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 | [Poems by Halleck in] Fitz-Greene Halleck : An Early Knickerbocker Wit and Poet |  |
425
Invocation to Sleep
O, come sweet sleep, thy balmy influence shed,And o'er my soul, th' oblivious mantle spread.
Here, on this lovely bank, whilst I recline
Do thou my brows with opiate wreaths entwine.
Light o'er my senses draw thy lethen band
And close my eyelids, with a gentle hand.
With thy gay Visions hover round my head,
With thy soft Pinions soften still my bed.
Thy welcome presence brings a sweet relief,
Lightens the heart and shuts the springs of grief.
426
With Thee worn Labour quite forgets her pain.
The lowly Poor, by fortune's frown oppressed,
In Thee find refuge, balmy peace and rest.
Thou wert to man in boundless mercy given—
The richest boon, the choicest gift of Heaven.
Then come, thou friend of man, Tired Nature's Friend,
And in thy Arms my song and sorrows end.
G.
[Invitation and Reply]
TO F. G. H.
Our birds sing sweet, our scenes are fairAnd fresh and fragrant is the air,
And Sarah smiles with every grace,
And Catherine wears a pensive face.
And who is here to feel her smile?
What swain can Catherine's griefs beguile?
Can'st thou not come at evening hour
And try at least thy wonted power?
Then far more sweet shall Sarah's smile appear
Nor Catherine think of grief when thou art here.
TO MRS. M. W. H.
Ah, well I know your scenes are fairAnd nature's fairest forms are there—
And do you think I can deny
What e'er you ask so prettily?
Yet much I fear no art of mine
Can lift the grief of Catherine,
And Sarah's smile too oft, I feel,
It leaves a wound that does not heal.
But I'll exert my feeble power
To cheer the lonely evening hour,
And Catherine's sorrows to beguile
I'll share in Sarah's sweetest smile
And all that decks your rural home.
Yes,—yes, with all my heart I'll come.
Soft as the Falling Dews of Night
Soft as the falling dews of night
The tear of pity flows;
Bright as the moon's returning light
That gilds the opening rose.
The tear of pity flows;
Bright as the moon's returning light
That gilds the opening rose.
427
Sweet as the fragrant breeze of May
Her sympathetic sigh;
Mild as the morning tint of day,
The beam that lights her eye.
Her sympathetic sigh;
Mild as the morning tint of day,
The beam that lights her eye.
Still, gentle spirit, o'er my heart
Preserve thy wonted sway;
Teach me to blunt Affliction's dart,
And soothe her cares away.
Preserve thy wonted sway;
Teach me to blunt Affliction's dart,
And soothe her cares away.
Or, if thy anxious efforts fail,
While sorrows still pursue;
I'll wish, while listening to the tale,
That good I cannot do.
While sorrows still pursue;
I'll wish, while listening to the tale,
That good I cannot do.
The Wild-Flower Wreath
The wild-flower wreath, though faded, love,
Which you have sent to me,
A bright remembrance still doth prove
Of hours I 've past with thee.
Which you have sent to me,
A bright remembrance still doth prove
Of hours I 've past with thee.
O, dear to me their native fields,
And valleys ever green;
There Nature every beauty yields
To deck her sylvan scene.
And valleys ever green;
There Nature every beauty yields
To deck her sylvan scene.
How often on their banks we've strayed,
Or sought the shady grove,
When the lake 's bright sunbeams played,
And fragrant garlands wove.
Or sought the shady grove,
When the lake 's bright sunbeams played,
And fragrant garlands wove.
In Memory's eye their bloom shall last,
Preserved with fondest care,
Secure from ev'ry wintry blast,
Till I to thee repair.
Preserved with fondest care,
Secure from ev'ry wintry blast,
Till I to thee repair.
Then love shall weave a brighter wreath,
Of flowers which ne'er shall fade;
And sighs which we in absence breathe
By joy shall be o'erpaid.
Of flowers which ne'er shall fade;
And sighs which we in absence breathe
By joy shall be o'erpaid.
Lines
Flag of my country! proudly wave!
High to the favoring breeze of Heaven;
The rallying point that forms the brave,
Whene'er the battle-word is given.
High to the favoring breeze of Heaven;
The rallying point that forms the brave,
Whene'er the battle-word is given.
428
As when at evening on the deep,
From their lov'd firesides distant far,
Their anxious eyes, the sailors keep
Fix'd on their guide, the northern star—
From their lov'd firesides distant far,
Their anxious eyes, the sailors keep
Fix'd on their guide, the northern star—
So, on thy stars, in danger's day,
The warrior turns his daring eye,
And dauntless treads the crimson'd way,
Through honor's path, to victory!
