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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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XXVII.

And the maiden stood by the river's side,
With her rosy cheek on her lily hand;
And the tears fell down from her soul so wide,
That they seemed like dew on the silver sand!
And her eyes were bent on the dewy shore,
For the flowers of earth were the books she read—
And upon them there would her spirit pore,
Till the last bright star from the heavens had fled
And, as one forlorn, like the mateless dove,
Would she all day long for her lover sigh!
As she cast her eyes up to heaven above,
When the stars came out on the clear blue sky.
135

And with solemn sighs would she hum the song
That her lover sang when her hopes were bright;
But we need not say that he did her wrong—
For he came not back to her home that night!
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