University of Virginia Library

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
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!
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
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;
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!
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
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
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
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
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
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.