The warrior turns his daring eye,
And dauntless treads the crimson'd way,
Through honor's path, to victory!
Where first their eagle met the gale,
Our fathers bade these shores be free,
And long, where slaughter strew'd the vale,
They fearless fought and bled for thee.
Our fathers bade these shores be free,
And long, where slaughter strew'd the vale,
They fearless fought and bled for thee.
Till England's banner-cross was furled,
And Peace her olive branch display'd;
Then 'mid the plaudits of a world,
They sheath'd the consecrated blade.
And Peace her olive branch display'd;
Then 'mid the plaudits of a world,
They sheath'd the consecrated blade.
Yet once again the trump of war
Has bid the dream of peace be o'er;
Again Invasion's crimson car
Drives threatening round our hallow'd shore.
Has bid the dream of peace be o'er;
Again Invasion's crimson car
Drives threatening round our hallow'd shore.
But shall that flag which on the billow,
So late has won Fame's laurel wreath,
Which formed a hero's dying pillow,
And wrapt his pallid corse in death?
So late has won Fame's laurel wreath,
Which formed a hero's dying pillow,
And wrapt his pallid corse in death?
Say, shall that flag e'er share the fate
Of Gallia's fallen tri-color?
Shall history say, “It once was great,
But soon it fell to rise no more”?
Of Gallia's fallen tri-color?
Shall history say, “It once was great,
But soon it fell to rise no more”?
No! while within each manly breast
Burns one faint spark of valor's flame;
While glory lifts its glittering crest,
And honor points the path to fame.
Burns one faint spark of valor's flame;
While glory lifts its glittering crest,
And honor points the path to fame.
While spring adorns with flow'rets fair,
The grave where low our fathers lie,
So long its stars shall blaze in air,
So long to Heaven's breezes fly!
The grave where low our fathers lie,
So long its stars shall blaze in air,
So long to Heaven's breezes fly!
Flag of my country! proudly wave!
Nor dread the invader's bold command;
While nobly fight the good and brave
For freedom and their native land.
Nor dread the invader's bold command;
While nobly fight the good and brave
For freedom and their native land.
Y. H. S.
New York, July, 1814.
429
To Margaret
You told me, Margaret, that in time
You might, perhaps, be learned to love me;
But 'twas because that I can rhyme
A little—if the spirit move me.
You might, perhaps, be learned to love me;
But 'twas because that I can rhyme
A little—if the spirit move me.
Ah, had the lyre that winning art
I well might call its skill divine
And were I sure 'twould make your heart
Beat in congenial throbs with mine
I well might call its skill divine
And were I sure 'twould make your heart
Beat in congenial throbs with mine
Again I'd seek the Muses' bowers,
Which long I 've passed neglected by,
Again invoke the fairy powers
To aid my harp's wild melody.
Which long I 've passed neglected by,
Again invoke the fairy powers
To aid my harp's wild melody.
But ah! I fear 'twere fruitless toil—
Experience has the lesson taught,
That woman's fond, enrapturing smile
Can never be so cheaply bought.
Experience has the lesson taught,
That woman's fond, enrapturing smile
Can never be so cheaply bought.
And I would spurn, however dear,
The heart that verse had power of stealing,
Its passion could not be sincere—
Love claims a purer test of feeling.
The heart that verse had power of stealing,
Its passion could not be sincere—
Love claims a purer test of feeling.
Yet I had hoped that, ere 'twas known
That I could pen a song or sonnet,
Your bosom's little guest had flown
On Cupid's wing, and I had won it.
That I could pen a song or sonnet,
Your bosom's little guest had flown
On Cupid's wing, and I had won it.
Come, tell me, is it so or not,
Whate'er my fate I beg to know it;
Say—and the Muses all forgot—
You love the Man, and not the Poet.
Whate'er my fate I beg to know it;
Say—and the Muses all forgot—
You love the Man, and not the Poet.
Fitz-Greene Halleck
Were the Whole Ocean Ink
Were the whole ocean ink,And every stick a quill,
Were the whole earth of parchment made,
And every man a scribe by trade,
430
It would drain the ocean dry;
Nor would the scroll contain the whole,
Though it were stretched from pole to pole.
Asks She My Name
Asks she my name, with hers to rest,
Among the blessing and the blest,
In these her pages of the heart?
There needs no second call—I come,
Be this my autographic home,
My name no more in blight or bloom,
From hers to part.
Among the blessing and the blest,
In these her pages of the heart?
