Nacoochee ; or, the beautiful star, with other Poems

Beyond that wild illimitable waste
Of unfenced prairie, there are wild flowers growing
In rich luxuriance, over by the chaste
And velvet-vested rivers that are flowing
Within the moss-clad suckle valleys glowing;
And in that sea-like undulating wild,
The moon-like roses are forever blowing,
For there the wild deer, on the lawn, so mild,
Leaps with the unscared fawn like some delighted child.

II.

And there, amid the suckle-gemmed recesses,
And lawny labyrinthine aisles, afar,
Beyond the green pavilion of the wildernesses,
Bathed in the radiance of the western star,
Like rubies set in emerald—waves the fair
And silken tresses of the spring of vales,
Whose beauty nothing less than heaven can mar!
And there the music of the glorious gales
Lift up their voices of long years with heavenly tales.

III.

And there, aloft, with his uplifted hand,
The old man stood, with eyes all fire, upon
The margin of that silver lake of sand,
And spoke all loudly to his only son;
Yes, Ostenee! thy father's race is run!
But listen! far away upon an isle,
As bright as burnished emerald, there is one
Of the most beautiful!—so like the smile
Of the moon's daughter that she twinkles all the while.

IV.

For there, upon that island, soft as even,
The beautiful Nacoochee seems to rise,
All glorious, like the first bright star of heaven,
That burns like sapphire on the azure skies!
And there she has such dark delightful eyes,
The moon's first daughter pales beneath her beams!
And there they glimmer with such wild surprise,
That you would liken them to azure streams,
So beautiful are they above our brightest dreams.

V.

And there, upon the southern side, the walls
Of living verdure look like emerald-fire!
For there the music of the waterfalls
Are sweeter than the echoes of the Lyre!
For where the languid blades reach dangling higher,
They cleave the curve-lip shell,—and in the vales
The birds sing sweeter than the heavenly choir,
The song our fathers sang—when, on the gales,
A voice went forth to heaven with man's unearthly wails!

VI.

And there the wild swans of the crystal lake
Woo the enamoured waves, while, softly, there,
The sea-shell crimson through the waters break,
Like first love through the cheeks of beauty fair!
For, underneath her smile, there is no care
To ruffle the bright fountain of thy joy,
But, like that reedy lake, whose dimples are
The young swan's circlings, every thought doth buoy
Her spirits up—whose calmness nothing can destroy.

VII.

Then, Ostenee! thy father bids thee go
To where the green isle, paved with ocean shells,
Looks at the moon upon the waves below—
For there the beautiful Nacoochee dwells!
For such, you know, our ancient history tells—
Then, warrior-boy! bright eagle of the race
That bred thy father!—get thee where the spells
Of her fair countenance shall light thy face,
And bear her from that island swiftly to this place.

VIII.

And there that old chief stood upon the sand,
Like copper sculptured into majesty!
For on his dusky brow there sate command,
And on his lips sublime austerity!
And on his cheeks there sate, convulsed, the sea
Of that dark passion of his heart within,
That changed upon his lips tempestuously,
As if his soul were cradled into sin
By those long waving years that made him ghostly thin!

IX.

And in the lofty wildness of the cloud
Of his dark thoughts, there sate immortal gloom!
For now his eyes glared horribly, as proud
As Death while gibbering over Beauty's tomb!
He seemed like some huge fury from the womb
Of Darkness—messenger devout from hell!
Whose spirit seemed upon the world to loom,
For that unslaked revenge which seemed to dwell
In his dark heart—whose secret depths no tongue could tell!

X.

And now the young man bounded from the sand,
And leaping in the boat, he took the oar,
And, standing there awhile, he waved his hand
To that old man who stood upon the shore;
And sitting down awhile, he left the moor,
And far on through the waters, which he ploughed,
So that the boat was crowned with rainbows, bore
His way, until he came beneath the cloud,
Whereon an angel sat, who spoke to him aloud!

XI.

