 | Specimens of American poetry |  |
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SARAH J. HALE.
THE FATHER'S CHOICE.
Now fly, as flies the rushing wind—
Urge, urge thy lagging steed!
The savage yell is fierce behind,
And life is on thy speed.
Urge, urge thy lagging steed!
The savage yell is fierce behind,
And life is on thy speed.
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And from those dear ones make thy choice—
The group he wildly eyed,
When “father!” burst from every voice,
And “child!” his heart replied.
The group he wildly eyed,
When “father!” burst from every voice,
And “child!” his heart replied.
There 's one that now can share his toil,
And one he meant for fame,
And one that wears her mother's smile,
And one that bears her name.
And one he meant for fame,
And one that wears her mother's smile,
And one that bears her name.
And one will prattle on his knee,
Or slumber on his breast;
And one whose joys of infancy,
Are still by smiles express'd.
Or slumber on his breast;
And one whose joys of infancy,
Are still by smiles express'd.
They feel no fear while he is near;
He'll shield them from the foe:
But oh! his ear must thrill to hear
Their shriekings, should he go.
He'll shield them from the foe:
But oh! his ear must thrill to hear
Their shriekings, should he go.
In vain his quivering lips would speak,
No words his thoughts allow;
There 's burning tears upon his cheek,
Death's marble on his brow.
No words his thoughts allow;
There 's burning tears upon his cheek,
Death's marble on his brow.
And twice he smote his clenched hand—
Then bade his children fly!
And turn'd, and even that savage band
Cower'd at his wrathful eye.
Then bade his children fly!
And turn'd, and even that savage band
Cower'd at his wrathful eye.
Swift as the lightning wing'd with death,
Flash'd forth the quivering flame!
Their fiercest warrior bows beneath
The father's deadly aim.
Flash'd forth the quivering flame!
Their fiercest warrior bows beneath
The father's deadly aim.
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Not the wild cries, that rend the skies,
His heart or purpose move;
He saves his children, or he dies
The sacrifice of love.
His heart or purpose move;
He saves his children, or he dies
The sacrifice of love.
Ambition goads the conqueror on,
Hate points the murderer's brand—
But love and duty, these alone
Can nerve the good man's hand.
Hate points the murderer's brand—
But love and duty, these alone
Can nerve the good man's hand.
The hero may resign the field,
The coward murderer flee;
He cannot fear, he will not yield,
That strikes, sweet love, for thee.
The coward murderer flee;
He cannot fear, he will not yield,
That strikes, sweet love, for thee.
They come, they come—he heeds no cry,
Save the soft childlike wail,
“O father, save!” “My children, fly!”
Were mingled on the gale.
Save the soft childlike wail,
“O father, save!” “My children, fly!”
Were mingled on the gale.
And firmer still he drew his breath,
And sterner flash'd his eye,
As fast he hurls the leaden death,
Still shouting, “children fly!”
And sterner flash'd his eye,
As fast he hurls the leaden death,
Still shouting, “children fly!”
No shadow on his brow appear'd,
Nor tremor shook his frame,
Save when at intervals he heard
Some trembler lisp his name.
Nor tremor shook his frame,
Save when at intervals he heard
Some trembler lisp his name.
In vain the foe, those fiends unchain'd,
Like famish'd tigers chafe,
The sheltering roof is near'd, is gain'd,
All, all the dear ones safe!
Like famish'd tigers chafe,
The sheltering roof is near'd, is gain'd,
All, all the dear ones safe!
In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haverhill, Massachusetts, killed and carried into captivity forty inhabitants. A party of the Indians approached the house of an individual, who was abroad at his labor, but who, on their approach, hastened to the house, sent his children out, and ordered them to fly in a course opposite to that in which danger was approaching. He then mounted his horse, and determined to snatch up the child with which he was unwilling to part, when he should overtake the little flock. When he came up to them, about two hundred yards from his house, he was unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore determined to take his lot with them, and defend them from their murderers, or die by their side. A body of the Indians pursued, and came up with him; and when at a short distance, fired on him and his little company. He returned the fire, and retreated alternately; still, however, keeping a resolute face to the enemy, and so effectually sheltered his charge, that he finally lodged them all safe in a distant house.
THE VICTOR'S CROWN.
A crown for the victor—a crown of light!
