 | Verses of a life time |  |
135
THOUGHTS IN JOURNEYING.
137
THE CONGRESSIONAL BURYING-GROUND.
The pomp of death was there;—
The lettered urn, the classic marble rose,
And coldly, in magnificent repose,
Stood out the column fair.
The lettered urn, the classic marble rose,
And coldly, in magnificent repose,
Stood out the column fair.
The hand of art was seen
Throwing the wild flowers from the gravelled walk;—
The sweet wild flowers,—that hold their quiet talk
Upon the uncultured green.
Throwing the wild flowers from the gravelled walk;—
The sweet wild flowers,—that hold their quiet talk
Upon the uncultured green.
And now, perchance, a bird
Hiding amid the trained and scattered trees,
Sent forth his carol on the scentless breeze,—
But they were few I heard.
Hiding amid the trained and scattered trees,
Sent forth his carol on the scentless breeze,—
But they were few I heard.
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Did my heart's pulses beat?
And did mine eye o'erflow with sudden tears,
Such as gush up mid memories of years,
When humbler graves we meet?
And did mine eye o'erflow with sudden tears,
Such as gush up mid memories of years,
When humbler graves we meet?
A humbler grave I met,
On the Potomac's leafy banks, when May,
Weaving spring flowers, stood out in colors gay,
With her young coronet.
On the Potomac's leafy banks, when May,
Weaving spring flowers, stood out in colors gay,
With her young coronet.
A lonely, nameless grave,
Stretching its length beneath th' o'erarching trees,
Which told a plaintive story, as the breeze
Came their new buds to wave.
Stretching its length beneath th' o'erarching trees,
Which told a plaintive story, as the breeze
Came their new buds to wave.
But the lone turf was green
As that which gathers o'er more honored forms;
Nor with more harshness had the wintry storms
Swept o'er that woodland scene.
As that which gathers o'er more honored forms;
Nor with more harshness had the wintry storms
Swept o'er that woodland scene.
The flower and springing blade
Looked upward with their young and shining eyes,
And met the sunlight of the happy skies,
And that low turf arrayed.
Looked upward with their young and shining eyes,
And met the sunlight of the happy skies,
And that low turf arrayed.
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And unchecked birds sang out
The chorus of their spring-time jubilee;—
And gentle happiness it was to me,
To list their music-shout.
The chorus of their spring-time jubilee;—
And gentle happiness it was to me,
To list their music-shout.
And to that stranger-grave
The tribute of enkindling thoughts, the free
And unbought power of natural sympathy,
Passing, I sadly gave.
The tribute of enkindling thoughts, the free
And unbought power of natural sympathy,
Passing, I sadly gave.
And a religious spell
On that lone mound, by man deserted, rose,—
A conscious presence from on high; which glows
Not where the worldly dwell.
On that lone mound, by man deserted, rose,—
A conscious presence from on high; which glows
Not where the worldly dwell.
Washington, D. C. 1836.
140
THE RELEASED CONVICT'S CELL,
AT THE PHILADELPHIA PENITENTIARY.
Within the prison's massy walls I stood,
And all was still. Down the far galleried aisles
I gazed—upward and near; no eye was seen,
No footstep heard, save a few flitting guards
Urging with vacant look their daily round;
For in the precincts of each narrow cell,
Hands, busiest once amid licentious crowds,
Voices, that shouted loudest in the throng,
Were now as calm, as erst the winds and waves,
When Jesus said, Be still.
I was led on
To where a convict ten slow years had dwelt
A prison'd man. Released that day, he sought
The world again. Wide open stood his door.
Hard by the cell, (where for brief term each day
He walked alone to feel the blessed breeze
Play on his cheek, or see the sun-beam dawn
Like a fond mother on her erring child,)
There was a little spot of earth, that woke
Within my breast a gush of sudden tears.
His hand had tilled it, and the fresh grass grew
Rewardingly, and springing plants were there,
One knows not how, lifting their gentle heads
In kind companionship to that lone man.
And all was still. Down the far galleried aisles
I gazed—upward and near; no eye was seen,
No footstep heard, save a few flitting guards
Urging with vacant look their daily round;
For in the precincts of each narrow cell,
Hands, busiest once amid licentious crowds,
Voices, that shouted loudest in the throng,
Were now as calm, as erst the winds and waves,
When Jesus said, Be still.
