The path of sorrow, or, the lament of youth :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Stars of creation! images of love!
Break up the fountain of your tears—your tears,
More eloquent than learned tongue, or lyes
Of purest note! Your sunny raiment stain;
Put dust upon your heads; lament and weep,
And utter all your minstrelsy of woe!”

TO JOHN RHAY, ESQ., OF NEWNAN,

THIS POEM IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, As a testimony of that respect which is ever due you, from one who sincerely respects and wishes you well; and from one who humbly conceives that the time is fast approaching, when your name will shine in the midst of your professional fraternity with that degree of brilliancy which you have conducted yourself, during your professional career in life.

John, these Poems were written during my leisure hours, when a student of Medicine in Lexington, in 1828–9. You will find many errors, typographical and sentential, which I shall correct on a future occasion. I have only had a few copies printed for the perusal of my friends; and I hope you will not uproot the scion, because it is not, intuitively, a lordly oak.

May your career remain brilliant and unclouded; may you enjoy in this life all the pleasures that wealth can purchase, and fancy can invent;—may the evening of your life, when the candle of vitality begins to glimmer on the shore of death, go down like a brilliant sun: and when you become

resigned “with the angel of the covenant,” to pass through the valley and shadow of death, may you be piloted to that “bourne from whence no traveller” can “return,” to enjoy all the fruitions of another state of existence—is the heart-felt and soul-acknowledged wish, of

Your most obedient, and humble Servant, Thos: H. Chivers, M. D. November 15, 1832.

THE DREAM.

Sleep is not death; but the absence of thought,
And the exercise of the knowing and
Reflecting faculties, which make up judgment.
Sleep is not the absence of life; but that
State of dormancy in its functions, which,
When the imagination roves, and sense
And judgement slumbers,—we call it dreaming;
But, dreaming has its seeming hours of truth,
And bright reality,—although, comparison
And causality, the soil rich, from whence
The fruits of judgment spring,—lie in dormant
States during our sleeping hours;—shaded by
The towering mount, that hides the radiant
Sun of thought, from shining on the fruitful
Intellect, guided by coadjutor,—
The soul. This mount, great mount it is, and dark,
Yea, and the Andes of the soul, forbids, while
In our sleeping hours, the vital rays from
Shining on the flora of our thought; but,
While the orion of our sense is hid,
The moon, Imagination's moon, appears,
And glimmers through the lattice of the brain;
And vivifies the dormant spark of life
And sense, save knowledge and judgement; and makes
The airy of imagination rove,
Like bark without a pilot, o'er the sea,
On billows of the soul; and scatters far
And wide, without the realm of real things,
Worlds of images, that often task the sense

To say, whether they were real or not.
There is a line—inherent in the state
And nature of our being—of our life—
A line of demarkation between our
Sleeping and our waking hours; that each should
Have its time of exercise, and sweet—yea,
Deep repose; still upholding and supporting
Organic action, by the dormant state, as
By the state of nice activity. As,
In our waking hours, sense and judgment, with
Sweet knowledge and reflection, spring from life
And exercise of intellect; so, in
Our sleeping hours,—void of judgment, and those
Nice and tender feelings of reflection,—
Cause to spring from animal life, visions
To imagination and images, as
Real, without the reach of judgment, and
The tender feelings of reflection, as,
We recognize in waking hours; save, when
Judgment rectifies the error—resolves
The problem into ovanescence wild;
And shews wherein the intellect usurps
The power of animal life; and seats fair
Judgement as the great umpire of the soul.

From these reflections, let me now suggest
A vision, that once rolled across the deep,
Wide ocean of my soul, in sleeping hours.

'Twas in the midnight hour of the night; when
Candles of eternity, and shining
Lamps of God, illuminated earth, fair
Earth,—with light divine; when Morphia bathed
My weary faculties in sea of sweet
Repose;—that, in a garden wild, of sweet
And floral joys, I saw two sentient youths,—
Two roses in the midst of many sweets,—
In midst of flowers beloved, standing beside

A bed of thyme, which shone above the light
Of Heaven; and gave a hue to all the flowers
Around. The bed of thyme, as seemed, was spread
Far, all around; and it had often been
'The pillow of fair Hymen, many years
Before; but now, as seemed, it caught the sides
Of two sweet youths in prime of life. The Maid,
In years, some younger than the Boy; and like sweet
Rose in Eden's bloom, expanding all its
Leaves before the radiant sun, and filling
Earth and sky, with fragrance sweet,—so did she
Seem to mortal eyes, save one, who held her
Lilly hand with trembling accents; and, with
Heart o'er-powered by the impulse strong, of love;
She seemed far brighter than his tongue could tell,
Or eye had ever seen before; but on fair
Tablet of his heart, he traced such sweet'ning words—
Unutterable words! as none can read,
Save those who feel the mighty thrills that run
Through all the avenues of life, and signed
As signature sincere, by every one
Of sentient soul; who then, took cognizance
Of every thought which beamed upon his face,
And rose above the summit and high mount—
Olympic of his heart, blown by the gale
And tempest, from the mountain of his love.
They sat, as seemed, embowered by the rose,
And thymy chambers of the Eden fair,
Of all their joys. He held her hand, as seemed,
And trembled as he spoke within himself,
To which, his soul gave audience sincere,
And signed the manumission of his vows,
With apex of his heart of love; and not
One word proceeded from his lips; for cords
Of love had fettered fast the warbler sweat,
Of all his thoughts; and thus, manacled fast,
They sat and read on forehead of their dawn,
Those pure iambics of the soul, which danced

Beside the strings of Orphican Lyre; and
Rolled its anthema o'er the thought; that felt fond
Nature's thrills burst through with flames eternal,
That no tongue can tell, or mortal ever
Speak; save those who often feel the billows
Shoreless roll, across the sentient soul; where
All the feelings, so precious in our lives,
And all those thrills so costly in our pain,
Arise; one with joy and the other woe!

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
It seemed, that from the garden of their love,
They went,—the Boy to reap the same that springs
From actions wise, of earth, while She, the boon
And object of his future life, his joy—
His spouse, his hope, his ever new delight,
His idol morn and even—the spring of all
His joys, his dove, the radiant sun of love,
That shone upon the mountain of his thoughts,
And vivified his heart—returned in joy,
To rural quietude, with heart sincere,
Which rolled its billows—tender waves, across
The ocean of her soul, and prophecied
New coming days of sweet delight and joy.

A cloud came oer the vision of my dream.
They met beside the bower of love and joy,
While fragrance sweet, of love and bliss, smiling far
Brighter then than ever did before his eyes;
When, by a rill that rippled down the vale
In tones of joy, they sat, and mused alone,
Far from the sight of mortal man, save eye
Of Him, the All-perceiving eye of God.
Their loves were mutual,—they paid their vows
Sincere; and while her head thus leaned upon
His breast, she heard loud waves within his heart,
His bosom's lord of life; and on fond tablet
Of his heart, moved by the carmine stream, dear
Stream of all his joys, he stamped his tender

[illeg.]d assignations, with the ink, drawn
From the fountain head of life and love,—then
Blooming on his carmine cheek,—the sweetest
Affirmations of his pure, untainted
Love, that ever came from out his soul; dear
Soul! the spring head of his life, his love, and
Sweet felicity. He held her hand, as
Seemed, and from his eye, that sparkled with
Fond fires of love, as he looked far beyond
The mountain of his joys, his future days
Of bliss, and not a single tear did flow;
But, as he pressed her to his breast, as tests
And confirmations strong, that he had on
The tablet of his heart then written, such
Fond words that mortal man dare utter, then
They kissed each other's lips of carmine hue,
And tears, as they retired, fell from their eyes.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
The youth retired with absence' dart deep plunged
In apex of his heart, to native home.
The maid, voluptuous, retired to rural
Avocations—joys, with hope fast by her
Side, that told her days, and months, and years, close
On the brink of future streams of time, when
She should reap her harvests, sweeter to her
Soul, than all things else beneath the sun. They
Met again, with mutual smiles and kisses
Sweet, and dear, beside the basis of a
Hill, which saw a thousand years revolve; and
Sat beneath a yew which spread umbrageous
Boughs, both far and wide, which kept from off their
Heads, the shining sun, then towering in its
Might above the sky. They mused—oft felt sweet
Thrills and throbs which spring from out the fount, dear,
Unmolested fount of love, and sweetest
Reservoir of life, and kissed, and smiled sweet
Smiles, that beamed in lights divine. For all, save

Her, the nightingale by night, and lark, sweet
Lark of morn, were nought to him. For she
Had shone with sun of love upon the mount—
High Atlas of his soul, till all the beams
Which come from out the disk of matrons sweet,
Besides, became obscured, and veiled their light,
As sure submission to superior power.
She was his pilot and his polar star—
His compass o'er the ocean of his life.
In future days, none stood before his eyes
At morning, noon, and even, day and night, save
Her, the Helen of his soul. She filled his
Soul, enamored with delight. She stood as
Vesper to his soul at midnight of his
Sleep. She walked voluptuously before
His face, at midnight hour of the night, when
God, the All-perceiving eye of heaven, with
Spirits of celestial make descended,
Sat and smiled, and hovered round his youthful soul,
And bathed it in the well of buoyant life.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
The youthful boy and maid, retired as wont,
Again to their respective homes of joy.
But soon, he felt the power of absence so
Severe, his heart then caught anew on fire,
He left his home, his father, mother dear—
Sad words! and sought his blessings in the arms
Of her, whose hand he held—the partner dear,
Of all his future life, of joy and bliss.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
He wept. He met, as they had said, and all
Approved the joy, such as filled the youthful
Soul; when by an aged man they stood, while
He, equipped with delegated power, tied
The Gordian knot, for which they often paid
Their mutual vows; and signed the mission
With the signature of love unequalled;

And unparalleled of joy and bliss;—sweet
Hope of future bliss. They joyed in those smiles
That sat upon the carmine cheek of mirth,
And gloried in the youthful hour, traced them back
To subsequent events, when first they caught
Each other's looks, that beamed with sun of love,
Which came from out the tender breast,—then forced
By tempest of the soul. They lived, as seemed,
In joy, in bliss, and both their souls seemed fired
With beams of evertasting love and joy.—
Vocation, such as none said aught about,
Illuminated all their paths of fear.
Their cup of Hymen overflowed of sweets,
Like nectar to the soul. They ate in joy,
Drank deep droughts of bliss, early rose, and rose
In joy and delight; and blessings crowned their
Wantoned life with sweets superlative,—sweets,
Much dearer to the soul, than ever words
Can tell, or man's imagination grasp.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
And O! what sorrows filled the youthful heart;
When from his home, a fiend, a cursed fiend,
Of dire perdition, stole the partner dear,
Of all his youthful life, and future days;
And left him like a bark on ruthless tide,
Of disappointment dire, exposed to all
The winds and rains of heaven, to mourn, and weep,
And murmur, and repine his loss, great loss!
The blessed jewel to his soul, the pearl,—
The richest gift of earth, was taken from
His home while he was gone, which broke the cord,
The threefold cord, the web of which, was spun
By fingers of omnipotence and love.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
The youth and maiden then, who often smiled,
And lay entwined in other's arms, remained
Apart unpedigreed, unplumed, and rest

Of all the social joys of life, that beamed
Upon the forehead of their dawn. Sad days
They were! which terminated all their joys.
They stole her by persuasive words, as seemed,
And made the maid believe that all they told,
Was truth sincere; till, like a flower in field
Of bliss triumphant, so was the root, dear
Root of joy nipped, to fall and rot to dust.
She left his home and never more returned!
For all, he importuned and plead so oft.
She chose to mourn, and weep, and pine away,
Instead of reaping harvests, ripe of bliss.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
The maid remained far from his home, in woe!
In garb of widowhood she sat and gazed
Afar, like one forlorn in wretchedness!
If pain and woe! with but an infant dear
Within her arms, to weep, and gather from
This thorny wild of earth—vexation deep,
And sorrow, pain, and woe, unmatched. She did
Not yet return, but heeded to their lies!—
Dread utterance of the tongue! that made vile
Devils blush to hear it told, in fairest,
Most respectful garb it wore. She wandered
Voluntarily in seeming garb, to break
His tender heart, with babe to hear her sigh,—
Which soon did answer her in tones of woe!

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
She did not yet return, nor ever did!
And from his home, the youth then went, but soon
Returned to take her to his arms; but she
Remained a voluntary exile, far
From his sight; and would not let him see his
Dearest child, then born unto his name. She
Did not yet return. She then began, like
All things else beneath the sun, to fade! yea,
Fade before his eyes, when, as it seemed, he

Saw another, brighter to his soul than she
Had ever been, who cast the lightning's spark
Of love sincere, and roused him like a flame
Of unrequited love. He loved her as
He loved his life. No tongue can tell, how he,
In midst of all his woes, returned the look
Of fond affection, that he knew arose
From out the centre of her sentient heart.

A cloud came o'er the vision of my dream.
He wept! because the law had held him fast
To her, the apostacy of all his joys,
And would not let him woo another, though
His life concentered all its feelings there.
She was the being of his soul—his all,
And more than earth could give besides. He kissed
Her tender lips, and wept! and told her oft,
About his youth,—about his joys, and, his
Pangs of grief! which broke the prospects, dearer
To his soul, than all besides on earth. He
Felt the rousings of the heart, which had often
Felt vile sorrows dart. She pressed him fondly
To her breast, and down upon his cheek, she
Dropped the surest test of love, which come from
Founts of woe. He told her oft of home, sweet,
Youthful home, and of a day when she should
Weep; and when he thus should kiss her sweetest
Lips, perhaps, to meet no more! He pressed her
To his breast with fond tears, when I awoke.

ON THE DEATH OF ADALINE.

FUGACES ANNI LABUNTER.

“Be not surprised at this expense of wo!’—
Pollock.

Oh, Adaline! I do remember well
That dying eye of thine,—suffused with tears!
As fades the evening sun beyond the west,
Where clouds are never seen, so did thy sun
Go down behind the spheroid of thy life.
He rose, as wont, on portals of the east,
And passed the fond meridian of thy joys!
Until his noontide path received the shock,
Which summoned him to give a kindred tone
To dying melody and grief!—O! yes, I
Saw the Angel of the Covenant take
Hold her hand, and lead her softly through dark,
Gloomy vale of death, to that eternal
Bourne, from whence no one returns—to hills, high
On the shores of immortality, where
None could interdict her bliss. Where glory
Is the chaplet, and the badge eternal
Life. Oh! I never shall forget that eye!—
That dying eye! which closed upon her sight; yea,
Closed communion with this world! I heard her
Bid her mother come, and see her last! Oh,
Wisdom of Eternity! exalt my
Thought, to tell of grief and wo! expand my
Soul, to realize the dying thrill! Great
God! is this benevolence in nature's
Laws?—God of truth! upon her cheek I saw
The shadow of an inward strife, and, on
Her breast, I saw caparisoned, both life
And death,—the struggle was, to marry death
To immortality—the crown, the boon
Of heaven! and, the bride, the embrace of that

Bliss in uninterdicted love, that shines through
All eternity. Upon the icy
Breast of love, I saw the rose and lilly
Stand at intervals, then fade away, like
Candles glimmering in the midnight glory
Of a morn that has no eve beyond it!
The wick of life went out!—and on the pants
Of youthful glee, where hope arose like star
Of endless morn, and shone with imagery
Divine, there sate the cursed bane, which held
Eternal enmity with life. I saw
Them strive to over-match each other, till
The hands of death froze up the cowering blood
Of youth. And like a tender bud, in dawn
Of life, unfolding all its leaves to sun
Of God! when frosts of most enormous kind
O'er-silvered all her hopes, and nipped the bud
Of youthful life, to fall, and rot, and mould
In winds and rains of heaven.—So did she die!
Oh! minstrelsy of woe! I stood beside
The bed, and I shall ne'er forget the tears
That fell from my young soul, upon her cheek
Of endless bloom,—as seemed! And I shall ne'er
Forget that look, which saw her earthly hopes
Put out, and changed for those eternal joys,
Which wake the eldest Harp of heaven to sound
In tones divine, of beatifick weal—
Beyond the mountain of eternity.

She spoke, and heaven heard her words distinct—they
Were the words of infant inocence; but
They were loud enough to wake the organ
Choir of eternity, to anthems sweet
And now! They were the whisperings of bliss,
Uttered by silence, and the quivering thrill
Which galvanized the eternal throne of God!

Her mother stood beside her bed and wept!
And from her face did fan the hectic flush,

That prophesied new vigor in her heart!
But like that clearness of an orient sun
Becomes beclouded—like a noonday sky,
Receives the gloom which lower'd on its morn—
So did her star of infant life grow dim.
Like yon vesper eye of heaven, breaking forth
From out the hermitage of yonder west,
Without a cloud to darken her light brow,—
Streaming with fair emblazonry along
The pavement of the sky, as symbol true,
Of future worlds, observed by mortal man,—
In robes of immortality—So did
She seem to my young eye. Oh, God! and when
I saw her lilly lips vouchsafe her soul
In dying melody—then bleached with death's
Cold, unfeeling hands! I felt within ray
Aching heart, the carmine stream rush
Back upon the tide of life, like those high
Winds which drive the bark within the ocean
Wide, or 'gainst a rock it strikes, and ponders
To the grave beneath the ebbing tide! I
Saw her cast her eye along the path, which
Led across the river, flowing by the throne,
Where angels sit and bathe for evermore!
And, now and then, as I beheld the eye—
The dying eye! which saw unutterable
Things, and visions pleasing to the soul,—I
Saw it sparkle like the gilding from that
Sun, when shining on the lilly cheek, bathed
In the dew of Hermon. Oh! what an eye!
I never shall forgot the hue. I never
Shall forget the aspect of her blooming
Pallidness!—It was a blooming death! It
Was the sparkling dew drop in the potent
Rays of heaven, shining down on Zion's mount.

I heard her words in sickly tone, wooing
My ear, and urging me to listen to
Her greedy converse with the angel of the Lord!

Which stood beyond the shore of time; and yet,
She saw her with an eye, that looked beyond
The realm of sublunary things. Oh! what
A magnifying camera obscura
To the soul. Oh, Harp of Heaven! let me now
Entreat thee to awake a kindred tone
Within my fond, fraternal heart, to sing
An elegy of dying innocence. Her
Eye, unfettered as to distance,—looked afar,
And on a gentle summit, where the Lord came
Down, to give her his embrace,—as she, with
Badge of virtue in her hand, ascended
With the Angel of the Covenant, from
The vale beneath—there, she saw a holy
Harp! She saw a harp—Oh, dying sister!
How can I emblem that I never saw? how
Can a brother's words depict that which he
Only saw reflected from the mirror
Of your infant soul? Yes—She saw a Harp!
And on the front, she saw a stone, which glory,
In its brightness, could not emblem!—a stone,
Which came from out the mines of heaven!—a stone,
Picked up by one of God's own stewards—faithful
To his trust, beside the wine press, bordering
On Jehovah's throne, in Eden's garden!
And on the apex of this stone, she saw
An Iris ever varient—ever
New, converging all its rays in focus
Of eternity! as emblem of that
Everlasting weal, which shall continue
To converge itself into the focus,—
Truth, without the reach of human sense
To say, when it shall there arrive!—Upon
The sides and all in front, she saw much that
Was glorious to behold; with precious stones
Of every hue, but none, she saw, was better
To the feelings of the soul, than what I
Saw within her eye, when God Almighty—

May his praise be without end—put in her
Hand this Harp! and with robes of linen clothed
Her, and in spotless purity—a bride
Of heaven sat, and rolled her music down that
Stream of bliss, which skirts the shore of glory bright,
While all the harps of heaven joined the anthem.
And, from the valley of the Lord, upon
The loftiest hill on high, she went, and went
In joy and delight,—beholding verdure
Green, and lawns of purest width, which never
Fades; and rivers never dry, but rich and
Clear, with many a pleasant winding too—
Before the golden mansion of the Lord;
Where music of the blessed shall roll, and roll
Again, in numbers sweet and new.
And, from the vale she shall arise, and take
A harp—a most melodious lyre, with
Saints and angels, walk the pavement over
More—both day and night. And, that most renowned
And sacred spot of heaven, where Judah's bard
Has sat and harped upon his harp, in days
Now passed and gone, with rosy cheeks, a bloom,
Which in immortal vigor ne'er shall fade;—
Shall be her resting place for evermore.
And on the mount of God, beneath the which,
A river flows with fond meanders, where
The King of Heaven bathes in buoyant life, she
Sits, and shall forever sit in endless youth—
In knowledge vast, in thought above all height,
While clusters from eternal fields shall feed
Her soul. And while she warbles holy airs,
And blissful melodies of heaven, a breeze
From God's own breath—the zephyr of a morn
Which has no eve beyond it—shall awake
Her dying melody to sweeter strains;
While heaven and the fartherest earth, shall answer
With a rapturous swell, and glory wake
The pure cessations of eternal bliss.

She saw her coming to the hills of God!
She knew the dark approach was but a light,
Which led her far beyond the stream of time,
To never-fading bliss, above the skies!
She knew the voice of eternal love was
Waiting at the gate of heaven, with a harp—
A golden harp, beset with diamonds pure,—
The gift of God, and emblem of a day,
The fairest morn that rose above the mount
Of vast eternity—to shine in years
Of endless blessedness. Oh! what a gift!
A precious laureate from the hands of God!
Oh! and shall ever I forget that morn,
When God Almighty made a covenant
With her, which nought can disannul, or break?
I shall remember, and will ne'er forget
The room in which she lay; and, I never
Shall forget her pallid lips, that trembled
When she spoke to me, in infant tones, so
Soothing to a withered breast, which feared that
Dark approach, when nature bade her glory
In a long farewell from earthly things. Oh!
Shall ever I forget the conscious strife there
Was about her little heart, when life and
Death was striving for the victory? Ah me!
I never shall forget, how death, so void
Of pity, heaved the youthful flow within
Her tender heart, and almost burst it ope.