There needs no second call—I come,
Be this my autographic home,
My name no more in blight or bloom,
From hers to part.
Lady of England! for her cheek's
Bright rose her island birth place speaks,
Her cradle clime of smiles and tears;
Not in this sunset land of mine
Are poets born like hers, divine,
Their fame her pride, their graves her shrine
A thousand years.
Bright rose her island birth place speaks,
Her cradle clime of smiles and tears;
Not in this sunset land of mine
Are poets born like hers, divine,
Their fame her pride, their graves her shrine
A thousand years.
Yet, though the song-bird of an hour,
I win not with a poet's power
A couch in fame's sepulchral hall,
A nation's anthem, proud and solemn,
Or breathing bust, or storied column
I've won this leaf in beauty's volume
Well worth them all.
I win not with a poet's power
A couch in fame's sepulchral hall,
A nation's anthem, proud and solemn,
Or breathing bust, or storied column
I've won this leaf in beauty's volume
Well worth them all.
Fitz-Greene Halleck
New York Dec. 28, 1829.
The Discarded
“No doubt, she was right in rejecting my suit;
But why did she kick me down stairs?”—
Ballad
But why did she kick me down stairs?”—
Ballad
I live, as lives a withered bough,
Blossomless, leafless, and alone;
There are none left to love me now,
Or shed one tear when I am gone.
Blossomless, leafless, and alone;
There are none left to love me now,
Or shed one tear when I am gone.
When I am gone—no matter where;
I dread no other world but this;
To leave it is my only prayer,
That hope my only happiness.
I dread no other world but this;
To leave it is my only prayer,
That hope my only happiness.
431
For I am weary of it—black
Are sun and stars and sky to me;
And my own thoughts are made the rack
That wrings my nerves in agony.
Are sun and stars and sky to me;
And my own thoughts are made the rack
That wrings my nerves in agony.
There's not a wretched one that lives,
And loathes like me the light of day;
And I shall bless the hour that gives
My body to its kindred clay.
And loathes like me the light of day;
And I shall bless the hour that gives
My body to its kindred clay.
And yet at times, I know not why,
There comes a foolish, feverish thought,
Of where these shrivelled limbs shall lie,
And where this dead, cold flesh shall rot—
There comes a foolish, feverish thought,
Of where these shrivelled limbs shall lie,
And where this dead, cold flesh shall rot—
When the quick throbbing of my brain
That now is maddening me is o'er,
And the hot fire in each swoln [sic] vein
Is quench'd at last to burn no more.
That now is maddening me is o'er,
And the hot fire in each swoln [sic] vein
Is quench'd at last to burn no more.
And then I shudder at the tone
Of my heart's hymn and seem to hear
The shrieking of my dying groan,
The rattling clod upon my bier;
Of my heart's hymn and seem to hear
The shrieking of my dying groan,
The rattling clod upon my bier;
And feel the pang which he who dies
Welcomes—the pang which gives me rest,
Ere the lead-weights are on my eyes,
Or the white shroud is on my breast;
Welcomes—the pang which gives me rest,
Ere the lead-weights are on my eyes,
Or the white shroud is on my breast;
When the death-foam is on my lip,
And the death-dews are in my hair,
And my clinch'd fingers in the grip
Of agony, are clinging there!
And the death-dews are in my hair,
And my clinch'd fingers in the grip
Of agony, are clinging there!
And then I feel how sad it is
To know there's none my fate to weep,
Print on my lip the unanswered kiss,
Or close my eyes in their last sleep.
To know there's none my fate to weep,
Print on my lip the unanswered kiss,
Or close my eyes in their last sleep.
For all unheard the damp earth flung
Upon my coffin-lid must be;
By strangers will the bell be rung,
That tolls in mockery for me.
Upon my coffin-lid must be;
By strangers will the bell be rung,
That tolls in mockery for me.
And he who tolls will laugh the while,
And whistle his light song of mirth;
And he who digs my grave will smile
As senseless as its senseless earth.
And whistle his light song of mirth;
And he who digs my grave will smile
As senseless as its senseless earth.
432
Some dark-robed priest, perhaps, will pray
Beside my bier because he must;
And some hoarse voices sing, or say,
The unfeeling adage “Dust to dust.”
Beside my bier because he must;
And some hoarse voices sing, or say,
The unfeeling adage “Dust to dust.”
And if perchance I leave behind
Enough of wordly pelf to raise
A marble tomb, my name, enshrined
In prodigality of praise,
Enough of wordly pelf to raise
A marble tomb, my name, enshrined
In prodigality of praise,
May meet the passing stranger's eye;
A sculptor's monument and pride,
Telling that man was born to die,
And I—was born, and lived, and died.