I was led on
To where a convict ten slow years had dwelt
A prison'd man. Released that day, he sought
The world again. Wide open stood his door.
Hard by the cell, (where for brief term each day
He walked alone to feel the blessed breeze
Play on his cheek, or see the sun-beam dawn
Like a fond mother on her erring child,)
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Within my breast a gush of sudden tears.
His hand had tilled it, and the fresh grass grew
Rewardingly, and springing plants were there,
One knows not how, lifting their gentle heads
In kind companionship to that lone man.
Who can portray how gladly to the eye
Of that past sinner, came in beauty forth
Those springing buds, in nature's lavish love?
Perchance they led him back in healthful thought
To some green spot, where in his early years,
The wild-dower rose, like him unstained and free.
Oh, many a thought swept o'er my busy mind,
And my heart said, God bless thee, erring one,
Now new-born to the world! May heavenly flowers
Spring up and blossom on thy purer way!
Of that past sinner, came in beauty forth
Those springing buds, in nature's lavish love?
Perchance they led him back in healthful thought
To some green spot, where in his early years,
The wild-dower rose, like him unstained and free.
Oh, many a thought swept o'er my busy mind,
And my heart said, God bless thee, erring one,
Now new-born to the world! May heavenly flowers
Spring up and blossom on thy purer way!
A deep, pathetic consciousness I felt
Stirring my soul in that forsaken cell.
It seemed the nest from whence had flown the bird;
Or chrysalis, from whose dark folds had burst
Th' unfettered wing; or grave, from whence the spirit
Wrapt in earth's death-robe long, had sprung in joy.
Stirring my soul in that forsaken cell.
It seemed the nest from whence had flown the bird;
Or chrysalis, from whose dark folds had burst
Th' unfettered wing; or grave, from whence the spirit
Wrapt in earth's death-robe long, had sprung in joy.
Thus be the door of mercy oped for me,
And leaving far the prison-house of sin,
Thus may my spirit range.
And leaving far the prison-house of sin,
Thus may my spirit range.
Philadelphia, June, 1836.
142
THE MOCKING-BIRD IN THE CITY.
Bird of the South! is this a scene to waken
Thy native notes in thrilling, gushing tone?
Thy woodland nest of love is all forsaken—
Thy mate alone!
Thy native notes in thrilling, gushing tone?
Thy woodland nest of love is all forsaken—
Thy mate alone!
While stranger-throngs roll by, thy song is lending
Joy to the happy, soothings to the sad:
O'er my full heart it flows with gentle blending,
And I am glad.
Joy to the happy, soothings to the sad:
O'er my full heart it flows with gentle blending,
And I am glad.
And I will sing, though dear ones, loved and loving,
Are left afar in my sweet nest of home,
Though from that nest, with backward yearnings moving,
Onward I roam!
Are left afar in my sweet nest of home,
Though from that nest, with backward yearnings moving,
Onward I roam!
And with heart-music shall my feeble aiding,
Still swell the note of human joy aloud;
Nor, with untrusting soul kind heaven upbraiding,
Sigh mid the crowd.
Still swell the note of human joy aloud;
Nor, with untrusting soul kind heaven upbraiding,
Sigh mid the crowd.
Philadelphia, May 24, 1836.
143
THE CITY OF NEW-YORK.
Atlantic city! brightly art thou beaming,
Throwing thy kindling ray o'er land and sea,
Enlightening myriads with thy far-spread gleaming,
Home of the free.
Throwing thy kindling ray o'er land and sea,
Enlightening myriads with thy far-spread gleaming,
Home of the free.
Giant of wealth! thine arm of mighty power
Sweeps to thy coffers gold from distant shores;
While on each asking hand thy Danae shower,
Its treasure pours.
Sweeps to thy coffers gold from distant shores;
While on each asking hand thy Danae shower,
Its treasure pours.
Religion's nurse! on spire and tower still flying,
The Christian standard floats unfurled, and free;
Never, our bold forefathers' claim denying,
Mind's liberty!
The Christian standard floats unfurled, and free;
Never, our bold forefathers' claim denying,
Mind's liberty!
Favorite of nature! on thy green shore dwelling,
Bright spring-flowers bloom,—the wild birds carol gay,
And the green ocean laves thy broad pier, smiling
In noisy play.