Upon that hill of life, the carmine stream
Did flow, and gathered in a heap and stopped
Her breath. My God! if ever my fond heart
Did ache, it was, when I beheld her face;
And saw her, with her might, presume to war
With death, and gain the chaplet, life. Thank God!
She paid the debt of virgin innocence,
And left the world, with all its cares and ills.
Thank God! she died and died in peace; and, Oh!
I thought it was a goodly thing to die.

It was a calm that did succeed a storm!—
A glorious calm, which stood around a bed
Of beauty, with a frost upon her rose.
And while she passed the vale, the God of love
Exchanged the smock of earth, for robes of bliss;
And vestments which no summer sun shall stain.
And, in the heavens, robed in one eternal
Light, excessive ardor stream around this
Daughter of Jerusalem then; and, who
Can tell how lovely, how divinely fair,
She looked—adorned with robes of perfect love;
And jewels drop't, unblemished by the hand
Of frail mortality. How gloriously
She looked, above the brightness of the sun,
Like that pure light which shone around the man,—
A prosolyte of God,—who saw the heavens
Streaming in eternal bliss, in vision
Of a mid-day sun. O! how glad that day,
Was love, the fairest daughter of the sky,
Who stood about Jerusalem's streets,
A queenly bride, espousal of the Lord!
Who caught, embraced, and kissed her lips,
And in the porches of her soul, distilled
The nectar of Eternity! which makes
The earth with ideal beauty ever shine,
And fills the soul with never ending bliss.

Ye citadels of heaven! wake, in glory,
Thy inhabitants! arouse the heart-felt
Symphonies of finite man, to praise thy
Name of names! the name of Him, who blazes
On the hills of immortality! till,
In that fraternal zeal, which takes its seat
Beside the basis of my heart, expound
My love. She died! and Oh! what bliss and love—
Wake, dear remembrances! wake heaven and earth!
Wake, Sun and Moon! wake, sentinels of God!
Wake, Pleiades—daughters of the sky, and shine
Upon my soul! Wake, Hesper! with thy sons

And daughters! wake, and with thy western boon,
In hermitage of eve!—thy Vesper dear—
Awake, the obsecration of my heart!
Wake, ye harps of a thousand strings, and wake
Ye psaltry! sackbut and dulcimer
Of heavenly melody! Awake, ye hills
Of Zion! and join the concert! sons
Of Korah, rejoice! Rabab, and Babylon!
Philistia, respond! Manassah, awake!
And Succoth, valley of old, rejoice! Wake,
Ephraim, and pour out your melody to death!

My God! love so ineffable—so pure!
My own fraternal gratitude awakes
The hidden recess of a feeling heart!
Oh, Adaline! thou seraph of my soul!
Like Juno's dove, the Herald of my life—
With arlless innnocence, thy pinions bore
Thee to thy native shore—my sylvan joy—
Beyond the Carmel of my home, the mount—
The Alpine of my bliss—which overlooked
The blue cerulean of my aged heart—
Thy footsteps wandered—thou, the olive wreathe—
The garland and the coronet I wore—
The symbol of thy love—thy infant weal—
And my own soul's paternal care in life.

Oh, Adaline! and am I rest of thee?
This confiscation of my domil joy—
This vast exposure of my sublunary bliss—
This, this alone, must break my heart!
This dissolution I can ne'er conceal!
Behold the hyperborean snow! behold
The icy coldness of my aged breast!
The fountain of my hopes, my doubts, my fears!—
Behold the promise of extatic years—
Now, fading in the noon-day sun of life!
In the meridian of her hope, cast off!
Exposed to nostrils from the steed of death!

Behold the dying scene, and then infer
What mountains of Olympic wo, must cloud
My aged brow, as I must here repine!
Oh, had I pinions like to Noah's dove,
I'd fly above the Appenine of grief!
I'd seek a refuge underneath the boughs—
The sombre of the Lord—the shadow vast,
Of long eternity—Like he, who wept!—
The Prophet of the Lord—the seer of life—
Beside that lost Jerusalem he loved!
So do I weep—but my old heart for days
Now past and gone, to ne'er return again—
Invokes the prophecy of future weal!
But oh, my heart! behold the lamp of hope—
The Vesper of my evening sky—the Hesper
In my utmost gloom of aged life—Oh!
Where shall I resort for words to pay that
Debt of love I owe—is now put out.—Oh,
My soul's child! I would have nursed thee, as
A hen, beneath her own maternal wings,
Protects her little brood. I would have fed
Thee, as I always did, with manna, like
To that, which the Almighty sent by heaven's
Own vicegerent, to the pilgrim of his
Own soul's love—beside the stream—the Jordon
Of old Judah's vale—but thou art gone! Oh,
Most potent grief!—such magnitude! Oh,
Such soul enlivening prospects as awake
My aged heart—and, now, survey my soul!
In every hidden recess of my heart—
Investigate the height, the depth of wo,
Which claims the umpire where my glory sat—
The throne whereon my prospects beamed anew,
Is an Engedi—a hermitage of grief!
Oh could I find a den in Rimmon's rock,
I'd gather all the brine of Edom's vale,
And there resort to offer up my prayer—
My sacrafice of dying melody!
Like she, who saw the bulrush bark o'ermatch—

By zephyr of the living God—the wave,
Upon the stream, that might have been the grave
Of him, who saw unutterable things,
And incommunicable visions, on the mount—
The Sinai of eternal love, who graved
The sacerdotal manuscript, from God's
Own words—with that enduring ink—drawn
From the wine press of eternal bliss—
The Pentateuch of heaven's will—
Who felt the impulse of her soul's regret—
So am I forced to feel! but more than this,
My Adaline is far beyond my reach.
Like he, the Patriarch—the Christian like,
Who mourned the loss of Joseph, dearer far,
Than all beside on earth—So do I mourn! my
Grief ascends beyond the utterance of my
Tongue! Oh! could I be translated, singing
Such a song as Judah's bard awoke—when
On the throne of Israel sat, then would I
Part with this Elijah of my heart; then,
On the pinions of the Lord, I'd wander
Through the ether of Eternity, where
I should be at rest, from earthly sorrows!
Then would I join the harmony, which should
Awake my soul with endless eloquence;
And cheer this bruised—this broken, withered heart!

Why should I weep! my own paternal love
Awakes the latent sympathies of new born
Life, to offer tones divine! my idol!
My divinity of zeal! the sole, lone
Object of my present, and my future life!
Oh, Lebanon! with all thy waving boughs!
Oh, Carmel! mountaineer of old, awake!
And let thy cedars droop in endless grief!
Pleiades, daughters of the sky, Oh, weep! Oh,
Vesper! King and prince of stars—thy sycles
Roll, to number such a century of grief!
Weep Eye of morn! Aurora to my soul!

And weep thou sun, in sitting! clothe thyself
In sorrow's garb! the gloom of dire lament!
Utter all thy sympathy of deathless
Wo! Oh, sacred nine! awake thy dirge! wake,
Luna! with the offspring of thy heart! wake
Up the ocean of thy tears, and rain in
One eternal flood of grief! Oh, my heart!
My soul of sympathy! my heart's desire!
My liver, like the prophets, in those days
Now passed and gone—in days of old,—I pour
Upon this terrene mound, which covers o'er my babe!
But, Oh, my heart! I must repress my sighs!
Or drain the fountain of my future weal.
Behold its armory of thought!—this cloud
Of ills! which rain upon my peaceful home!
Behold this vast Olympic cliff! Oh, my God!
This desolation of my aged years!
But why should I lament? it is my soul
That rains such torrents on my withered cheek!
The bulkhead of my tears must burst the gate
Of all my hopes, and drown the reservoir
Of my utmost grief, in one eternal flood.

Farewell! Oh, send a herald from that realm
Of everlasting bliss, which shall conduct me
Far above the sky! Oh, fare thee well! my
Elegy shall cease to echo to the ear of man!
But in my heart, that avenue of strife!
Shall roll the bitterness of vast regret!
Then shall my lamentation cease, when I
Shall give my chaplet unto death!—my God!
As he who bowed to death, suspended forth,
By indignation of a guilty world, when earth
In all her caverns groan'd in dire despair!
When grottes, hills and dales, and ancient vales
And Babylon, and Rome, and Tyre, and all
The world received the awful summons—then,
The temple fell to desolation! then,
A pallid countenance illumed the earth!

A signal of a sore distress—my heart!
When nature's sun grew dim, and heaven's candles
Seemed to glimmer on the hoary mount, where
Heaven's pure vicegerent stood abased, by ire
And indignation of a guilty world,
And wept in bitterness—so do I weep!
And bow my head and say, thy will be done,
My God! my God! then take her to thy arms.

Her sun of life went down, to rise no more!
Oh, what a sight! and what was most severe,—
Oh! yes, and what was killing to the soul!
Were these fond words, why do ye weep, my dear!
My mother, weep no more for me!” Ah! she
Was my sister! my youthful blood did ebb,
And flow, and oped a fountain in my soul,
Which drowned the rose upon my bloomy cheek!
Her mother wept—her father mourned! and none
That saw her, kept from shedding tears! I loved
Her! and I never shall forget how long
I felt a load of sorrow at my heart,
Which weighed my passions down, and made me wish
I could not boast of life! Such draughts of tears
Could quench the blaze of thousand words, had they
Continued their great flow! But God, in mercy,
Reconciled the weeping parent to her fate!
And told her, that a day would come—which man
Of mortal eye should never see—when she
Should see her Adaline, with crowns upon
Her head; and, in her hand the badge of life;
And round her virgin waist, the helmet, sword
And shield of Faith; and on her breast, a plate,
A coronet of stars—beside the rill
Which flows from God's exhaustless fount, plucking
Fruits from vineyards of unmeasured length, which
Suits the relish, and is pleasing to the soul.
With this reward, and great it was, she sighed
No more! save now and then, the fire of love
Would raise the Ætna of the heart to burst,

And overflow her withered cheek! Great days!
To termination of her joys on earth!
With heralds of Eternity, she went.
I saw the dark approach, and saw no more!
Her soul ascended, whence it came, to God!
No spire denotes the spot where she doth lie;
But weeping willows bend o'er her and mourn!
While jessemines entwine her youthful grave.

THE FATHER'S TEAR.

The tear was in his eye when he spoke.—
Ossian.

I.

Oh! could I raise my thought above the mount,
Which rises from the region of my soul,
I'd show you all the seat of that pure fount,
Which seems to trickle down in vast amount,
In billows, which must ever, ever roll!

II.

Oh! could I dive beyond the littleness of man,
And with the ink eternal, write of pain—
I'd sit my soul on fire,—and try to scan
The sea of immortality—where ran
The river of my grief—my briny rain!

III.

Oh! could I but inspire my aged song,
And raise my thoughts beyond the realm of time!
I'd harp this sorrow, which must reign so long—
Proceeding from a broken heart, which did no wrong,
To tell you how I lost my Adaline!

IV.

And could I thus expostulate on tears!
Which roll like billows o'er my aged heart!
I'd raise thy sympathies—thy doubts and fears!
Which wake my symphony of earthly cares;
To speak of sorrows, and that fearless dart!

V.

And could I dip my hasty pen to write
Immortal things—imperishable songs!
I'd heave thy soul to blind thy youthful sight!
And show you in the mirror of your might,
How you should weep, when reft of pure delight!

VI.

Oh! could I pen Eternity's long years!
And penetrate the hidden soul of strife!
I'd raise the ocean of thy gateless tears;
And overflow thy cheeks in midst of jeers,
With floods of grief, like mine, in aged life!

VII.

Oh! could I give a guerdon—such as truth
And soberness would dictate as thy due,
Then would I make thee weep—oh! friendly youth!
The path I trod in youth was surely smooth,
Till my soul's Adaline bid me adieu!

VIII.

And had I such a harp as I would want,
To roll my sorrows o'er my aged strain!
I'd confiscate that heart, which would not grant
Me one pure test, in midst of my lament;
And when I thought of her, would sing again!

IX.

And, could I wake the buried sound of yore,
To speak in argument of soul sincere;
I'd tell the sorrows of my native shore,
And that pure seraph which awoke the tear,
The comfort of my heart, and babe so dear!

X.

Oh! could I but recall that child again,
And make her consciousness of life appear;
I'd weep no more, such heavy clouds of rain!
Which chill my cheeks, like billows of the main;
But I would cease my ministrelsy, the tear!

XI.

Oh! could she but revisit that sweet home,

Where she awoke in conscious life, so dear!
I'd not remain in bitterness, alone!
But I would hush my dirge in ocean's moan;
And make no more, my lyre, to sing the tear.

XII.

And may my vows remain forever true,
While assignations, such as these, appear!
I'd wake the chorus of my lyre, for you!
Which soon would bathe my aged cheeks with dew,
And cause a mutual flood of grief, the tear.

XIII.

And may this be the last of my soul's grief!
But then, can I resume my fond career?
Oh! can contentment give my heart relief,
In midst of love, where I remain the chief,
And cease my woful ministrelsy, the tear?

XIV.

Farewell my Adaline! farewell my dear!
This is the tribute of my aged heart!
This is the offspring of a heart sincere;
This is my laureate—'tis affections tear!
I ne'er shall shed again—we meet, but ne'er to part!

XV.

Then, Harp awake thy glowing strain,
And ease my heart of wo and sadness;
Where'er I be—where'er I roam,
Oh! fill my soul with joy and gladness.

STANZAS—WHAT IS LIFE!

I.

Life is a two-fold essence of the Lord—
The spirit of the fervency of heaven;
'Tis earth's progenitor, and the reward
Which God's belov'd benevolence has given,—

The patrimony of his matchless love,
And symbol of divinity above!

II.

Our life is that phenomena displayed,
The hidden nature of its source concealed;
It is an immortality array'd—
In robes of frail mortality revealed;
Whose vast horizon paints the gorgeous skies,
With beauty, and with never-fading dies.

III.

Our life is that Eternity on high,
Depicted in the livery of our clay;
Which shall awake us, till we come to die,
And lead the soul by God's eternal ray,
Where its emblazonry shall shine afar;
And be the soul's own lamp and heavenly star.

IV.

Our life is that eternity in weal,
Which heaven's husbandman has scattered wide,—
Amidst the tares of earth; and we must feel
Resigned to death, as he, who bowed and died;
And rose to life eternal, in the skies—
Whose source of glory never, never dies.

V.

Our life is that which never shall decay—
Although mortality shall fade and die!
It is immortal! and shall flee away,
To that eternal bourne, above the sky;
It is the breath of God's eclectic flame,
And shall resist decay—while in our frame.

VI.

Our life is that pure spark of heavenly love,
The glow of resurrection's cloudless morn;
It is the Herald—that obsequious dove,
Which flew from heaven, at creation's dawn,
Upon a golden pinion, through the blue,
And ether of an everlasting hue!

VII.

Our life is that vicisitude of earth,
We garner from the world, by nature's skill;
Whose essence wakes organic birth,
To sentiment, and sympathy, and will;
By strict obedience to the ruling word,
Which thundered from the breathings of the Lord.

VIII.

Our life is that remorse which rends the heart!
From objects which awake organic sense;
It is that essence which can ne'er depart,
And stands organic action's sure defence;
A rivulet which runs from God's great sea,
An ocean, boundless as Eternity!

IX.

Our life is that coadjutor—the soul—
Which vivifies this nothingness of clay;
And makes contrition in the bosom roll!
It wakes the starlight of eternal day;
The fire of God—a river which has ran
From heaven! it is the immortal flame of man!

X.

Our life is that asperity which rends
The heart, in sorrow's path—a piercing thorn!
'Tis that pernicity of doubt, which ends
In immortality, at that great morn—
The resurrection far beyond the skies;
And blessings of the soul which never dies!

XI.

Our life is that remorse and vile regret,
Which rends the bosom in the midst of weal!
It is a spark my life shall ne'r forget,
An impulse which my heart can ne'er conceal!—
It is a ray, conducted to a thought,
Which inundates myself in all but nought.

XII.

Our life is that which God has given,—
The glory of his wisdom and his love!

It is that pure beneficence of heaven,
Which flows from his Eternity, above!
The source—our Alpha and Omega be—
I hope to wear it in eternity!

STANZAS—WHAT IS DEATH!

If a man die, shall he live again?—
Job, XV: XIV.

I.

Death is the pure benevolence of heaven—
A retribution from Jehovah's hands;
It is that sequestration God has given,
To rid us of satiety;—His hands
Have formed us,—and, from terrene strife,
His hands shall lift us to eternal life.

II.

Death is that loan of God's great gratitude,
Which shortens life,—and pays man for his hire,—
By his redemption to infinitude
Of boundless bliss,—to which I do aspire;—
Beholding what his finite eyes can see,
Upon the mountain of Eternity.

III.

Death is that great relinquishment of strife,
Which man's mortality has made him feel!
It is the soul's reprieve—the great relief
For earthly suffering;—and we can't conceal
The obsecration of a contrite heart,
When nature's summon bids the soul depart.

IV.

Death is that shadow to the human soul,
Which darkens, for a while, its rainbow hue;
It does awake an idea, and unroll
To man, that words may not, and still be true;
And points fruitions far above the skies,
Where felicitous glory never dies.

V.

Death is that mirror of Almighty God!
In which we see the emblem of our weal;—
It is that resignation of our clod,
Which no man's dying eye can e'er conceal!
It is a gloom, beyond the which, is light,
The rainbow of a glory beaming bright.

VI.

Death is that kerchief that shall wipe the tears,
Which lave the cheek of youth, and that old sire,
Whose days have dwindled in the midst of years!
Whose pearly rheum now quench reluctant fire!—
The silent vale where that Messiah trod—
The immortal path which leads to hills of God!

VII.

Death is that refuge from this thorny wild,
Which God's own nature stamped on man;
It is an asylum for sorrow's child—
A hospital for woe! since life began—
A vast solution of the soul and brain,
Whose partnership no man shall feel again.

VIII.

Oh, death! thou steward, honest, faithful, just!
Return my soul, by thy unfettered hands—
To God—mortality shall fade to dust!—
To that eternal bourne—Jehovah's lands!
For God has promised, he will soothe the sigh,
And lead the soul, to bliss, beyond the sky.

THE MINSTREL'S VALEDICTORY.

------ He passed
From out the massy gate of that old hall,
And mounting on his steed, he went his way,
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold more.—
Byron.

I.

'Twere vain to sigh—'twere vain to shed such tears!

'Twere vain to utter such eternal grief!
'Twere vain to swim in earthly doubts and fears,
When lost to weal—without a friend's relief;
'Tis strange I can't forget my native place—
'Tis passing strange such memory will not die!
'Tis wretched strange I wish that fond embrace—
My own maternal love, which makes me sigh!
And urge my soul upon her love rely.

II.

'Twere vain to shed such mighty draughts of tears!
'Twere more than vain to humbly heave and sigh!
'Twere cruel that such mighty grief appears—
When not a single cheek shall e'er be dry.
The heart alone, can speak a social truth!
The soul acknowledge such a contrite woe!
The wither'd cheek can speak of blasted youth!
What mortals suffer in this vale below;
And none, but mortal man, can ever know.

III.

'Twere past the words of finite man to tell—
'Twere vain to task the pen, or flattering tongue!
Inquire its mighty worth, from this farewell!
And ask what gloom invests the youth I sing—
'Twere past the plenitude of mortal man—
'Twere vain to perorate a theme like this;
'Twere vain to trace the river where it ran,—
They inundate the cheek they used to kiss—
A coronet of love beset with bliss.

IV.

Farewell! ye friends who knew my youthful heart,
Must now remember how it bled for her—
When I was forced by friends, from her to part!
In embryo of joys and life, so dear.
You know I loved her as as I loved my soul,
And would have died within her lovely arms,—
Which cause such tempests o'er my heart to roll,
And chain me, as a victim, to her charms—
Yea, fill my bosom with such vast alarms!

V.

Farewell! you know they tore her from my home,
And rent the cord which bound her to my heart!
Ye know I wept for her, while all alone,
And now am forced to go,—and must depart
To some remote and foreign land of case,
Where nought but recollections of her love,
Shall e'er disturb my days and nights of peace;
And whisper in my wantoned ear, remove!—
Until the hands of death point thee above.

VI.

Farewell! you know my enemies, so vile—
Who triumphed o'er my love without reserve!—
May fall in sorrow, when they wish to smile,
As they have caused me oft to do; and serve,
By impulse of the heart—the matron dear,
Who was my idol, and my dearest boon;—
Who caused me oft to shed the briny tear!
Which came from out my wounded heart, too soon;
And left me, as an exile, in its gloom!

VII.

Farewell! you know, when young, I smiled in joy,
And feared no bitter draught or thorny wild;
But calumny and grief soon reached the boy,
When he was but his mother's darling child;
And what I feel, and recognize in grief,
I prematurely gathered from the world!—
And no elixir can e'er give relief;
And, from my presence, have the impulse hurled,—
Which binds my passions to this thorny world!

VIII.

Farewell! you know, in midst of bliss, a frost
Came from a cloud of ills, and nipped my root;
And like a bark by raging tempests tost,
It withered all my blossoms, and my nectared, fruit!
The bay-tree green, and ivy's running vine,
Became befrosted by the heavy dew;
And that sweet bud I plucked, and thought was mine,

Was snatched from me, by that remorseless crew,
In whose hard heart no sympathies e'er grew.

IX.

Farewell! you all must know the pointed dart,
With which they sever'd that connubial tie,
Must shortly pierce that ever cursed heart!
On whose feigned smile, I did, in truth rely,
And that foul cup of gall, they filled for me,
Must shortly slake the thirst of all my foes!
Which shall emancipate, and set me free
From all my sorrows, and my mental throes;
And soothe the pang, which caused my many woes.

X.

Farewell! you know the venomed tongue of strife,
Which quivered on my name with hellish fire,—
Amidst my joys, and scenes of youthful life,
Must falter in the midst of baneful ire!
And that foul fiend, of putrid heart, so vile,
Who sapped the fountain head of all my joy,
Must calm the perturbations of her guile;
And fill her laden bark with vile alloy;
Which plough such furrows with its keeling dart!
And bid vexation from my soul depart.