A sculptor's monument and pride,
Telling that man was born to die,
And I—was born, and lived, and died.
And men will trample on my grave,
And keep the grass from growing there,
And not even one poor flower will wave
Above me in the summer air;
And keep the grass from growing there,
And not even one poor flower will wave
Above me in the summer air;
For there are none to plant it—none
To water it with patient tears;
My cradle-watchers, they are gone;
The monitors of my young years
To water it with patient tears;
My cradle-watchers, they are gone;
The monitors of my young years
Are silent now. There was a time—
It is a long, long time ago—
When in a pure and holy clime
I breathed—and if the clouds of woe
It is a long, long time ago—
When in a pure and holy clime
I breathed—and if the clouds of woe
Dimm'd the blue heaven of my thought,
Like summer storms they flitted by,
And when they vanish'd, there were wrought
Bright rainbows in the twilight sky,
Like summer storms they flitted by,
And when they vanish'd, there were wrought
Bright rainbows in the twilight sky,
On which my wild gaze linger'd till
Their colours faded far away,
Those clouds—I feel their dampness still;
But the bright rainbows—where are they?
Their colours faded far away,
Those clouds—I feel their dampness still;
But the bright rainbows—where are they?
And she I loved? I must not think
Of her—“for that way madness lies!”
Boy, start that champaigne-cork—I'll drink,
And dream no more of Mary's eyes.
Of her—“for that way madness lies!”
Boy, start that champaigne-cork—I'll drink,
And dream no more of Mary's eyes.
Nov. 1821
Ode to the Pensioned Presses
For the Evening Post
Growl! minions of mammon, growl on ye hired hounds
Of an infamous cause, at Democracy's name:
For long as that name in vassal-ears sounds,
It must crimson your cheeks with the blushes of shame!
Of an infamous cause, at Democracy's name:
For long as that name in vassal-ears sounds,
It must crimson your cheeks with the blushes of shame!
433
Foam! foam at the mouth, while your venom'd pens write
The falsehoods ye utter, still thicker and faster!
It is wiser and safer to slander than fight
The party that limits the life of your master.
The falsehoods ye utter, still thicker and faster!
It is wiser and safer to slander than fight
The party that limits the life of your master.
You have dared us to battle, and twice have we met,
And beat you, alike in the field and the forum,
And as your false hearts are not satisfied yet,
There's a coming defeat hanging up in terrorem!
And beat you, alike in the field and the forum,
And as your false hearts are not satisfied yet,
There's a coming defeat hanging up in terrorem!
Scribble on! let your efforts to ages disclose
That your impotent stabs at the patriot Jackson,
And the spirit that prompts your assassin-like blows
Were contracted for, in “a fair business transaction!”
That your impotent stabs at the patriot Jackson,
And the spirit that prompts your assassin-like blows
Were contracted for, in “a fair business transaction!”
And wear on your foreheads the brand you have sought!
Prove that yours is the task of the hireling and slave,
Whose honour and conscience are sold and are bought,
And who toils in the ditch of his own freedom's grave.
Prove that yours is the task of the hireling and slave,
Whose honour and conscience are sold and are bought,
And who toils in the ditch of his own freedom's grave.
But think not there's one in The Party so base
As to truckle, or tremble, or pale at your ire!
No! No! let it burn 'till the last of your race
In the war-fires you've kindled, in torture, expire!
As to truckle, or tremble, or pale at your ire!
No! No! let it burn 'till the last of your race
In the war-fires you've kindled, in torture, expire!
For our fathers have taught us forever to cherish
A hatred of bribery, heart-rooted and deep!
If that vow is ere broke, may the perjured one perish!
And accursed be the spot where his traitor-bones sleep!
A hatred of bribery, heart-rooted and deep!
If that vow is ere broke, may the perjured one perish!
And accursed be the spot where his traitor-bones sleep!
The People
Forget-Me-Not: “Myosotis Avensis”
From the German: by Fitz-Greene Halleck
I
There is a flower, a lovely flowerTinged deep with Faith's unchanging hue;
Pure as the ether in its hour
Of loveliest and serenest blue.
The streamlet's gentle side it seeks,
The silent fount, the shaded grot,
And sweetly to the heart it speaks,
Forget-me-not, forget-me-not.
II
Wild as the azure of thine eyes,Soft as the halo-beam above,
In tender whispers still it sighs,
Forget me not, my life, my love!
434
Wet eyes shall watch the sacred spot,
And this sweet flower be heard to say,
Forget! ah, no! forget-me-not!