Behold! upon that spring-clad isle, afar,
Ten thousand footsteps from the solitudes—
A maiden dwells, Nacoochee, the bright star
Of that bright island—Dian of the woods!
And there, around her beauty, naught intrudes,
But the bright dappled fountain of pure shells!
Upon the pavement of whose shore the floods
Break gently, while upon it, nightly, dwells
The daughter of the sun, that half her beauty tells.

XII.

And the beams of her fair countenance fell
On the labyrinthine clouds, like fitful gleams
On Death's dark chariot, on the verge of hell,
Shot from the quiver of those heavenly beams
That light Omnipotence!—and on the streams,
That moan forever in that heavenly vale,
Glanced into glory, like those early dreams
That woo us like the incense on the gale,
Then slit away with that deep joy that made us wail!

XIII.

And then her glorious countenance collected
The still replenished beauty of her smile,
By living upon that which she reflected,
Like the bright lake that dwelt around that isle,
And mirrored back its beauty—all the while
She sate there smiling, from her brightness flowed
A living radiance, streaming round the pile
Of island clouds that in her presence glowed
With that same fulgence which her beauty had bestowed.

XIV.

And there she sate, encircled by the light
Of that deep lustrous lightning, undefiled!
As one that slumbers, dreaming of delight,
As round her snow-white neck the clouds were piled
In floods of ecstacy!—for she was mild—
And through the raven tresses of her hair,
That hung in dalliance on the floatings wild—
Shone the pure brightness of that liquid glare—
But she was unconsumed—her beauty still was fair.

XV.

For the pure whiteness of her swan-like breast
Lay on the background of her raven hair,
All Zephyr-laved, like infancy at rest!
For, on her harp her forehead leaned so fair,
It seemed, beside the strings that glistened there,
Like slanting sunbeams on some mount of snow—
While round her silver sandalled feet the glare
Of the thick lightnings flashed and mantled so,
The liquid quiv'rings burnt with an immortal glow!

XVI.

But far beyond that vision in the sky,
Far on the golden island-clouds that lay
Half buried over ocean, in the dye
Of an immortal azure—there, at play,
In the bright regions of eternal day—
An angel fondled with the locks of love!
And on that bright vermilion, far away,
She bore her holy harp, that waved above,
On her fair wings that shone like pinions of the dove.

EXILE OF HEAVEN.

There was upon a isle
A clear bright river,
And it glittered in the smile
Of the face of God forever.

And there was upon its green
An eternal spring for love,
And its river rolled between
The bright Cherubim above!

And it rolled like molten glass
To that sapphire silent sea,
Where its waves could never pass
From that bright eternity.
For they shone like liquid fire,
In the burning stars of even,
And they rolled not to expire,
But proceeded out of heaven.

And the waves that circled round
The eternal mount on high,
Bore an everlasting sound
To the soul that cannot die.
For the river ran from one
Of the springs that sparkled in
The bright valley of the sun,
Where no night hath ever been.

And the crystalline deep sea
Was cerulean like the even,
When the stars come out to see
How the soul can get to heaven.
And there was no night, but day
Was immortal as its beams,
And it could not pass away
From the spirit of my dreams.

And there was upon its breast
A great liquid throne of light,
And upon that throne did rest
A bright Angel drest in white!
And her face was like the skies
When the heavens are bright above,
And there lived within her eyes
An eternity of love.

For the deathless mighty flush
Of her countenance was bright
As the morning, when the gush
Of her radiance wakes to light.
And her face was as the light
Of the moon when she is whole,
When she travels in the night
To the regions of the soul.

And her locks were as the dawn
Of the morning on the sea,
When the waves are wandering on
To the borders of the free.
And her language was as deep
As the earth from heaven above;
And she sang the moon to sleep
With an ecstacy of love.

For her brightness seemed to fling
A deep circlet round the soul,
Like the halo round the ring
Of the moon when she is whole.

And above her was the glow
Of a Rainbow beaming bright,
And it spanned the sea below
With an everlasting light!

And she strode upon the bend
Of that heaven-exalted bow,
From the sky curve to the end
Of the firmament below!
For on earth she had been one
Of the fairest that could be,
And her soul was now the sun
Of the stars upon the sea.