Bright spring-flowers bloom,—the wild birds carol gay,
And the green ocean laves thy broad pier, smiling
In noisy play.
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Haven of ships! thy storm-tried masts are standing,
With their tall foreheads to the meeting clouds,
A floating world—the billowy world commanding,
With their tough shrouds.
With their tall foreheads to the meeting clouds,
A floating world—the billowy world commanding,
With their tough shrouds.
Syren of pleasure! in thy halls bright glancing,
Youth gaily springs, and prunes her buoyant wing.
Do purity and truth the mirth enhancing,
Their chorus bring?
Youth gaily springs, and prunes her buoyant wing.
Do purity and truth the mirth enhancing,
Their chorus bring?
O, mighty city, to thy trust is given
A moral influence—a Christian sway!
Souls throng thy busy streets to people heaven,—
Let them not stray.
A moral influence—a Christian sway!
Souls throng thy busy streets to people heaven,—
Let them not stray.
Atlantic cities! rouse ye all from sleeping
Sin's deadly sleep, lest drops of grief be wrung
From Him who o'er Judea sadly weeping,
Her death-note sung.
Sin's deadly sleep, lest drops of grief be wrung
From Him who o'er Judea sadly weeping,
Her death-note sung.
1836.
145
SARATOGA LAKE.
O'er Saratoga's bright lake we row,
Bathed in the light of the sunset glow;
We dip our oars in the placid wave,
Our hands in the rippling current lave.
Bathed in the light of the sunset glow;
We dip our oars in the placid wave,
Our hands in the rippling current lave.
There's scarce a cloud in the summer blue
Save one lit up with a rosy hue,
Like the smile that flits o'er a tranquil face,
Lending its softness a richer grace.
Save one lit up with a rosy hue,
Like the smile that flits o'er a tranquil face,
Lending its softness a richer grace.
The shore is near with its girdle green;
The dim-eyed mountains look far between;
The twittering bird is heard on the bough,
And the shining fish are chased by our prow.
The dim-eyed mountains look far between;
The twittering bird is heard on the bough,
And the shining fish are chased by our prow.
Light jests fall sportive from hearts at ease,
As buds that burst in the spring's warm breeze,
And our laugh o'er the silent water swells,
Like fountain music in echoing dells.
As buds that burst in the spring's warm breeze,
And our laugh o'er the silent water swells,
Like fountain music in echoing dells.
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No traitor-tears for the absent rise,
Though deep in our hearts their image lies,
But a light from the thought of their love upsprings,
Like that which is ushered by angel-wings.
Though deep in our hearts their image lies,
But a light from the thought of their love upsprings,
Like that which is ushered by angel-wings.
O, Saratoga's fair lake, adieu,
With thy placid waves and thy sky of blue!
Soft thoughts arise with thy evening ray,
They are thoughts of our home—away!—away!
With thy placid waves and thy sky of blue!
Soft thoughts arise with thy evening ray,
They are thoughts of our home—away!—away!
Saratoga, July 11, 1836.
147
MUSIC ON THE CANAL.
I was weary with the day-light,
I was weary with the shade,
And my heart became still sadder,
As the stars their light betrayed;
I sickened at the ripple,
As the lazy boat went on,
And felt as though a friend was lost
When the twilight ray was gone.
I was weary with the shade,
And my heart became still sadder,
As the stars their light betrayed;
I sickened at the ripple,
As the lazy boat went on,
And felt as though a friend was lost
When the twilight ray was gone.
The meadows in a fire-fly glow,
Looked gay to happy eyes;
To me they beamed but mournfully,
My heart was cold with sighs.
They seemed, indeed, like summer friends;—
Alas, no warmth had they!
I turned in sorrow from their glare,
Impatient turned away.
Looked gay to happy eyes;
To me they beamed but mournfully,
My heart was cold with sighs.
They seemed, indeed, like summer friends;—
Alas, no warmth had they!
I turned in sorrow from their glare,
Impatient turned away.
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And tear-drops gathered in my eyes,
And rolled upon my cheek,
And when the voice of mirth was heard,
I had no heart to speak.
I longed to press my children
To my sad and homesick breast,
And feel the constant hand of love
Caressing and carest.
And rolled upon my cheek,
And when the voice of mirth was heard,
I had no heart to speak.
I longed to press my children
To my sad and homesick breast,
And feel the constant hand of love
Caressing and carest.
