,
When thou hast spread thy wing to flee,
Still, still, a moment wait for me.
To which my fondness was betray'd,
Bearing the tincture of the skies,
To glow when other beauties fade,
And when they sink too low to see,
Reflect an azure beam on me.
CONNUBIAL FELICITY.
Young brides in flowers array'd,
Will soon grow old,
And prove a scold,
Tho' their forms decay'd.
Fly from the elf and leave her,
The only means a dame to please,
Is by your flight to grieve her.
The tallest soonest fall,
The tender bloom,
Of sweet perfume,
Will pine the first of all.
Her frowns are but to flatter,
So when your flight has grieved your wife
Come back and discord scatter.
Are quickly past away,
The honey moon,
Will change as soon,
And love to ills betray.
Is ever soonest rotten,
Know in as much the nuptial glee.
Must pass and be forgotten.
NO, NEVER LOVE.
Then with another fly and leave thee?
No, never, never during life,
Have I the notion thus to grieve thee,
Never love, no never!
At once myself from thee to sever,
Like the eternal flight of breath,
The mystic spirit gone forever,
Never love, not ever!
The sad, the melancholy story,
The tale of love's departing bird,
When wedlock lost her torch of glory,
Few ever love, few ever!
Along the roaring breakers sweeping,
Alas! and to return no more,
He leaves his love behind him weeping,
With hopes all lost forever!
She gazes from a lofty mountain,
To have her soul from trouble flee,
Consigns her body to the fountain,
Resolv'd to die forever!
And bids her friends to languish never,
But yells before she strikes the deep,
And bids the world adieu forever,
Forever and forever!
DISCARDED BY A FALSE SUITOR.
Thou spoiler of my daughter's charms,
Thy hidden bane shall sink thee low,
With death wrapped in thine arms.
The silly nymph that loves the dear,
Alarming fondness with a smile,
To fade beneath a tear.
My child for fancy soared above,
But soon she fell beneath the sting,
Of unrequited love.
Take care may burn thee up at last,
Or lead astray thy feet afar,
And pain thy pleasures blast.
RECOLLECTIONS OF PAST EVENTS.
The substance of a pleasing dream,
Awakes the most delightful theme,
When to one's self alone,
Those pleasures only break in sight,
Fresh with the streams of morning light.
For wonders fail to charm before,
O, then look back, the scene adore,
'Mid autumns deepest blast;
Thus hoary age looks back in truth,
And smiles upon the charms of youth.
Where surly winter takes her seat;
She then and then alone is sweet,
For dreams her charms disclose:
To shun the hidden ills be sure,
Wait till the greener fruits mature.
Before its charms can well be known,
For often men their wives disown,
Till years their deeds display:
The sweets of time can best be told,
In after years when life is old.
When dreaming nature sleeps no more,
When the short night of time is o'er,
And world's in union meet—
The mem'ry of pure deeds in time,
Live in seraphic world's sublime.
THE INTEMPERANCE CLUB.
Away young health and mother genius flew;
And when from the child and parent ran,
In stepped Dyspepsia belching, how do ye do?
Pleasure and pain at once their daggers drew;
Pain with his rod struck pleasure on the nose—
In stepped lean Palsy trembling, how do ye do?
But stay'd not long the ghastly sight to view;
And on her flight could not forbear to weep—
In stepped the Cholic frowning, how do ye do?
And in the house saw poverty's dull crew;
When down the foot of Bolus kicked the door—
In stepped the King of Terrors, how do ye do?
JEFFERSON IN A TIGHT PLACE.
THE FOX IS CAUGHT.
Have rambled faithful, hill and dale;
But mind, such creatures never fail,
To run the rebel down.
His fears forbid him long to stop,
Altho' he gains the mountain top,
He soon is made his tail to drop,
And fleets to leave the hounds.
Such is the fox upon the chase;
To him the mud is no disgrace,
No lair his cause defends.
He leaves a law and seeks a dell,
And where to fly 'tis hard to tell;
He fears before to meet with hell,
Behind he has no friends.
Though buried among the rocks;
He's a nuisance among the flocks,
And sucks the blood of geese.
He takes advantage of the sheep,
His nature is at night to creep,
And rob the flocks while the herdsmen sleep,
When dogs can have no peace.
However fast he run away,
He knows he has not long to stay,
And assumes a raccoon's dress.
Found in a hole, he veils his face,
And fain would take a lady's place,
But fails, for he has run his race,
And falls into distress.
The martial troops of Michigan,
May hence be known the fleetest men,
For Davis is their prey.
Great Babylon has fallen down,
A King is left without a crown,
Stripped of honors and renown,
The evening ends the day.
GEN. JORDAN, COMMANDING 1ST BRIG., 3D CAV. DIV., CAV. CORPS, M. D. M.
Merits his boon, tho' not so great,
He was firm to his post;
'Mid battles teen, he braved the storm,
Resolv'd his duty to perform,
What ever ills they cost.
The deeds of valor to display,
His soldiers to control;
He seemed regardless of the cloud,
Which teemed with rebel thunders loud,
Which did with vengeance roll.
Who helped the cursed foe to route,
And made him bend the knee;
He flourished in his martial cause,
And aided to confirm the laws,
To set Columbia free.
Ye vassals bask beneath the blaze,
Of one who is your friend;
And others in the battle live,
Who fought and left you not to grieve,
To whom all knees should bend.
THE SOLDIER ON HIS WAY HOME
Like light ascending out of gloom;
We now are ready to depart,
To our dear native home.
No more we hear dread monsters roar;
Adieu, ye thunder teeming guns,
Ye shake our camp no more.
We have no longer hence to roam;
Left like a trump, each joy prevail,
We're on our journey home.
Who will not be contented there;
Rather than rove thro' woods apace,
With sorrow, gloom and fear.
And let our kindred know we come,
Let voices like sweet thunder war,
We soon shall land at home.
And streamlets bubling as they flow,
Allure the pensive mind away,
Whilst vallies smile below.
Our gardens teeming fresh in bloom,
And kindred meet us at the gate,
Glad that we are at home.
THE SOLDIER AT HOME.
And leave the conflict all behind;
Rejoice, the storm of rupture ends,
To which we have been long confined.
On which she long before has play'd;
Attentive vesto forms the fire,
And cheers me in the cloister shade.
Which led me when a feeble child,
Where the lone oak and willow stand,
On which I have so often smil'd.
And say till death we part no more;
No hostile threats our hearts alarm,
Go when Heaven calls and not before.
Or leads us thro' the glades of pan;
And calls at eve the teeming cow,
Then let us stay at home who can.
Ascending gently as from gloom;
Leave not thy dear companions far,
But live in peace with them at home,
The battle's won, arise and bloom;
Once firm let nought thy system jar,
But stand nor leave thy friends at home.
THE ANGEL OF DEATH AT THE BED OF A DYING SAINT.
Or dare my fatal torch deny;
Does not thy soul my smile deserve,
Which bids its fabric die.
The aid I thee have given,
With beams of providential love,
Which off thy love has driven.
With thee, and heard thy plaint on earth:
And for thy deep distress felt,
And turned thy grief to mirth.
Which keep thee from thy native sky,
Which binds thee to this loathsome ball,
And bids thee grieve to die!
THE FLIGHT OF THOUGHT.
The ambient breezes seldom wander more;
It flies through unknown climes with wonder fraught,
Creation to explore.