From a land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight,
Was gathered the wreath that around it glows,
And he who o'ercometh his treacherous foes,
That radiant crown shall gain:—
A king went forth on the rebel array
That arose where a beautiful hamlet lay—
He frown'd—and there 's nought save ashes and blood
And blacken'd bones where that hamlet stood,
Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain.
From a land where the flowers ne'er feel a blight,
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And he who o'ercometh his treacherous foes,
That radiant crown shall gain:—
A king went forth on the rebel array
That arose where a beautiful hamlet lay—
He frown'd—and there 's nought save ashes and blood
And blacken'd bones where that hamlet stood,
Yet his treacherous foes he hath not slain.
A crown for the victor—a crown of light!
Encircled with jewels so pure and bright,
Night never hath gloom'd where their lustre glows,
And he who can conquer his proudest foes,
That glorious crown shall gain:—
A hero came from the crimson field,
And low at his feet the pale captives kneel'd—
In his might he had trodden a nation down,
But he may not challenge the glorious crown,
For his proudest foe he hath not slain.
Encircled with jewels so pure and bright,
Night never hath gloom'd where their lustre glows,
And he who can conquer his proudest foes,
That glorious crown shall gain:—
A hero came from the crimson field,
And low at his feet the pale captives kneel'd—
In his might he had trodden a nation down,
But he may not challenge the glorious crown,
For his proudest foe he hath not slain.
A crown for the victor—a crown of light!
Like the morning sun, to the raptured sight
From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows:
And he who can slay his deadliest foes,
That shining crown shall gain:—
With searching eye and stealthy tread,
The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed—
Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne,
And he takes the revenge his soul hath sworn,
But his deadliest foe he hath not slain.
Like the morning sun, to the raptured sight
From the night of a dungeon raised, it glows:
And he who can slay his deadliest foes,
That shining crown shall gain:—
With searching eye and stealthy tread,
The man of wrath sought his enemy's bed—
Like festering wounds are the wrongs he hath borne,
And he takes the revenge his soul hath sworn,
But his deadliest foe he hath not slain.
A crown for the victor—a crown of light!
To be worn with a robe whose spotless white
Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows—
And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes
That robe and crown shall gain:—
With eye upraised—and forehead bare,
A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer—
He hath wrestled with self and with passion striven,
And to him hath the sword of the Spirit been given—
O, crown him, for his foes—his sins are slain!
To be worn with a robe whose spotless white
Makes darkness seem resting on Alpine snows—
And he who o'ercometh his mightiest foes
That robe and crown shall gain:—
With eye upraised—and forehead bare,
A pilgrim knelt down in holy prayer—
He hath wrestled with self and with passion striven,
And to him hath the sword of the Spirit been given—
O, crown him, for his foes—his sins are slain!
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THE LIGHT OF HOME.
My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam,
And thou must go;—but never when there,
Forget the light of home.
And thy spirit will sigh to roam,
And thou must go;—but never when there,
Forget the light of home.
Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead astray:
Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night,
When thou treadest the lonely way.
It dazzles to lead astray:
Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night,
When thou treadest the lonely way.
But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
And pure as vestal fire:
'T will burn, 't will burn, for ever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre.
And pure as vestal fire:
'T will burn, 't will burn, for ever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre.
The sea of ambition is tempest tost,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when sails are shiver'd and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home.
And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when sails are shiver'd and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home.
And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright,
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quench'd its holy light.
Thou shalt see the beacon bright,
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quench'd its holy light.
The sun of fame 't will gild the name,
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,
Are but beams of a wintry day.
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And how cold and dim those beams must be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.
Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.
THE GIFTS.
Lady, I 've climb'd the mountain side,
And roam'd the flowery lea,
And gather'd the garden's glowing pride,
And the rose and lily in soft bands tied,
A garland meet for thee.
And roam'd the flowery lea,
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And the rose and lily in soft bands tied,
A garland meet for thee.
O the wreath is fair—but fairest flowers
They fade too easily!
And they fold their leaves at evening hours,
And they droop and die when the tempest lowers,
Then offer not flowers to me.
They fade too easily!
And they fold their leaves at evening hours,
And they droop and die when the tempest lowers,
Then offer not flowers to me.
Lady, earth's richest mines I 've sought,
And search'd the deep blue sea,
Where coral caves are with gems inwrought,
And these diamonds pure, and pearls I 've brought,
As fitting gifts for thee.