And slowly went my languid pulse
As the slow canal boat goes;
And I felt the pain of weariness,
And sigh'd for home's repose;
And laughter seemed a mockery,
And joy a fleeting breath,
And life a dark volcanic crust
That crumbles over death.
As the slow canal boat goes;
And I felt the pain of weariness,
And sigh'd for home's repose;
And laughter seemed a mockery,
And joy a fleeting breath,
And life a dark volcanic crust
That crumbles over death.
But a strain of sweetest melody
Arose upon my ear,
The blessed sound of woman's voice,
That angels love to hear!
And manly strains of tenderness
Were mingled with the song,
A father's with his daughter's notes,—
The gentle with the strong.
Arose upon my ear,
The blessed sound of woman's voice,
That angels love to hear!
And manly strains of tenderness
Were mingled with the song,
A father's with his daughter's notes,—
The gentle with the strong.
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And my thoughts began to soften
Like snows when waters fall,
And open, as the frost-closed buds
When spring's young breezes call;
While to my faint and weary soul
A better hope was given,
And all once more was bright with faith,
'Twixt heart, and earth, and Heaven.
Like snows when waters fall,
And open, as the frost-closed buds
When spring's young breezes call;
While to my faint and weary soul
A better hope was given,
And all once more was bright with faith,
'Twixt heart, and earth, and Heaven.
Mohawk River, N. Y.
150
THE WEST-POINT EAGLE.
SUGGESTED BY AN ACTUAL OCCURRENCE.
'T is Sabbath morning; o'er the tented field,Wild mountain, rock, and grove, the silence broods
Which nature loves. On the far-spreading green,
The tread of martial feet is hushed, or light;
A serious grace chastens the soldier's eye.
The clustered tents stand in still sunshine, white
To the lone hill-top gazer, as the flocks
That wait the shepherd's call. The Hudson sleeps;
The sloop's trim sail flaps on her breezeless way,
And gentle ripples swell and die unheard.
In rugged quietness Fort Putnam's wall
Ascends; the Crow's Nest pillows the high clouds.
Ranges of nearer hills heave up to heaven
More fixed and clear, while to their wooded sides
Green shrubs reposing cling. A glittering light
Crowns Kosciusko's column, like his fame.
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Still waters, like the ceaseless beat the heart
Gives to it country's champions.
But behold,
From yonder height an eagle presses on!
Hither he bends, with pinions spread, and cuts
The azure sky; and now above the plain
He wheels, and now the rushing of his wing
Is heard careering o'er the silent tents.
Like a keen sentinel his quick eye darts
A glance around, then with majestic sweep
He cleaves the air, and o'er the mountain's crest
Fades his dark form.
Why com'st thou, noble bird?
To note if all is well with those who hail
Thee as their emblem?
Loyal youths! Cadets!
Look ye to this; slight not the sacred sign;
But when the eagle of your country comes,
Flapping his bold wing on your listening ear,
Still may he find you thus, as on this morn;
A Sabbath calmness resting on your souls,
And strength, unboasting, in each God-nerved arm.
West-Point, June, 1836.
152
TRENTON FALLS, NEW-YORK.
My God,
I thank thee for this wondrous birth of joy,
Unfelt and unimagined till this hour!
I thank thee for this wondrous birth of joy,
Unfelt and unimagined till this hour!
Was't not enough that thou didst tinge the rose
With delicate glow,—throw silvery whiteness o'er
The lily's cup—touch the bright sea-shell, like
A spirit's blush, and weave a whisper through
Its spiral folds, like murmuring love-notes soft,—
Arch the rich rainbow into mingled hues,
More beautiful in contrast with heaven's blue,
O'er western skies throw tints of gracious light,—
Smooth down the river with a mirror's truth,
And wrap around the fresh and teeming earth
Its lovely drapery of chastened green?
Was't not enough for me, that from my youth
Mine eyes have bathed in beauty, banquetted
On lovely sights, and listened to sweet sounds?
With delicate glow,—throw silvery whiteness o'er
The lily's cup—touch the bright sea-shell, like
A spirit's blush, and weave a whisper through
Its spiral folds, like murmuring love-notes soft,—
Arch the rich rainbow into mingled hues,
More beautiful in contrast with heaven's blue,
O'er western skies throw tints of gracious light,—
Smooth down the river with a mirror's truth,
And wrap around the fresh and teeming earth
Its lovely drapery of chastened green?
