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Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems

Chivers, T. H. (1809-1858)

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DEDICATED TO MY PRECIOUS MOTHER,
  
TO IDEALON.
  
NACOOCHEE;
  
THE DEATH OF TIME.
  
THE SOARING SWAN,
  
THE LAST WRECK.
  
HOLY LOVE.
  
THE DYING POET.
  
THE DYING DOVE.
  
THE DYING BEAUTY.
  
TO A CHINA TREE,
  
TO MY MOTHER.
  
EVENING.
  
MAN'S LIFE.
  
THE VOICE OF THE EXILE
  
SONG OF ADORATION TO GOD.
  
FAITH.
  
SACRED SONG.
  
MORNING HYMN.
  
EVENING HYMN.
  
HYMN TO THE DEITY.
  
DRINK AND AWAY.
  
SONG OF THE DYING SOLDIER.
  
TO INEZ DE GEORGIA,
  
SONG.
  
TO LITTLE LIZA IN HEAVEN.
  
THE MOTHER'S LAMENT.
  
BURIAL OF THE INDIAN CHILD.
  
[SONG. With my head upon thy breast]
  
THE HARPER.
  
[SONG. Come take all my jewels and lie down, my dove]
  
[SONG. Oh! come away, my gentle one]
  
[SONG. Blessed of heaven! thy home shall be]
  
TO MY MOTHER.
  
THE DYING POET TO HIS CHILD.
  
ODE TO THE MISSISSIPPI.
  
TO IRENE.
  
THE MOTHER CHIDING HER FIRST BORN.
  
[SONG. Tell him that days are past]
  
[SONG. Tell her she need not weep]
  
TO MY MOTHER.
  
HYMN TO DEATH.
  
TO MY SISTER,
  
[SONG. Though the rose of my Eden is blasted]
  
BREATHINGS OF THE SOUL.
  
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
  
SONG OF THE POET TO HIS HARP.
  
SONG OF THE MAIDS OF TEXAS.
  
THE MOTHER'S SONG
  
NEAH-EMATHLAH.
  
TO MY HARP.
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MALAVOLTI;
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I.
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II.
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III.
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IV.
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V.
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VI.
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VII.
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VIII.
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IX.
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X.
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XI.
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XII.
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XIII.
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XIV.
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XV.
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XVI.
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XVII.
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XVIII.
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XIX.
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XX.
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XXI.
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XXII.
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XXIII.
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XXIV.
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XXV.
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XXVI.
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XXVII.
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XXVIII.
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XXIX.
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XXX.
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XXXI.
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XXXII.
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XXXIII.

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[SONG. Tell her she need not weep]

Tell her she need not weep—
I may not come again—
The vows she would not keep,
Are falser now than then.
97

Tell her that too much joy—
A theme but seldom sung—
Will soon, like grief, destroy
The heart she would have wrung!
Tell her she need not yearn
For one she would not know—
The heart that wounds, must learn
“To feel another's wo!”
Tell her she need not pine—
A few short rolling years
Will bring me unto mine,
To wipe away my tears!
Tell her to wipe her eyes,
And heed not what they say—
Tell her to hush her sighs,
And smile for one away.
Tell her that when we meet,
That each one's saddened heart
Will more than gladly beat,
To know we were apart!
Tell her that what she was—
If once her heart was given—
And may be yet, alas!
Hath vanished into heaven!
Tell her without my soul
Shall leave my burning breast—
That—then—Adieu!—console
Her with eternal rest.
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