And search'd the deep blue sea,
Where coral caves are with gems inwrought,
And these diamonds pure, and pearls I 've brought,
As fitting gifts for thee.
O, those are gifts the great demand,
They are offer'd on bended knee,
With a grudging heart by the servile band,
A tribute or bribe to the tyrant's hand,
Then offer not pearls to me.
They are offer'd on bended knee,
With a grudging heart by the servile band,
A tribute or bribe to the tyrant's hand,
Then offer not pearls to me.
Lady, this glittering star to gain,
The price of victory,
I rush'd upon the battle plain,
And traced my path by the heaps of slain—
This star I'll pledge to thee.
The price of victory,
I rush'd upon the battle plain,
And traced my path by the heaps of slain—
This star I'll pledge to thee.
O, titled fame! an airy word,
A puff of vanity!
Ah, think what crimson streams are pour'd,
That man, weak man, may be hail'd a Lord!
Then offer not rank to me.
A puff of vanity!
Ah, think what crimson streams are pour'd,
That man, weak man, may be hail'd a Lord!
Then offer not rank to me.
Lady, I have a heart as pure
As the birthright of the free:
And the faith I vow will for aye endure,
And my love as flowers to the spring is sure;—
This heart I'll give to thee.
As the birthright of the free:
And the faith I vow will for aye endure,
And my love as flowers to the spring is sure;—
This heart I'll give to thee.
O, 't is now thy words have power to move!
My warm tears speak for me;
For on earth below, or in heaven above,
The richest gift is the heart of love—
And here 's a heart for thee!
My warm tears speak for me;
For on earth below, or in heaven above,
The richest gift is the heart of love—
And here 's a heart for thee!
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THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD.
One kiss, my boy upon thy cheek,
That cheek so young and bright,
And once again I'd hear thee speak
Thy softly lisp'd “good night.”
Then rest, and not a shade of earth
Can cloud thy slumbers fair;
Dark dreams from worldly cares have birth,
And thou hast nought of care.
O why might not life's silver tide
With thee thus ever smoothly glide!
That cheek so young and bright,
And once again I'd hear thee speak
Thy softly lisp'd “good night.”
Then rest, and not a shade of earth
Can cloud thy slumbers fair;
Dark dreams from worldly cares have birth,
And thou hast nought of care.
O why might not life's silver tide
With thee thus ever smoothly glide!
Who gazes on the bloom of May,
Nor sighs that all will wither?
And yet the blossoms must decay
Ere we the fruit may gather;
And life's sweet morning buds of joy
Like spring-flowers soon depart;
And thou must change, yet wear, my boy,
Life's freshness in thy heart.
Pure feelings, like the flower's perfume,
Embalm the memory of its bloom.
Nor sighs that all will wither?
And yet the blossoms must decay
Ere we the fruit may gather;
And life's sweet morning buds of joy
Like spring-flowers soon depart;
And thou must change, yet wear, my boy,
Life's freshness in thy heart.
Pure feelings, like the flower's perfume,
Embalm the memory of its bloom.
Man's lot, dominion o'er the earth,
Maketh his sinews strong,
And that proud lot will lead thee forth
All ardent 'mid the throng.
Life's onward path is wrapp'd in night,
And dangers are its fame;
Ambition holds an eagle flight,
And spurns at quiet's name,
And pleasure's siren songs entice,
And flowers conceal the precipice.
Maketh his sinews strong,
And that proud lot will lead thee forth
All ardent 'mid the throng.
Life's onward path is wrapp'd in night,
And dangers are its fame;
Ambition holds an eagle flight,
And spurns at quiet's name,
And pleasure's siren songs entice,
And flowers conceal the precipice.
O! wilt thou wander then, my boy?—
Away! ye idle fears,—
Why shroud our sun of present joy
In clouds of future years?
There 's One will watch thee though I sleep
Where morning never shone;
There 's One thy faltering steps can keep,
Wouldst thou His voice were known?
Then list amid the world's wide din
The still, small voice thy heart within.
Away! ye idle fears,—
Why shroud our sun of present joy
In clouds of future years?
There 's One will watch thee though I sleep
Where morning never shone;
There 's One thy faltering steps can keep,
Wouldst thou His voice were known?
Then list amid the world's wide din
The still, small voice thy heart within.
| Specimens of American poetry | |