 | The Poetical Works of George M. Horton |  |
LIFE OF GEORGE M. HORTON,
The Colored Bard of North-Carolina.
[Rise up, my soul, and let us go]
Up to the gospel feast;
To join and be a guest.
For thee, my soul, for thee?
Not only thee, my soul, but all,
May rise and enter free.
Excited from reading the obedience of Nature to her Lord in the vessel on the sea.
We know not whence to fly;
The thunder seems to rock the deep,
Death frowns from all the sky.
He said, ye seas, be still;
What art thou, cruel storm, about?
All silenced at his will.
And all thy liquid stores;
Who ordered first the sun to shine
And gild thy swelling shores.
Whilst riding on the wind,
My power restrains the thunder's arm,
Which dies in chains confined.
[Sing, O ye ransom'd, shout and tell]
What God has done for ye;
The horses and their riders fell
And perish'd in the sea.
Whilst plunging from the shore;
He groans, he sinks, but not to rise,
King Pharaoh is no more.
EULOGY.
[Deep on thy pillar, thou immortal dame]
To the much distinguished Mrs. Hentz of Boston, I owe much for the correction of many poetical errors. Being a professional poetess herself, and a lover of genius, she discovered my little uncultivated talent, and was moved by pity to uncover to me the beauties of correctness, together with the true importance of the object to which I aspired. She was extremely pleased with the dirge which I wrote on the death of her much lamented primogenial infant, and for which she gave me much credit and a handsome reward. Not being able to write myself, I dictated while she wrote; and while thus engaged she strove in vain to avert the inevitable tear slow trickling down her ringlet-shaded cheek. She was indeed unequivocally anxious to announce the birth of my recent and astonishing fame, and sent its blast on the gale of passage back to the frozen plains of Massachusetts.
This celebrated lady, however, did not continue long at Chapel Hill, and I had to regret the loss of her aid, which I shall never forget in life. At her departure from Chapel Hill, she left behind her the laurel of Thalia blooming on my mind, and went with all the spotless gaiety of Euphrosyne with regard to the signal services which she had done me. In gratitude for all these favors, by which she attempted to supply and augment the stock of servile genius, I inscribe to her the following
Trace the inscription of eternal fame;
For bards unborn must yet thy works adore,
When other names are lost among the dead,
Some genius yet may live thy fame to spread;
Memory's fair bush shall not decline to bloom,
But flourish fresh upon thy sacred tomb.
When nature's crown refuses to be gay,
And ceaseless streams have worn their rocks away;
When age's vail shall beauty's visage mask,
And bid oblivion blot the poet's task,
Time's final shock shall elevate thy name,
And lift thee smiling to eternal fame.
| The Poetical Works of George M. Horton | |