From Africa to Europe darts the mind,
It still continues on its wings apace,
And leaves its cage behind.
It steals away and yet we know not how;
Nothing confines it but to break its chain,
Its stream remains to flow.
Its mystic operation who shall know;
It bounds to Etherr, and darts back as soon
Into its cage below.
Just like the wind, it has no space of rest;
To traverse regions to its mighty end
In North, South, East and West.
Who hobbles as in fetters as he goes;
He thus remains within the flesh confined,
At night in still repose.
Conspiring lines ne'er seen a fairer sight;
It fleets on rapid nymphs from star to star,
Almost an infinite flight.
POVERTY.
She seems a creature dead, and yet alive;
She must, at large, herself with shame betray,
And frowning from herself would steal away.
He gathers much, and yet he pines for more;
By discontent he makes his progress rough,
And never can suppose he has enough.
For thus at night a man may take his rest;
The author of his health he may adore,
And fails to pine, because he has no more.
In poverty she lives, when wealth is past;
When mammon bloom has faded on the mind,
The stream of poverty becomes combined.
Reflects a pleasure which commands the whole;
One is considered poor when he is rich,
There is a destiny assigned to each.
Received by all who ever there have stood;
Though I by poverty continue poor,
Let me the pain of poverty endure.
Never to rise again at all, at all;
An overruling providence lifts up
The head of poverty when mammon stoops.
Fell sadly down in spite of all her power,
Hence, let all the proud and thrifty cease to boast
Of that which in a moment may be lost.
Thy flower is withered and thy bird is flown,
Thou whom thy neighbors progress long delay,
Hast fallen low with all thy trust betray'd.
THE USE OF LIBERTY.
To wander creation all over,
And toil for eternity there is their rest,
The right of all things first discover;
But learn in the ramble yourself to control,
And strictly take care of both body and soul,
For peace with our Maker and law is the whole,
The pride and the crown of a nation.
Had better continue without one,
To live in contention forever in strife,
Why should I be crazy about one?
Whoever endeavors to keep one in pain,
Your liberty thus is wound up in a chain,
For why should one ever be free to complain,
The disgust and mock of his nation?
A boon which we never should trifle,
A man may be turned loose and find himself free,
To ramble the woods with his rifle,
He oft leaves behind him a hut of disgrace,
Without a rough servant to dig in his place,
He's not calculated to prowl thro' the chase,
But rather to rob his own nation.
You are not aware of your danger,
This never should make you too selfish and stout,
Be never to business a stranger,
Be careful to gather what wisdom you can,
Acknowledge yourself to be only a man;
To undermine others avoid such a plan,
And shine like a star in your nation.
A teacher, a ploughman or student,
Be never too selfish because you are free,
To learn in your course to be prudent,
The springs little streamlet must swell as it flows,
The more runs into it the larger it grows,
Till into the ocean a river it flows,
And mingles the flood of a nation.
Because he is free from his master,
Because I can ramble wherever I please;
At nothing I strive none the faster,
I have not a servant, I have not a horse,
And have not the power to take one by force,
If nothing to keep one it makes it still worse,
And poverty takes the plantation.
EULOGY ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER.
But still the vital stars of memory bloom,
The torch of fame has not extinguished yet,
Still glimmering o'er the tomb;
Be still my soul, but languish never,
Welcome the knell,
Fare thee well,
We soon shall meet again.
Who sought the distant smiles of brother love,
Whose pleasure was her safety to defend,
And all her cares remove;
Be still my soul, indulge no sorrow,
Death but kills the pain, &c.
Encircled by a bright seraphic throng,
Thy tears will soon be turned into a smile,
And weeping into song;
Be still my soul, for joys await thee,
Death only kills the pain,
Welcome the knell,
Farewell thee well,
We'll shortly meet again.
THE LATE THUNDER STORM WHILE IN CA AT CONCORD, N. C., JUNE 20, 1865.
When all the humble plains were still,
Which trembled from the thunder's voice,
Too dread for heathen to rejoice,
But shudder at the sound;
The lightning streaming from his eyes,
Rent as it broke through all the skies,
Its headlong course the world defies,
From which the affrightened creature flies,
For shelter in the ground.
All nature kindled from his breath,
From land to land the rupture spread,
And bade all living creatures dread
August Jehovah's ire;
Ye cedars of the mountain brake,
Ye summits reel, ye vallies shake,
Ye hidden beasts your dens forsake,
And ye who dare to sleep, awake
From unextinguished fire.
And all the fields were wrapp'd in flame;
Thus did the world his wrath provoke;
The air was darkened with the smoke,
Who can his wrath abide?
The leopard hastened to the rock,
Whilst every creature felt the shock,
'Twas death among the grazing stock,
Astonished were the scattered flock,
Which sought in vain to hide.
The concave vaults were stern with cloud,
The lightenings leap, the thunders roll,
And earth seems rent from pole to pole,
The mountains bowed beneath;
His nostrils breathed the livid stream,
The air was scorched before the flame;
The thunder acclimates the same,
Aloud to spread Jehovah's fame,
And load the heavens with death.
McCROOM TO HIS MISS.
I do not want thy hoops and laces,
For every self-applauding curl,
A pensive thought disgraces.
'Tis but a syren to deceive me,
I'd rather have one gill of rum
Than all thou hast to give me.
Beware, it only was to try thee,
I do not languish for a bride,
I also will deny thee.
Thou wishest all the world to plunder,
Beware, I have as much for thee,
I have the same to wander.
And be of thee denied forever,
For thee I cannot be forlorn,
No! never, never, never!
ADVICE TO THE EXTRAVAGANT, PROUD AND IDLE.
There is a time to play,
To use the sword or sabre,
And spurn the ills away.
But disregard the snare,
And let them not constrain you
To leave a task so dear.
That constitutes a bliss?
We say to every creature,
The truth lies but in this:
If you depend on giving,
You will yourself deceive,
Or sacrifice your living,
And bring yourself to grieve.
That e'er has much to spare,
Tho' he has moderate plenty;
But stop the matter there;
Had you not play'd with folly,
It might with you be well;
For now you might be jolly
With corn and wheat to sell.
From idle chat came in,
Conversing with the devil,
The base of every sin,
You miss the road to pleasure,
And take the meaning wrong,
Or turn the word to leisure,
And idly pass along.
Your little mites away,
For friends destroy your living,
But none your debts will pay;
Full tables to display,
For soon your friends will covet
Your living all away.
THE ART OF A POET.
But he must after learn to scan,
And mark well every rule;
Gradual the climax then ascend,
And prove the contrast in the end,
Between the wit and fool.
And seem from folly to emerge,
And ryme well every line;
One lucky, void of light, may guess,
And safely to the point may press,
But this does not refine.
And streams must run if they refine,
And widen as they flow;
The diamonds water lies concealed,
Till polished it is ne'er revealed,
Its glory bright to show.
Where things concealed must rise unfurled,
And tread the foot of yore;
Tho' he may sweetly harp and sing,
But strictly prune the mental wing,
Before the mind can soar.
THE MAMMOTH.
Thy massive trace was found in ages past;
This we adopt, and do not doubt the least,
Thy fame through time will last.
The trace of such a wondrous beast was found;
In by-gone years when time was in its youth,
It traversed o'er the ground.
Say not no form was made to equal thine;
Antiquity portrays the past event,
For there he left the sign.