Was't not enough for me, that from my youth
Mine eyes have bathed in beauty, banquetted
On lovely sights, and listened to sweet sounds?
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Grateful was I for this; but now I feel
The beauty of the awful and sublime;
My soul leaps upward to these towering cliffs,
And onward with the stream!
Father of nature,
Enlarge my spirit for this mighty gift!
When I consorted with the buds and flowers,
Heard the full choir of woodland melody,
Gazed up in reverie, on placid skies,
Or wandered by the pure meandering stream,
Or prayed beneath the bright-eyed lights of heaven,
Looking serene from out their azure home,
Or blest the moonlight, as it burst in joy,
Like youthful thoughts, enkindling hill and dale,
I felt as if a mother's gentle voice
Called on her child to acts of grateful love.
But now that I have communed with the vast,
Seen the veil rent from nature's stormy shrine,
Heard her wild lessons of magnificence
In cataract voices, mid the echoing rocks,
I feel a louder call upon my soul—
A trumpet-sound;—and as a soldier girds
Himself for war, so will I gird my thoughts
For conquest o'er the world!
The beauty of the awful and sublime;
My soul leaps upward to these towering cliffs,
And onward with the stream!
Father of nature,
Enlarge my spirit for this mighty gift!
When I consorted with the buds and flowers,
Heard the full choir of woodland melody,
Gazed up in reverie, on placid skies,
Or wandered by the pure meandering stream,
Or prayed beneath the bright-eyed lights of heaven,
Looking serene from out their azure home,
Or blest the moonlight, as it burst in joy,
Like youthful thoughts, enkindling hill and dale,
I felt as if a mother's gentle voice
Called on her child to acts of grateful love.
But now that I have communed with the vast,
Seen the veil rent from nature's stormy shrine,
Heard her wild lessons of magnificence
In cataract voices, mid the echoing rocks,
I feel a louder call upon my soul—
A trumpet-sound;—and as a soldier girds
Himself for war, so will I gird my thoughts
For conquest o'er the world!
1836.
154
SWEET AUBURN. NOW MOUNT AUBURN CEMETERY.
Sweet Auburn! when a gay and happy child,
Playing with nature like a favorite toy,
I loved thy bowers,—thy bowers so distant now!
Nine summers only on my eyes had smiled,
When to thy wilds, all unaccompanied,
Frequent I strayed, slighting more cultured paths,
Where glowed, mid wary steps, the weeded flowers.
Playing with nature like a favorite toy,
I loved thy bowers,—thy bowers so distant now!
Nine summers only on my eyes had smiled,
When to thy wilds, all unaccompanied,
Frequent I strayed, slighting more cultured paths,
Where glowed, mid wary steps, the weeded flowers.
I sought thy mossy banks—raised a green throne,
And wielding there the willow's flexile twig,
Sang idle songs, such as ring wildly forth
In carol light or sad from untried hearts.
And wielding there the willow's flexile twig,
Sang idle songs, such as ring wildly forth
In carol light or sad from untried hearts.
To Woody Dell I strayed, not then the voice
Which since, in manly eloquence, has woke
Its echoes, met my ear, but the gay birds
Sent up clear notes of joy from bough to bough,
Unconscious, that those notes in after years
Would change to funeral hymns.
I climbed thy hill,
Whose noble height look'd down o'er art and nature.
The city's spires stood out, bathed in the glow
Of distant sunlight, while the gentle Charles
Lay like a nursing child outstretched in joy,
Soft murmuring, beneath the waving boughs.
Which since, in manly eloquence, has woke
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Sent up clear notes of joy from bough to bough,
Unconscious, that those notes in after years
Would change to funeral hymns.
I climbed thy hill,
Whose noble height look'd down o'er art and nature.
The city's spires stood out, bathed in the glow
Of distant sunlight, while the gentle Charles
Lay like a nursing child outstretched in joy,
Soft murmuring, beneath the waving boughs.
Then with a light but not unthinking mind,
A glancing eye, and busy foot, descending
The wooded Hill, I sought the Giant's Grave,
On whose extended mound the wild flowers rose.
The soft anemone stood peeping there,
To woodland gaze the gentle snow-drop's peer,
And violets that owe their witching charm
To kindred with an azure eye,—and heaven's.
