University of Virginia Library

[[PART I.]]

The Rose.

The Rose is a beautiful flower,
It holds up its elegant head
Above all the rest in the bower,
And has a sweet scent when 'tis dead.
The lilly is fair, and white;
Blue is the sweet Belvidere,
And others are passingly bright,
But none with the rose can compare.
A beautiful blue is the violet,
Round, and white is the snowball;
But love when you send me a boquet,
O do let a rose crown them all!
There is many a beautiful flower,
That bears a sweet scent to the nose,
But of all that grow in the bower,
I love the sweet smell of the rose.

The Potomac,

(A FRAGMENT.)

Roll on thou noble stream, roll on,
And let thy placid bosom flow;
Sweet woodland scenery thy shores adorn
With rocks, and sands below.
Behold upon thy noble banks,
Thy silvery tide white fringed, dash on the shore;
Through hills thou onward flow, and pranks!
Roll on sweet stream till time shall be no more!

To my School-boy Days.

Oh those days of halcyon pleasure,
Shedding forth their brilliant rays,
In my memory thou'rt a treasure,
Three times happy schoolboy days!
O'er the hills, and valleys sweet,
As we gaily trip to school,
Run boys quick, your class to meet,
He who's last must be the fool!
When the master took the book,
And the lesson passed around,
Boys ambitious, up did look,
Whilst the boobies' heads hung down.
Hark the bell! 'tis twelve o'clock boys!
Now we'll play—tis dinner time!
Some now run to play with toys,
Others up the trees do climb—
Then o'er the hills in mirthful pleasure,
While no cares disturbed our plays;
Yes, in memory thou'rt a treasure,
Ever happy schoolboy days.
Now school's out, boys, we'll go home,
Chanting o'er our childish lays;
But now you're gone no more to come,
Happy, happy schoolboy days.

To Miss Lydia A. Brown,

MY TRAVELING COMPANION BY VESSEL FROM GEORGETOWN, D. C., TO NEW YORK.

When first I left my native home,
And started from Georgetown,
O'er northern regions far to roam
With charming Lydia Brown,
Young cupid let his arrow touch
My heart as soft as down;
And made me feel, there was none such,
As charming Lydia Brown.
Oh could you feel, as I do feel,
My dearest Lydia Ann,
Could such an impulse o'er you steal,
I'd be a happy man!
Oh yes thrice happy would I be,
As I at work sat down,
If I could be as one with thee,
My dearest Lydia Brown.
Yes I would think it pleasure true,
When bright Sol would be down;
To then devote my time to you,
Bewitching Lydia Brown!
In the lovely moments of twilight,
When all is calm around,
To look upon thine eyes so bright
O, sweetest Lydia Brown!
The stars are bright at evening fall,
In this delightful clime;
Thine orbs are brighter than them all—
But here must end my rhyme.

To the Northern Star.

[A Newspaper.]

The northern star, the northern star!
Oh may it ever shine;
And shed its beacon rays afar,
So heavenly and divine.
May slavery and oppression shrink,
Beneath its searching rays;
May it turn those who rave and drink
From their imprudent ways.
Devoted to the Christian cause,
Oh, may it ever stand;
Proclaim the mighty maker's laws,
Throughout this sinful land.
With these great principles engraved
Upon thy radiant face,
On! till oppressor, and enslaved,
Shall own God's saving grace.

An Epitaph.

Let no fond parent shed a tear upon my head,
Nor sister on my grave, sweet flowers spread,
Nor loving brother mourn when I depart,
But for me breathe a prayer with fervent heart.
No! life is but a transitory gleam,
And we but bask within a sunny beam;
But pause alas! 'tis but a vale of tears—
A day of human sorrow, toil, and cares.
Then why should I within this vale delay,
When heavenly spirits call my soul away?
And why should parents—friends my demise mourn?
'Tis but the fate of all of woman born.
Let tears for pious prayers be quick exchanged;
Let wisdom, guide the mind that's most deranged,
With resignation to the makers will,
He died for thee, and he will love thee still.

On the Death of my brother Charles D. S.

To Miss M. S. I. S.

How very bright the stars do shine,
In the clear blue sky of winter;
But brighter far those eyes of thine,
My dearest angel, Minta!
Tho' passing bright, yet innocent,
So mild, so soft, so kind,
The orb of day his lustre's lent
T' express the beauty of thy mind.
Thy outward grace I do admire,
Still more thy gifted intellect;
Whilst one doth kindle passion's fire,
The other on the mind reflects.
And what is outward decoration
Without the beauty of the mind?
The graces in their dispensation,
Have in thee, Sarah, both combined.
Thy thoughts so lofty, and so free,
Fall o'er me like the gentle rain;
Oh, grant that I may think of thee,
With more than friendship's feeling, Jane!

To Miss C. G.