Whose bulk surpasses all the water train,
With him to measure their attempts all fail,
For thou wouldst swell in vain.
His magnitude was not announced as good,
And hence he was not suffered long to last,
But was swept off by the flood.
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
VAIN PRIDE.
He cast his perspicacious eyes,
With schemes to wondrous to account;
He tries to swim the elysian fount,
No eye is given,
Below the heaven,
To trace him where he flies.
Where has the bird of glory fled?
His plume was bright, but soon was shed,
He flapped his wing and died;
His schemes of old,
Have not been told,
In vain the wits have tried.
No more to boast his thousands slain,
Nor ride the sanguinary plain,
And boast booty won;
Thus in disgrace,
He closed his race,
And sighed to beat the sun.
He knows no more, reposed in gloom;
His bones are cloistered in the tomb,
With all his frame decayed;
His conquering power,
Forbears to tower,
To death and worms betray'd.
His lambent banners now are furled,
No more to subjugate the world,
And stalk in robes of state:
The storm is still,
No more to kill,
And peace is all complete.
REGRETTED PAST TIME.
To seize a lambent blossom,
Whose glow-worm is a gift,
To canker on my bosom,
No more of this away, away,
The charms of which life to ills betray,
And dim our microcosm.
A light from fools we borrow,
To-day a transient dream,
Which sinks in gloom to-morrow,
Ye flitting belles adieu, adieu,
I cannot spend the day with you,
Whose sun goes down in sorrow.
Whose lights but darkly glimmer,
Tho' up they high were blown,
But now, alas! grow dimmer,
Let me sweet virtue's fields explore,
No more of this, no more, no more,
Which keeps life in a tremor.
Thou hast no lasting treasure,
No more fond tales I tell,
To gain at twilight pleasure,
Pleasure is gone I know not where.
Not ever true if ever here,
If so but short the measure.
But falls as soon forever,
What is the next account?
He fell his bones to shiver,
And hence it floats upon the gale,
The buck left nothing but his tail,
Which fell his neck to sever.
THE HERMIT'S VIEW FROM THE MOUNTAIN.
And gazed from its heights to the fountain,
The wonder was far fast recounting,
My language would fail me to tell;
Astonished the hermit stood trembling,
From fish in the water assembling,
He feared he should down travel, tumbling,
Deep in the dark abyss to dwell.
With her wings round the rush covert waving
An aspect almost past engraving,
What wonders can nature display;
The limners of great imitation,
Would sink in wild imagination,
And ramble through all the creation,
And never this wonder portray.
Compared to this is but a fibre,
Perhaps not a mortal discriber,
Can paint out its equal in time;
Constrained he looked up and then under,
His mind through the vission must blunde
Thro' nature profound and sublime.
Eternally heaving in motion,
Some think that it is but an ocean,
To strike at the romantic scene;
Naught but to an angel in heaven,
Such noble descriptions are given,
Or the great one immortal in seven,
The mortal has never yet been.
SONG OF LIBERTY.
Opens now, a scene of joy
Roles spontaneous thro' the nation,
Which no treason can destroy;
Lift all voices,
All the world the theme employ.
Storms subsided, leave a peace;
Liberation, O! how glorious,
Start in numbers, not cease;
Send the shower down,
And the shower shall increase.
Blow the trump of Jubilee;
All the slavish land rejoices,
Sing triumphant all are free;
Sing delightful,
All who live this day to see.
Let your anthems blend with ours;
Freedom is a joyful story,
Raise in songs selectial showers,
As in Eden,
Cluster in elysian bowers.
SHE AVERED SHE KNEW NOT WHAT TO SING
And life without a pain;
When music flowed from every tongue,
And sweetly through creation rung,
And bade Jehovah reign.
When flowers were all divine;
And did in smile their pleasures yield,
When nothing lovely lay concealed,
From charming proser fine.
Or Alexander's feast;
When his triumphant race was run,
The shaft of love was hard to shun,
Which struck both man and beast.
Subdued an envious Saul;
Who was constrained to dance and sin,
Whose violin rung from every string,
And pleasuae crowned the hall.
THE EYE DROP.
Down stealing from the humid eye,
When like a crystal drop it fell,
To ache the heart that heaves the sigh.
But silence showed her feeling clear,
Till from her eyes the language sprung,
The tale of sorrow was a tear.
Which thro' a fissure breaks its way,
'Twas love which bursted with its load,
The grief of parting to betray.
And ev'ry sigh a friend endear,
But nothing has the power to tell,
The heart's affection like a tear.
No more forever to appear,
My tongue be still, but let me pay,
The last fond tribute of a tear.
The sense of sorrow too severe,
It must the inmost powers pervade,
And nothing shows it like a tear.
TOUCH NOT, HANDLE NOT, TASTE NOT.
Tho' the deed be seeming small,
Every little calls as much,
Then I must not touch at all.
Appetite will covet more,
Thus I shall myself defeat,
Twenty craves another score.
Let the blushing rose alone,
Where the insect lurks to sting,
Tho' she hums the sweetest tone.
Never heals a wounded heart,
Beauty ends once through the skin,
From the bloom at once depart.
Soon the bird of caution flies,
Self-defence breaks from my lips,
Conscience faints and virtue dies.
Says the father to the son;
Soon a jug becomes a mite,
Start and soon the deed is done.
Down to run it cannot fail,
Raise the gate and start the mill,
Start the boat and spread the sail.
Start not till you prove the end,
Tinker rare with things unknown,
And let caution be your friend.
Touch not, taste not of the bane,
Lest too late you feel the sting,
Lost in unabating pain.
TO THE FOURTH.
JULY 4TH, 1865.
Lift up your hearts and voices,
And every heart rejoices,
On this triumphal day.
Break through the land and nation,
The trump of free salvation,
Aloud the cause display.
That ever broke from mortal tongue,
It fills the whole seraphic throng,
Throughout the worlds above;
What more can please by land or sea,
Than that which sets the bond-man free,
Lift ev'ry hand, bend ev'ry knee,
Swell every heart with love.
It is the Lord's invention,
To take the world's attention,
The sound of victory won;
The labor is at leisure,
'Tis pain turned into pleasure,
A shower of gold and treasure,
Now falls below the sun.
The day of celebration,
It lifts into public fame,
Demanding jubilation,
O, let the sun rise not to set,
And we remain where first we met,
Never for mortal to regret,
A scene to last forever.
The triumph of the Western shore.
Oppression's voice be heard no more,
Hence to disturb us never.
Each heart beats high for glory,
The most delightful story,
Is this of all the three;
The Union is our mother,
We hence should love each other,
The sister and the brother,
Rejoice we all are free.
HARD IS THE SENTENCE OF PARTING MAN AND WIFE, THOUGH THEY MAY HAVE MUCH DISAGREED.
No longer the pain of my arm,
I wish not an ill to betide thee,
Beware that I wish thee no harm.
If thou art gone and gone forever,
Swiftly, swiftly move,
If again I see thee never,
Fare thee well my love.
Hence no more to dwell,
Can'st thou say I did not love thee?
No! but truly well.
If thou art gone resolved to leave me,
Through the world to rove,
Be sure it cannot fail to grieve thee,
Fare thee well my love.
To look on his wife never more,
'Tis the soul and the body fast parted,
Is his flight from his own native door.
Art thou hence inclined to leave me ever,
Kiss my cheek and move,
If again I see thee never,
Fare thee well my love.