For Astarte was her name
In that happy home above;
But on earth she was the same,
For her holiness was love.
But away beyond the light
Of the morning star, was one
Of the brightest of the bright,
Shining brighter than the sun!

For the souls that entered in
The bright bosom of the sea,
Are redeemed from mortal sin
To the joys that are to be;
When the holy springs are given
From the fount of life at last,
In the voice that brings from heaven
An oblivion of the past.

XVII.

And her dark locks lay floating on the breeze,
Like the young lawny verdure of the isles,
Whose wavings are like rollings of the seas,
When from his billows morn reflects her smiles!
And there, all beautiful, like love that wiles
Its leisure, she stood perfect as the day,
When heaven above is cloudless—and the aisles
Of her fair clouds were labyrinthed away,
Like spirits on the blue serene assembled there at play.

XVIII.

And in that tree-shell boat of moderate size,
All lined within with fawn-skins of the woods,
And edged with dappled swan-down, of the dyes
Of the flamingo—fashioned in the solitudes—
And decked with coral where no less intrudes—
The Indian rowed his boat, until he came
To where the sand-beach glittered in the floods,
And there he fastened his small boat, to frame
Some scheme whereby he might approach that heavenly dame.

XIX.

And there, all scattered on that island, lay
Ten thousand sea shells, blushing like the hues
Of rich carnation, till the very way
Seemed paved with glory—for the dews
Were all like nectar, and did there diffuse
Such freshness, that from off each damask rim
A musical soft fountain gushed profuse,
So that the air around was one soft hymn
Of eloquence—like that the shells poured forth to him.

XX.

The streams were all like silver—for they seemed,
As by their flowery banks they went their way,
Like heavenly melody, whose gushings gleamed
Like floss unwound by infancy at play,
And tangled on moreen—for, far away
The pearl meanderings glittered in the light,
Till all their windings into that deep bay
Quivered like molten silver!—till the sight
Grow tired with that soft vision which was heavenly bright.

XXI.

And there, upon that island, lay the shells
Of ocean, brimful of the nectar dew,
That dropt from out the golden honey-bells,
And from each rosy sculptured rim of blue,
Leaped with incessant beauty to renew;
And there the languid emerald reeds were seen,
Like lawny plumes, high waving to the view,
On that bright island of immortal green,
Where young Nacoochee stood two heav'nly hills between.

XXII.

And there she stood all beautiful as even,
When the first star begems the cloudless sky,
With eyes as brilliant as the hues of heaven,
When day illumes the firmament on high!
And there, upon that living greensward, by
The crystal rivers—purple as her eyes—
She lifted up her snow-white hands on high,
And pointing to an opening in the skies,
She poured her spirit forth with love that never dies:—

NACOOCHEE'S PRAYER.

Abba! when my spirit panteth
For the joys that soon must be;
When the prayers that nature granteth
Shall be all the world to me;
When the voice that speaks in thunder,
Shall the universe confound;
When the oaks are rent asunder
By the lightnings all around;
When the mountains, greatly shaken,
Shall be buried in the sea,
And my forest home forsaken;
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the reed-isles quiver,
Where the willow boughs are green,
On the margin of the river,
Where the Coosa maid is seen;
When the moaning winds are sighing
Round the cypress in the vale;
When the music-tones are dying
On the suckle-scented gale;
When the turtle doves are mourning
In the rose-isles by the sea;
When the stars above are burning,
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the fawns are leaping
On the lily-bells, that lie
Where the willow-boughs are weeping
In the stream that trickles by;