XI.

Farewell! my argument befits such song
As this—that I may tell thee, but the truth—
That they have censured me, too often, wrong,
When I lived with my boon, in midst of youth.
Yes, they have gratified their ire on me,
By heaping dust and ashes on my head!
And raining calumny and misery
Upon the down, of my hymeneal bed—
Which filled my plighted partner with such dread.

XII.

Farewell! 'tis right that I should let you know,
My love is centered in my youthful heart;
And now, my innocence detects my woe!
And bids me tell it you, before we part;

That I am now bereft of all on earth,
Which binds me, with such ties, to my own land;
Since I, in consciousness of life and birth,
Received the blessings from my mother's hands;
And tried to follow her beloved commands!

XIII.

Farewell! though reft of all to me, so dear,
And torn from weal, and all my youthful glee!
When I remain forlorn, with friendship's tear!
Above the mountain of my soul, I see
Some future blessings, such as soothe my pangs,—
Invite my thought beyond the dark blue sea,
While hope's strong anchor in my heart string hangs—
Await my call, and friendly bidding me
Partake of bliss, and smile, and then be free.

XIV.

Farewell! and could I wake the heavenly lyre,
To calm the ocean of my youthful soul,
And set the apex of my heart on fire,—
I'd do it; and I'd stop the tide that rolls,
With such vehemence, as Olympic seas,
And calm the perturbations of my heart;
And set the laden bark of wo at ease;
Which plough such furrows with its keeling dart!
And bid vexation from my soul depart.

XV.

Farewell! could I inspire my song, to tell
You of the heights and depths of all my love—
When I should sing, to bid you all farewell!
I'd lure a note from Judah's lyre above.
Oh! could I thus awake my inmost sight,
To bask on themes sufficient for my song,
I'd tell you how they stole my heart's delight:
And how they treated me with so much wrong—
But more than all, how they did it so long.

XVI.

Farewell! I'd try, one briny tear to save,
And in sincerity would ask, if right—

Should they thus snatch from me, my only babe:
The seraph of my heart and soul's delight!
And should they tear it from its native home!
Rejoicing in the thought it rends my heart!
And leave it fatherless, alone, alone!—
Which forces me, with tears, to write, in part,
And tell you what is graven on my youthful heart.

XVII.

Farewell! and may these lines of grief suffice—
As assignations, such as now appear—
Not in my countenance, but in these eyes,
Which drop the vesper dew, affection's tear!
Farewell! a long farewell—a long adieu!
To that apostacy—from my fond heart!—
And Oh! that she, and all my friends, but know,
How hard it is for me, with them, to part!
And all I ask or wish, as friendship's chart,
Great, briny drops,—proceeding from the heart.

XVIII.

Farewell! ye friends who loved me in my youth!
We soon shall part, and ne'er shall meet again;
Yes, from the home of friendship, love and truth,
I go—perhaps, across the raging main.
So, fare thee well! and if I have a soul,
And sense of love—I doubly owe to thee,—
I feel the vast olympic o'er me roll,
From which my bosom's lord can ne'er be free;
Which makes me speak of those, so dear to me!

XIX.

Oh! may I give thee such an argument
For song—proceeding from my wounded heart—
That I may tell thee of a youth's lament,
When he is forced from dearest friends to part!
And, Oh! if I could lure a tone from lyre
On high, I'd raise my voice above the sky;
And burn your souls with that Eternal fire,
Which caused me, in the days of youth, to sigh;
And force me, on my harp and thee, rely.

XX.

Oh! could I wake thy latent fires of love,
And rouse the dormant ties within thy heart,—
I'd wake the echoes of thy fond desires,
And tell thee how to feel, when forced to part
From friends—the boon, and idol of thy soul,
Who, thus apostatized and left me sore;
And now, my only guerdon, while I roll
Abroad, is pain, to wound me even more,—
Far from my native land—my native shore.

XXI.

A long adieu! to those who heard me tell,
The only guerdon I could boast, were tears—
For that unkindness which I bid farewell!
The fountain of my youthful hopes and fears.
Had I the voice of Judah's Lyre, of old,
I'd wake the dirge beneath the ocean's moan!
And fire the embers of those hearts, so cold,
To heave the bosom with a sigh and groan!
For this fond youth, forced from his native home.

XXII.

Ye joyous youths! who boast of friendship's clime,
Exempt from ills, which now invite my song—
Behold! my sorrows predicate no crime;
Which makes me touch the lyre to tell of wrongs,
Which now ingulf the blossom of my heart—
And importune no laureate, svae those looks
Of orient youth, to roll as I depart,
From Carmel of my home, and native flock;
And ne'er return—which makes me feel the shock!

XXIII.

Oh! could I wake the echo of the rolling deep,
And lure a tone from cave or ancient vault—
I'd force the chambers of your heart to weep—
At such a crime, where I was not in fault;
I'd tell of fond embracings of the heart,
And hours of youthful musing to my soul
So dear—and fill your eyes, as I depart—

With bitter rheum, and on your cheeks, should roll
The purest tears, from ocean of the soul!

XXIV.

Dear friends!—if friends I dare to call, that child—
That offspring to my soul—that pilgrim dear,
Which she forbade me see—upon a wild—
Far from my sight—now makes me shed the tear,
Which often trickles down my furrowed cheek!
But, this remember!—as I live or die!
That promise of extatic years, so meek,
Shall on a lover's care and truth rely;
And ne'er, from me, have cause to weep or sigh!

XXV.

Farewell! ye groves and hillocks, dales and brooks,
And evergreens, which stood before my view—
Which caught, in morn of life, my youthful looks—
I bid you all farewell! a long adieu!
And grottoes, glens, and rills, and chequered wild;
And thou, my boon, and brightest, polar star;
My father, mother dear, who loves the child,
Who wanders from his native home, afar!
Farewell! I welter in eternal care!

XXVI.

Farewell! if I could pulverize my heart,
And urge the purple stream of life along,—
I'd mix it as my ink—before we part—
With cordial of my soul, and write my song;
I'd wake the echos of eternity!
And change the flora of your heart, like smock
Of death!—I'd then resume my minstrelsy,—
And grave my vows upon a flinty rock—
With iron pen—that you might feel the shock.

XXVII.

Immortal Harp! like Judah's Lyre of old,
Which woke the buried sound of Jordan's stream;
And like a wave o'er land of Canaan rolled,
Through dark Engedi's cave, or moonlight gleam,—
Invite my song!—be eloquent my heart!

Before I cease my strain—my dirge of woe!
Resume thy carmen, as we thus depart;
And wilt thou come, dear friend! where I must go?
Far from my native land—my home?—ah! no.

XXVIII.

Then, fare thee well! and mother, father, too;—
And she, who reft me of my youthful joy;
And, dearer far, than all, besides untrue—
To husband of her youth—the weeping boy—
The boy, now lost to pleasures of the world!
Who felt the dews, the chilling dews and frost,
Which nipped his bud of life, and rudely hurled
Him in the vortex deep, of woe! till lost
In whirlpool of despair, near sorrow's coast.

XXIX.

Farewell! again, farewell! and this the last!
Sad words they are, to flow from cup of bane!
The rain is o'er—the winter now is past!
And ne'er shall shower on my head again.
Bruised in the sympathies of life, so dear,
I now resign my boon with pain and grief!
To her own will—although, to me, so near;
And on the heart which none can give relief,
I'll pour the balm, which now in floods appear—
Affection's test—the cordial of the soul—the tear!

THE PROPHET'S DREAM.

'Tis the morning of life gives me consummate lore,
And the rainbow of thought casts its shadow before.
“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”
Isaiah, VIII: XIV.

I.

Eternal Spirit! lend thy spark, to raise my
Thought above the mountain of my heart! breathe
On the flambeau of my youthful soul—I
Ask in love! do thou inspire my song! Wreathe

Me with garlands! embalm the solemn heart—
The basis of my life—kindle a fire
Of love, that I may act the lyric part,
To sing a prophecy,—exempt from ire;
And tell the world my heart and soul's desire.

II.

Long shall creation's sons blaspheme and sin—
Long shall the earth presume to war with God!
Old things shall die, and young ones come again!
And kingdoms fall before His august nod!
Long years have rolled their ample, ample round,
Since nature rose before Jehovah's words;
Long time the syren trump of peace shall sound,
Until the Prophet shall obey his God—
Go forth—and walk where mortal never trod.

III.

Go forth—proclaim, I am the Saviour,—come!
Proclaim the tidings to creation's bound!
He shall arrise, and Bethl'em be his home!
For heaven, and earth, and hell, shall hear the sound!
Go forth—awake, arise, illume and shine!
Pour out your melody to life and death!
Salvation skirts the shore of earthly time—
Stretch forth thy arm, as God the Father saith,
And breath to Judah, an eternal breath.

IV.

Go forth—to kingdoms, thrones, in friendly might;
A river runs from God's exhaustless sea!
It is a stream of ever pure delight—
The untired ocean of eternity!
Go forth—he shall arise, and David's name
Shall tell his lineage, and his godly worth;
Through time's transitions, he shall be the same—
The symbol of Divinity on earth;
And from a mortal he shall take his birth.

V.

His boundlessness, omnipotence, and love—

His purity, his holines, and youth—
Shall come from God's great throne, above!
The fountain of beatitude and truth;
He shall be mighty, but shall not aspire
Unto earthly glory—He shall arise,
And he shall blaze with that eternal fire,
Which comes beyond the sun—beyond the skies;
And shall be bound to earth by heavenly ties.

VI.

His hand shall help creation's alien race;
His wings shall hover o'er the contrite child!
The mighty men of earth shall see his face,
But no man shall presume to say, He smil'd.
He shall be sanctified by heaven's dew,
And He shall be a stone—a steadfast rock!
And he that doth his path, in love, pursue,
Shall shine again, exempt from hell's foul shock;
And He shall be a pillar on Jehovah's rock.

VII.

The Kings of Zion, and of Israel's land,
Shall prostrate full, and worship at His feet;
The heavens and the earth, by His command,
Shall shake—His outstreached arm shall mete
Creation; and his love—his filial heart—
Shall soothe the sorrows, and the ills of earth;
He shall be born of man, and feel the dart
Of calumny and wrong—as soon as birth—
Impierce—but not effect his boundless worth.

VIII.

His government shall spread o'er all the world;
His righteousness illume this gloomy earth;
He shall be buffetted, but never hurl'd
From truth and love—which gave him wonderous birth;
His kingdom shall be great, and good, and strong!
His glory shall awake creation's things—
He shall be bound with cables—but 'tis wrong—
By Pope's, by Prelate's, and by haughty Kings;
And those whom he protected 'neath his wings.

IX.

Israel shall acknowledge him the Lord!
And Jacob shall acknowledge him his King:
Ephraim and Samaria shall hear his word—
Through time and through eternity, shall ring
His everlasting name—and, as a field
And forest—overgrown, grotesque, and wild,
So shall His goodness be; and he shall yield
A harvest, seven-fold; but sorrow's child,
His name shall be—while on this earthly wild.

X.

The King of Zion's borders shall arise,
And soothe the indignation of the world!
His incense shall ascend above the skies,
And by His covenant, he shall unfurl
Creation's sins; and Oreb's rock shall shake!
The daughters of Jerusalem shall kiss
His garments' hem; and he shall walk, in truth;
His precepts shall Inspire eternal bliss,
And every path he treads shall tend to this.

XI.

Old times are good, this Prophet might have thought;
“All times are good, when old,” a bard has sung,
But while our pleasures intervene, as naught,
We traverse bounds, like He, who suffered young!
Through time and through eternity, remote
And near; and seasons, days, and boundless years,
Shall speak His name; and bards shall here devote
Their days, to sing His glory and his tears,
Shed in the midst of scoffs and petty jeers.

XII.

Oh, Judah! why should I report his name,—
The Pilgrim of Eternity—the son of sons!
Who caught the fire of heaven's eternal flame;
And lit creation's lamp—the Holy One
Of God! the immortal Lamb of grace!
And purity, and matchless love, who died
The great Redeemer, and amidst disgrace,—

Upon the Cross, and bowed, and humbly died!
With heaven's cordial running from his side.

XIII.

Eternal Harp! thy giant numbers roll,
And wake the fires of my youthful heart!
Inspire my song, exalt my finite soul,
To mete infinitude, and ne'er depart
From Truth! and, as I perorate this woe!
Renew the brilliancy of glory's spark—
That man may read, and truly, truly know,
What fountains opened in Immanuel's heart;
And closed the gap made by a felon's dart!

XIV.

His name shall cause great wonder here on earth,
Because he suffered much a weight of woe—
I hope to roll my numbers into youthful worth;
Oh! that they may be useful here below—
Oh, Judah! let his mighty voice cry! and sing,
Hail, lovely day! when first he saw thy face—
How he beheld thee—Bards shall often sing—
Exempt from revellings and low disgrace;
Who found in Bethlehem his resting place.

XV.

My prophecy—Oh, Judah! I have taught,
Since first I saw thee, with prophetic eye—
As God's request—his embrace I have sought,
To raise my future lore above the sky;
For thou art rising with such youthful might,
That I must needs relate thy glorious day;
When thou shalt shine with ever pure delight—
When thou shall brighten every other day;
And give me light from thy eternal ray.

XVI.

Misfortune claims a seat in every heart
Of man! and I shall glory in this joy—
It makes me sorry, when I see the dart,
Which shall, in future, stab that Boy—
The Dove of heaven—in the side and hands;

Whose innocence expounds why he should rise,
A pilgrim through the wilderness and lands,—
Whose glory shall awake the farthest skies;
Where pleasure reigns and never, never dies.

XVII.

Though rest of all that glory, man shall see,
Which danced around his heart, in dawn of life;
Though born of mortal man—to shelter thee,
And full of sorrow, where there's vast relief!
Yet, may the day arrive, when he, who rent
His youthful heart—may fall as he has done;
And suffer such a pang and dire lament!
And not have slandered him, in days, now gone,
But gloried in this laureate gift alone.

XVIII.

Oh, Judah! thou shalt be his resting place;
And thou shalt see him die in blooming youth!
But n'er shall see him brook a sore disgrace,
And bastardize the fount of love and truth;
No; Judah, let thy infant years roll on,—
In joy—by bowing to this sacred law;
Where thy good race, though swiftly run,
The glorious race which my young vision saw,
May fill thy soul with all but conscious awe.

XIX.

Oh, Judah! such a spot of fertile earth,
As thine, beside the banks of Jordan's stream,
Invites my thought—such magnitude and worth!
And claimed the vision of my recent dream.
I saw the farmer stand and count his grain,
And feed his flock beside a numerous host:
I then beheld him feed them o'er again,
And, as he gloried in his riches, sighed!
Infringed the moral law—then bowed and died!

XX.

I saw him shake old friendship by the hand,
And glory in the riches of his home;
And while he gloried in the produce of his land,

The sad remembrance came, he was alone!
Nor left the offspring of his former days,
To be an emblem of what he had been—
To glory in his wickedness and ways—
The martyrdom of souls, by terrene sin;
Which fills me with a lore, I ne'er shall win.

XXI.

Oh, Judah! what I see of thee, I know—
Because thou art a dart to me, indeed;
Nor raise me from the bitterness of woe!
And aid me when I chance to stand in need;
And what could mortal man request beside?
And what could mortal friendship more bestow?
Than give me pleasure when such woes betide!
The offspring of a feeling heart below,
Whose clusters, on the vines of heaven, only grow.

XXII.

But thou art growing old in ireful life—
And much begrimed with insolence and ire!
And thou art much the place of pain and strife—
Like others I have seen from more desire.
'Tis wrong—He shall be comely and sincere,
And heaven, earth and hell, shall see his face—
For His misfortunes shall force down the tear,
And look for smiles upon Jehovah's face;
Nor, think submission to his God—disgrace!

XXIII.

Oh, Judah! I could bring such floods of tears—
Such mighty draughts of rheum from out thy soul,
That all thy sympathies, and all thy fears,
Should like the billows of the ocean roll!
Suffice it now, for me to give you but a sketch
Of his misfortune—every one must feel,
When he is subject to sneers, of every wretch—
In midst of all that appertains to weal,
Which man's unkindness never can conceal.

XXIV.

Above the mountain of my soul, I see

A day—a day of ire, and love, and joy—
Thou dost behold—as well while thou art free,
As I, who am to prophecy misfortune's Boy!
A day is coming, and I mean to live
If death does not expose me to his blasts—
When man shall have no earthly cause to grieve;
But glory in those days which are to last,
As one, who slakes his thirst at God's repast.

XXV.

A Boon shall rise, with strength and heavenly might,
And traverse lands afar, from east to west;
And in the glory of his youthful might,
The fire of God shall be his only guest.
A Boon, his name shall be, and canonized
By God, to be an emblem of his worth;
And by a pilgrim he shall be babtized—
Above the height of his primeval birth—
His name shall soar beyond the arched skies,
And all mankind shall lose him when he dies.

XXVI.

His name, though not extensive, at his morn
Of youthful life, when he awoke to death!
Shall stand as one, who was a mortal born,
And in mortality, a second birth
Received. His name shall wake old Judah's Lyre,
Whose strings shall quiver on old David's car
When he shall rouse the spark of godly fire—
Sometimes to mourn, but most to shed a tear;
As sample of his love, to mortal man, so dear.

XXVII.

His name shall not be used in earthly rhyme,
Except by his disciples, who shall wade
Through all the avenues of sorrow's time;
Till every debt of glory shall be paid.
He shall unfold to man, a doleful tale,
And Zion's borders shall receive the sound!
Creation's knees shall shake—the world grow pale!
For he shall wander to the utmost bound

Of earth, and where he is, the truth is found.

XXVIII.

His height hereditary, too, shall not
Arise above mankind, but shall engage
The world, so that, he shall not be forgot—
But shall be noted on creation's page;
And as he stands adorned in virtue's robes,
His righteousness shall lure each earthly eye;
And o'er the earth—throughout creation's globe,
His name shall shine and never die,
Because, upon his precepts we must all rely.

XXIX.

His name shall first be handed down in pain!
And many a scoff from fools shall try it well;
But they shall falter as rebellious men,
And reap their harvests from the fields of hell!
But wisdom shall not laugh at woe or pain,
Except a dupe steps in with slanderous tongue;
And then, his gaping shall be all in vain;
For he shall weep, because he thus had sung,—
Because his lips had forged an obloquy so wrong.

XXX.

His name shall bear creation's shock with ease,—
Although, at first, he seemed to weep and sigh!
But he shall rise from earth, by slow degrees;
And seek an asylum above the sky.
And what shall his temptation be on earth?
It shall be that which binds man to the world;
It shall be that which gave creation birth,—
By nature's God—from whom it can't be hurled,—
It shall be that which binds man to the world.

XXXI.

His name shall bear the sympathies of life,—
And on the forehead of his dawn shall rise
A stamp—a stamp of sorrow and of strife!
Which shall oft flit before his youthful eyes;
And all the ramparts which his deeds have made,
Shall stand as bulwarks in his own defence;

Until he reaps that harvest which shall never fade,
Which caught the candle of his youthful sense,—
When he awoke his mother's darling boy;
And drank her nectared draught without alloy.

XXXII.

His name shall be exposed to every hoary frost,
Which all the clouds of many ills shall bring!
From out the ocean, where his bark was tossed,
When he awoke a prophet, priest, and king.
But his dear root, from earth, shall not be lost!
Though man may chill his leaves by envy's blast;
Until he stands upon old Jordan's coast,
Where God's own Dove, on pinions fast,
Shall swear his fame, which never shall be lost.

XXXIII.

His days shall brighten as his eyes grow dim!
And as the candle of his life shall die,
The world shall stand and lean on naught but him,
As he doth on His Father's care rely.
And on that eve—the fatal eve to love,
When on his cheek the sweat of death shall rest;
His monument shall reach to God above!
His Father, the Omnipotent, who blessed
Him, when he took that pure baptismal crest.

XXXIV.

Misfortune's shock shall wreck this youthful meed;
In embryo of life, when glory shines
Upon the mountain of his heavenly deeds;
And leave him weeping in a tear divine!
The tares of earth shall spring up in his wheat;
And he shall speak in parables and signs,
His soul shall seek an asylum—a seat,
Beyond the skies, and I will call him mine;
And if thou wilt, he will be humbly thine.

XXXV.

A cloud of ills shall darken his light brow,
Amidst a most remorseless crew of weeds,
Which choke his growth, but he shall pay his vow

To heaven; and God bear record of his deeds!
His cup shall be of acerbitious gall!
Which his pure sympathies shall cast away;
And he shall bear the burden, and shall fall
By hands that would have raised him, on a day
Now passed and gone—but he is far away!

XXXVI.

His day shall come and go, and come again;
And then his prospects shall be withered o'er!
But he shall brave the winds, and hail, and rain,
And pioneer his way to Canaan's shore!
His name shall reach the height of earthly praise—
The height of godly praise, where glory reigns;
And on the organ of eternity, his lays
Shall warble; and, not a line he sings so vain,
But that it shall be quoted o'er and o'er again.

XXXVII.

His much abused and noble heart, shall raise
The intercessions of his contrite soul;
And on the rainbow of his thought, his days
Shall be depicted,—as Jehovah's scroll;
And while his penitential grief shall spring,
Like Flora, from a fertile soil of life,
He shall invoke the spirit of created things,
To sing an elegy of monstrous strife!
Which rain upon his head, Olympic grief!

XXXVIII.

His Bard shall sing, and look far back, on days,
And emulate the organ of the throne!
Whose argument gave scope for all his lays,
On which he chose to meditate alone.—
Till his response shall wake the dormant spark
Of some unborn and penitential youth,
Who shall lay hold the precepts of his heart,
And sing the inborn melodies of love and truth,
Along a path—for aught I know, more smoothe!

XXXIX.