And to be resigned,
Hence with thee no more to hover,
Lonely, left behind.
This I could approve,
Dear, if art gone forever,
Fare thee well my love.
I'll take this trouble for one part,
I thought but was truly mistaken,
And sigh with a pain in my heart—
These last words my tears impel,
Hence no more this dove,
Words, heart rending fare thee well,
Fare thee well my love.
Call me no more thine,
Was thy aims first to deceive me,
Thou art no more mine,
Hence expostulate no more,
But to leave me sick and sore,
Let me die and then remove,
Fare thee well my love.
A WIFE, A WIFE, A WIFE, ALL THE DIN IS WIFE—OH FIE! FIE! FIE!
Which burdens down my life,
Which leads to melancholy,
And strikes the road of strife,
Some small regard for cheat she pays,
And cheats me all my remnant days.
That robs one of his leisure,
Eager with one though fair to rest,
Without one lasting pleasure,
Few pleasures true, she may afford,
But after, oh! take care good lord.
Her charms abound with heaven,
A garden fraught with sweet perfume,
At morning, noon and even,
Oh, life is thus to death betrayed,
A danger sprite in smiles arrayed.
She makes man's life a heaven,
That woman has not yet been found,
One thousand sure, not seven,
If celibacy breeds concern,
Oh, try the good, the evil learn—
With sorrow!
BEWARE! I AM GONE!
Whom 'twas my fate to wed,
And leave thee in thy native bower,
Rosella, thou art dead.
I now myself conceal,
What is a heart that never felt,
And yet too hard to feel.
Thy burden on thy head,
Good bye! thy friend is out and gone,
Rosella thou art dead.
Each other could adore,
No more our follies to repeat,
Together now no more.
I have no tears to shed,
Good bye! it is in vain to cry,
Rosella thou art dead.
THE POWER OF LOVE.
SHE SAID TO HER LOVER, I AM TOO YOUNG TO LOVE.
My eager question to approve;
The language of my heart and tongue,
Which flows from love.
Witness the truth ye heavens above;
The eye, without a tonge, can tell
The tale of love.
For whom with brambles I would go;
Rather be with the dead than one
Who cannot love.
With all the softness of a dove;
But fear my eager suit will clove
Without thy love.
THE HORSE STOLEN FROM THE CAMP.
With hair and bones and flesh together;
By hungry fowls he may be slain,
Hence, he will not come back again.
Or if concealed, who knows his hider?
One thing is sure, his tramps are o'er,
And hence, will here come back no more!
As well as mine, the devil's debtor;
He's gone, the buzzard's to deprive,
Who could not take the beast alive.
And hence it will be hard to find him;
If thee no more I'll ride old friend,
My good old pony, fare-thee-well!
WEEP.
And of the gloom which still the future wait;
The proud confederate eagle heard the sound,
And with her flight fell prostrate to the ground!
By which her now dependent is in jail;
The grief of him who now the war survived,
The conscript husbands and the weeping wives!
And souls that ever hope forever lost!
The ravage of the field with no recruit,
Trees by vengeance blasted to the root!
Who sunk without a medium of relief;
Who fell beneath the hatchet of their pride,
Then like the serpent bit themselves and died!
Who far too late his folly must repent;
Who like the dragon did all heaven assail,
And dragged his friends to limbo with his tail!
Our treasures left, and all their banks destroyed;
Their foundless notes replete with shame to all,
Expecting every day their final fall,
In quest of profit never to be won,
Then sadly fallen and forever down!
NEGRO SPECULATION.
And traverse to countries of pain;
'Tis written in blood-dripping letters,
Whilst struggling, but fast in the chain!
Weep humanity, weep!
Gone, hopeless, the land to explore;
And, stationed afar from each other,
To see their dear kindred no more!
Weep humanity, weep.
They toiled in the sun-melting dell,
With rock-hearted tyrants to drive them,
And nature is turned into hell!
Weep humanity, weep!
Beneath the tyranical wave,
His life in a few days is ended,
He's dragged to a premature grave!
Weep humanity, weep!
THE PLEASURES OF FREE GRACE AND AN ANXIETY FOR A VIEW OF HEAVEN.
Immortal fruition I'd flee,
And bathe in the seas of charming flee grace,
When shall I see—when shall I see—
That happy place?
Rolls out to the mountain most free,
And pearls in sweet notes the song of free grace,
When shall I see—when shall I see—
That happy place?
Would bring the sweet story to me,
And teach me to lift the voice of free grace,
When shall I see—when shall I see—
That happy place?
Fly glorious hour, bless day,
And sin shall desert the reign of free grace,
When shall I see—when shall I see—
That happy place?
One spirit in seven or three,
Too pure to be seen by creatures so base,
When shall I see—when shall I see—
That happy place?
THE CHEERLESS CONDITION OF BACHELORSHIP
He breathed to heaven a sad and piteous tone;
For nothing pleasing yet the world displayed,
Though he the blooming garden well surveyed.
No lovely scene unto his eye appeared;
Lone man was then a hermit, quite retired,
Whose flowery cot no cupid had inspired.
Hence from his side I will extract a bone;
But an etheral opiate, sound and deep,
Man on his side was prostrate laid asleep.
The queen of pleasure in his calm repose;
He woke in wonder from his pleasing dream,
To sing and tell it to the limpid stream.
On whom he gazed with rapture and surprise;
Her charm was heaven, her visage glowed with love,
Whose smiles reflected grace thro' all the grove;
Thus did her glory crown the martial bower,
The rosy maid and queen of every flower.
And fragant breezes flowed with peace along;
Myriads of beasts flocked to their festive place,
Which pranced and bellowed round the scene of grace.
And rung all night the hymenial song;
Such is the happy change of single life,
And such the pain of man without a wife;
No smiling dame his pleasures to divide,
A perfect stranger to a loving bride.
A troubled sea, a burden to himself;
Without the knowledge of connubial bliss,
And what is life in such a state as this.
The fluctuating vessel never right;
A clouded sky, a dull and sunless day,
A week which passes void of rest away.
Which quickly ends, but seldom ends in truth;
Upon her plume he first directs his eyes,
Which lightly plays, but far before him flies;
Which, when he gains is withered by the blast,
And all his fond design is lost at last.
The diamond which forbids the mind to rove;
The pride of nature, or the soothing wife,
The soul of pleasure, and the palm of life.
THE THOUGHT OF HOME IN BATTLE.
However far away I roam,
'Tis my pleasure now to move thee,
On my journey home.
The trees in winter bloom,
I thought of thee at every flash,
My dear native home.
And fancied death my doom,
Still hope with thee, the brightest ray,
The thought and love of home.
Or brackest ocean foam,
Still on the wing of hope I soar,
And smile to think of home.
Far, far away to roam,
But now with joy can smiling tell,
I'm on my journey home.
THE MEMORY OF A LADY IN BATTLE.
Memory reflects at twilight ray,
Tho' thou art left behind,
And though I plough the deep wide sea,
Amid the waves I think of thee,
The star upon my mind.
A memory glimmering from afar,
'Tis sad from thee to rove,
I never, never shall forget,
Thy grace, life's last sun shall set,
For nothing darkens love.
This world of danger to explore,
Beneath the heavens above,
However loud the peals of war,
I never shall forget my star,
The torch of distant love.
THE FRIENDS LEFT AT HOME.
For me indulge no sorrow,
However far I go to-day,
I may come back to-morrow.