When the roe-buck gazes wildly
At the hunter in the even;
When the milky moon looks mildly
From the azure depths of heaven;
When the hills are clothed in gladness,
And the valleys laugh with glee;
When the world is turned to sadness,
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the big light lingers
On the fleecy clouds that lie,
As if touched by angels' fingers
With an everlasting dye;
When their blond-like edges glisten
With the golden fringe that shines
Where the angels lean to listen
To the soul that now repines;
When the flaky isles of glory
Sink to slumber on the sea,
And the skies above seem sorry:
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the fowls are laving
In the fountains far away;
When the purple hills are waving
To the sunny-isles of day;
When the mocking-birds are singing
By the river-banks at noon;
When the violet-bells are springing
From the rosy-hills in June;
When the pigeons all are feeding
On the beach-mast by the sea;
When my bosom shall lie bleeding,
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the reed is broken,
That has borne me up when young;
When the last sad word is spoken,
That shall tremble on my tongue;
When the grape-vines all are bending
O'er the cluster-mirrored stream;
When the suckle-grove is lending
Its perfume to every beam;
When the azure lake is crisping
By the zephyrs from the sea;
When no other tongue is lisping,
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the morn is breaking
Through the portals of the sky;
When the dappled fawns are waking
In the reed-isles where they lie;
When the wanton swan is swimming
In the zephyr-dimpled lake;
When her cygnet-down is skimming
On the waters wide awake;
When the streams forsake the mountains,
And return into the sea;
Abba! save thy little fountains—
Lift my spirit up to thee!

Abba! when the snow-dove minion
Takes my forest home at night;
When the eagle breaks his pinion
In the swiftness of his flight;
When the roe-buck comes to wander
From the green hills far away;
When my beating heart grows fonder
For the sunny isles of day;

When my forest home is taken,
And the stranger bids me flee;
Abba! call me thy forsaken—
Take my spirit home to thee!

XXIII.

And she stood there-alone, addressing heaven,
In holy attitude—what did she see?
An angel fondling with the locks of even,
In holy vestments, coming from the sea
Of righteousness beyond eternity!
And she was crowned with stars that never set,
As round her feet ran rivers joyfully,
Beneath the holy cherubim, that met
Beside the mercy-seat, where angels worship yet.

XXIV.

And then his soul was troubled like the lake
Beside the tasselled reed-isle, where the fawn,
All beautiful, beneath the blades, awake,
Doth watch the eddyings of the milky swan
Upon the placid waters, circling on;
As from her breast forever doth arise
The music of her billows, which, upon
The shore breaks into language, like the sighs
Of his soft breast, whose heavings burst forth in his eyes.

XXV.

And long upon his spirit did she break
The crystal clearness of that holy sea!
And like the milky swan upon the lake,
Broke up the waves of his dark memory
To rapture tones, which spread incessantly
Upon the chambers of his heart, and wore
A caverned labyrinth, which grew to be
A place most mournful—till his heart's deep core
Sank into that deep sea whose ripples had no shore!

XXVI.

For in that island of ten thousand dyes,
Beside the liquid gushings of the springs
That waved beneath the azure of her eyes,
She made her fingers tremble on the strings
With an immortal music!—till the wings
Of twice ten thousand angels seemed around
The wooings of her harp, like artless things,
And, while they bathed them in the waves of sound,
They crowned her with the flowers with which her harp was bound.

XXVII.

And the seductive foldings of her dress,
Of sky-blue satin, waved around her form
Beneath, in rich voluptuous gentleness,
As through those foldings beat her heart, as warm
As that deep glow upon her cheeks, whose charm
Told eloquently what lay couched beneath;
As on her ruby-cinctured lips alarm
Sat throned, while, from the sweetness of her breath,
A melody gushed forth, like eloquence in death!

XXVIII.

And in the richness of that flowery grove
Of golden oranges, she lived alone;
So that she seemed like Psyche crowned by Love,
Save when the angels tendered her their own;
And when the ravished sweetness of the tone
Of their soul's language settled in her heart,
It seemed but as an impulse of her own;
And with the utterings of her lips apart,
She caused the wind-waked silence into song to start!

XXIX.

Her eyes were very lustrous, and so large
They looked like darkness baptized in the light
Of an immortal glory—like some barge,
All newly built, beneath the moon at night,
And rocking on the waters!—they were bright
As an immortal glory set in heaven!
When all around its radiance is delight,
And that delight her smiles!—as fair as even
When from the sunlit skies the very clouds are driven.

XXX.