Yet, he shall never weep before 'tis done

Nor shall his tears be seen, but by His eye!
And on the cheek, where God has seen them run,
They shall pour down, until he comes to die!
And why, he shall expose his tears to none—
And why they shall be shed and felt by me?
Are themes, which I had long ago, begun—
And themes, which shall conclude in misery!
And sorrows which I hope you ne'er may see.

XL.

His righteousness and love—all else of worth—
Shall be unrivalled; and his glory too,
Shall rest alone, and beam in going forth;
His soul shall rain affection's pearly dew,
To inundate his cheeks! and he shall eat
The manna from the unseen hand of Him,
Who shall prepare a mansion and a seat,
Beyond the reach of obloquy and sin!
And when his days shall end, they shall begin.

XLI.

His numbers shall continue still to roll,
And ope new fountains in the human heart;
From out the ocean of his mighty soul,—
Which is not yet the whole—'tis but a part!
Shall flow a river, and its waves shall roll
Into the ocean of Eternity!
Which shall unfold the ire of vindiction's soul,
Which heaven, earth, and hell, shall see;
And spirits of Jehovah, with him be.

XLII.

His heart shall grow more warm in truth and love,
The more he takes his soul to reason deep;
And as his cogitation soars above,
He, into secrets of the heart, shall peep!
And raise the mountain where the jewel lies,
Of truth and soberness—and where the hill
Is lofty, and purports to reach the skies,
There shall he dive, and dive, and diving still,
Dip into things beyond the human will.

XLIII.

His name shall wake the silver trump, to sound
His genius o'er this vast licentious isle;
And where He stands, shall be that Holy ground,
Where fools shall lap the lip into a smile.
And why? the callous soul, where'er they live,
Forbids them survey such a lawn of love,
Which gives him pleasure, while his soul forgives;
And when he dies, 'twill point his soul above,
To be transported on the pinions of a dove.

XLIV.

His Father's Lyre shall wake the rolling deep,
And he shall love the Bard of Zion's song;
His probity shall tell who used to weep,
Because he loved her, and she did him wrong!
The Harp he loves, he shall awake to sing;
The Harp he loves, almost as dear as life!
And while his starlight beams upon its strings,
His sympathy shall inundate that strife,
Which cut his heartstrings, in his morn of life.

XLV.

The harp of Judah, which old David strung,
Shall roll its numbers down the tide of time;
And on that heart, which Judah's Jewel hung,
He shall engrave his deeds—not deeds of crime!
And he shall speak of Carmel, and old streams;
And Lebanon which waved her lofty head;
And he shall speak of Jordan, and dream dreams—
Like he, who once, by Ulia, visions read,
In midnight of his sleep,—in friendship's bed.

XLVI.

He shall be heard to speak of Canaan's lands,
And that Jerusalem, which He, the Lord,
Wept over! in her kingly pride, which stands
The light of heaven; and in her dire discord,
She shall bow down in sackcloth; and mildew
Shall be rained from heaven; and this mighty rust
Shall spread o'er all her children, as the dew

Which fell as penitential tears—till dust
Shall bury them—my word is true and just!

XLVII.

Yes, he shall speak of old remembrances
Of days, now passed and gone;—his youthful eye
Shall penetate, as he thus advances,
The hidden shore of God, and when he dies,
Disease shall not disorganize his frame;
Nor shall the incidents of life beguile
His intrepidity; and guilt and shame,
Shall not be his companions,—all the while;
And mortal man shall never see him smile.

XLVIII.

And he shall make the wilderness his home;
And Jordan's stream shall lave his godly frame!—
In embryo of life—he shall atone
For alienated man; his mighty name,
Shall be emblazoned on the highest hill
Of God! remember this—the day shall come,
Which, man of finite eyes shall see,—the hill
On which the throne of the Eternal one
Is built, the citadel of God! great Throne!

XLIX.

And God shall teach him, as an only son,
The path which leads o'er Canaan's lands;
And after his obedient race is run,
He shall protect him with his outstretched hands;
And lead him, as a faithful steward, far
Beyond the sycophants of terrene strife,—
While scintillations from his mighty star,
Shall pilot him to that eternal life,
Where oblectations shine, devoid of grief.

L.

And he shall feed upon the fire of heaven,—
Not like the Pontic monarch did, on bane!
For in the wilderness he shall be driven,
And live for forty days—devoid of pain!
And while the nations flock like painted doves,

The indigent, his hands shall raise from want;
And raise them by his plenitude above,—
Whate'er they wish, if he has it to grant,
He'll give it, without scruple or lament.

LI.

And he shall be a friendly man, indeed!
Because his vital spark arose in heaven;
And time, eternity, and sorrows, creeds—
Shall be his guerdon's song,—from morn till even!
Because, such friendship came from God above;
For where there's knowledge, there the heavenly seed
Is sown, of purity—of holiness—and love;
But, of no earthly man shall stand in need;
And from the fiery clime of earth be freed.

LII.

And as he takes the hands of strangers, smiles
Of such a sort, as doth become a man,
Shall stand upon his cheek—devoid of gulle!
Where many a drop of rheum has often ran!
His eye shall predicate a depth of thought,
Boundless in extent, and glorious worth!
And he shall bow to heaven, as he ought,
While I, who speak, shall hear no more, “go forth!”
And earth shall know him—east, and west, and north.

LIII.

His countenance shall never change, in sight
Of mortal man, although it bears the hue,
And tint of inward strife! and his delight
Shall be for sake of glory,—that, to do,
Will lead him to the sky-capped towers,—
Of Almighty God—beyond our finite sight,—
To warble symphonies in Eden's bowers,—
Amidst the sunbeams of his holy might;
And Iris of an everlasting light.

LIV.

Upon his face, at intervals of thought,
A good discerner may oft trace a theme,
Which he will seek to know, and when 'tis sought,

'Twill end in immortality—a dream
Like airy, far beyond this earthly realm,
Of sublunary smitude and ire!
Until the ocean of his soul o'erwhelms,
And expurgates the callous heart! desire
Of godly good shall burn him with eternal fire.

LV.

And, on his face, unutterable thoughts—
Drawn from the tablet of his soul—shall rise!
A treasure which his godly deeds have bought,—
A patrimony, far beyond the skies!—
A language eloquent, of heart and soul!—
To lift mankind above the mountain height,
Of that Olympic sin, which ever rolls,
Like billows of the sea, in utter night!
To heaven's climate—yes a spring of sweet delight.

LVI.

It shall be wrought by that soul draining tear,—
The exudation of a contrite heart!
In self-abasement shall this King appear,
And feel the point of vast vindiction's dart!
If thou art his disciple, bow thy head!
That thou may'st rise, like he has done, to heaven!
He shall enroll thy name beyond the dead,
As secretary in Jehovah's court,
And his own citadel shall be thy fort.

LVII.

But he shall be a man of no great age,—
Nor of refinement vast, in terrene schools,—
Before his name shall blaze upon the page
Of heaven's jurisdiction; and, earthly fools
Shall satyrize his name of names; and he
Shall bear their obloquy without a frown;
His patience shall be boundless as the sea
Of God, which shall inherit him a crown
Of glory, whose bright sun shall ne'er go down.

LVIII.

His vast refinement shall be Heaven's gift—

Patience, meekness, holiness, and righteous truth!
Boundlessness! Omnipotence! bereft
Of terrene guile! in embryo of youth!
Power, dominion, majesty and grace!
Shall shine with light forever pure and bright,
And in the mirror of his beauteous face,
His soul shall adumbrate its light—
As lamp of his own Father, burning bright.

LIX.

He shall attempt no theme and let it stand
Unsolved; and he shall set no soul on fire!—
Nor e'er attempt that which he cannot hand—
In heaven's vestments,—to awake the lyre—
Down to posterity, to cheer the heart;
And be a living model of his righteous deeds.
His mission, his authority, and chart!
Which God Almighty, printed, as he bleeds!
And it shall be a pilot to the soul that needs.

LX.

His youth shall speak of days and nights to come;
His father shall awake the harp to songs
Divine; and roll his glory to the throne
On high, to tell creation of her wrongs!
His pæans shall invoke the sea of God,—
The great, unfettered, golden, tideless sea!
The waveless, shoreless, calm, pure fount where clods
Have never pondered—an Eternity!
Of unsurveyed beatitude—for thee.

LXI.

And he shall live, and Judah shall reward
Him for his eloquence in verse and song!
Creation, heaven, earth, and seas, and sod!
Shall pay him, as he rolls his theme along;
And the disbursement shall be heaven!
Life eternal, omnipotence, and love!
A changeless morn without a lowering even—
And he shall be translated by a dove
Of God Almighty,—to the throne above.

LXII.

And he shall talk with thunders of the cloud,
While heaven, earth, and hell, shall speak a word
Of him, which Kings of earth shall spread abroad,—
Infested with the canker of the crowd,
And obloquy to blast his name; but he shall
Rest on pillars of eternity! his
Father's outstretched hand shall shield him—his fall
Shall never be; but earth and hell shall kiss
His name, and seek his magnitude of bliss.

LXIII.

And he shall glory in his youth, and live
Up to the dictates of the moral law;
For he shall teach mankind, no more, to grieve;
And why they suffer so much heart-felt awe!
And he shall importune them, hear his words;
And many shall give ear and understand;
Some shall cry out, is this Immanuel—Lord?
How came him here—on Judah's fertile lands?
And seek his death! nor follow his commands.

LXIV.

He shall not fear what mortal man can do;
They may impierce the holy—yet, the soul—
The vast, etherial resident of God!
Shall soar above the height of man's control—
The glory of the world—and he shall wear
The crown of immortality below—
Unseen—not visible, like that sweet tear,
Which rolls within his eye; and he shall bear
His pain, that he may triumph over fear.

LXV.

And he shall meet with oppositions too,
But they shall be the scoffs from fools of ire!
For none has done, as they will wont to do,
Except their souls have felt this earthly fire!
But they shall stand as naught where love remains—
As dust before the bawdy wind of heaven;
And they shall fall—nor shall they rise again;

But like the sun of Greece, their hearts be riven;
And from the light of life, be always driven.

LXVI.

But he shall not expose himself to crowds
Of men, as partizans, to sing his fame;
The seas, the hills, the mountains, and the clouds,
Shall sound Jehovah's trump, to speak his fame.
His love shall grow, a scion from his heart;
Which shall o'erspread the earth, and reach
Beyond the sky; and he shall ne'er depart
From earth, until his words, by God, shall teach
All nations, kingdoms, thrones and tongues, to preach.

LXVII.

And more than all, he shall not live so long,
On earth, that man shall say, he died of years;
But he shall die by hands, that did him wrong,
Beneath their frowns, and scoffs, and petty jeers;
He shall be bruised by men of wretched ire!
But he shall sing obsequiously, the song—
The Jubilee of God! he shall inspire,—
Yea, all his earthly children, save with wrong;
And his disciples shall not see him long.

LXVIII.

He shall remain a monumental shrine,
For heaven, the earth, the sun, the moon, and hell;
And he shall be accosted, for a heavenly crime—
The vast salvation of the world! to tell
Mankind, awake, arise, and onward go!
The Bark of God is in creation's port—
Gird on your helmet, wake, arise, 'tis so!
It is the word of God, and no report;—
Instead of life, they died in hellish sport!

LXIX.

And he, who had denied thrice, alone,
For hell's damned stipend, which shall buy
Him everlasting death did not atone,
Till hell's foul obloquies, had heaved the sigh
Into his soul, and drove him off to weep!

Condemned him unto death! to groan, and die
Through all eternity! and sink into the deep
And silent charnel house of sin, and lie!
In condemnation—hung for passers by.

LXX.

And in the urn which shall receive his frame,
No worm shall reign as empire of his flesh,
Nor shall his mortal part decay—his name
And body shall revisit earth; as fair and fresh,
As Dian's visage; and he shall array
Himself in vestments, which his friends and foes
Shall recognize; he shall arise from clay,
And burst the prison gate of hell; and close
That covenant, for which he died and rose.

LXXI.

My God! at intervals he shall repine!
And he shall weep at mid-hour of the night!
But not for torture, or for earthly crime!
Committed in Jehovah's heavenly sight!
He shall arise in morning, full of lore—
And heal the indigent, the lame and weak!
And he shall sail his bark to Canaan's shore—
Hear me, oh, man! it is this Prophet speaks,
For man's salvation! this, Jehovah seeks.

LXXII.

And he shall make his will like other men—
He shall bequeath a legacy of love,
To his disciples: and heaven, shall say! Amen!
As his vast invocation soars above
The littleness of puny mortals hands;
And he shall point them to the fruitful shore,
Where abdication shall not reach his lands,
To bask in oblectations ever more;
Where he shall soe, what he has seen before.

LXXIII.

And he shall drink of Sharon, and the dew
Of Carmel, in the vineyard of the Lord!
When his disciples shall bid him adieu!

And pass dry-shod o'er Jordan's boundless ford,
To that Jerusalem, above the sky;
Where naught shall interdict his weal—
Where immortality shall never die—
Where sin's foul laws, he shall repeal;
And what is good, he never shall conceal.

LXXIV.

His days shall fade on earth; and when he dies,
He shall look back upon a life well spent;
He shall receive a message from the skies—
A summon, which Jehovah's love has sent.
His Lebanon of God shall shine afar;
And, as the evening of his life goes down,
His soul shall blaze like that eternal star,
Which heaven has reared upon his mighty crown;
And earth shall tremble at Jehovah's frown.

LXXV.

But he shall give far more than this, in love!
He shall resign earth's harp, for one on high!
And it shall be a holy harp: the dove
Of heaven shall respond, and coo a sigh!
In symphonies divine; and wake the ear
Of God, and lure eternity to her!
His cheeks shall be wiped dry, and fear
Shall claim no membership! He shall confer
This favor, which shall supercede all care.

LXXVI.

Oh, Judah, Judah! He would have nursed thee
In his own paternal arms, he would have
Fed thee with the manna of the Lord! see
This multitude of love! awake, arise, and save
Thy self—my God! have I not spent!—
Have I not warned them in their dire disgrace?
And would have saved them from this dire lament!
But they have tortured me, and spit upon my face,—
My God! what shall become of such a place.

LXXVII.

Oh, Judah! He shall claim thee as a friend—

A Mother, Father, and a Brother too!
Thou art his earthly parents, He shall tend
To thy redemption, if thou wilt be true!
Awake, arise—my God! shall I refrain! shall
I continue still, to warn them of their ways!
Shall they blaspheme me, when they seek their fall?
And seek a gloom, instead of heavenly rays?—
Oh, heaven! shake them! shorten all their days.

LXXVIII.

Within thy borders, there, his resting place
Shall be, and no indignity shall brand
His heart; but on the starlight of his face,
Shall beam a rainbow light, and it shall stand
Upon the portals of his soul, through all
The cycles of eternity; and he shall rise,
Where mortal eye has never seen, in mind,
And heartfelt joy; and with the georgeous dyes
From heaven's fount, his hand, by his vast mind,
Shall write the names of his apostles, left behind.

LXXIX.

And he shall die as other men shall die!
Nor shall he e'er return to mother clay!
And he shall on his God alone, rely,
And not on mortal men, and well he may.
His love shall not be bound by penal laws,
Nor shall his faith be built on human will!
He shall be slain for those he never saw!—
Not want, for he shall own heaven at his will;—
This shall be.—He shall my prophecy fulfill.

LXXX.

He shall be great—for through that gloomy pass,
Which leads beyond the eye of mortal man,
His feet shall walk,—and on a sea of glass,
Where rivers of Jehovah's glory ran,
His bark shall sail, while heaven's star
Shall be his pilot, to that unseen bourne,
Beyond this kingdom—He shall shine afar!
And the meridian of his soul shall burn,

But unto earth he shall again return.

LXXXI.

His name shall be forgotten not on earth,
Nor shall the heavens fail to give him praise;
For God's own signature shall swear his worth,
Throughout eternity, of endless days.
His Jubilee shall wake creation's bounds,—
His symphony o'erflow the humble soul;
The heavens and the earth shall then respond,—
While themes, unsung before, shall onward roll
Shoreless and tideless, o'er his worthy soul.

LXXXII.

And he shall be invited to a banquet fair,
Of this foul earth; and his disciples shall
Be there; and one shall steal, and strive to snare
Him for the gain, which shall uproot his fall,
To everlasting death,—before his utmost stay
On earth shall cease!—Oh! what a traitor, vile!
And his eternal ruin!—his curved ways,
Shall there condemn him in his guile;
Though, this pure Pilgrim shall not weep or smile.

LXXXIII.

And they shall spit upon his lovely face,
Though he could blast by his own hands,
Creation, heaven and earth; and this disgrace
Shall brand their souls, within that fatal hour!
With an eternal shame; but man shall love
His innocence, too late! too late!—and he
Shall tell them of his father's court above,
Which He shall visit—they shall wish to see,—
But never shall—throughout Eternity.

LXXXIV.

His government shall rest on pillars vast—
His shoulder shall sustain the envious world;
And on that day, when he shall breathe his last,
He shall not have his strength unfurled!
His name shall be Eternal! and shall sound,
Thou, wonderful! thou mighty! yea, and strong!

And it shall ring to earth's remotest bound,
While hell's foul revelry shall treat him wrong;
And heaven reward him with an endless song.

LXXXV.

An everlasting Father shall he be,—
A matchless Prince—a Saviour and a King!
His feet shall travel, and his eyes shall see
Creation's vast extent, and every godly thing,
Shall please his soul, to all eternity!
He shall be known as the Messiah, sent
By heaven's Jurisdiction, down to earth!
And his chief duty shall be this,—repent!
And claim a passport,—an eternal birth;
While heaven, the seas and lands, shall know his worth.

LXXXVI.

And he shall be protected by his Father's hands,—
But he shall suffer as a mortal would;
He shall invoke the life of Judah's lands,
To flee from evil, and pursue the good.
He shall be slain unto immortal life!
Upon the hoary mount, which bleeds this day!
And he shall drink vindiction's cup of strife,
And lift his obsecration far away,
To that eternal bourne, of nightless day.

LXXXVII.

He shall be slain by men of tameless ire,
And kings shall promulgate it, bold—
I am not guilty of his blood—I do desire
That my name shall never be enrolled;
Far as I wash my hands, so let my deeds
Be expurgated, from the cursed crime,
Of this man's death!—he is that heavenly meed,
Which God has vouchsafed; and these hands of mine,
Shall not be stained with his immortal wine.

LXXXVIII.

But they shall cry aloud, crucify him!
Crucify him! and, on his back, the reed
Shall leave the stripe, from hands of endless sin!

At which Jehovah wept! when, on the hill—
The Calvary of old,—his feet and stainless hands,
Shall feel the nails impierce—he shall fulfill
My Prophecy—he shall be slain, a lamb
Of heaven,—greater than the Paschal of the land.

LXXXIX.

In his heart-felt resignation, he shall
Meekly suffer their revengeful ire!
Yea, hell's most damned! and he shall fall,
By hands, that would, by hell's desire,
Usurp the wise decrees of glory's law!
But they shall weep, and they shall sigh!
When every soul is filled with raging awe;
They would revoke their deeds, and would rely
Upon his precepts, when they come to die.

XC.

And they shall nail his hands and sinless feet,
With piercing nails!—and crown his head with thorns!
And Calvary shall be his lone retreat;
Succeeded by the resurrection morn!—
A brilliant star—Aurora dyed in blood!
Which shall illuminate the trembling earth,
With crimson light; while tears, in sorrow's flood,
Shall inundate the land, for godly worth;
Whose death shall buy him an eternal birth.

XCI.

His righteousness shall stand aloof and shine—
His Truth, Sincerity, and Soberness, shall rise
Above the smitude of mortal man, as sign
Of his great advent, and the arched skies—
With heaven, and earth, and starless hell,
Shall quiver at his fall, and all the world—
Creation's tombs, and every beast, shall tell,
The Saviour of Jehovah has been hurled
To death; but not his name unfurled.

XCII.

And he shall fall to life which never ends!
And from the urn, in which his body laid,

He shall arise; until his name transcends
The bounds and magnitude for which he made
His covenant—this vast eternal debt
Of unmolested love! and he shall fade
No more; but earth shall sigh, and feel regret;
And every cheek of man shall bear the brands,
Which marked his precious side, feet and hands.

XCIII.

He shall be seen by many—from his grave,
The stone shall be removed, and rolled away;
And Mary, his maternal world, shall save
The remnant of his lore, while he shall stay;
For heaven's window shall fly open wide,
And send a pure prismatic, brilliant ray,
Throughout his soul; and he shall safely ride
Up to the throne, where nought shall e'er betide.

XCIV.

He shall be seen, and many speak his name,
And unbelievers shall behold his side;
But they shall touch the gap made in his frame,
By which he bowed, and groaned, and died.
And they shall cry, Indeed, this is the Lord!
The Pilgrim!—the Messiah! the great King
And Prince of earth! and they shall know his words;
And his disciples shall receive a great reward.

XCV.

He shall arise—for earth is not his home!
His mansion is a house, not made with hands—
Eternal in the heavens!—he shall atone
For man's mortality; and Judah's lands
Shall know he made a covenant; for earth
Shall feel it—hell shall know it—and the hand
Of God shall lift him to eternal birth;
From which creation shall infer his worth.

XCVI.

And Olivet shall be his resting place,
Before his transportation to the throne of God;
The sun, the moon, the stars, shall see his face,

And see omnipotence await his nod;
For he shall be anointed—not by hands of man;
And he, who is not worthy to unloose his shoes,
Shall here absolve his mortal frame, where ran
The river of the Lord: and shall refuse—
But he shall be the delegate he'll choose.

XCVII.

And God Almighty shall awake the strain
Of never-dying melody, to sing his praise!
And heaven's brightness shall send forth a flame
Of boundless love; and those immortal rays,
Shall set the candle of his soul on fire!
And heaven's Herald shall alight thereon,
As confirmation of his heart's desire;—
A bright ray, brighter than creation's sun,—
A spark of His, whose cycles ever run.

XCVIII.