A glancing eye, and busy foot, descending
The wooded Hill, I sought the Giant's Grave,
On whose extended mound the wild flowers rose.
The soft anemone stood peeping there,
To woodland gaze the gentle snow-drop's peer,
And violets that owe their witching charm
To kindred with an azure eye,—and heaven's.
And can this be the same, the steady hand
That presses now in midnight thought my brow,
Beneath the star-beam of a Southern sky,
That with its small and twining fingers loved
To cull fresh flowers on Auburn's leafy slopes?
That presses now in midnight thought my brow,
Beneath the star-beam of a Southern sky,
That with its small and twining fingers loved
To cull fresh flowers on Auburn's leafy slopes?
Thou, too, how changed, sweet Auburn! then of life,
Now of the grave, thou tell'st—thy bloom is mourning!
And with the wild bird's song the sob of woe
Mingles most sad.
I ask no monument,
Or lettered urn, within thy classic shades.
Be thou to me as in my childish days
Clustered all o'er with bright imaginings.
Though solemn words have sanctified thy Dell,
Linking its grassy clods with thoughts of heaven,
Though with fastidious taste affection's hand
Has piled the costly marble on thy hills,
And carved it in thy vales; though the great dead
Great in the intellect that cannot die,
Have made their bed with thee, to me thou art
Sweet Auburn, and I love thee as the nest
From whence I joyed to plume my youthful wings
And soar to man's high nature from the child's.
Now of the grave, thou tell'st—thy bloom is mourning!
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Mingles most sad.
I ask no monument,
Or lettered urn, within thy classic shades.
Be thou to me as in my childish days
Clustered all o'er with bright imaginings.
Though solemn words have sanctified thy Dell,
Linking its grassy clods with thoughts of heaven,
Though with fastidious taste affection's hand
Has piled the costly marble on thy hills,
And carved it in thy vales; though the great dead
Great in the intellect that cannot die,
Have made their bed with thee, to me thou art
Sweet Auburn, and I love thee as the nest
From whence I joyed to plume my youthful wings
And soar to man's high nature from the child's.
I ask no monument within thy shades.
The rustling branches of our Southern groves
Shall soothe my sleep of death, kindly as winds
That circle through thy famed and cultur'd bow'rs;
The Southern flower spring up as soft and pure
As thine; bright Southern birds a requiem pour
As rich and mournful as thy plumed quire;
And Southern hearts, perchance with fervency,
Breathe prayers and blessings on my humbler grave.
The rustling branches of our Southern groves
Shall soothe my sleep of death, kindly as winds
That circle through thy famed and cultur'd bow'rs;
The Southern flower spring up as soft and pure
As thine; bright Southern birds a requiem pour
As rich and mournful as thy plumed quire;
And Southern hearts, perchance with fervency,
Breathe prayers and blessings on my humbler grave.
Charleston, S. C. 1836.
157
WASHINGTON'S ELM AT CAMBRIDGE.
Much hast thou seen, brave tree,
Since thy young holiday of early leaf,
When thy slight branches struggled to be free,
And thy pale root was brief!
Since thy young holiday of early leaf,
When thy slight branches struggled to be free,
And thy pale root was brief!
More than the common share
Has fallen to thy wondrous lot, I guess,
Great antiquarian of an age most rare,
Of trial, hope, success!
Has fallen to thy wondrous lot, I guess,
Great antiquarian of an age most rare,
Of trial, hope, success!
Take me among thy boughs,
Good tree; I to thy vast experience soar!
More than book knowledge can thy whisperings rouse,
A sterner, richer lore!
Good tree; I to thy vast experience soar!
More than book knowledge can thy whisperings rouse,
A sterner, richer lore!
I hear an answering tone
In the long waving of thine aged limbs,
And the wind's low and softly uttered moan,
Like spirits' midnight hymns.
In the long waving of thine aged limbs,
And the wind's low and softly uttered moan,
Like spirits' midnight hymns.
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Did not the Indian's dart,
When roving wild, make thy young trunk its aim?
And some brown girl, beneath thy branches, start
The fire-fly flame?
When roving wild, make thy young trunk its aim?
And some brown girl, beneath thy branches, start
The fire-fly flame?