Beware, 'tis not forever,
I must return to friends so dear,
To leave more, never, never.
Wherever be my station,
I never shall my call regret,
Because I love my nation.
It is a pleasing story,
I smile and go exulting home,
And seize my native glory.
Nor leave them sadly weeping,
I come a better tale to tell,
O'er hills and mountains leaping.
THE SOLDIER'S DISMISSAL.
That flows the noisy camp around,
Like dead bones summons from the tomb,
The trump that calls the soldier home.
The message makes my heart rejoice,
Methinks I hear my father say,
Arise my son and come away.
A pleasing sound for one and all,
Its sound forever seems to roam,
The trumpet calls the soldier home.
The symphony of every tongue,
Resuscitate the soldier's heart,
And bid him from the camp depart.
And bid adieu, to every foe,
Fields, gardens, orchards all in bloom,
Welcome the weary soldier home.
Salute the approaching soldier's ear,
The pink, the lily and the rose,
Each to my view their charms disclose
Ye soldiers wheel from left to right,
Accord in sound from every drum,
The trump that calls the soldier home.
DAVIS' FLIGHT.
Has gone forever out of sight;
And lift not one behind the wail,
But rather triumph at his flight.
Oh! blundering Davis go.
Who led the rebels thus away;
Who gave to gloomy plunder birth,
Then run himself far, far away;
Oh! blundering Davis go.
We think not long he there will dwell;
We are aware he next will go,
To lodge with equal fools in hell;
Oh! blundering Davis go.
In some deep pit or gloomy dell;
Thou canst not shun the shaft of guilt,
Nor screen the thunderbolts of heaven;
Go, go, forever go.
AFTER HIS DEPARTURE.
Refusing his bounty to see;
His pleasure was pain to her life,
What kind of a lady was she?
The gloom of my destiny first;
To be thus sequestered alone,
Deserted, eternally curst.
Though he had deserted and gone;
And as from a ghost recoiled back,
To weep in her chamber alone.
In eternity's ocean to lay;
I should be more content in my bed,
To know he was lodged is his grave.
'Tis terror wherever I move;
Sure nothing can equal the pain,
Of one when deserted in love.
Why had not some other been born;
A woman to put in my stead,
I had not been weeping forlorn.
With one who was destined to rove;
Why did I start off with the man,
Who pays no attention to love.
With all thy sweet foliage of green;
My progress of life to decide,
By mortal no more to be seen.
Afar from all nature removed;
And hide from a cavern like this,
A stranger to distressed love.
But still was a pitiful prey;
And never endeared as a wife,
From whom he went careless away.
FAREWELL! FAREWELL!
Without a moment to delay;
Just like the sun rose to set,
And close the busy scene of day.
Gives birth to many a falling tear;
When parting never to return,
Again to those he loved so dear.
That never shed a tear before;
It wakes the dormant sleeping sigh,
To say that we shall meet no more.
To smile and hear the parting knell;
It turns a vulture to a dove,
To say forever, fare thee well.
It is a bitter tale to tell;
A peal that breaks the tender heart,
Now and forever, fare the well.
PEACE AT HOME.
And breathes a clement breeze behind,
Such is the quiet stream of mind,
Thus all things are to heaven resigned,
And friend with friend divides.
A whirlwind resides in her stead,
And all the laurel's leaves are shed,
The willow droops her verdant bead,
The chamber is a tomb.
Life from the hut or fleet away,
Whose wife is pouting night or day,
Oh, tortured man forbear to stay,
Her path leads unto hell.
Woman indeed is hard to find,
Man to her end is ever blind,
'Tis best to leave the wretch behind,
Nor spend with such a breath.
And yet a transient time to live,
With one who will not take nor give,
But will the dearest friend deceive,
And every favor scorn.
When a rude storm has passed away,
And left the field and garden gay,
Whilst lambent o'er the breast of May,
Play inoffensive flowers.
From one in her own folly left,
Who frowns and tramples on a gift,
Leave her alone herself to shift,
And vanish from her sight.
MY NATIVE HOME.
From thee how can I bear to roam,
Or leave thy patriotic band,
A stranger to my native home.
And plough the ocean's brackish foam,
A land from despotism free,
My birthright and my native home.
And freedom flourish o'er my tomb,
Heaven grant me seraph's wings to soar,
And leave in peace my native home.
Where pleasures laurels fail to bloom,
Oh! fortune o'er the stormy main,
Back waft me to my native home.
And fortune crown the flowery dome,
But fair Columbia thou art mine,
The lot of peace my native home.
With thunders from the shattering bomb,
Oh! let me then with safety fly,
For shelter to my native home.
Through this and future years to come,
My last abode, my final rest,
Be lodged with thee my native home.
NEW FASHIONS.
Something harsh in every ear,
The tear left on the cheek a furrow,
And every breath was drawn with fear;
Now the pall soon dies away,
Bury the dead and all be gay.
Wedding was a strange delight,
And the bride became a fairy,
And the bridegroom an oddly sight;
Now the comic scenes are o'er,
And wedding flows from door to door.
Dirks and pistols slept profound,
Thus sustain the harmless stranger,
And the peasant was renowned;
Now all cry take care cut throat,
Long moustaches, caps and boots.
Wives and husbands knew their own,
Women seldom wore the breeches,
Left their husbands' ploughs alone;
Now tobacco rules have crossed,
And no one knows which chaws the most.
All the world could harmonize,
Few complained not one in twenty,
Of good peas and pumpkin pies;
Soda shortens now the meal,
Else you'll hear a dreadful peal.
Money was not then to make,
Nor for distant fortune laid up,
Down the credit or the break;
Now insolvent pleas are made,
Take once the oath the debt is paid.
And brandy was not but a name,
Thrifty men by labor flourished,
And prudence mounted into fame;
Now large drinks all health oppose,
Man drinks awhile and down he goes.
Teasing their husbands for a dram,
Draughts of gin their bosoms bore not,
Effusing from their lips a damn;
Now they swear, they drink and boast,
And the fairest drink the most.
Slow and backward truly proud,
Men in conversation careful,
True they laughed but seldom loud;
Now their fear they all have left,
And they solicit far the most.
ASPIRING HOME.
I'd fly home rejoicing, nor thence to return;
As an angel of glory,
I'd tell a sweet story,
No longer thro' deserts so distant to roam;
My every endeavor,
I'd dwell there forever,
For there is no place in the Union like home.
I've traveled the countries and cities all thro'
I was once melancholy,
But now I am jolly,
I'll think of the fields and fair gardens in bloom;
No longer a stranger,
Escaped from all danger,
Oh, what is so lov'd as my dear native home.
The whole consolation and peace of my life;
When from the tall mountain,
I gaze on the fountain,
That stood near the seaside, loud hearing its foam;
This thought was my pleasure,
For she is my treasure,
The sole consolation and comfort of home.
And soldiers in crimson their comrades bewail;
When trees split asunder,
From cannons of thunder,
With mountains and valleys all shrouded in gloom;
Oh what was my notion,
What waves of emotion,
Oh heaven, I thought of my dear native home.
And icicles hung in the valleys below;
O'er streams clearly glittered,
With ice over fettered,
The summits resemble some wonderful dome;
O'er hibernal evil,
Back home let me travel,
Bare me back, waft me back to my dear native home.
FREEDOM.
And every other tool he lacks;
And if you wish to starve and fall,
Throw by the mattock and the mawl.