When the sunlight faintly gleams
O'er mountains, vales and streams,
And the pea-fowl wildly screams,
I will think of thee.
When Sol's hid beyond the view,
When amid the sky so blue,
Myriad worlds their course pursue,
Dearest think of me?
When so brightly dawns the day,
And the night hath passed away,
When the lambs so gaily play
On the grassy plot;
When the birds so sweetly sing,
Earth her fragrant flowers bring,
Tribute to the shrine of Spring,
I'll forget thee not.
When the mid-day sun doth reign
O'er meadow field and plain,
Or softly falls the gentle rain,
The sweet refreshing shower;
When all nature's passing gay,
Rejoicing in the month of May,
Believe me, dearest, when I say,
I will own thy power.

Love.

The Contest of Elements.

SUGGESTED IN CONTEMPLATING THE GENESEE FALLS, AT PORTAGE.

First Neptune, with aquatic team,
Rides madly on the rushing stream,
And with gigantic hop and bound,
Amazes sorely all around.
Next Jupiter with thunder bolt,
Makes earth to tremble, shake and jolt,
the maddened water's fringed fall,
Draped like a huge funeral pall.
Earth next her rocks in masses threw,
To hide her rivals from the view,
And faced them with masonic art,
Quite sure that she had done her part.
Then heap, on heap her rough hills piled,
And spread them o'er with forests wild.
Next air the challenge boldly met,
And showed of mist a spiral jet;
Then to excel with magic stroke,
Enveloped water, earth in smoke.
Last Sol, to beautify all, strove,
And through the mist bright rainbows wove,
The scene was now majestic, grand—
The work of an Almighty hand.

To a Lady Slandered.

She came, and as the pearly dew,
Refreshes nature's verdant fields,
Her radiant smiles, affection true,
A transport o'er my bosom yields.
Thy noble, generous, kindly soul,
Forgiving whom with envious tongue,
Foul calumny, in accents roll,
With jealous hate to do the wrong.
Thy soul encased in purity,
Like Feudal Castle, firm and stout;
The peace within protecting thee,
From storms that rage and howl without.
Oh maiden! of my heart of hearts,
Thy image's on my soul impressed.
When venomed wrath shall hurl her darts,
Here on this bosom find thy rest.
But must we part for yet awhile?
Does duty call thee from me now?
Receive affection without guile,
Thy fondest lovers faithful vow.
And now may peace, and pleasure sweet,
With happiness in plenteous store,
Attend thee till again we meet,
And meet on earth to part no more!

Our Family Tree.

ON THE DEATH OF MY SISTER CECILIA—THE LAST OF FIVE MEMBERS OF THE FAMILY, WHO DIES SUCCESSIVELY.

Our family tree is in the sear
And yellow leaf of life;
Branch after branch, year after year,
Yields to death's pruning knife.
First, youngest born, as if 'twere meet,
The sacrifice should be,
“The last of earth,” the first to meet
Th' unknown eternity.
'Twas God who gave, 'twas He who took,
His voice let us obey,
So that in his eternal book,
Our names shine bright as day.

The Storm.

The clouds are charged with fluid,
Pitiless falls the rain;
The heavens clothed in lurid,
O'er shaddowing the main.
The winds now howl most madly.
Old ocean's billows rave,
Yon ship is tossed most sadly,
Upon each white capped wave.
Behold her gallant master,
Firm at the helm's side—
She reels—she dashes faster;
How proudly doth she ride!
The storm is but the voice
Of him who rules above;
It speaks to thee, rejoice,
And render him thy love!

Life's Voyage.

The ship all trimmed, and ballast, leaves the shore,
Intent old ocean's bosom to sail o'er;
Her gallant master at the helm stands—
The crew obedient to his stern commands.
The sea is calm, most beauteous smiles the day,
And gentle zephyrs waft her on her way;
No clouds o'ercast the clear blue vaulted sky,
And nautalus in tiny craft glide by.
Behold yon speck advancing far a west,
Now gently heaves old ocean's purturbed breast,
Now swiftly rolls on waves the gallant craft,
And stiffer breezes greet her sails abaft.
Loud and more loud the winds now howl and blow,
Higher, and higher till waves like mountains grow,
Till tempest tossed the ship. All hands now dread
To meet far far from shore the wave's death bed.
The storm is o'er, back to their deep dark caves,
Old Neptune calls his angry mountain waves,
And mariners now chant a cheerful lay,
Quite thoughtless that e'er peril crossed their way.
And thus life's dream embarks on mirrored sea.
With cloudless sky, and with a sailor's glee,
Till tempest clouds her sanguine hopes now dash,
And waves of trouble round her bulwarks wash.
When sunny rays dispel the gloomy blast,
In present joy she oft forgets the past;
And thus part smiles, part tears, part cloud, part ray,
Compose life's cheerful, happy, gloomy day.