Dost thou remember, tree,
Harvard's first sons? Came they beneath thy boughs
With study pale—or wandering carelessly
Dream of fair maiden's vows?
Harvard's first sons? Came they beneath thy boughs
With study pale—or wandering carelessly
Dream of fair maiden's vows?
And does not every leaf
Stir with the strong remembrances of one,
The immortal—the unconquerable chief—
Thine own—thy Washington?
Stir with the strong remembrances of one,
The immortal—the unconquerable chief—
Thine own—thy Washington?
To think that he did lay
His weary limbs beneath thy very shade,—
That here he mused, and planned, and thought by day;
That here he nightly prayed!
His weary limbs beneath thy very shade,—
That here he mused, and planned, and thought by day;
That here he nightly prayed!
To think that here his soul
Writhed in some stirring of war's agony—
Or with a strong, prophetic, deep control
Looked through to victory!
Writhed in some stirring of war's agony—
Or with a strong, prophetic, deep control
Looked through to victory!
159
Why, 't is a hallowed spot!
Here for my country a new pulse beats high,
And woman's feeble nature all forgot,
Here too even I could die.
Here for my country a new pulse beats high,
And woman's feeble nature all forgot,
Here too even I could die.
Cambridge, Mass. 1836.
160
THOUGHTS
ON PASSING PLATTSBURG, ON LAKE CHAMPLAIN.
Hush! this is sacred ground,
Sacred the wave;
Here were true warriors found,
Here is their grave!
Blue mountains dimly smile,
Clusters each little isle,
Passing clouds pause awhile
Over the brave!
Sacred the wave;
Here were true warriors found,
Here is their grave!
Blue mountains dimly smile,
Clusters each little isle,
Passing clouds pause awhile
Over the brave!
Foemen sleeps near the foe
Silent and cold!
Passions all hushed below,—
Tales that are told!—
Flowers the green sod have crowned,
Summer birds softly sound,
Murmur the waves around
“Peace to the bold!”
Silent and cold!
Passions all hushed below,—
Tales that are told!—
Flowers the green sod have crowned,
Summer birds softly sound,
Murmur the waves around
“Peace to the bold!”
Lake Champlain, 1836.
161
TO THE ST. LAWRENCE.
River of thousand isles! in graceful glee
Has nature thrown around her gems of green.
Where summer skies look downward joyfully,
And sheltering trees erect their wavy screen,
And waters flow, laving each emerald shrine,
While nature dwells, lone, silent and divine.
Has nature thrown around her gems of green.
Where summer skies look downward joyfully,
And sheltering trees erect their wavy screen,
And waters flow, laving each emerald shrine,
While nature dwells, lone, silent and divine.
Bird calls to bird from out these islets fair,
Unheard man's death gun, and unfelt his snare.
And flowers spring up, nor fear a cultured doom,
Bright families of beauty and perfume.
Farewell! a first, last gaze, I take—a parting spell;
Thou 'rt woven round my heart—and now, farewell!
Unheard man's death gun, and unfelt his snare.
And flowers spring up, nor fear a cultured doom,
Bright families of beauty and perfume.
Farewell! a first, last gaze, I take—a parting spell;
Thou 'rt woven round my heart—and now, farewell!
Steamboat, 1836.
162
TO THE URSULINES.
O pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!
Blue be the sky above—your quiet bark
By soft winds blest!
Securely rest!
Blue be the sky above—your quiet bark
By soft winds blest!
Still toil in duty and commune with Heaven
World-weaned and free;
God to his humblest creatures room has given
And space to be.
World-weaned and free;
God to his humblest creatures room has given
And space to be.
Space for the eagle in the vaulted sky
To plume his wing—
Space for the ring-dove by her young to lie,
And softly sing.
To plume his wing—
Space for the ring-dove by her young to lie,
And softly sing.
Space for the sun-flower, bright with yellow glow
To court the sky—
Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow,
To live and die.
To court the sky—
Space for the violet, where the wild woods grow,
To live and die.
163
Space for the ocean, in its giant might,
To swell and rave—
Space for the river, tinged with rosy light,
Where green banks wave.
To swell and rave—
Space for the river, tinged with rosy light,
Where green banks wave.
Space for the sun to tread his path in might,
And golden pride—
Space for the glow-worm, calling, by her light,
Love to her side.
And golden pride—
Space for the glow-worm, calling, by her light,
Love to her side.