And I prefer to take the woods;
I must incur from justice wrath,
And folly leads from every good.
And just as soon I miss the way;
Poverty travels close behind,
And he becomes to pleasure blind.
And that is nothing but a name;
As soon he enters into strife,
Or early enters into shade.
And all you gain is but your own;
A humid woman bearing rule,
Is seldom better than a mule.
For he has not her deeds disclosed;
'Tis she has gotten you by the hand,
To pull you at her own command.
One or the other may depart;
For if with ease he drives the plow,
She soon will have him milk the cow.
To fix your plan before you wed;
Or else be ever robbed of rest,
Whether without or in the bed.
And every one demands his bread;
And nought or little will be found,
To raise them almost from the dead.
Cast by his freedom in the ground;
Brought by his idol down so low,
He's ashamed his head to show.
We then the judge must deep reprove;
Set not your pleasure thus at stake,
To marry first and work for love.
Be sure at home to take the lead;
Subdue your wife's destructive wave,
Nor let her bear you down a slave.
THE UNION OF PARTIES.
Who e'er was a foe, let him now be a friend;
In one tide of glory, together all mix,
The system of concord completely to fix;
Let us all meet together, and all sing together—
In the Union.
At times meet together, a short race to run;
Let us all run together, but not to divide,
That one in the other may safely confide;
Let us all come together, and all sing together—
In the Union.
No thunder of faction their system shall jar;
Like bright constellation in cluster to shine,
Fill the last crash of nature to flow and refine;
Let us all walk together, and all sing together—
In the Union.
To interdict marriage what mortal shall dare;
No longer divided the nation shall be,
Let all go together, by land and by sea;
Let us all go together, and all stick together—
In the Union.
The planets in ether unwavering we see;
In this concentration, harmonious they move,
In wonderful concord, the union of love;
Then we'll all walk togeher, and all sing together—
In the Union
SONG OF LIBERTY AND PARENTAL ADVICE.
While woods are sweetly blooming,
And bears the joyful strain along,
That happier days are coming.
With all the vassals shouting,
We are no more in chains confined,
And see the devil pouting.
Regard no stint of money,
It now becomes a land of peace,
To flow with milk and honey.
If free who dare to perish?
Nor work your fingers to the bone,
But work with ease and flourish.
But raise yourself a plenty;
To delve and cultivate your own,
And beg not one in twenty.
When you have strength to labor?
Oh, then be glad to dig and toil,
And let alone your neighbor.
Than take their acquisition,
For care and puddles is to live,
In competent condition.
And keep all round you studying,
When health is good and weather fair,
Your work will be quite cheering.
Averting all starvation,
Keep clean herself, her house and you,
And thus support her station.
Upon his own plantation,
Without the cost to steal or kill,
But gladden his relation.
It makes your wife to love you;
If sick it oft restores to health,
Tho' idlers may reprove you.
Let not your friends deceive you,
If in the world you wish to rise,
Take care of what I give you.
It soon will blaze all over,
Thus prudent all things lively go,
And all past loss recover.
And clear up all around you,
Thus will they thrive and gather more,
And nothing will confound you.
Your work will compensate you,
The knife of labor whet if blunt,
And fortune will await you.
Hold in your feet from rambling,
By straggling you can never live,
By sporting nor by gambling.
For this will sure deceive you,
And this you may in truth depend,
Both health and wealth will leave you.
Take money fame and pleasure,
Which never can the loss requite,
But drains the fount of pleasure.
SING ON.
This cold inactive heart,
When love is eager to retire,
Or on its wing depart;
Come back was whispered, oh come back,
Nor from my presence make one track!
The partner of a maid,
When loves like streams flowed from my tongue,
Who had been long afraid;
Escort me timorous dandy come,
And bear the listening lady home!
O'er the fair garden's breast,
When fields were fresh in flowers arrayed,
And noontide called to rest;
When round I heard the insect hum,
The woodbine and the fragrant gum.
Trembling for power to tell,
Nor dare the secret to disclose,
To one beloved so well;
Nor let one, lady, woo thee long,
Before I terminate my song.
AT LEAVING CAMP.
Beneath the sky serene;
Like evening with a starlight lamp,
It soon will close the scene.
The turf we now pass o'er;
With all the grace will soon be past,
And seen of us no more.
And pass up once away;
No more romantic tales to tell,
Since here we cannot stay.
Will soon be left in shame;
To fade with all the falling showers,
Whence none its loss reclaimed.
The streams forbear to flow;
The cooling springs of all run dry,
With nothing left to grow.
A King without a throne;
Sequestered like Jerusalem,
When all her trains were gone.
On life's precarious way;
Until you run lifes transient race,
And camp beyond the grave.
Forever hence to dwell;
Hence never to be called away,
From heaven or from hell.
Like bees from flower to flower;
Or faithful saints from grace to grace,
Move by superior power.
No more the States to roam;
When the decision will be past.
And all arrive at home.
LANGUISHING FOR SOME ONE.
The cold chilly winds cease to blow;
The fall of my soul to recover,
Benumbed in these valleys of snow.
The sun from the South shines in vain;
And yields not one beam to relieve me,
And thus I am left to complain.
Nor news of the blossoms of May:
An object of sad desolation,
Alone in these valleys I stray.
Confined in this hibernal chain;
I cry, but no ear seems to hear me,
An still I am left to complain.
I try, but I cannot be brave;
Then sink into dull melancholy,
With nothing in front but the grave.
Which threatens me often by pain;
And whispers that life will forsake me,
Thus how can I fail to complain.
And shake in this system of clay;
When will thou my spirit deliver,
And chase the cold winter away.
The birds strike a wonderful strain;
The dove tells her sweet lovely story,
And bids me forbear to complain.
And winter will shortly be o'er;
For then like the lark of the morning,
My gratified spirit will soar.
The soul like the unruffled main,
Is changed or completely converted,
And ceases at once to complain.
THE UNAWAKENED PENITENT RETURNING FROM THE CAMP.
With fetters on the wing,
Left without one drop of rain;
To cheer or make me sing,
Heavenly fire now touch the tongue,
How sinful man by nature dumb;
Humble praise shall then be sung,
Whilst on our journey home.
One soul reviving shower,
Sunk beneath the gloom of doubt,
In this decisive hour;
Heavenly visions fill the eye,
Of one thus blind by nature's doom,
On the way I pleading lie,
For light to guide me home.
The gospel olive dead?
Has the cloud passed by and gone,
And left us void of bread?
Tho' we leave the fountain dry,
The cloud may yet return and come,
Thou art able to supply,
And fill us Lord, at home.
Like Zacchius up the tree,
Moved by fancy to look on,
But caught the blaze from thee,
Notwithstanding vast the crowd,
We see for him there still was room,
Boundless love brings down the proud,
And peace awaits him home.
To crave the food of swine,
Whose condition was to show,
The sad effects of wine,
Yet a father's boundless grace,
Forbids the wretched to roam,
Tho' by sensual pleasures base,
Is crowned with love at home.
Who cut himself with stones,
To himself by love was brought,
And thus forgot his moans,
There trembling at the voice,
Which broke with power thro' every tone
Mercy bade the man rejoice,
And sent him shouting home.
SNAPS FOR DINNER, SNAPS FOR BREAKFAST AND SNAPS FOR SUPPER.