Her voice was like Religion's, and the tone
Was mellow, like the flute-strains on the hills
At midnight, hoard but by the loved alone,
When stars are fondling with the mountain rills—
For she was that divinity which fills
The poet's spirit when he dreams of heaven,
And gives his inspiration that which kills
All sorrow,—when his thoughts go forth at even
To worship God beneath the light that he has given.

XXXI.

Oh! had you wandered from his copse along
The lily-banks that looked upon the stream,
In dewy softness, listening to the song
She sung herself beneath bright Cynthia's beam,
That sprinkled round her loveliness the gleam
Of radiant glory—shed among the flowers—
And those dark locks that made her blushes teem
With lively fulgence—love's immortal powers—
Oh! you had thought Nacoochee queen of all the Hours.

XXXII.

Oh! had you seen her thus beneath the moon,
Her snow-white bosom heaving like the sea!
As some tall mountain spread with snow at noon,
Her dark, long locks all sweeping lavishly—
As each soft breeze came fondling them for me!
Her dark bright eyes upturned upon the sky,
With two pearl tear-drops fringing them, to be
A living truth that she was born to die!—
Oh! had you seen her thus, how deep had been the sigh!

XXXIII.

He looked upon her features with delight—
A chiselled masterpiece almost divine—
The artist, God!—She lay along the light
Of Luna, streaming round her form supine,
And striving on her loveliness to shine,
Whose mellow radiance gave unto her eyes
A languid glory—till she seemed to pine
In her own radiance—mingling her surprise
With that soft innocence which she could not disguise.

XXXIV.

There gushed upon her cheeks, beneath her eyes,
A vigilant sublimity, that seemed
To those, who gazed upon her with surprise,
As if they had, despairingly, but dreamed
Of some Utopian loveliness, they deemed
Of some celestial sphere, which God had given
To make creation heaven!—Around her beamed
A living rainbow, softer than the even,
With two bright, missioned seraphs watching her from heaven!

XXXV.

Her facial contour gave unto her smiles
A modelled tenderness, that seemed to melt
In their own mellowness, like distant isles
In ocean—while, upon her features dwelt
A virgin pleasantness, most often felt
In ideal poetry—whose blushes shone
Like sunlit skies when Autumn is the belt
That girds creation—while, beneath her zone,
A passion dwelt, almost unto herself unknown.

XXXVI.

And when she spoke, her words, upon her tongue,
Were jewels, that reluctant seemed to fall,
As soft celestial nectar round them clung,
That turned her lisping accents, gently small,
To angel eloquence—that gave to all
A mellifluent cadence, turned to love
And harmony!—Upon her lips no gall
Was ever known—but, like unto the dove,
The words she spoke were truths that came from heaven above.

XXXVII.

Her deep-dyed lips were crimson with the blood
Of healthy newness—making each fond smile
That waltzed upon her lips, flush with the flood
Of nectar softness, making love turn exile
In despair—although, alas! she might awhile
Make earth celestial, then return to be
The thing she was before she made this isle
A new Elysium—who was unto me,
A fountain, when most thirsty, deeper than the sea.

XXXVIII.

An untold indescribable delight
Of modesty collected round her form—
An angel majesty, that gave me light
To contemplate her through the storm
Of my soul's rapture, raging now to warm
Me into poetry—impress my heart
With that she was in heaven,—blest—uniform—
A paradise imbodied without art—
As sunshine upon snow-drops dazzling every part.

XXXIX.

Behind yon everlasting pensile pall,
That hangs above creation, from the frown
Of thunder-gusts that into ocean fall—
Behold! th' impending torrents gushing down!
Lo! lightnings flashing every cloud to crown!
Whose avalanche-like roar now shakes the plains!
As clouds torn flying after others flown,
The only trophy left for all their pains,
The thirsty earth lies drenched with cloud-devouring rains.

XL.

The oaks leviathan, shattered by the nod
Of these almighty elements, fall down
In dread abasement, howling out to God
And Nature, whose omnipotent renown.
Transcends eternity—beneath whose frown
Of dreadful majesty He rules the stars
That light immensity—upon whose crown
They shine above earth's elemental wars—
And whose right hand breaks down even hell's infernal bars!