Then pure and gentle ones, within your ark
Securely rest!
Blue be the skies above, and your still bark
By kind winds blest.
Securely rest!
Blue be the skies above, and your still bark
By kind winds blest.
Quebec, Lower Canada, 1836.
164
RETURN TO MASSACHUSETTS.
The martin's nest! the simple nest!
I see it swinging high,
Just as it stood in distant years,
Above my gazing eye;
But many a bird has plumed its wing,
And lightly flown away,
Or drooped his little head in death,
Since that—my youthful day!
I see it swinging high,
Just as it stood in distant years,
Above my gazing eye;
But many a bird has plumed its wing,
And lightly flown away,
Or drooped his little head in death,
Since that—my youthful day!
The woodland stream! the pebbly stream!
It gaily flows along,
As once it did when by its side
I sang my merry song.
But many a wave has roll'd afar,
Beneath the summer cloud,
Since by its bank I idly pour'd
My childish song aloud.
It gaily flows along,
As once it did when by its side
I sang my merry song.
But many a wave has roll'd afar,
Beneath the summer cloud,
Since by its bank I idly pour'd
My childish song aloud.
165
The sweet-brier rose! the way-side rose!
Still spreads its fragrant arms,
Where graciously to passing eyes
It gave its simple charms;
But many a perfumed breeze has passed,
And many a blossom fair,
Since with a careless heart I twined
Its green wreaths in my hair.
Still spreads its fragrant arms,
Where graciously to passing eyes
It gave its simple charms;
But many a perfumed breeze has passed,
And many a blossom fair,
Since with a careless heart I twined
Its green wreaths in my hair.
The barberry bush! the poor man's bush!
Its yellow blossoms hang
As erst, where by the grassy lane
Along I lightly sprang;
But many a flower has come and gone,
And scarlet berry shone,
Since I, a school-girl in its path,
In rustic dance have flown.
Its yellow blossoms hang
As erst, where by the grassy lane
Along I lightly sprang;
But many a flower has come and gone,
And scarlet berry shone,
Since I, a school-girl in its path,
In rustic dance have flown.
Watertown, Mass. 1812.
166
ANSWER
TO THE CHARGE OF LOVING THE LAND OF MY ADOPTION MORE THAN THE HOME OF MY BIRTH.
Guilty, yes, guilty.—Faint on memory's height
Linger the beams to young experience dear,
Fading beneath the glow of tender light
That shines in kindly radiance o'er me here.
Linger the beams to young experience dear,
Fading beneath the glow of tender light
That shines in kindly radiance o'er me here.
I sigh not for New England's orchard store,
Her cultur'd meadows, or her gurgling rills;
I ask no musings by her rocky shore,
Nor summer rambles on her sloping hills.
Her cultur'd meadows, or her gurgling rills;
I ask no musings by her rocky shore,
Nor summer rambles on her sloping hills.
My heart is here. The lowland scenes to me
Are fraught with all that makes life worth my care;
A thousand clustering joys spring buoyantly
And throw their branches on my being's air.
Are fraught with all that makes life worth my care;
A thousand clustering joys spring buoyantly
And throw their branches on my being's air.
167
Home, where young faces glow like living flowers,
And time's intruding footsteps half arrest;
Protecting arms, that guard my sunny bowers
With gentle care that blesses to be blest.
And time's intruding footsteps half arrest;
Protecting arms, that guard my sunny bowers
With gentle care that blesses to be blest.
Friends—dear as ever were the friends of yore—
Spontaneous—bursting in unselfish bloom.—
I had no sunshine on their lot to pour,
And yet they gave the stranger sweet perfume.
Spontaneous—bursting in unselfish bloom.—
I had no sunshine on their lot to pour,
And yet they gave the stranger sweet perfume.
Religion—for to God unfettered swells
Soft hymns, pure prayers within my chosen fane,
While on my household altar safely dwells
The incense kindled to his sacred name.
Soft hymns, pure prayers within my chosen fane,
While on my household altar safely dwells
The incense kindled to his sacred name.
Forgive the wanderer, then, who thus beguil'd,
Turns from her cradle by New-England's side,
And having there paid reverence as a child,
Clings here to Carolina as a bride.
Turns from her cradle by New-England's side,
And having there paid reverence as a child,
Clings here to Carolina as a bride.
Charleston, S. C.
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