His gratitude, his holiness and love,
Shall calm the fierce volcanoes of the soul,
Before he takes his final flight to Jove—
His great Progenitor! the vital fires which roll
O'er all created things of mortal mould!
Where Immortality was born a child
Of adult magnitude—of one day old!
And in the plenitude of glory smiled,—
The silver ocean, death has not defiled.

XCIX.

His pedigreed and patrimonial skill,
In suiting God's emolument to human death!
Shall be the plumed vicegerent, on the hill
Of God's great victory; where his living breath
Shall dimple that untarnished, mighty sea!
Whose waves shall ripple by the zephyr's fan—
The untired ocean of Eternity!
In which the river of Immanuel ran;—
Whose concourse laves the soul of mortal man.

C.

His name shall be recorded in the book

Of God; and he shall wear the robes of life—
Untarnished—and his eagle eye shall look
Beyond the realm of sublunary strife!
From earthly buffettings—above the sky!
He shall repair, and drink the wine of God;
While heaven's flambeau, as he passes by,
Shall expurgate his pure and stainless road,—
As prototype of an unmatched reward.

CI.

He shall descend to hell, as symbol true,
Of what mortality must see and feel!
His precepts shall be washed in heaven's dew,
Which earth's maliciousness shall ne'er conceal;—
He shall be steward in the fruitful field
Of God,—the vineyard of the farthest skies;
And fruitful harvests it shall ever yield,
To feed his soul,—which never, never dies;
And man shall see a part with mortal eyes.

CII.

He shall submit to many a scoff and ire,
Although the stones of earth shall heed his call;
He shall receive the stripes of hell's desire,
But he shall stand,—he shall not fall!
His might, in all his ways, shall here be known,
And mortal man shall see him wake the dead;
His hand shall soothe the orphan's piteous groan!
And from the mortal couch, and dying bed,
He shall awake the sorrowful in dread.

CIII.

He shall expound, and solve all ills of life,
And tell the world a tale, forever new;
He shall unfold to man that pain and strife,
Grew out of his immoral deeds; and shew
Them heaven's path, which led to nightless light,
Beyond the grasp of mortal man; and years,
Of heavenly measurement, in glory bright,
Shall roll o'er gnomen of the Lord, and tears
Shall all be wiped away,—with hell's foul cares.

CIV.

He shall be that donation, God has given,
To rescue mortal man from endless death!
He shall be that bright lamp which shines in heaven,
Suspended in the breeze of earth's foul breath—
He shall be that vicegerent, which shall save
His army, in a prostrate state of sin!
And gain the victory—triumph o'er the grave!
And fly to heaven—God shall let him in;
And cry—“Behold, the Lamb of God is risen.”

CV.

Hail, Legatee! my patrimonial life
Shall be thy guerdon! this sole stipend bought
Creation! confiscated hell's foul strife!
Led glory forth! salvation's wonders wrought!
Defeated death! manacled hell—and threw
Asunder—drank the bitterness—and hurled
The cup of gall, for sanctifying dew!
Drank deep, the hydra of contempt unfurled;
And saved the remnant of a prostrate world.

THE SIEGE OF VIENNA.

Woe to thy arm that drinks this costly blood!
My soul doth prophecy that thou shalt fall!
My heart has turned a seer, and o'er the ruins,
My feet shall tread!

I.

In this frail world, man must have many foes!
Long years of calumny and wrong, shall dart
Its venom in the heart of man, and woes
Overwhelm! for now, the whet-stone of the heart
Has ground Hungarian, and the Tartar's dart!
And thou, plenary power! with the Moslem
Force, shall strew Vienna's plains, and start
The embers of the freeman's soul, to whelm
Invasion; and sit empire of this mighty realm.

II

Thy captains shine in pomp—thy Turkish dart—
With thy artillery dragged along the shore—
And more than all, Mustapha's head and heart,
Shall shine in pomp—but it shall shine no more!
My God! shall this Vienna—Danubo's shore—
By thunders from his hand, be trod to death?
Shall this tide come, of human woes—though poor,
And sickness overwhelm my finite breath?
Yet, we shall stand my men—be firm of heart and faith.

III.

His heart may prophecy, but he shall die!
Shall this great city be a barren heath?
My God! shall this Vienna mourn and cry—
And gasp, and gasp, and gasp, and lose her breath?
Shall she be changed to blood, as Turkey saith?
Be thou my shield! for, unto thee I cry!
Shall this old head be bruised by angry death—
Shall this great city fall before mine eye—
Shall freedom lose her birth-right—lose her breath?
My God! forbid it—let her not be trod to death.

IV.

My God! shall Poland's plains be bruised
By hostile feet, from hell's remorseless steed!
Shall freedom shrink, and glory be abused,
And my old heart be forced to burst and bleed?
Be thou my shield—a friend in day of need!
Give me an Angel's visit—send thy word—
That we are safe; and this shall be my meed!
Be thou my shield and pilot—Lord!
And my soul's obsecration shall be my reward.

V.

Shall Turkish wrath, with hostile hoofs, tread down
The crescent of Vienna's fields?
Shall savage ire, and indignation's frown,
Usurp my crown, and cause my heart to yield?
Shall freedom's tapestry be wove to wield,
And not be a pavillion to my heart?—

My God! I do invoke thy aid and shield!
My birth-right is exposed to heathen dart—
Save thou my plain of glory from the mighty smart.

VI.

Oh! hear it heaven! earth be thou my shield!
For my weak arm shall do its greatest work—
Arise Vienna! thou shalt never yield
Thy freedom to vindiction's cursed Turk!
Shall hell's indignity forever lurk
Within thy bosom? no; arise and go—
Gird on your helmet—heaven shall surely work
Our own salvation—give the mighty blow;
And let Vienna's monument forever glow.

VII.

Forbear—oh! indignation, stop and wait!
With thy infernal force—a finite clan!
Beware of this assault—or fall, too late!
Thou rudest vassal of untutored man!
The Danube's waves shall roll—this breeze can
Cool thy red-hot tyranny—thy venom hurl—
From off the battlements—where envy ran,
Like savage Euxine, o'er the bastard world;
Till thy pernicity of ire shall be unfurled.

VIII.

Thy days are numbered, and thy youth has fled;
The starlight of thy morn awoke and gone;
And thy unkindness numbered with the dead—
Far from thy native land, and native home!
Thy name shall be forgotten, while alone—
In death—upon Vienna's peaceful plain;
And all thy Turkish Kings, shall sigh and groan!
And welter in the blood of brothers slain—
Thy sun shall set, but it shall never rise again.

IX.

Remember this, thy destiny is fixed!
Sobieski's hand shall quench the fires;
And on the Danube, shall thy crucifix
Lie mouldering, with the heap of foul desires!

For thy foul heart with envy's glowing ire,
Shall not be expurgated of its stain;
But, by thy own heart's blood; and that old sire
Shall feel its cursed, sanguinary rain,
O'erlave this callous group—a funeral pyre!
To groan, and sigh, and rot in one eternal mire.

X.

The Danube's banks shall show vindiction's guilt—
Thy vast pernicity and heart-felt ire!
And no libation on thy soul be spilt,
But thou shalt welter in this funeral fire!
Thy colloquy shall howl against thy pyre
And funeral dirge; and death shall stab thy cheek;
And that huge breast of thy remorseless sire,
Shall bear the numerous dead, and thou shall seek
A refuge—but thy arm shall tremble, and grow weak.

XI.

Thy heart-strings shall be torn! and in the dust,
Thy steeds shall raise—shall be the lowering clouds,
In which thy burnished sword shall lie and rust;
And no fraternal hand shall ever shroud
Thy burlesque corse; and thou shall cry aloud
For help! but mortal man shall not repay
That debt of love, which nature bade, but crowds
On crowds shall lie and die, and fade away;
And heaven shall forsake them, on that natal day.

XII.

Oh, Belgrade, Belgrade! cast thine eye along
Thy bruised and battered plain, and cry to heaven—
Invoke her intercession for those wrongs
Committed unto thee—this fatal even!
Thy soil is battered and thy heart is riven!
Thy head is bruised, and o'er this ireful wound
The hail of torment shall be poured, and driven,
By the flames of kingly ire—to the ground:
And Heaven, earth, and gloomy hell, shall hear the sound.

XIII.

My God! and then, behind them—see the fire!

The conflagration from vindiction's blast!
Oh! could the Danube's wave, by my desire,
Be swollen to this height, I'd humbly cast
Its billows o'er the flame, and quench the last
Expiring gasp, from that unconscious fool!
Who now intrudes upon Vienna's coast,
And castigate him in a freeman's school;
And grasp his mighty arm, when it presumed to rule.

XIV.

Oh! soundless ear, now deaf to all—but death!
Shall hear the winter winds, in growling mood,
Expose thee to her nostrils; and its breath
Shall chill thy cheeks with heart-cold blood!
Thy pearly rheum shall roll as sorrow's flood;
And earth shall listen to thy dying word!
But my strong arm shall interdict such good,
When thou shalt cry aloud, my God! my God!
But thou shall have no help, but feel vindication's rod.

XV.

Oh! Danube, Danube! could thy waters part,
Like that great sea, through which the Hebrews went—
When the Almighty hardened Egypt's heart,
To drink infantile flood; with hell intent!
Then would I glory in my soul's content;
When thy Egyptian ire shall find a grave,
Amidst the cursed ire which thou would'st vent,
And sink beneath the billows of this mighty wave;
Because they hated, and they did my hearts blood crave.

XVI.

Vienna! thou Vienna! brave this mountain shock;
And it shall be as thunder pealing in the cloud,
The echo shall not last! but as a rock,
Which can't be split—both long and broad,
So shall thy basis be—though long and loud,
The cannon's peal shall shatter freedom's ear,
Yet thou shalt stand as firm, and be as proud,
As thou hast ever been; and not a pearly tear
But shall be dried—because I love thee—thou art dear.

XVII.

They shall attack us, but a flindered rock
Their host shall be; and every bone shall sink
Beneath the Danube's wave; for, as an exiled flock,
Which lost its shepherd, on the fatal brink
Of death, so shall they be; but they shall think
Of Freedom, and with hearts full bent, shall say,
We fear them not;—and they shall downward sink,
By means sufficient—Oh! that fatal day!
When they shall wish to conquor, but they shall decay.

XVIII.

And, lo! the northern side the Danube rolls.
In her vast bosom and her dimpless cheek,
Shall they be hurled;—then brave and valiant Poles,
Be free;—a refuge by thy sword must seek.
Thy widow's howl, thy orphan's bursting shriek,
When lo! their host shall die! my God! my heart
Make strong—the humble proud;—the brave and meek
Shall tremble at the shadow of this dart;
But they shall fall by Sobieski's arm and dart.

XIX.

This city shall be fortified with strength,
By faithful few, and not by many strong;
Their blood shall sanguinize the Danube's length,
In midst of perfidy, remorse, and wrong!
And death shall sing the obloquy and song
Of that hard heart; and hell, and terrene shame,
Shall gnaw their bones: and it shall last as long
As human hearts shall feel the mighty flame,
Suggest the soul—brave men, revere Vienna's name!

XX.

'Tis I,—my aged arm—this John of fire
Shall rescue injured probity and love!
When that revengeful crew would seek my ire,
And I will beg a truce from God above—
The messenger shall come—as Hope's sweet dove!
And build her nest within brave Poland's heart—
It shall conjure the soul, where'er it roves,

To fight for freedom—snatch away the dart
That lies within the scabbard; for this grove
Shall soon reverberate and say how Poland strove.

XXI.

Behold the plain! the Vizier pitched his tent
Against the faithful few, who never trod
The martialled field; but soon, the dire lament
Was heard;—it woke the heavens—the throne of God.
For they were brought to welter on the fatal clod!—
The beauteous landscape of a brother's Isle—
Where hatred, blasphemy, must feel the rod,
With all vindiction's hate, who deign to smile;
And death shall bleach the twisted lip of heart-wrought guile.

XXII.

Lift up thy head—the arm of God is here!
Weep not, Vienna! for this outstretched arm,
Shall save a remnant—now wipe off the tear!
And this bright sword shall hush them like a charm;
Though perils inundate us with alarm,
Be strong of heart—they shall not strongly stand,
But thou shalt be delivered free of every harm;
By this good sword, and this strong hand,
And thou shall glory, my Vienna, in this land.

XXIII

Beat on my wall, thou unfraternal guest—
The rampart which fair freedom built—in days
Now passed and gone, shall firmly stand the test!
Midst all thy tyranny and wretched ways—
My God! shall I be buckled down by stays
Of cowardice, and to the hostile hoof of foes,
Be made a dog?—Send me freedom's rays
From heaven! absolve me of my woes!
While death's foul deluge o'er Mustapha flows.

XXIV.

My bulwark shall return thy hail and rain,
And thou mayest boast, but my strong arm shall save
A remnant of this people—they may feel pain,
But they shall be delivered from the grave!

They shall bow down! the valiant and the brave
Shall stand the contest—they shall fall and die!
While cautiousness shall flee poor Turkey's knave,
For many a wound shall bleed, and many a sigh
Shall wander through this plain—upon my word rely.

XXV.

The cannons of their death, with open mouth,
Shall howl the watchword in the dead of night;
While this strong arm shall mete the fartherest south,
And crush contention with a matchless might;
They shall not stand! before this monstrous blight,
Shall fall the ramping steed—the fatal stroke
Shall mar, and set at naught their tutored might,
And from their vitals shall arise a smoke,
And those who do not fall, it shall in life provoke.

XXVI.

Come on, my Sobeiski—come again!
Oh! come my champion, with thy mighty arm!
Behold! Vienna reeks in wretched pain!
She bleeds, she dies—is lost in vast alarm!
Though much awaits, of winds, and rain, and storm,
Be thou my shield and succor; do come forth!
Shall I thus bleed? shall Turkey's feudal worm
Begnaw my rose, and thus abuse my worth?
Reach forth thy hand—sustain us—do come forth!

XXVII.

My orphans weep—my aged fathers mourn!
Shall she be made a wilderness of death?
Emancipate us—make freedoms bourne;
And breathe into her nostrils the pure breath
Of life and love—shall they thus sigh and mourn?
By indignation and by wrath—they groan!
From out the womb which brought them forth,
Their freedom came; they are as nature made
Them, free—their spirit breathes a worth, that n'er shall fade.

XXVIII.

The free man that is from his country torn,
Can realize this trying day of earth;

The soldier who awoke, as freedom's born,
Can realize its magnitude and worth.
When all his sympathies bid him go forth,
To rescue dying freedom—bleeding, lost!
Which animated e'en the frozen north,
And urged them, in their spirit, ever boast
Of glory, honor, liberty—while earth,
In all her borders shall proclaim her mighty worth.

XXIX.

Though old and beaten by the rain of years—
Yet my strong arm shall mete the direful plain;
And on my soul's own tablet, shall the tears
Of fair Vienna be inscribed; for such a pain
Shall be consoled with freedom's glorious gain;
While the bright glary of her deeds shall shine
Beyond the portals of eternal shame;
Bereft of impudence, or obliquy, or crime,
And never shall such vassalage return in time.

XXX.

And thou, Lorain, on Leopolstat's Isle,
Shall pay the duty which thou owest here;
Though few, they shall be faithful, nor beguile
The trust reposed in thee—a freeman's tear
Shall trickle down the sullied cheek, the fear
Of death shall give a conscious flow, to soul
Of human sympathy—be thou sincere!
My vows are graven on my heart—enroll
This tide of human love—now written on this Pole.

XXXI.

Oh, Leopolstat! such a site as thine,
Must overflow the soul with tides of thought;
For thou art beautiful—and thou, my shrine—
The only guredon that my soul has sought—
With gorgeous dyes, from nature's fount, so fraught,
Transports me with a lore of heart-felt love—
My God! behold what my old soul has caught
From thy own pencil—thy heavenly court above,
Shall bear me record—on the pinions of a dove.

XXXII.

My own soul's world! the apex of thy hill,
Will give me light—not many days to come,
The prophecy which I have spoken—to fulfill—
Is stamped with nature's blood upon my throne—
The mountain of my heart—the vast Olympic dome.
Oh! mortal thought—the day shall come, when I
Shall see the spire of freedom on thy top—
It is the truth—upon my word rely.
Thy growth, vindiction's frost shall surely lop—
But freedom's spring shall bring an everlasting crop.

XXXIII.

My passport shall be free—and now, I go!
The Tulnic bridge shall bear my army o'er;
Arise my freemen! reap thy joys or wo—
For thou shalt meet the Turks on Danube's shore—
Arise! my God! see thou, my army o'er—
To waft the billow of contention's sea!
Make strong my heart, imprint it to the core!
The day has come—my enemies shall see—
That this is something like a vast eternity.

XXXIV.

Behold—I hear the roar—the cannon's peal—
But we shall conquer—stand aloof my men!
Vienna shall be thine! and thou shalt feel
The sympathies of glory on this plain—
Oh! abdicate his throne—seek soul, and rise
Superior to his might—root out his deeds
Of villany—and soar beyond the skies!
With freedom's chaplet scatter deadly weeds
Amidst the wheat of all his life—his heart shall bleed.

XXXV.

Though earth's vicisitudes shall here annoy!
And heart-felt sickness wear my army down;
Yet, strike thy bosom—recollect, my boys,
That glory is the chaplet—life's the crown—
It waves on high—it shall in truth come down,
And close the mouth of death's unfeeling grave;

For on thy borders stands the soul's renown,
Which thou shalt reap; and thou shalt save
A remnant—as a prototype of Poland's brave.

XXXVI.

Hail, Callemburg! thou supernatural mount,
The last, sole ridge which intercepts my view—
'Tis now I see my object—the great fount—
Be brave my freemen—to your trust be true—
It is for freedom—'tis for peace I sue.
Behold the army!—everlasting sight!
They are pervading every hill and crew—
With steeds and armory divinely bright—
Beholding victory in the mirror of their might.

XXXVII.

Boundlessly dreadful! unexampled sight!
What vast, magnificent, and stirring crowds!
Their view resembling scenes of sweet delight;
And from their rampant hoofs behold the clouds!
Behold the flag!—but it shall surely shroud
Them—death's loud thunders peal and roar
Around their savage hearts—this mighty sword
Shall scar them, while the rains of heaven pour
Upon their guilty heads—when they shall rise no more

XXXVIII.

Behold this ghastly sight! shall we arise?
A multitude like to Hammanah's vale!
Where kings and riders fell with cursed eyes!
With death's light glaring, trembling, wan and pale
When thrones and mighty men did fail
To conquer; and the mighty steeds fell down
In one convulsive struggle, tail to tail—
Fell lifeless—blood turned purple every crown,—
And all created things retorted with a frown.

XXXIX.

Oh, proud Mustapha!—fly—beware of death!
Or by this manly arm, thy heart shall break!
Arise and go—escape—my sword I sheath
Once more—behold it!—thy own life's at stake

I give thee warning—'tis for freedom's sake
I stand—I firmly stand for thee, thou shalt
Be cast down; and thou shalt be awake,
When this good sword shall hew thee small;
And, now the hilt I hold,—when thou shalt surely fall!

XL.

Confusion, death and terror, hail and rain!
Now inundates Vienna's fruitful plain,—
Mark my soul's words! for they now give me pain—
I vent them—but they ne'er shall speak again.
We meet—and Moslem's angry sword now rain
His terrors on my head—I firmly led—
My midday sun arose—their force was vain!
While heaven vouchsafed strength—they bled!
And all their host lies numbered with the cursed dead.

XLI.

The archway swam in smoke and gloom!
The clouds were clouds of ghastly hue; this charm
I breathed—a freedom which shall ne'er consume—
My arm protected them from every harm.
Hear me, heaven! Sobieski's outstretched arm
Was faithful to his trust—my name was call'd—
I answer'd in a freeman's tone; and in a calm
And cunning spell, I did this host enthrall
And saved my honest people from a mighty fall.

XLII.

Hail, brave Vienna! that foul gap was made,
But freedom shall return within the same;
My sword shall shine, and on the burnish'd blade,
In golden characters, I'll grave thy name—
Thy strength shall stand—thou art the same,
Now glory in the triumph, void of guile;
While this old heart, shall light the youthful flame,
And raise the glow of freedom to a smile;
And every freeman's heart shall beat, devoid of guile.

XLIII.

Hail, strong Vienna!—boast of freedom's sire,
Beneath the blessings of the living God!

Kindle the flame—thy heart and soul's desire;
For thou shalt fall no more—by Moslem's rod.
Farewell, Mustapha! groan beneath the clod,
While this Vienna shall ascend the throne—
We claim our glory—hear the truth—my God!
Nor shall her heart repine, or sigh, or groan,
But she shall be brave Poland's monumental stone.

THE LAMENT OF YOUTH.

“It is no marvel—from my very birth,
My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade
And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth.”
“Have I not had my brain scared, my heart riven,
Hopes sapp'd—name blighted, life's life lied away?”
Byron.

CANTO FIRST.

I.