XLI.

And now aloft, above this howling vast,
The heart's blood curdling into frightful fear!
A soaring Angel sails above the blast,
And leaves another following in the rear!
Nor turns she back upon destruction near,
But, tempest towering, rises to the sky,
On heaven's eternal verge, where all is clear,
As one tremendous peal comes rolling nigh,
And shakes her soul again, entranced—earth-bound—to die!

XLII.

And now yon dark tremendous battlement
Of exiled clouds, dispersing seaward o'er,
Through heaven's eternal battle-fields unspent,
Leaves God's high canopy baptized once more!
On whose cerulean plains ofttimes before,
This Armageddon battle has been fought;
As now comes ardent sunshine down to pour
A new-born vigour into frightened thought,
And earth again seems pregnant with new glory fraught.

XLIII.

And over every stormy terror bound,
A sweet refreshment circles every thing;
And over earth's deep stillness comes, profound,
A settling silence, sleeping on the wing
Of brooding zephyrs, while above doth spring,
From God's high brazen canopy divine,
A gushing radiance, till the birds do sing,
And heaven's complacent countenance doth shine,
And earth exults that each fierce bolt remains supine.

XLIV.

The tottering clouds now reel along the light
Of lustrous lightnings, as they vanish on,
And earth seems mellowed into sad delight,
As dying thunder echoes—it is gone!
An awful silence reigns on earth alone!
The overflowing rivers rush along,
In lordly grandeur, gurgling to the tone
Of lowland chorister, whose wakeful song
Is more than gladly heard these languid flowers among.

XLV.

But lo! from out the reedy isles that lay
Far over ocean, northward of that lake,
A charger wonderful did make his way,
And the smooth surface of the waters break!
For he was beautiful as clouds that flake
The dim horizon—fawn-like was his skin—
Of multi-coloured mail—whose speed did make
An iris-coloured foam before his thin
And dusky keel, which pleased the waves he wandered in.

XLVI.

And from his nostrils, lifted high in air,
An incense-cloud ascended, like the smoke
From off an altar, when perfume is there,
And round the forelocks of that charger broke
With such bright wreathings, that the vision woke
The idea of Divinity arrayed in light;
Which clung around that rider as he spoke,
Like an immortal whirlwind in the night,
Winged by the burning tempest with volcanic might!

XLVII.

Bathed in the glory of ten thousand clouds,
The snow-white charger galloped on the storm!
And mantled with the brightest of all shrouds,
Rushed in his glory to that heavenly form!
But seeing that his brightness might alarm
The softest of all beings where she stood—
Mantled his face with an immortal charm,
And gathering round her beauty with the flood
Of his bright beams, filled her with an immortal good!

XLVIII.

And on that whirlwind of immortal fire,
The charger galloped with eternal light!
And pawing with the thunders of his ire,
Shone like the lightnings of the clouds at night,
Upon the wings of Darkness! Oh! that sight!
And, rushing onward, dashed to that frail form!
And, yielding to his rider, checked his flight,
And snorting like the thunders of the storm—
Bore her away amid the shouts of her alarm!

XLIX.

And upward—far beyond the things of time—
He rose, rejoicing that his arm was strong!
And rising into that high home sublime,
Poured forth his voice with an immortal song!
Which, soaring into heaven, the stars among,
Filled up the universe, as on it went,
With melody—gave heaven another tongue—
And unto all the spheres an echo lent,
And, rolling—died like glory upon the firmament.

L.

Thank God for thy deliverance, blessed child!
Thank God for thy redemption! There was pain
In that dark region round the eternal wild,
Where thou shalt never more be seen again!
And he shall look upon that isle in vain!
The waterfalls shall never more to thee
Give back the echo of thy voice, like rain!
And never shall thy form divide the sea,
Where sleeps the silver moon—Oh, no! for thou art free!

LI.