You need it now perhaps,
But hear the husband's loud exclaim,
I do not like your snaps,
'Tis snaps when at your breakfast meal,
And snaps when at your spinning wheel,
Too many by a devilish deal,
For all your words are snaps.
The chamber door she taps,
Eat by yourself, my dear, for I
Am surfeited with snaps,
For if I cough it is the cry,
You always snap at supper time,
I'd rather lave in vats of lime,
Than face you with your snaps.
To your long pocket flaps,
That you my face may read and look,
And learn the worth of snaps,
I'm sorry that I learning lack,
To turn you to an almanac,
Next year I'll hang you on the rack,
And end the date of snaps.
TO THE MUSE.
And supplicate thy power;
Tho' at thy feet a suppliant lie,
And heaves his penitential sigh,
To thy exalted tower.
Thou garden of my mind;
Distant from thee I cannot rest,
But where thou art, my heart is blest,
And all to thee resigned.
Delights me dear like thee,
For when the vapors of despair
Assail my heart, if thou art there
I crave not else to see.
Thy smiles my ditty form;
The sun of hope beyond the dead,
Why should that soul the thunder dread,
Or fear to meet the storm.
Thou beck'nest from the tomb,
The veil will shortly be withdrawn,
The smiles of an ethereal dawn,
Will swallow nature's gloom.
And love deserts its claim,
My soul tune every dulcet string,
Till my dear muse upon the wing,
Escorts thee safe away.
THE CLOSE OF LIFE.
Time, farewell to thee;
Oh! that I could die like Moses,
Drop and strangely flee;
I'm gone, amen—I'm gone forever,
My eternal debt to pay;
To return again more never,
Torn from earth away.
With the flight of breath;
Halt my soul, look down and wonder,
After gloom of death;
But let no sobbing tones attend it,
Hide! oh hide! the lifeless frame;
Sobs and tears can never mend it,
All must die the same.
A bloom of swift decay;
Death like lightning flies to carry,
Souls from time away.
His worthless jaw is but a bubble,
Mortal, what is fortune's crown;
Groping thro' a maze of trouble,
What is vain renown.
Oh! but soon to close;
I'm here to-day, but gone to-morrow,
To my long repose.
Mortals sink beneath the wave;
From a stage of proud devotion,
Onward to the grave.
Left without a bloom;
Which, when transient summer leaves it,
Blossoms for the tomb.
Then, oh my soul, forbear to languish,
Drop thy mantle on the shore;
Sing, oh death, where is thy anguish,
Lost and felt no more.
ON EPIPHANY.
The Lord is born in Bethlehem;
Gentiles and Jews the King embrace,
Whose head shall bear the diadem.
Which guides the sages of the East;
It seems on silver wheels to move,
And beckon to a royal feast.
To the remotest bounds of earth;
And let creation lift her voice,
In triumph of the Saviour's birth.
Shines forth deliverance to man;
Whilst in a stall the Saviour lies,
The infant of a glorious plan.
Proclaim thro' the wilderness;
Give way, ye craggy rocks remove,
And melt before the sun of peace.
To bring the stubborn at his feet;
And to disciplinize the church,
And render all the law complete.
And greet Him with a thousand charms;
And then like faithful Simeon die,
With Mary's infant in my arms.
RACHAEL OR VIRTUE.
I was then a distant ranger;
The way was blocked with danger,
I traveled, but the way was never clear,
I fancied the lie, that the world was but a trap,
And I was a fool when I woke from my nap;
Take care Molly,
You make me melancholy,
I love you much, but Rachael is my dear.
And found the way still muddy;
The way for every body,
Throughout this wide world to steer,
I heard from the vale the sweet counsel of life,
Oh! never leave your studies for the sake of a wife;
Take care Fanny,
Dear little Kate and Annie,
I love you all, but Rachael is my dear.
And thus I found resistance;
I found but dull assistance,
This life is lodged with care.
Lay first a solid base for the comfort of life,
Accumulate your treasure first, and then take a wife;
Take care Nancy,
You well please my fancy,
I love you well, but Rachael is my dear.
THE SOLDIER'S THOUGHT OF HOME AT THE END OF THE WAR.
And left behind the calm of joy;
It came, but was not long to last,
To conquer or destroy.
Through future years of time to come;
And do not now the rout regret,
Tho' far away from home.
No less I love to fight a foe;
Resolved to wear the glorious plume,
Wherever I may go.
And smile on every female bloom;
Still in the field, I must be true,
And fight for friends at home.
'Tis both a pleasure and a pain;
But pleasure is but short to last,
For time soon breaks its chain.
A FAINT DESCRIPTION FROM THE PLAINS OF MICHIGAN.
I smile to look on thee,
'Tis sweet thy wonders to explore,
For such I have not seen before,
Nor did I think to see,
Thy purling streams meandering clear,
Are music to my silent ear.
In her full bloom,
Or Canaan's land adorned and green,
With every song inspiring plain,
Entirely void of gloom,
Perhaps they might in wonder shine,
Their grace is nothing more than thine.
On thy bewildering shore,
My tracing eye was much arrayed,
My muse up to her height was raised,
Those beauties to adore,
What pen can bring the contrast forth,
That lies between the North and South.
Thus void I must despair,
And heave a melancholy tone,
I cannot live content I own,
With all without the fair,
With all the universe beside,
I have no peace without a bride.
If of a lady void,
I hence must live and die deprest,
Nor can I permanently rest,
However else employed,
My mind from Paradise must roam,
Without a lady love at home.
FROM LEAVING HOME.
To one beloved so dear,
Alas! I feel a deep concern,
That wakes the dormant tear,
Let hope destroy the present pain,
Farewell, till hence we meet again.
Be thou the first and last,
Be my departure where'er it will,
Affection holds me fast,
Such fond regard must still remain,
Farewell, till hence we meet again.
It is my fate to move,
However now I disappear,
Does not dim my love,
I go within affection's chain,
Adieu, till hence we meet again.
LET ME BE THERE.
Loudly with her dripping eyes,
When the world desist from sleeping,
And the bird mounts in the skies.
Whisper love to all the glade,
And the song the wood lark pleases,
And the kid plays in the shade.
Spreads her mantle o'er the plain,
When the days close completely,
And the night comes back again.
Whether clad in light and gloom,
Hence to leave thee never, never,
And thro' life remain to bloom—
Let me be thine.
A BEAUTIFUL MOONLIGHT NIGHT IN APRIL.
Hail, wonderous queen in ether's vast expanse,Thy region is immense, and all around
Dim twinkling stars encircle thy bright throne,
And reverence pay to thy superior light,
Thro' fields sublime in smiles of azure pomp;
And fadeless lustre hail thy still approach,
Whilst slow thou com'st on thy silver wheel,
To chase away the fairy midnight gloom,
Robed in the mantle of nocturnal grace.
We view thee lift thy head above the east
To wake the serenade and cities praise,
Arose, the pleasures of the watchful swain,
The boding night bird pours his ceaseless plaint,
Along the breeze shores, the Yadkins fair,
Which, like the extensive Nile imbibes thy song,
Reflected o'er the water as it flows.
Oh! could I gaze from Pilot's lifted mount,
Whilst Phœbe smiles on this delightful eve,
Soft on her bank, that river falls with now,
Inspire my verse with sweet monotony.
And now Aurora on her golden car,
With limpid eyes look forward to the west,
Like some Sultana in her garb of grace,
Mount from her hidden chamber with a smile,
Adorned in saphire glory, lo! she comes,
With rays of splendant breaking from her brow.