In this frail world, where man must live and die!
Which I have occupied one score of years—
There are but few, on whom we may rely,
And these poor, faithless few exposed to tears.
My God! this thought blot from my burning brain!
My heart! this heart once claimed uncommon glee,
But, lo! upon my cheek, was seen a stain—
The rainbow of a strife! Shall I be free?
It was the offspring of an unkind wife!
'Twas what I claimed as mine, in days of youth—
She filled my bosom with this monstrous strife;
And made asperities where paths were smooth.
My soul drank draughts from Hesper's lovely star,
And prophecied new coming days of joy—
But, lo! my heart can show a callous scar,
Which bled in tears, when I was mother's boy.
My moral deeds stood firm—the test of time—
My childhood splendor gave me no great vent
To revelry—but in disguise, in friendships clime,

There came an adder and my bosom rent!
Upon my cheek was seen a virgin smile,—
I was of kindest parents born and raised,
But irony and grief came clothed in guile,
And sapp'd me, when my friends, my virtues praised.
That social test, the cordial boon of heaven,
Surcharged my eyelid, till it burst a tear!
My God! 'twas then my bark was rudely driven,
Far from its port!—Oh! when shall it appear?
Mankind was treated kind enough by me,
Like a Samaritan I fed the poor;
E'en in misery! and, at my father's knee,
I condescended, and did him implore.
And like the faithfulness in Noah's dove,
I sought the olive—but forlorn I stood,—
When in meridian of my day of love,—
And fell a wreck in sorrow's raging flood.
I was a youth of temperance and love,
And gloried in the mandates of the truth—
Hear me, my God! for thou art throned above
To bear me record—make my pillow smooth.
I gloried in the sight of friendship's boon,
With steadfast attitude, upon her face
I gazed; but there were foes, which came too soon,
And stole my guerdon—left her in disgrace.
'Twas in feigned kindness I was thus deceived,
Which made this sorrow glow upon my face—
For I was but a pilgrim, and believed
Mankind were true, but I have learned my race—
My offering was sincere—I gave my heart!
A greater than the Paschal lamb of old,
She triumphed in the gift—it was a part
Of what I had—but soon the treasure sold—
I bore this with impunity—I bore her dart—
And revelled in the thrill of buoyant life;
Nor did I think that I had sold that part
Of human love, for this poor stipend—strife!
Here are my tears! here are my youthful teras!
A heap of ruin! how shall I see that face—

My own maternal sky—the soother of my fears?
I weep! thank God, a tear is no disgrace.

II.

Long have I worn the load of human woe!
My brow—my cheek can speak of endless grief.
If this be false, my heart alone can know,
By this alone—that nought can give relief.
I knew not what it was to suffer pain—
I left no work undone which God required;
And would entreat remission from again,
To rid my brother of distress—this I desired.
That which I saw was for the good of man,
My heart did inculcate it as a good—
This was that ocean where my river ran.
The Arnon of my soul laved where I stood!
I saw a cloud put out my hopes one day,
And like a bark cast on an angry tide,
Whose wrecking strength I could not beat away—
So did this rain dash o'er my youthful side.
Hear me heaven! for these are words of truth!
This is that patrimony which I pay
To thee! I spent the rest in blasted youth—
Yes, my soul's fires then blew the rest away.
I was a child of love, and played as one,
In all my youthful glee—my soul eat food
At her own banquet; yea, and as her son,
My heart received their sunbeams—it was good!
I had a social kindness, which shall last
Till this poor earth shall dwindle into death!
I saw what seemed a prospect—but that's past!
I breathed that vital air of inward faith,
Which none has had experience of, but man—
Poor, mortal man! and still, I falter not—here
Is my hope—within my breast—and I can
Boast of this—and, from this, proceeds the tear.

III.

My God! how often have my parents wept—
Not for a prodigality of mine;
I was no alien—save from sin;—I left

Them not—save when there grew a special time.
They loved me, and I lov'd them all,
Beyond the reach of words,—why should I sigh?
Why should I thus complain? both great and small,
Have an appointed time to weep and die.
But I was born upon a day of heartfelt joy,
Nor, did the heavens pourtray aught but life
And love; was I nurtured as a conscious boy?
In all, save revelry—I paid no debt of strife.
I knew mankind by nought, but by a smile,
And I presumed all men of honest heart;
But in a later day, I see a guile,
Invested in the countenance and heart;
They nurture it, they hold it out in pride—
They mock the man, who dares to shun the dart,
That would impierce him in the trusted side,
And take possession of his harmless heart.
This I have seen, till I am weary to the soul!
Yet, man doth me abhor—hear me, truth!
For I have laid my hands on thee, to roll
My numbers down that stream, I sailed in youth;
And it was strange—it was an ugly sight—
That I should be exposed to such a frost!
For, like the morning sun, rose beaming bright,
A cloud eclipsed my beams,—my rays were lost!
Be not surprised—nor question what I say—
For my young heart can show a mighty scar!
Purporting what I felt—and that bright ray
Came from my childhood's brightest star—
But man must suffer; and if God has said
That all mankind has an appointed pain,
Let mine now pass—'tis come—'tis gone—'tis dead!
It has refined me—nor, let it come again.

IV.

Have I not felt the canker eat my heart?
Has not my soul complained in midst of pain?
Have I not been a blight, and felt the dart
Impierce, and wound me o'er and o'er again?
Hear me, my native land—give ear my earth!

Have I not stood the shock that would have dashed
Mankind beside, to death! and yet I stood.
Has not my heart, in filial love, been smashed
By hell's foul thunder; and the good
I would have shown—my heart has kept
Within?—hear, my parents—for thou, alone,
Can testimony bear—have I not wept—
And have my tears not laved my native home,
With rivers of such grief, as would have dried
The fountain head of life, in many men?
But still, my heart is rife with rheum—the day
May come, not far away—I humbly hope, when
This young cheek shall have it wiped away.
I do desire it, and my deeds shall bear
Me record of the truth—has man been true?
Have those, who have been vile to swear
My life away—which they have wished to do,
Can they, I say, bring aught to bear
Against me, and sustain it—hear truth!—my
Heart is strong—hear human evidence—no;
They are silent—their cupidity must die!
As they have done; and none believe it so!

V.

I got drunk in all the fibres of my heart—
My soul was gorged with a bright light,
From every human being; man is a part
Of God—the symbol of that glorious light,
Which lives beyond the sun or moon—and I
Was wedded in my soul to nature; when first
I saw creation's light—when first mine eye
Beheld the sunbeams thus intrude, I burst
Into this intellectual love—my nails—
My very feet and hands became enamoured
Of the world—my nature made me what I
Am, and what I am, I glory in—this
Was my evidence, the day I breathed a sigh
From out my mother's womb. There is a bliss
Beyond mortality, and my young thought
Did grapple at its utmost reach; I saw

A port—the star-light of pure love, which wrought
In me a fixedness, which made me draw
My star-beam from a source, which mortal man did
Hate me for—yet, I was firm—I love their
Scoffs—the growling envy of the heart hid
My perplexities, with joy—the old scar
Which their asperities have made—is here—
They can be seen—they are depicted on
My withered cheek; but in my bosom's sire,
There is a pearl—a precious gift, which none
But God, the giver, can expunge; the fire
Which first awoke me, what I am—so pure,
That alienated earth cannot deface me;
And this vile molestation may secure
Their venom—my basis is eternity!
And I will firmly stand—I can endure.

VI.

Hear me, my God! for now, I speak the truth!
My very life and soul was sated with the dew
From that great sea of fire, which my sweet youth
Did glory in; until I upward grew,
To what you see me—pure and spotless;—here
Is my chaplet—if I have done my all—
If I have gained the chaplet—this bright tear
Is all the offering that I have;—although 'tis small,
Yet, on the altar of my life it e'er shall burn—
It is that incense, yea, the very dew
Which shall consign me, when my soul returns
To God—this tear has been the badge of few;
Still I admire it, and my heart can revel
In the glorious glow, which it can never
Feel again, from any source besides; I level
Not myself with puny ire; but I sever
From debauchery, as the dictates of my soul;
For on my heart's own tablet is inscribed
The assignations of a monstrous grief!
And still, an unsurveyed beatitude awaits
My sublunary life. I have laid up in store,
A vast inheritance—I felt it at my birth,

And now, at manhood's dawn, I feel it more,
Because I realize the buffetings of earth;
And lead my army with a greater skill,
Than when I was a youth—I then was pure—
I am not guilty now, but I remain so still;
But I have many sorrows to endure;
And why I feel the writhings of regret,
Is more than mortal tongue can tell; but I
Have powers in my being to express, and set
My pedigree of heart and soul, to vie
With human nature; I have that within
Me, which shall last till time has laid me low!
I have that spark within my soul, which shall
Be seen when I shall not exist; it is a wo—
Endured in all the vast extremity of thrall
And sympathy; for I have a whole sole
Development, which naught can disannul—
It is a thought conducted to a height, above
The mediocrity of little things!
It is the cement of the soul—the heart's own dove
The pure obsequiousness which springs
From that great reservoir of good, the love
Of heaven—it is an aspiration which shall
Lift me up to heaven; I have nurtured it
In storms and tempests; and that's not all,
I have sustained it in the vertex of regret.
When hope was most forlorn—this very eye
Which beams with that unearthly fire, can tell
What gnaws within—is there a canker? sigh
My heart, and show it—give one human swell—
A dilation from the soul, which ne'er shall die.
That great, unfettered flow of human feeling,
Which I cannot suppress—that man might see,
What worm begnaws—that vital core concealing
All its vile, consumptive bane, till I be
Bound by domination's cords, and brought to
Death's great pass—the vale for human beauty
To be tried—the chilling fire, which, shall so
Consign us, that the soul, in duty,

Shall resign itself—a retribution which
Shall bring us that great thought of time and life,
For an untired meditation; and enrich
Us with a legacy, so void of strife,
That the most thrilling theme of this great flame,
Will be an eulogy beyond content—
Throughtout eternity to be the same—
Not like to earth, mixed with a soul's lament.

VII.

Have I not bourn this?—hear my pleadings, heaven!
Have I not waded through the avenues of life?
Have I not been through earth's vile furnace driven—
And have I not supported under loads of strife?
Yes, I have—e'en from the very day I breathed,
In conscious life, and grew to be a boy,—
E'en from the very moment when I wreathed—
And in contortion, sucked the air of joy
In my lungs—the morn I claimed existence;
For I was born, as seemed, a weeping child;
And I was born, to bear, and my resistance,
Should be from the bottom of my soul! I smiled—
But, it was but an outlet for the many pangs
Which soon pursued! it did canal my heart!
And through that avenue, my anchor hangs,
When I should be at rest; for it was envy's dart
That did o'ertake me in my morn of life;
And I have warred with foes without a heart—
Without a soul; and more than all, I
Have a triumph over them, which shall be
My soul's own guerdon, when I come to die!
It shall be so; and they shall set me free!
For what I say, my heart and soul can see
Reflected from the mirror of their evil deeds—
My recompence shall be as thou would'st—free;
And in their most spontaneous growth, weeds,
Of poisonous kind, shall intersperse its bane,
And be a torment, which shall last so long,
That passers by, shall weep, and not regain
The loathsome sight—for their own wrong

They shall be brought to suffer—hear me, my God!
My youth has suffered by the fiends of hell!
And it was done upon my native sod,
Where all the parents of my youth now dwell.
If it is right, I will no more complain,
If it is wrong, it is as I believe;
'Tis in my sympathies I suffer pain!
My soul's sensorium, where in I bereave—
But that vile day is past—that briny rain
Which came from out the ocean of my soul,
Where terminated all my finer thoughts of pain,
Has almost reached its height—my soul's control
Has had some influence—nor rise again.

VIII.

There is that within me which shall last, till
Time's transitions shall be past and gone! I
Have it written on my heart, nor can I sell
This patrimony for a baser lore! my
Soul must fire my heart, and raise me up, far
From that immortality which grovels
In the dust, and shines like an eclipsed star!
Be thou my shield!—for I am not a marvel!
My soul first eat the sunbeam of her love,
When I was but a boy; and ever since
Have I been fettered with that power from above.
Though I am dust, yet will I make my own
Election, and abstain from littleness—here
Am I! what you see me now, I am alone—
In sight of man—abroad—here is a tear!
The greatest guerdon that my soul has
Ever sought—it is a precious thing—my
Soul doth reverence this, as love—but alas!
Should I expound this last—you may rely—
Though costly—though it cost me pain—I love
It, and I have a habit—a kind spark—
I have a mode—which I cannot—I have not drove—
As I am weeping to retrieve my heart—
From that vast sympathetic load, which came
Upon me, when I was a boy. It is

A cruel recompence! yet, I have felt
It not for the great prisal of the thing,
Which I have lost—hear me heaven! this guilt
Has not been on me; for I can dig far
Brighter diamonds from the mine of earth. I
Could resort to that Ægeræ of my soul,
And from Castalia could I drink my
Potion, with a soul enlivening thrill. Roll
On, thou billow, for the calm which nurtures
Me, amidst my rudest shock, will smooth
The dimpled cheek of this vast sea—virtue
Has set her seal upon me; and it shall sooth
The last expiring torture which may burn.

IX.

Have I not been a mock for hell and all
Her clan? have I not had my bosom torn?
Did I then falter? and, did I then fall?
Was I a wreck of love, as soon as born?
Did I not have the heart-string which first bound
Me to the world, cut loose from all its ties?
Hear me, my God! did I not then control
The interdictor of my love—she dies!
Oh, my Angeline! answer for my soul,
For thou wast that bright spark which shone with love—
And thou could'st expungate it, of its guile,
Had I descended from my lofty height above,
To grapple at such finitude; and shall I smile
At such an aspiration? I have not
Sought my refuge in the frantic song—I
Have not, in my human wo, been seen where
Hell would weep to look! no; till I come to die,
Will I be such a slave, not till I rot,
Will I be made to bow beneath the yoke
Of that cupidity; which wallows in the lot
Of poor subordination! though they provoke
Me, it shall be that emulative spark,
Which shall dilate my soul, and raise my heart's
Priority above this puny dart.

X.

But thou, my Angeline! hast been the star
Which made me wonder with thy light—
The wilderness has been my home—afar
From that pure home—where I arose a blight,
To weep! but I must bear it; I can do
It, with that whole-soul firmness of a man,
Which I now claim; then let this shadow flit
Before mine eyes—my heart is firm, where ran
The Amazon of grief! 'tis palpable—'tis strong—
And where is there a foe to make me wrong.
Oh, Angeline! my Angeline! whence comes
This pleasing thought, beclouded with a tear!
Where is my native land, my native home?—
The time, the place, where I beheld thee, dear!
Is not this the cause of such a weight? hear,
My love—is this not the great fount, from whence
My current runs! behold this briny tear!
And be my seraph, my own soul's defence.
Can'st thou remember, on that morn, I rose
And paid that debt of love which broke my heart!
My soul can bear me testimony. Close
The gap—my boyhood suffered much—we part!
But we shall never meet again! I go—
Perhaps, afar—but [illeg.] recollect—like
Juno's dove, transport a rapture for my woe!
And give me that which I do not dislike.

XI.

The kisses my mother gave me, was not
Like that sweet nectar, which thou did'st implant
Within my life: no, it shall be forgot—
Not while I live; it may be when I plant
My scion in the mouldering urn, where lies
The last remaining monument of love;
But it shall sprout when I am gone! when I
Am lost to earth's pure light, there shall arise
Within the compass of my soul's bright eye,
A gorgeous landscape of unfading dies:
It shall illumine when I might sink in gloom;

The pure, ennobling fire of God, which burns
Within my bosom! for there shall be room
For such a magnitude of bliss! return,
Oh! Angeline, return! but why should I
Expect that which shall never be—farewell!
And where is human speech? the dialect
Of heaven—to expound this word—farewell!
Oh! Angeline, would to God that thou could'st
Know, what rivers flow from out the ocean
Of my troubled soul! I know that thou woulds't
Give me what I ask—my God! devotion
Has quite killed me; not many days, gone by,
Thou wast the only starlight to my soul!
Oh! where is Dante's vast prophetic eye?
And where is poor Alferi's bones—roll
On, ye waves of trouble—roll! I do rely
Upon thy precepts! it has taught my heart
A lesson which it never shall forget!
Oh! thou, Beatrice of my life! we part!
But I would love thee still! I owe no debt—
I have disbarred my heart! 'tis all that I
Can do! but such a tribute, I forgot
In part, but thy sweet name shall never die.

XII.

Oh, Angeline! thou wast to me, a boon—
A precious boon indeed! the very light
By which I made created things more bright!
Shall we part? and I have said, farewell! night's
Sable gloom, now lowers o'er my future
Years! they are an execration to my
Weal! shall I forbid thy sight, oh! nurture
That poor, transient spark, which glimmers round thy
Heart—for it has much to show! it grows more
Callous every day! it is the cause—my
Sighs proceed from such an honest heart, I
Do behold my sorrow there—it is not
For the loss, I grieve! it is that such a dye
Was ever cast! my God! did I not lift my
Thoughts above misfortune? did I not raise my

Soul above that adverse vale of woe? did
I not reach my aspirations forth? I
Did! hear me, truth, in all my grief! forbid
It heaven! that I should thus become a dupe! my
Sorrows measure in their magnitude, just
In proportion to the height I rose from
Earth. I feel the load surround my heart! dust
As I am, I could not feel what I have
Felt, had I not prophecied that glory
Which, with open arms, now save me from the grave—
And for this very trial I am sorry!

XIII.

So let it be; but there was that within,
Which strengthened me, when my young bosom heaved
A sigh or groan! it was, in truth, a sin,
That I should suffer thus, I once was young—bereaved
My loss—it is not in truth, the loss—but this,
That it had ever happened—so let it be!
There is a glorious magnitude of bliss,
Which I shall never waste—my eyes shall see
What they have never seen; and, for this loss,
I am indebted for that legacy—I own
The knowledge of mankind—the mighty cross
Which rends the heart—disturbs the soul—the lone,
Pure testimony of a feeling child!
I must refund adversity the prize
She made me win, for I have often smiled
Since that; and when my cheek was scared, my eyes
Did sparkle with the fire of joy, to think
I knew the value of a tear! though I was shivered
By the perturbed winds of envy, the brink
Has never boasted of my fall. I am delivered!
And I glory in redemption, which I knew
Not of, before—my God! take such wild things
From my mind's eye! it drains my heart's own dew—
From out my bosom, this pure fountain springs—
The asylum of all my nicer ties
Of truth,—it is as pure as love—farewell!
The mountains of the heart—within the scales

Of heaven—could not ponder such a load! well,
Let it weigh—for when I left my house, I
Knew its gravity!—within the compass
Of my eye, there was a mist, which my
Untramelled thought shall ne'er forget! alas!
There was a heaviness—my God! what was
I, on that day? I had no comforter!
My mother loved me; and my do[illeg.]ll friends did
Kiss me oft, but there was something greater
Than all this, within; and when I looked, I
Saw the big blue tear, surround my eye, ah!
What a thought it is!—no marvel—rely
Upon my word; for my young breast felt then,
What it shall never, feel again! my eye
Was overwhelmed with gloom—the chaos which
Suffused my vision, stole upon me, when
My will was as the grain of sand; a stitch
Was taken in the wound, and my young heart
With love's first, pure intention, has been rich,
And healed with double energy;—I part!
But I shall never see thy face again.
Though it may rain me calumny and grief!
I am determined, and no love can feign
Itself, that I can be deceived; my soul's relief
Is found; and my mind's eye shall not loose sight
Of that free star of glory, where my love
Shall be exalted o'er the canopy
Of heaven; the principle came from above—
The herald of life's self;—it e'er shall be
With me, immortal;—then, fare thee well!
My Angeline, farewell! the hand that thou
Didst shake in youthful days, shall tremble far
From thee; but unto thee, I pay this vow!
And heaven has borne record of the same; where
I shall go, thou ne'er shalt come—farewell!
Thou hast deceived me, I have wept!
But now, I wipe my tears; and what I tell
Thee, is graven with an iron pen; bereft
Of thee, is cruel! thou hast treated me

Amiss—farewell! through all eternity.

XIV.

My God! shall I repress my youthful sighs?—
I left my home! my mother wept and mourned!
But I was not a prodigal—my eyes
Behold strange aspects: my thoughts returned
And travelled in the regions of the sky!
But, Oh, my heart! I wept in bitterness!
And I shall ne'er forget that limpid stream,
Which trickled down that vale, when sickness
Curled my brow! Oh! what a thought; 'tis no dream!
Far from the sight of mortal man, I poured
My bitterness—it was a beauteous stream; and God
Had spared no pains in nature, to afford
Creation's children pleasure in the sight.
It was a stream, far from my native sod;
And when I think of it, it is delight
Seen through the vale of dried up tears,—
Within the wilderness of execrated years.

CANTO SECOND.

“From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy,
Have I not seen what human things could do?”
[OMITTED]
“Among the mightier offerings, here are mine—
—Ruins of years!”—
Byron.

I.

'Twas in an ultramontane sphere I lived,
And warred with tempests, which had killed mankind
Of stoutest heart;—yet, I this grief survived;
And left my infant jewel far behind.
And not until this hand shall wither, shall
I e'er forget the day, the time, the hour,

The season, creed and time, when I thus fell!
Yet, this billow did not yet shown the breath
Of all my flock; there was a lamb which I
Behold afar, and from the wilderness of death,
I brought it, and with an outpouring
Soul; I breathed in recompense, my breath;
And on the altar of my love, an offering
Made—and here I am; what I was then, I
Boast of, now; pure!—ineffable has been
My love! my heart shall foster, till I die!
What I have held so precious—'tis no sin.
I was an exile by my will, and not for crime!
But I was pedigal of love; and at my home,
Fell many a heart-felt sigh forced out the brine
Of blighted infancy—the tear alone,
Was test enough—I was a wanderer! I
Returned; and in the hall, the very home
I had been reared, I saw that being which
Had loved me from my infancy: alone
She stood, and gazed; and she had seen
Afar, till things beside her, were not
Visible; I was not what I had been!
But I was pure, and loved, and sighed; forgot
No vow I made; and kept whate'er I made
In after days: and I beheld her, but she saw
Me not—until I came within her rench;
But she had felt the superflux of woe!
Until it had become a nutriment.
She did embrace me—not an abrupt breach—
In feeble gratitude, she did lament!
But I soon soothed her sighs with pleasing smiles;
Yet, they were smiles like hectic flush—they fade
As fast as they appear. It was no guile—
It was the pure affection of the soul—
With which this very day, my bosom rolls.
That very thing for which my life was made;
And from the light of heaven never fades.

II.