And there were seraphs crying in the spheres,
As they were passing onward to the blest;
And from each other's eyes were shed the tears
That fell from heaven for Palestine's behest!
And there were voices crying in the west,
And saying, Wake, Nacoochee!—loved! awake!
And put thy garments on—prepare thy rest—
For thou shalt die!—thy time is come!—partake
Of this thy marriage supper—ready for thy sake!

LII.

And thus enveloped in that mighty flood
Of everlasting glory, rushed the steed
To her deliverance!—There she stood!
And who shall recompense that rider for the deed?
And where was Ostenee!—borne like the reed
That meets the torrent's course—he fell like stone!
But thou, Nacoochee! loved one! thou wert freed
From this world's sorrow!—thou art now alone
In that bright region round th' Eternal's heavenly throne!

LIII.

She wept for joy! His soul was on the gales
Of morning, answering back again to even—
When lo! another voice, from out the vales,
Said, See yon Rainbow coming down from heaven!
He looked! Behold! Nacoochee! with the seven
That loved her!—Angels—Cherubs—all, divine!
In spiritual glory passed above him, given—
God—God! thou didst redeem unto him, thine!
And saved his precious jewel with thyself to shine!

LIV.

And she was changed among terrestrial things—
She died!—Her soul was borne above the spheres
In joy triumphant!—borne upon the wings
Of angels unto God's high home, where tears
Nor sorrow dwell!—where there are no deep cares—
And no rejoicings but of pure delight!
A parting felt when life had fewer years—
When there was unto him no day, but night,
And that dark pall which hangs upon his spirit's light!

LV.

Ah! who can feel intoxicating love,
The sweetest boon that recollection brings—
And not inhale perfumes from heaven above,
And drink delight from hope's celestial wings?
The last drop that existence faintly flings
From Memory's cup, tastes sweeter than the first—
The bottom gathers sweetness from the springs
Of life, when other feelings we have nursed
Are gone—when life no more for earthly things shall thirst!

LVI.

And now his lonely spirit would be gone,
But cannot go—still yearning for the sky!
For longing only makes him more alone,
In this dark world—where love can never die!
The birds have their appointed times to hie—
The foxes, too, have holes—then let him rest
In hopes that when his God shall pass him by,
His hand will lead his spirit to the rest
Of his Nacoochee, where her soul is haply blest.

LVII.

Oh, God! that thou hadst made him something more
Than this sad thing—this broken-hearted wight!
A barren tree upon life's sandy shore,
That never more shall flourish with delight!
The sunshine has departed from his sight!
The dearest thing that ever was to be!
Yon reedy-isle now hides her from his sight—
Oh! that his wounded spirit could be free,
To lay his broken heart, Nacoochee, down with thee!

LVIII.

Earth had no sweeter thing than that bright one—
That heaven-exalted child! for she was fair
As isles that gem the ocean!—she is gone
To that bright world where there is no despair!
And she shall bind the roses in her hair
No more in this dark world!—nor deck her brow!
And she shall never more attune the air
To that sweet music, which was as the vow
Of an immortal—Lord! where is that beauty now?

LIX.

She is not in this world—she is afar!
In that bright region where the angels dwell!
And when we gaze upon yon western star,
We think that we can hear that herald tell
Of that bright being, who, from out the well
Of this world's wilderness, drank but the dew
Of heaven descending!—fitting her too well
For that immortal rest—as if she knew
Her time was come when she should bid this world adieu!

LX.

And now we gaze upon the vales—the brooks—
And on the mountains where that blessed stood!
And on the valleys, where the owlet nooks
Threw shadows on the twilight of the wood,
And we may gaze upon that glorious flood,
And pluck the flowers that she has gazed upon;
And touch the boughs that made her solitude—
But never more, beneath yon heavenly sun,
Shall we behold that being—that immortal one!

LXI.

And we shall see that lovely one to-morrow—
Oh! never more! that gentle one no more!
And we shall feel for her immortal sorrow,
And plunge despair into our heart's deep core!
To weigh the love that caused our hearts to pour
Its grief out over her with such despair,
Must make them both immortal!—Life is o'er!
And we must learn from ills what is to bear
A love so mournful—till our spirits turn to prayer!