The day born herald, Venus, marks her way,
And thus betrays her beauties to the world.
Now Flora, left by Lunar far behind,
She, with delight, reviews her ruined Pan;
And hence, with pleasure starts the morning song,
And wanders humming thro' the woods till noon;
Then with her bosom hung with laurels green,
And then imbibes the ventilating breeze.
Thus on her verdant carpet stretched supine,
Traces heaven's blue curtain as she lies
With pensive wonder, while the concave void,
Inspires revolving thought of one supreme.
She next laments Diana's long delay,
And speaks in accents mild to court her charms;
Prolific queen, whilst wilt thou take thy leave,
To dot thy rays on dark Hesperian wilds;
The wanderers of the night would court thy stay
And languish in the absence of thy smile.
Could Joshua, great victor, all divine,
Descend now in the spirit of his faith,
Thy loosened wheel, would at his voice be still,
And thou with sweeter smiles look down from heaven
And bid the nightly song with joy go on.
Now should the prowling wolves disturb the flock,
The shepherd's flute with awe his hunger raged,
The hooting owl would lift his voice in vain,
Wet with the drops of night distilled from heaven;
The stores of vegitation would revive,
From congealation free and void of blast,
The pleasing charms of summer to inspire,
Then could I smile and in my garland's robe,
A visit paid to thy bright festival,
And sporting virgins dance to hear the sound,
So mild and dulcet thro' the pleasant grove,
Till Phebus peeping from his window high,
Throws by the misty curtains of the night
And lifts his torch refulgent up to the east,
Then bids the retinue of Lunar fly,
Pleased with the memory of the late passed nigh
She bids revolving Phebus haste away,
That meek-eyed Pœhbe may resume her seat.
Whose smiles the rover nymph with tears invoke;
To pay their tribute from the dreary bogs
And sing the memory of a sister's flight.
From fragrant Enna to the shades below
The Whip-poor-will now on the twilight verge
Tracks up her glad exhilarating tone
And Hesper's maids ascends the western States
To light the lamps in the etheral hall.
Like their attendants at some nuptial feast,
Adorned inferior to the bridal queen,
Who leaves her dark abode and slow ascends
Wild up the azure steps the stairs of love.
And stores the upper chambers with superior grace.
Now from the Orient ocean see the bride,
Of hidden Phebus with her silver zone,
With all her glimmering train around her throngs,
And gayed with humble silence on the throne,
She looks a princess or an Eastern bride,
Just from some courtly region of renown,
Arrayed in diamonds or the costly gems,
Which shed their waters on the raptured eye,
Like cytherea on the cradle shell;
Ascending gently from her native foam,
An infant of affection from her birth,
Too full of beauty not to be admired,
And far too lovely not to be adored;
And thus Diana soars from earth to heaven,
Whilst Phebus varnishes her silver bowl,
Which like a crystal arch is much delight,
To those who wander through the dreary wilds
At night. Bewildered strangers now may trace,
Her rapid arrows fly throughout the heaven,
And dart with nameless speed to earth below,
Composed of clement rays devoid defeat,
Thousands of spirits which together meet,
And hand in hand they march beneath their smil
Who slumbering dust lies still in ghostly shades,
Regardless of the melancholy breeze,
And which their dismal voices float along,
Or those which smoothly break from louder gales;
In lyric modulation as from heaven,
'Tis said a minstrel heard them in the night,
Below the moon's pale light they trod there,
And softly breathed a serenade divide,
As winged with grace from Lunar's lucid sphere,
Ethereal concerts seem to move along,
In broken language strangely sweet unknown,
Like harps immortal to revive the sad
With sounds harmonious to the feast of light,
Till lost in awful silence on the minstrel's ear.
ASSASSINATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Let all the Universe bewail,
And sob to hear the tragic tale,
And bid the worthy fare-thee-well!
Arouse ten thousand bitter cries,
The glory of the country dies!
In lamentation for the great,
The knell of primagenial fate,
He falls, alas! no more to rise!
The dove still coo's from tree to tree,
Though he be dead, the land is free!
That one so noble thus should die;
His spirit mount into the sky,
His hallowed bones can only sleep.
Still, still, the praise to him we give,
Brave President forever live!
The King, the Regent and the Peer,
And leave regardless of a tear,
Down trickling from the weeping eye!
The tears of sorrow may be shed,
But Lincoln will be never dead!
Which must be sculptured in his tomb,
And flourish in eternal bloom,
The seal of everlasting fame!
Eternal peer forever soar
In light, when nature is no more!
MRS. LINCOLN'S LAMENTATION.
What is it for the breezes seem to wail,The sylvan warblers carol nature's sighs,
For lo! he dies, but leaves behind his name
Eternal Lincoln! weep ye pensive bards,
Loud orators declaim with rills of tears,
For sorrow must attend the dol'rous scene!
Ye damsels of the city weep, O Washington,
Whence is our father fled, gone, gone forever!
Father Abraham the sample of faith,
Whence goest thou to ------.
Still we mourn, but we could not go with thee,
The lady of thy love aspires to thee.
Weep! O my soul, my quick pulse beat thy last,
Ye portals of immortal worlds fly wide,
Eternal messenger go tell my spouse,
To meet me at the threshold of the city,
For lo! I come in haste from nature's gloom,
Seraphic groups descend and waft me home!
O, Abraham, descend at once and open wide thy bosom,
Ye bright attendant bands escort me hence,
Let me look down on the sulphrous gulf,
And view the rich man with his blistered tongue,
The damned, the infernal homicide of peace,
While loud he calls and beckons for relief!
O, father Abraham, send down one drop
Of cooling water to appease the wound,
But ah! too late, the fratrid murderer cries,
My friend, my father Abram, bears me home;
I'm on my way, I'm on my way to heaven.
But oh! the scene is closed and leaves me drear,
Imagination's dream has passed away,
And I awake again, alas! to weep!
Surviving friends, my Abram is no more,
No more to see me till I pass away;
O strike the fatal primagenial blow,
Let me into choas and oblivion
Never more, never, hence to be a woman,
Or thus bereft of all the nature dear!
The lilies droop, the willows sadly weep,
The garden is divested of her grace;
For every scene is pendant as with grief,
And desolation spreads the city around.
The theatre's gloomy where he fell,
With doors and windows closed, where is then
The grave is his asylum, death his friend,
At which from gloom the country rose to light,
On war's last eve the sun of glory sets,
The disk is called in gloom, the star of peace
Break forth in his expanse reflecting glory,
O'er a benighted hemisphere, he leaves
The blaze of day thrown back on every eye.
THE OBSTRUCTIONS OF GENIUS.
By white and colored all the same,
Which oft draws out a secret sigh,
To feel the ills that bother fame.
Which seemed as leading out of gloom,
Beneath my feet still kindled wrath,
Genius seemed leading to a tomb.
To urge the night improving slave,
Never by freedom's laurel crowned,
But pushed through hardship to the grave.
So long in cells of disregard,
While genius in his fetters wept,
Devoid of favors or reward.
To interdict the important cause,
To crush the negligent disease,
And kill the force of humane laws.
Forgetful of their guardian love,
When the white traitors of the deep,
Betray'd him in the palmy grove.
Which darkened the Columbian shore,
Till sun shall fail to rise and set,
And slavery's cries are heard no more.
Naked Genius | ||