I saw the children which received the same

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Regard, embrace me with the principle
Of soul and sense—I loved them too—my name
Did bear me record of my love—I had the dimple
On my cheek, which they had seen before. I
Was no more a wanderer. For years, I grew
In faith, in strength of heart and soul—rely
Upon my vows—Oh, Angeline! so few
Have seen and felt, what I have felt and feel—
But it is right—it is as it should be!
My God! nor let me ever this conceal,
Throughout my soul's untired eternity.
Though perils inundate me, yet, I am
The same at heart—pure—unburlesqued in soul
And sense—my God! shall I implore thy calm
And ardent love? Oh, Angeline! I will enroll
Thy name—I will protect thy name!—my heart
Is excavated with the deepest wound,
Which thou hast ever given me! again, we part!
For thou art gone,—I have returned, but round
My heart, thy former light doth shine; my heart
Is now grown old in pain; and I do not regret
So much thy absence; the day has surely come.
The day, the time, the hour we parted—met—
Shall be forever new—again, I leave my home!
I had within my bosom, ire—not guile,
And a few drops of pure felicity;
Which kept within, a constant war; the smile
Which rose upon my cheek, all men might see;
But it was a pavillion which does not
Obstruct the light—there was a war within—
A constant struggle, intellect forgot,
And indignation sat as umpire—here
Is a sample—this pale cheek of youthful fire,
Can tell it has been quenched by sorrow's tear.

III.

I met with all the ills that man could bear,
And felt the rudeness of the shock of fate;
But I forget apostacy with this pure tear,
While in the wilderness I roam—too late!

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There is a time, and that not far along,
When friendship of my home shall shed her dew
Upon my head—misfortunes, and the wrong
Committed, shall be changed; and all the crew
Which hell has summoned to array their ire
Against me, shall be brought to weep! 'tis so!
Then sorrows obsequious shall shine afar.
My soul, though hardened in the fate of woe!
Shall triumph o'er adversity—that star
Of childhood which arose, shall then appear,
And pilot me to bliss and endless weal;
For, what I garner from the world, I strew
Them as I found them—in the dust! I feel
That they are tares and thorns, which cause the dew
To overflow my cheeks, and strangle all
My terrene glory—my God! has not all
My life been faithful to my trust? have I
Not sacraficed health, peace and friendship? I call
Upon Jehovah to attest my soul—
To be what I am now—pure! for I cry
To thee alone, and will, untill I die.

IV.

But I have gone! and as my mother would
Her children love, and chain them to her breast;
And as a hen would wing her little brood,
And set them safe beneath her own, to rest—
My God! be thou my shield, that I may love
Thee in the midst of youth—in midst of glee;
And bear me record in thy court above,
Because I was no prodigal from thee.
Oh, Angeline! shall I forget thy name?
But thou hast been the cause of this great grief!
Am I guilty of unkindness? oh! blame
Me not; for in thy arms I seek relief!
But it has been my lot to mourn and sigh!
Not as an exile on the dark blue sea—
And thou, my Angeline! might here rely
Upon my heart—though severed from my free—
My native land! yet, I have still a spark

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Of genuine feeling; but I ne'er shall see
Thy face! therefore, my day is but a dark
Horizon! and the Iris of my joy,
Lost amidst the gloom, which now awaits
My soul! where is my sun!—a darling boy—
Now changed for sorrow's child! and in my breast
A multitude of ills, warring with life
And love; but it is vain to sigh! my rest
Shall be upon the pillow of regret! my strife
Shall yield the victory to the fire of my
Life; and, it there shall rest, untill I die.
My God! have I not met misfortune's shock,
Which broke the fountain head of youthful joy;
And ran my bark upon an adverse rock,
When I was but my mother's darling boy?

V.

This was my thought—I gloried in a wife,
To sooth the polish of my infant years;
But in the wilderness of pain and strife,
She led me, full of sorrows, doubts and fears!
When first her shadow darkened my young heart,
From out the ocean of my soul, a river flowed—
Oh Angeline! I thought it death to part
From one, whose very essence overflowed
With life and love; and as I once loved thee,
In all thy ways, just so I suffer! oh,
My idol! from thy sight—I go—with me,
Thou wast a seraph—pure—it must be so.
There came a whistling wind—a dashing rain,
And wrecked me on the coast of dire despair!
Which I do hope may never come again,
For I have ceased my pilgrimage—my fair.
Well, Angeline! it is my lot to weep!
But I will never murmur—when I feel
What others often feel; but not so deep
In wound as I—but I will not conceal
One trouble which I ought to pay, but weep!
If I have tears to shed, which must be spilt,
Why need I not suspect it is for good;

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They may be tears—and not the rheum of guilt,
Which I should loose, e'en in a happy mood.

VI.

Farewell! but let thy lisping of my name
Remain unheard—I know you love me, dear!
Upon such virtue, I, in truth, complain!
But I will keep it precious—as this tear.
Such hours of happy thought I call not mine—
They'r interdicted by misfortune's blasts!
Why should I weep, but for that heinous crime,
Thy friends did perpetrate—but that is past!
Oh, Angeline! so precious to my heart,
Is thy sweet voice and name—be silent now;
For we must suffer what it is to part—
The sordid bitterness of pain and wo!—
But what is worse, thou can'st not with me go.
My God! those hillocks, glens and silent groves—
And that remorseless crew—where are they gone?
Shall I be bound—where is my youthful love?
'Tis past and gone—this day I weep alone.

VII.

Had I a hermitage in David's cave,
And Pan's Arcadian lute to sing my wo!
My soul could freely reach the throne above,
And the beatitude of heaven know.
Had I a wilderness where I could roam,
Free and untramelled as the winds of heaven,
I'd make that sequestration my own home,
And heal this callous heart, now rudely riven.
Where is my patrimony? where, my lore?
Where is my legacy of terrene weal!
Where is that native land—my native shore?
For which I weep—for which I often feel!
They are afar! I am alone, and far away!
But there is yet, a lasting thrill within
Me, which shall never tire! it is a ray
Which shall continue still to shine; for, in
My bosom there are many kinds of feeling—
And all pertaining to uproot my grief!

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The shadow of this heart-felt strife, rolling
Around the almost smothered embers—here
Is that ray—that nightless light, which glory
Cannot emblem—the very essence of my tear!
The flinty rock, upon the which, my hoary
Monument is built; and it shall stand like
Wisdom's house, amidst the wind and rains
Of heaven—until the venom'd tongue shall strike
Against me—unmolested I remain!
Oh, Angeline! I would to God I could
Entice a tear from that bright eye, to tell—
Whose origin is God—my love, I would
Invoke this symbol, not—'tis done—farewell!

VIII.

Yes, there is that within me, which shall glow
When life's poor candle shall exhaust itself
In zephyr of unconscious death—I know
My heart has triumphed over guile—myself,
Am what I seem to be. Earth has her cares!—
Man has his days—they come—they go—he dies!
And all his victory, in such mighty wars,
Is truth and love—which lifts him o'er the skies.
And what is man? the love of God—the love
Of Him, who holds the mountains in his hands—
Who has his mansion and his court above—
Unshaken, matchless, wreckless, in unburlesqued lands.
The acme of that spirit, which resides
Beyond mortality—the glory, love,
And light of him, whose station here divides
Creation into life and death—above
Created things besides—the star—the morn
Of God's intelligence—the cloudless light
Of his divinity—and the first born
Of heaven—the greatest proof of man's delight
Which grew from his great birth! the great
Developement of his authoritative power,
Which reigns triumphant and has sate
As umpire of the world, since that great hour,
When the mighty heavens rolled her vows throughout

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Revolving blessedness, and swore the day
That chaos breathed an earth-born light,
And sat Jehovah's sun on gnomon time
To point eternal love, that all was right—
His will be done, and it shall e'er be mine.

IX.

This is my badge—I will sustain it, till
This feeble hand shall tremble at the gate
Of death!—it is beyond the human will,
To blot it from my soul. It was too late,
That such a being as I am, evoked a joy,
Such as doth inspire all created souls,
To be, what I, in truth, have been—a boy
Of bliss, of truth, and love; but I will last
The ruthless shock of this regret. I am
A blight! my alcove shall be heaven! for past
Regrets, I shall inherit a reward, and calm
The perturbations of my soul, from God's
Own hands. He will sustain me in this grief!
And when I sink beneath the clay-cold sod,
The triumph of my soul shall give relief.

X.

Here am I—pure—reward me heaven! give me
That pure—yea, soul-enlivening draught of bliss,
Where springs the Eden of Eternity!
And let Jehovah whisper I am his.
There was a time, but that has fled and gone—
There was a day, when I could boast of bliss—
There was a month, when I was not alone;
But they were years of youth and happiness.
But they are fled and gone! the spark of youth—
My home fruitions, and the dawn of joy—
Have wandered from the seat of love and truth;
And left me, not as I was once, a boy.
When I shall cease to be—when I expire—
This earthly glory shall awake my soul,
And kindle that pure spark of living fire,
And raise me far beyond the poor control

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Of envy, molestation, and the guile of earth;
But it shall interdict all hatred, and renew
The embers which awake my infant birth,
By filling me with glory, ever, ever now.
I have been treated vile! but that is done and o'er,
The rain and hail of infamy, from hearts,
Devoid of all, but guile, did wound me sore!
But they are done! they did expose the dart.
The venomed tongue which fabricated lies,
Has choked the infidel in midst of jeers!
The wretch of perfidy now bleeding lies,
And welters in his execrated years!

XI.

But that pure spark shall kindle up a flame,
To light the glimmering torch of my young soul,
As long as one poor vistage shall remain
For earth to look upon. I shall control
My destiny—now subject to my will!
And I will seek me out a lonely waste,
And there repair; and God shall there instill
The balm of his redemption. The unchaste
Prodigals of earth shall not allure me—
The lair of earth's pure instinct shall remain
My alcove, all my terrene life; until I see
My soul vouchsafe her bliss, for that pure name—
The Angeline of all my hopes and tears;
Then will I visit home again, and joy
In my mother's smiles, devoid of pain or fears!
And triumph that I was again a boy.

XII.

My heart shall be the everlasting seal
To my soul's manumission; and the days
Of my misfortune, graven on the steel
Of long eternity; and in my lays,
Will I pour out a melody of grief!
Which hell shall tremble at, and earth,
In all her borders, sigh! and no relief
Shall e'er be granted, till this dust to dust

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Shall fall; and soul to God return. The day
Shall come, when I shall feel what I have felt;
Not since I was a boy; but the glory
Of my brightest morn, shall wake her beams
With sweet emblazonry, and gild my sorrow
With illuminated bliss; 'tis no dream!
These confirmations stand engraven deep
Within the substance of my grief-worn heart!
Though inundated as I sigh and weep,
The bright enamel of my soul's own chart,
Shall shine in letters which shall not consume,
By all the elements of earth. Such dyes
Jehovah did instill upon my plume—
A nectar drank beyond the arched skies.

XIII.

Where shall the star of God seduce my heart!
Where shall this bone of Jehovah, lure
My soul? shall age expunge the dart?
Yes, age shall wear me, that I may endure
This earth-born grief! my soul is strong as death.
I will not falter under soul remorse,
But I will breathe the living breath,
And think the present but a trial, worse
Than what may come. Hear me, my love!
This ebon hair shall grow as white as snow,
Before the pillars of my soul shall move;
For it is firm, and it shall still be so.
Have I been like poor Tasso, bound in jail?
Have I been like poor Dante, doomed to fire?
And o'en denied a spot of earth to put my soul's
Essential organs—immured from hellish ire,
In the prison of contempt—for what? hear me,
My God! for what? for gold? for hell's foul trash—
To barter immortality for death!
The freedom of the soul into the bound
Of prison! leaving but a lattice barred,
To let the light of heaven in, to laugh around
His poor, decrepit, withered frame! oh! it was hard!
No; e'en the earth was called too good for men

108

Of love! they were denied a burial place;
And drove from mortal bliss, within the den
Of indignation—comfortless. Disgrace
Could never reach them; but the fire of the Lord
Shot swift from heaven—lit upon their souls,
And woke an immortality of song—
Their only comfort; and their numbers rolled
Into the ocean tide of God's great love;
Which shall reverbrate and roll, as long
As a memorial of Jehovah lusts above.

XIV.

This was my progress: but my pilgrimage
Is past. But there are many thoughts which crowd
Upon my soul, and urge me to engage
In petty lamentations. I am proud
Of this lament—a tear is sweeter to
My soul, than all the smiles that ever stood
Upon the guilty lips of earth—be it so!
For, I have on my countenance, a shade,
In which no man can be deceived! I feel
That future triumph, which shall never fade;
But shall refund to me, eternal weal.
Oh, Angeline! I sacrificed my life
For thy embrace! I found it, but a fiend
Consigned my glory to eternal strife,
Which earths poor soldier never can amend!
That sovreign love which thou did'st once possess,
I sacrificed health, peace and love, to gain!
It was at first a comfort—but the bliss
Was sacrificed on hell's foul alter, for a gain!
As my poor soul was made to feel the pain,
So shall my heart give evidence of this.
Yes, Angeline! forever—and as long
As time shall let me breathe, will I entreat
Thy smiles—thy name shall be my daily song,
In friendships clime, on lands or seas—my feet
Shall vist thee again—hear me, my only love!
These are my words—the day I die, my heart

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Shall speak no fitter vows, for life above,
Than what I vouchsafe now—we have to part!
But, as I go, remember thy unconcious heart.

THE RETROSPECT.

“I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low: the spring returned with its showers, but no leaf of mine arose.”

Ossian.

I.

I am now, not what I have been, in youth!
The light which first awoke me, glimmers now,
To shine no more!—the starlight which I made
My banquet, and the sunbeam which my soul
Did seek as nutriment, has faded!—yea,
Has gone! The heavens are the same, but they are
Not the same to me;—the earth, which was to
Me, a landscape ever new, is as it
Was, but not the same to me;—the georgeous
Blue, through which the heavens, and the glory
Of the Lord was seen, is as it was, but not
As it was once to me;—the velvet lawn—
The gravelled walk—the poplar avenue,—
Through which I made my walk,—is as it was;
But it is not so dear to me;—the earth,
With all its grandeur, and the mount, on which
I sent my eagle eye, to bring my soul
Its nourishment, are as they were; but not
The same to me!—The hills, the dales, the groves,
The lordly oak, beneath the which, I mused,
When in my childhood dawn—and all, supreme,
Divine, and glorious to behold, when
In the embryo of life, have faded—
Lost their lustre! and the bright effulgence
Of my domil sun has veiled his beams; while
Chaos and confusion flits before mine
Eyes. What am I now?—I am a blight! I

110

Am encompassed round about, with many
Ills, of most enormous kind!—I am changed!
I am a spectre of what I have been!
The cynosure which led my bark upon
The ocean of my life, has sunk her beams
Beneath the polar cloud! what am I now?—
A vineyard, like that fenced in days of yore,
Which brought no fruit—exposed to all the beasts
Of earth, and fowls of heaven!—yea, like that
Beastly King of old, my dreams are many;—
Till, my chamber has become an alcove
For the watchers of the sky! and in my
Bed, at midnight of my sleep, I people
Worlds, and dream unnumbered things; till silence
Wakes from lethargy, and shocks my burning
Brain,—with this, go, arise and hew him down.

II.

The beams of God's effulgence, fired me then,
But they shall lure my soul no more—'tis done!
The vast, untired ocean of his love, has
Rolled its last alluring wave! The stifled groan,
Which laved the shore on which I sat, and saw
Created charms grow bright—where I beheld
Jehovah in the morning sun, and drunk
His glory in the evening mist—has sunk
Into a calm! and all his beams, so pure,
Inefiable and great—pountraying in
A ray, the image of his face, evoked
Beyond a cloud of ills—beyond my view.
But be it so. What I behold, is through
The orrery of tears! my sports—my glee,
My childhood feats—my youth is gone from me!
The horizon of my soul which beamed so
Bright, has felt the lowering clouds of winter
Seize it, with a frost of wo and sorrow.
My noon-day sky—my mid-day sun has been
Evoked to God! yea, turned their joyful beams
Up to his mighty throne. Into the golden
Sea of glory, they have pondered; and that

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Pure strain, which first awoke my heart to life,
Has run into the ocean tide of heaven.

II.

Like the lost Pleiade from its silver train—
Torn from the orb in which it rolled its years
To heaven—so am I torn, to run no more!
From that frequented path, wherein Jehovah
Marked my tread, I have eloped—I wander!
The wild and wilderness of earth, I roam!
I seek no shelter from the whirls and rains
Of heaven—so let it be. But there is that
Within my heart which shall endure, till life
Shall wallow in the dust! and it shall fill
The members of my home with all that glow
Of emulation, which first woke my heart,
And took possession of my soul—to war
With the cupidity of earth and hell!
My soul has drunk the sunbeams of the Lord,
Which doth inspirit me to war with grief!
There is a something in my soul, which holds
An enmity with revalry and ire!
It is a godly spark, of which the mouth
Can never speak! There is a thrill which moves
My own existence—vivifies my heart,
And rolls its clear, diurnal tide, into
The ocean of omnipotence and love!
It is my being—'tis my life and sense;
It shall endure the shock of earth-born fate,
And live throughout the tide of human years.
Throughout the vast septennial of the Lord,
This shall remain an era, ever new.
It shall remain my monumental shrine.
The hills, the dales and brooks—the very grove
In which I sung my boyhood symphony—
The very lawn from whence I sent my vows
To heaven—the day, the hour, and the very
Time—and all pertaining to my youth, now
Clothe them with the panoply of truth—yea,
Stand as heaven's votaries, to swear, I am

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Not what I was—save in the vital spark
Of memory, which awoke my heart to tones
Of new born melody—so pleasing to my life,
And so magnificient for little man;
Before the all-perceiving eye of Him,
Whose vast, immortal mind now bids, and shall
Forever bid defiance to earth's space!

IV.

Where am I now? hear me, heaven! all alone!
Alone I am—I am a wanderer! My
Nature doth evoke me to the lonely
Wilderness, wherein the voice of human
We shall never enter—where it shall cease
To echo to my ear! where am I? hear
Me, my God! Have I not done as human
Creatures do? hear me, Jehovah! for, in
The tideless sea, where thy immensity
Must roll, I cast my anchor. For, unto
Thee, my soul has sent its last expiring
Invocation! hear me, my Father! for
Thou hast built creation with thy hands. Thy
Wasteless rock, which hell's foul thunders cannot
Shake, shall bear the pillows of thy throne. My
Soul is drunk with thy omnipotence. There
Seems to be, within my very life, a
Longing after immortality, in love.
There is an ideal something in my soul,
Which swells my bosoms lord nigh bursting! what
Is it?—from the very morning when I
Woke a child of sorrow, I have espoused
The cause of nature; and I love the world—
Not that I feel adhesivess for man—
For sinful man! but, there is a glory
In its contemplation, which pervades my
Very being. There is a fixedness,
Undaring purpose in my heart, which time,
With all her multitude of ills, shall not
Eradicate. The basis of my heart—
The center of my being—shall remain

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As firm and steadfast as the wreckless rock
Of heaven! It shall endure, though hell, with all
Her panoplied and plumed array, consign
Me to their grief. And whence this glorious
Thought—this steadfast purpose of my soul?
In my obedience to the changeless laws
Of that omnipotence, which weigh hell's
Impudence in heaven's scales, and pays the world
The patrimony that it reaps. Unto
That vast, unfettered glory, which awaits
Created man, my soul has sought its home.
Unto that hidden region of content,
Where heaven's chaplet stands divine, in glory
Bright—where that mysterious love, so good,
So pure, inessable and great, convokes
Mankind in heart and soul, to reach themselves
Beyond subordination—I have built
Myself a citadel—a fabric, which
Shall vie with long eternity in age.
It shall endure—hear me, heaven! thou hast made
Me what I am; and thou hast been to me,
A righteous father; let me reach my thought
Above this middle degradation! let
Me pour my melody to thee, and thee
Alone; for thou, my Father, hast sustained me
In disease and health! supported me
In all the vast sublimity of grief!
And can'st thou here escape the tribute which
I owe, for thy unprecedented love!
For I am what I am, by thy great law.
My soul is but a handful of thy love—
That rectified divinity which rolls
Within the grasp of thy infinity!
Which thou hast scattered on the earth, to show
Thy glory and thy matchless might. And now,
My God! if words, with warmth and gratitude,
Can adumbrate to thee, my soul! a spark
Of thine—I humbly sacrifice my life
Upon the altar of thy love!—then, take

114

My vows, my life, my soul, my love, and all
I claim on earth—my youth has suffered much—
My fearless soul is drunk to last forever.

ANASTASIUS.

“Pleasant are the words of song, said Cuchullin, and lovely are the tales of other times. They are like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of rose, when the sea is faint on its side, and the lake is settled and blue in the vale.”

Ossian.

Hail, Ægean! my Ægean! thou sea of the Lord!
Whose bosom has borne many vessels of war;
Whose billows transported tho song of the bard,
Who roamed from his home and his country afar.
In thy bosom of slumber—now sleeping to heaven,
Beneath the blue azure that pillows the sky,
Shall the vessel of glory and triumph be driven,
To fire my spirit and beam in my eye.

Hail, Ægean! my Ægean! thou wave of the world!
Where the pilgrim and poet has loitered of yore;
Where his soul did inspirit—his banner unfurled
The bondage of Greece in the midst of her gore.
On thy borders of beauty the poet shall lie,
And bid recollection inspirit his soul;
For the lawn of thy glory shall dazzle the eye,
While the beacon of heaven shall over thee roll.

Hail, Ægean! blue Ægean! thou boon of my life!
Where chivalry beamed in the days of my youth;
Where the vessel of sorrow has grappl'd with strife!
As the gale of the sky sung the Syren of truth—
Where the music of Time woke the sob and the sigh,
Where the rapture of freedom shall warble no more
As thy billows shall roll to the beams of the sky,
And the islands of bliss drink thy remnant of gore.

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Oh, Hydra! my Isle! I will leave thee—no, never!
Thou gem of the sea, which awakens my soul;
While my Palemade towers a giant forever,
All snowy Taygetus outsilvers the whole.
Thou picturesque scene, my Napoll of earth,
As the moon in her lustre emblazens the sky;
Was the song of my soul on the morn of my birth—
But lo! am I beaten?—I falter!—I die!