LXII.

And that immortal island—that shall never,
In all this world, behold her beauty more!
For that which was shall there remain forever!
And spring may come upon that sunny shore,
And flowers may spring up like the flowers of yore;
And birds may sing the sweetness of the even,
And hearts may break as they have broke before;
And time may mend the chords that he has riven—
But never, through all time, shall she return from heaven!

LXIII.

Thou lonely star! that first born of the even,
In yonder high blue world, beholds me here—
I gaze upon thee, until all in heaven
Seems borne upon me from thy distant sphere!
I see thee shine no larger than the tear
That now thy beauty likens in mine eyes—
A pearl-drop, pensile from thine own parterre,
That liftest my spirit with devout surprise
To claim my cherished home beyond thy deep blue skies,

LXIV.

Thou precious realm! that, pensile to the world,
Now keep'st me yearning for my home above—
An earth-bound spirit, whose bright wings are furled
To know that thou art happy with my love!
I would that thou couldst meet me with the dove
The dear bright thing that never shall return
To make me happy—for my thoughts must rove,
And my lamentings nurture me to mourn
For that bright hour when she was from my presence torn!

LXV.

And art thou, little star! unto the blest,
A bright Elysium, like thy light to me?
And dost thou yield unto Nacoochee's rest,
The glorious joy that she demands of thee?
Oh, thou! that settest thy face upon the sea,
And comest from thy far home upon the streams—
That teachest my spirit what it is to be
In heaven—art thou, with all thy silver beams,
To pass off gently like my first love's early dreams?

XLVI.

And art thou habited with brighter things
Than earth?—thou look'st upon me from afar!
And have thy mountains many sweeter springs
Than these, where thou art my Nacoochee's star?
And have thine angels brighter hopes, to mar
The circumventings that await the soul?
And does thy sapphire glimpse attend the car
That bearest my dear Nacoochee to the goal
Of God, where she shall all these many pangs console?

LXVII.

And now, with my devotion, let me raise
My gentle harp-strings unto Thee, the wise
And great Jehovah!—who art worth all praise—
The deep exhaustless worship of the skies!
The glorious hallelujah's that arise,
And answer back rejoicing to the spheres,
In that deep angel-burst that never dies!
Whose melodies shall wipe away all tears
From human eyes, great God! through thine eternal years!

LXVIII.

Then, gentle harp! awake no more to die!
The soft sweet tones that made thee as the dove
In summer—leave me here alone to sigh!
'Tis silence! thou shalt answer me above!
But who, alas! shall bear me to the love
Of my Nacoochee!—she, who was to me,
As bird-songs unto silence, when the grove
Is listening to the music anxiously—
As shell-tones unto isles that dwell upon the sea.

LXIX.

Thou hast been unto me, my gentle one!
A minister, whose melodies were love!
A comforter, amid my griefs, when none
Could reconcile me—save that one above!
And now, my blessed being! like the dove
That wails her mate, my spirit turns to thee!
While on the silver willow in the grove
I hang my harp—Æolia! play for me
A farewell song, when this sad life shall cease to be!

LXX.

As thou hast been unto me as the food
A mother yields her children from her breast—
The careful dove that wings her little brood,
And sets them safe beneath her own to rest;
As thou hast come unto me, from the blest
In heaven, amid descending dews at night,
And wrestled with my spirit in the west,
In voiceless silence—when there was no light
But thine—thou holiest seraph of the best
In heaven!—my spirit turns again to thy behest!

LXXI.

For thou shalt feed upon the fire of heaven
In wasteless glory—thou shalt reap the lore
Of life forever—blest—redeemed—forgiven!
And thou shalt reign forever on the shore
Of Christ immortal—changeless ever more!
And thou shalt sail upon that glorious sea,
Where no dark waves shall ever sweep it o'er—
For thine eternal heritage shall be
A deep, bright, rosy morn—forever noon to thee.

University of Virginia Library

NACOOCHEE;

OR, THE BEAUTIFUL STAR.

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EXILE OF HEAVEN.

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NACOOCHEE'S PRAYER.

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