Hark! for the spirit of freedom awakens my heart;
What beacon is this—on the blue purling wave?
'Tis the glow from their banner—the Turk—yes, the dart,
Now tells me, my Ægean, that thou art my grave!
What enchantment is this?—'tis the starlight of gold,
Now gilding with glory, the bright silver ground;
Where the tale of my freedom has often been told,
But the trump of captivity echoes around.

What! shall my spirit succumb to the dart?
Shall my country her glory and freedom deplore?
Shall the spirit of triumph be dragged from my heart?
And thy bosom, my Ægean, all colored with gore?
No; for the untired spirit of purpose shall rise,
Careering thy waves, so romantic and strong—
Achieving the purpose—when Moslem shall rise—
Retrieving my country, the depth of my wrong.

Lo! the undying purpose of his heart,
Nursed in the panoply of Andrea's love,
Begirt him with the festoon and the dart,
And o'er the billows of Ægean drove.

Auspicious patriot! let thy name remain
A monumental shrine upon this wave!
Go on, my son, and freedom's chaplet gain,
Or with thy breathren, seek a watery grave.

Farewell my father! fare thee well!
Within the ocean's bounds I dwell;

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I shed no tears, because my days are done,
But weep, because they have not begun!

Farewell my Anastasius! fare the well!
This heart shall love thee over;
Within my heart, thy name shall dwell,
Forever and forever!

Hark! for the battle is nigh—at the door!
Oh! Liberty, Liberty—heavenly sound!
Shall my country her freedom deplore?—
Hark!—hear the war trumpets thundering sound!
Arise! the alternative—where? oh! where
Is the avenue leading to liberty's dome?
Shall we, like the Helots of Sparta, repair
To a land all forsaken and lone?
No; shake off pollution like Athen's of yore—
Let classic refinement illumine my shore.

List—for the vessel of Turkey is nigh—
She's waving her banner and crying aloud—
Liberty! Liberty's flag I discry!
While their emulous smoke is ascending the cloud,
Lo! for destruction is heaving in view!
Midst chivalry, liberty, bleeding and death!
We grapple!—we struggle!—we bleed! and the crew
That remains is now loosing their breath!
The sabre now dinted, lies swimming in gore,
While the dying is crawling the vanquishing o'er!

My God! in the midst of destruction and death!
Anastasius beheld with his blood-shotten eyes,
His dying Leander, then gasping for breath!
He leaped to his side and embraced him—he dies!
Oh! my brother! my brother! my brother! he cried!—
His heart fluttered once, he embraced him—he died!
His cry was convulsive! he leaped in the sea,
And he swam with Leander then safe to the lee;
While the lion of chivaly stood by his side,

117

He whispered, “it was for my country I died!”

He kissed him again, and he gasped on the spot!
Anastasius then bid him adieu!
The name of his country he never forgot,
And he sprang on the board of the crew!
He tore from the heart of a Turk—lying dead!
His sabre all dinted with gore!
And he rolled off the vicegerent's head,
And whispered his country once more!

He returned to the land of his birth,
And leaped in the arms of his father;
I revisit my own bleeding earth,
But the ocean has burled my brother!

My God! did he die for his Isle?
Yes, he whispered and sobingly cried!—
Did his cheek glow with liberty's smile?
Yes, it was for his country he died!—
Woe, woe, to the trials that past!
For lo! there are many to come;
Thy days have begun, they must last,
And remember thy country and home!

He arose—bid his father adieu,
And his Hydra a longer farewell!
To the Isle of Ipsara, so true,
He sailed, with Helena to dwell.

He met her—she glowed with a smile,
And he pressed her with sighs to his heart—
From the land of Ipsara, my Isle,
I never, can never depart!
Ipsara! thou Isle of my love!
I shall never forget thee? no, never!
Thy name and Helena's my love,
I will nurture and foster forever!

But lo!—for the veil of his glory was rent!

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As the yell of despair struck his ear,
When to rescue her father, he went,
My God! many Turks did appear.
They seized on Helena—they bound her away!
While her beauty illumined the heavens;
When lo! on his couch,—as he famishing lay,
He cried, oh! my heart-strings are riven!

Behold!—on the turbulent ocean—
A vessel came forcing her way;
In the midst of her country's devotion,
She halted and beat to the bay.

The sound woke the earth and the heavens!
The war din was heard o'er the sea;
When lo! from his couch he was driven,
To rescue the brave and the free!
He ran to the bark that was lying,
When lo! in a matron's attire,
He saw his Helena stand sighing,
His soul set his heart-strings on fire!

In a web that was sable in grief!
As she cast up her eye to his face,
She sprang to his arms for relief,
And he gave her his lasting embrace.
Anastasius! she cried, oh! my lover,
Protect me—my virtue is thine!
Oh! save me, my darling, forever,
And let me no longer repine!

He caught her in endless devotion,
While the winds in their growling did roar,
They leaped in the waves of the ocean,
And braved them, to reach to the shore.
But the Angel of death had descended!
Oh! kiss me, Helena, he cried!
While the glow of congretion they blended,
They strangled, they sunk—and they died!

119

LET MY NAME STILL SURVIVE.

“For there is that within me which shall tire
Torture and time, and breathe when I expire.”
Byron.

I.

Let my name still survive, Oh! my home!
Where I wandered in childhood and glee;
Oh! remember me, mother and father, alone,
On the land or the wide rolling sea!
Let my name be the converse of love,
Till I visit the home of my birth;
Like the virtue and swiftness in Noah's sweet dove,
I will fly to the spot of my earth;—
In adversity, sorrow, remorse or regret!
My soul shall revere thee, and never forget.

II.

Those kindred—companions I loved—
Whom I honored, caressed and endeared!
When I think I have left them, in sorrow I'm moved,—
For, by them, I was loved and revered
In the spring of my life and my joy,
When my rainbow was seen in the sky;
In my eden I bloomed as a dutiful boy,
And no tear could be seen in my eye;
But my glory was brilliant in all, but regret,
Oh! that star of my boyhood, I cannot forget.

III.

On the lawn and the landscape so dear,
When my verdue in summer did shine,
I rejoiced in the Iris of blessings sincere,
Which clothed me in vest'ments divine!
O'er the hillocks and dales of my youth,
Where the Sackle and Eglantine grew—
Whose sombre once shaded the pilgrim of truth—
Recalls to my vision the glory I knew;—
Where my bosom and heart never felt a regret!

120

For the absence of parents, I cannot forget.

IV.

Though blight, desolation and pain,—
Though sorrows and troubles annoy!
When forced on the land, on the sea, or the main—
Bereft of fruition and joy!
Let the poplar, the elm, and the yew,
Whose boughs shaded friendship and love;
Be preserved, ever young, from the frost and the dew,
Which showers from Hesper above;—
When embracings, society, friendship have met,
Then, my home and my country shall banish regret.

V.

Get a stone or a flinty white rock,—
Let thy pen be an iron in grain,—
Oh! engrave all my vows, as a lamb of the flock!
Till I meet and embrace thee again;
For my heart is engraven with steel!
And my soul, I will vouchsafe to thee;
For I cannot such friendship and glory conceal,
But I pay them with kindness to thee—
Oh! my parents, my parents, how can I forget,
Such a starlight of glory, o'erflowing regret!

VI.

In the wilderness there is a tree—
In the bower there springs up a vine—
And my soul in its mystical visions can see,
When my heart shall embrace them as mine.
Though the Bark of my glory is shivered,
And has sunk as a rock in the wave!
Though my soul to regret and remorse is delivered—
Yet, it never shall dig me a grave!
For my heart shall not bleed, nor my cheeks remain wet,
But my candle shall burn, till I banish regret.

121

TO A FRIEND.

“Existence may be bourn, and the deep root
Of life and sufferance make its firm abode
In lone and desolated bosoms.”
Byron.

Oh! breath not my name, but in friendship and love,
Let the tear be the tribute you pay unto me,
For such kindness to me, shall be written above,
And the glory of heaven refunded to thee.
Oh! breath not, nor lisp not, the hour we met,
Let the soul's recollection inspirit the heart!
Oh! think not, nor feel not, the pangs of regret!
But remember,—the nearest and dearest must part!
This bosom of kindness, where billows shall roll—
This river of thought, to the fountain of life!
Is the test of my kindness, the badge of my soul—
The only pure symbol of sorrow and strife!
On this wild of regret, I have lived but a score—
This tribute I pay, as the gift of my heart,
Though we separate now, ne'er to meet any more,
Yet, thy name from my bosom shall never depart!
Oh! forget not the glory which beamed on my heart,
But revere me with kindness, affecion and love;
Though I loose thee on earth—and 'tis cruel to part,—
Yet, we never shall part, when I meet thee above!
Oh! whisper my name, but with tears of regret!
Be cautious to speak of the days of my youth—
Oh! breathe not, nor lisp not, the hour we met,
But remember—I speak but the tribute of truth.
Let the love of thy bosom triumphant arise,
And think of the morn I awoke in regret!
Let the tear from the heart,then illumine thine eyes;
But breathe not, nor lisp not, the hour we met.
'Tis the last of my childhood—my starlight is gone—
My candle of glory now ceases to shine:

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Here, take this devotion—nor utter a groan—
'Tis friendship's divinity—claim it as thine.

Though the Rose of my Eden is blasted!

“They made an exile—not a slave of me.”
Byron.

I.

Though the rose of my Eden is blasted,
And the bloom of my youth must decay!
Though the treasure I nurtured is wasted,
Yet, my gloom shall receive a bright ray.
Though the morn of my prospect is over,
And my spring time to winter is changed!
Though my heart shall lie bleeding forever,
Yet, my soul shall not wander estranged.

II.

Though the rock of my fortress is shivered,
And the star of my glory gone down!
Though the cord of my blessing is sivered,
Yet, I never shall murmur or frown.
Though the eye of my morning is weeping,
And my Bark dashed to flinders shall lie!
Though my bosom in sorrow is reeking,
Yet, my soul shall remember the tie!

III.

Though my sun is eclipsed in its shining,
And my rainbow of childhood has fled!
Though my glee is now bartered for pining!
Yet, it shall not encumber my head.
Though the home of my birth is forsaken,
And my remnant of weal cast ashore!
Though my mystical flight is o'ertaken!
Yet, I never shall suffer it more.

IV.

Though I murmur, and grieve, with repining,
And my lamp soon shall glimmer away!
Yet, my heart and my soul is inclining

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To glory and brilliant array.
Though such blight may encumber my glory,
And storms inundate me with guile!
Though I feel that my heart is now sorry,
Yet, it never shall break—I will smile.

V.

Though the gloom of regret lowers o'er me,
And the winter of sorrows remain!
Yet, my heart shall revere—nor forget thee,
And hope still to meet thee again.
Though a frost nipped my flower in beauty,
And withered my blossoms at home!
Though I paid her the tribute of duty,
My parting shall not make me groan,

VI.

Though I honored, caressed, and revered her,
And prophecied vital content!
Though my heart and my soul did respect her—
For prodigal love—I lament!
Though she filled me with premature torture,
And stole all my childhood and glee!
Though she sacrificed wisdom and virtue,
She never shall confiscate me!

VII

Though my days of beatitude's over,
And my domil fruitions all gone!
Though I sigh as a pilgrim forever,
Yet, I done naught to make me attone!
Then, farewell ye fate stricken stranger!
And all that vindictive, foul crew!
For, I rescue my heart from a danger,
By bidding such rebels adieu!

124

KOSCIUSKO'S RESIGNATION.

“No; she denied me what was mine—my roof,
And shall not have what is not hers—my tomb!”
Byron.

I.

In the pride of my country I fell—
In the den of despair I endured!
Shall I bid thee, my country, farewell!
Though bound, and in prison immured?
Let the trump of captivity sound,
Brave Poland my destiny, o'er!
In despair let thy voice resound—
Kosciusko now welters in gore!

II.

Though the day of my glory is over—
Though my country is lost—thou hast cried—
Yet, the Vistula's banks can discover—
It was for my Poland I died!
Though my children shall cry in despair,
And my land in captivity dwell!
Yet, my bosom has purchased a scar,
Which shall last, till I bid thee farewell.

III.

Oh! forget not my Poland, no, never—
The day that I suffered for thee!
For my soul must revere thee forever,
Though, triumph I never may see.
In the midst of her ire she bound me,
In prison immured I must dwell!
But my soul would endure to protect thee,
Farewell, my brave Poland, farewell!

IV.

To the land of the brave and the free—
To the bright silver sea of my birth—
May thy scion arise as a tree,

125

And tower in height from my earth.
Thou faithful, thou honest and just—
For my soul shall remember thy urn!
Though thy fabric has faded to dust;
Yet; thy soul shall to heaven return.

V.

Lithuania! Lithuania! arise—
But my bones shall now moulder away!
For my soul is convoked to the skies,
Where such amnesty never shall stay.
Lo!—the veil of poor Poland is rent!
Yes, her destiny hovers around!
And Cracow's cathedral laments,
For the trump of my freedom to sound.

VI.

Oh! gratitude, where is thy lore?
Though I seek not thy prodigal praise;
I shall see thee, my Poland, no more,
For my covenant shortens my days!
Though in prison my life was immured,
Yet, I mastered my sorrows full well—
Though her torments I safely endured,
Now I die!—oh, my country, farewell!

VII.

Farewell to the land of the free!
On this mount shall they bury my bones;
And no tinsel shall sully my grave—
Be the name of my country, my stone!
Could my prayer but avail thee, my Pole,
I would pour out my life where I dwell!
I would lift up my heart and my soul—
But I die—oh! brave Poland, farewell!

VIII.

In the midst of my country's renown,
I was honest and true to my post!
In her sorrows I'd give her the crown,
And I die for her—bleeding and lost!
My cohorts, the brave and the free,

126

While their hearts for their country shall swell,—
Remember!—I suffered for thee—
Now I leave thee—my Poland—farewell!

To ****

“Endurance too prolonged, to make
My pardon greater, her injustice less.”
Byron.

As woman, thy heart did deceive me—
As woman, thy soul did forsake;
Though young, thou in liet'st to grieve me—
Though steadfast, thou sought'st me to shake—
Though trusted, thy reed did impierce me!
Though faultless, thou did'st me belie—
Though troubled, thou still did'st ensnare me;
But virtue will triumph when slander shall die.
Though scanty, did'st lavish my treasure—
Though flindered, no Lydia could buy me;
Though sated, thou heape'st my measure—
Though wounded, thou never can'st kill me;
Though exiled, no Persia can lure me—
Though blasted, my jewels shall shine;—
Though swordless, my virtue shall shield me,
While thou shalt atone for the crime!
Though the pearl from the sea of my glory,
Shall trickle in gems over dear—
Though, for days that are past, I am sorry!
My heart has grown callous in care.
Though woman, thy obloquy tore me!
By whom all my heart-strings were riven!
I've sworn that my soul shall forget thee,
And cast all my sorrows in heaven.
Though my heart-strings by sorrows are riven!
And my cause litigated in youth—
Though my soul's depositions are given,
They are vows from the witness of truth,
Though poison has sated my chalice,

127

Where nectar has sparkled divine;
Thy soul in the gulf of its malice,
Shall strangle, as in payment of thine!
When the vows from the lips of a villian,
Brought tears on the cheek I thought true,
The sight drained my heart of a million;—
Thou art false as Jehovah is true.
Thou hast bartered the pride of my morning
For sorrows I ne'er can forget!
Thou hast given my childhood a warning,
By filling my soul with regret.
Though my tendrils of youth were entwining
The neck of my mother so dear;
I must barter my glory for pining,
And pay this oblation—a tear!
But my soul shall forget thee and slander,
As I bid recollection depart!
Though my feet may be tempted to wander,
Yet, I never shall murmur at heart.
For things that are past, I am sorry!
Like an eagle exultingly driven,
I rise from the ark of my glory,
And perch on the Cedars of heaven.
Then, farewell! for love cannot hold us—
That spark, like a rock on the wave,
Has sunk! and its absence shall part us,
Like man, when he sinks in the grave!
I am sorry I ever beheld thee!
And more, that I felt a regret;
I have sworn that my heart shall forget thee,
But live, such a blight to forget!
'Tis the last! human speech cannot curse thee,
Such guilt, for itself must atone!
If my pen were to stoop to condemn thee,
My soul would be ever undone!
Then, why should I falter and languish?
My pride shall be lofty as ever;
I will drag out the briars of anguish,
And triumph forever and ever!

128

AN ELEGY,

On the death of my friend, Mr. Thomas Lacey. His last, words were—“remember and do not forget me!”

“And with spirits unincarnate, took
Celestial passtime, on the hills of God,
Forgetful of the gloomy pass between.”
Pollok.

I.

Farewell to the heart that I loved and endeared,—
To the friend and the love of my youth!
Adieu to the friend whom I loved and revered,
Who offered his life on the altar of truth.
Though this prelude of distance shall roll,
And my absence be filled with regret;
Yet, there rolls on the sea of my soul,
An impulse I ne'er can forget.

II.

The star of thy glory's gone down!
The sun of thy pleasure has set!
But the love that I claim as mine own,
Shall warn me to never forget!
Thou art dead! and I love thee my friend!
I am far from my own native shore,
But my tears with my sorrows, I blend,
Till I meet thee, where parting is o'er!

III.

In the midst of thy youthful career,
In the dawn of thy childhood and glee,
Thou wert honest, and faithful, and dear,—
This libation I pour unto thee!
How sweet is an eloquent tear,
Too great for this heart rending debt!
But to speak of a friendship so dear,
I can never, no, never forget!

129

IV.

Thy soul is evoked to the skies,
And thy heart-strings now welter in dust!
Thou hast felt how mortality dies,
When the Lord is thy glory and trust.
The day has arrived—thou must die!
Yes, thy cheeks—they are clammy and wet;
Thy death, thy request, and the sigh,
I can never, no, never forget!

V.

I remember the vows of thy heart,
I remember the day that we met;
Though thy day has arrived, we must part:
And thy name fills my soul with regret—
Though thy soul is evoked from thee ever,
And I loose thee, though loved and endeared,
Yet, my soul shall remember forever,
Thy last dying lisp that was heard!

VI.

“From the vale of mortality's grief,
On the wings of a cherubic dove,
My soul is convoked, as relief,
To the bourne of contentment and love.
I have done all that honor dould do,
I have loved and remembered my friends;
'Tis all that my heart, ever true,
Could contribute as virtue's amends.

VII.

Oh! remember the vows of my heart!
Cast thine eyes on the cheeks that are wet;
Oh! behold them before we shall part,
And, never—oh! never forget!
Farewell to the friends of my youth,
For my soul is conjured to the skies;
I resign all my vows as a truth,
As my soul from my body now flies!

VIII.

Ye pupils I tutored when young,

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Let your hearts feel the pangs of regret;
When I'm dead, lisp my name with your tongue,
And never, oh! never forget!
This sigh I can never repress—
Oh! remember the vows of my heart!
And more than my tongue can express,
Oh! forget not the day that we part!

IX.

Nature summons my body to death!
My soul bursts the bonds of regret;
And inspires this undying breath,
With the bliss I can never forget.
Let the wings of the wind bear the sound,
Let the whirlwinds of glory be driven—
Let the hearse of mortality's sound,
Conduct such a rapture to heaven!

X.

Let the jessamine twine on my grave,
Plant the cypress and sweet eglantine;
But dearer than all, humbly save,
One tear drop, as sample of thine.
Farewell! I return to the dust!
My soul shall be tender as ever,
Oh! remember, remember the trust,
I reposed in Jehovah forever.

XI.

My cause litigated on earth—
Yes, evinced by the tide of my love,
With my soul's depositions of worth,
Shall give life to my verdict above.
Through the ambient jems of the sky,
As the Angel of glory appears,
My soul shall be wafted on high,
Where my triumph shall banish my tears.

XII.

Behold! how my soul loves to part,
To the home of its kingdom and birth—
Now, death holds the flood of my heart,

131

And it rolls like a clod to the earth.
I am gone! place your hand on my breast—
Take my hand—'tis my last dying word!
I will write you the place of my rest,
By the dove from the ark of the Lord.”

TO MY MOTHER.

He who hath loved not, here would bear a lore
And make his heart a spirit.
Byron.

When shall my mother see again,
Her once familiar own?
When shall my mother hear again,
My once familiar tone?
I hear a murmur, faint and low—
A dirge from earth's alloy!
It speaks—my spirit, rise and go,
Where thou wast born a boy.
Thou wast my night, my morn, my noon,
A gem divinely dear!
I lost thee, son, too soon! too soon!
And seek thee with a tear!
I, like a shepherd, weak and old,
Whose sun has set in joy,
Has lost a lamb from out his fold,
Like thou, my darling boy!
On nature's dust, with human rain,
My vows I humbly grave,
Till words grow wild with wo and pain,
And wash me in the grave!
Oh! that I could like Chilo die,
In one immortal joy!
Then could this heart's maternal sigh,
Exhaust for thee, my boy!
There is a tear for all mankind,
I shed my last to thee!
A spring, from that immortal mind,

132

Which earth shall never see.
Though I be young and few in years,
And know but little joy;
Yet, while I weep in manhood's tears,
I wish I was a boy!
There was a day—but that has fled!
I claimed it as mine own—
There bloomed a flower—but that is dead!
My Eden's left alone.
There was a rainbow, beaming bright,
A cloud has veiled its joy!
But while it lured my eagle sight,
I was my mother's boy.
In God's great sea of boundless love,
There rolls a wave for me;
While, from his ark, he wings a dove,
To waft my sorrows free.
But that great tide which flows from thee,
Shall thrill my soul with joy;
'Tis so much like thy love for me,
When I was mother's boy.
The snares of earth shall lure me not,
On land, or sea, or main;
No; till this heart shall mould and rot,
My virtue shall remain.
That ocean tide, immense of God,
Shall waft my bark of joy;
Till this proud heart shall feel the clod,
I'll be thy darling boy!
Though earth may shine in living charms,
And feast my youthful eye;
Yet, in thine own, maternal arms,
This heart shall freely die!
Though grief, and pain, and strife, and wo!
Be dregs of earth's alloy;
Yet, this I feel, and this I know,
I drank none when a boy!

THE END.