III
Yet deep its azure leaves withinIs seen the blighting hue of care;
And what that secret grief hath been,
The drooping stem may well declare.
The dew-drops on its leaves are tears,
That ask, “Am I so soon forgot?”
Repeating still, amidst their fears,
My life, my love! forget-me-not!
[Come from my First, ah, Come!]
Come from my First, ah, Come!
The Battledawn is nigh
And the screaming trump and the thundering drum
Are calling thee to die.
Fight as thy fathers fought
Fall as thy fathers fell
Thy task is taught thy shroud is wrought
So forward and farewell!
The Battledawn is nigh
And the screaming trump and the thundering drum
Are calling thee to die.
Fight as thy fathers fought
Fall as thy fathers fell
Thy task is taught thy shroud is wrought
So forward and farewell!
Toll for my Second, toll
Fling high the flambeaus light,
And sing the hymn for a parted soul
Beneath the silent night.
The wreath upon his head,
The cross upon his breast
Let the prayer be said and the tear be shed
So take him to his rest.
Fling high the flambeaus light,
And sing the hymn for a parted soul
Beneath the silent night.
The wreath upon his head,
The cross upon his breast
Let the prayer be said and the tear be shed
So take him to his rest.
Call for my Whole, ah Call,
The Lord of lute and lay
And let him greet the sable pall
With a noble song to-day.
Yea call him by his name
No fitter hand may crave
To light the flame of the Soldier's fame
On the turf of a Soldiers grave.
The Lord of lute and lay
And let him greet the sable pall
With a noble song to-day.
Yea call him by his name
No fitter hand may crave
To light the flame of the Soldier's fame
On the turf of a Soldiers grave.
435
[Thanks to Gimbrede his phyz has been neatly engraven]
Thanks to Gimbrede his phyz has been neatly engraven,The poet should thank him a thousand times o'er;
His cravat is quite clean, and his beard newly shaven,
'Tis a type that he never appeared in before.
436
To a Piece of Plumb-Cake
Some folks like pleasant sights to please the eye;
Some like to charm the scene by gentle smell;
And some to court the ear with music's sigh;
But I with Epicurean sages wise
Love the delights that on the palate dwell.
Some like to charm the scene by gentle smell;
And some to court the ear with music's sigh;
But I with Epicurean sages wise
Love the delights that on the palate dwell.
Sweet piece of cake! to thee the bard shall raise
The tuneful notes from his devoted lyre;
And as I chaunt oh! charming cake, thy praise,
I'll cut a little bit between my lays,
My pen with magic ardor to inspire.
The tuneful notes from his devoted lyre;
And as I chaunt oh! charming cake, thy praise,
I'll cut a little bit between my lays,
My pen with magic ardor to inspire.
But yet, dear bit of cake, I'd have thee know
It is not for thy taste alone, I woo thee;
For Emma's gentle finger well I trow
Hath mused among thee when thou wert but dough
And that imparted thy sweet flavor to thee.
It is not for thy taste alone, I woo thee;
For Emma's gentle finger well I trow
Hath mused among thee when thou wert but dough
And that imparted thy sweet flavor to thee.
And yet perhaps that Emma's lily hands
Were dirty gentle cake, when thou wast made;
I'll never mind it, for by God's command,
Each man must eat his peck of dirt or sand;
At least by ancient proverb so 'tis said.
Were dirty gentle cake, when thou wast made;
I'll never mind it, for by God's command,
Each man must eat his peck of dirt or sand;
At least by ancient proverb so 'tis said.
And Emma, since I've sweetly sung thy praise,
In strains that might have charmed the bards of Greece,
Oh! then reward your minstrels charming lays,—
Perchance again to you his song he'll raise,
And humbly ask you for another piece.
In strains that might have charmed the bards of Greece,
Oh! then reward your minstrels charming lays,—
Perchance again to you his song he'll raise,
And humbly ask you for another piece.
437
A Valentine
Beside the nuptial curtain bright
The bard of Eden sings;
Young Love his constant lamp will light,
And wave his purple wings;
But rain-drops from the clouds of care,
May bid that lamp be dim;
And little Love will pout and swear,
'Tis then no place for him.
The bard of Eden sings;
Young Love his constant lamp will light,
And wave his purple wings;
But rain-drops from the clouds of care,
May bid that lamp be dim;
And little Love will pout and swear,
'Tis then no place for him.
But Cara dear, when we are wed,
Tho' dim at times may be
The lamp beside our nuptial bed,
We will not weep; for we
Have better light around our bower,
The moonbeam smiles within it;
There love will linger many an hour,
And deem them but a minute.
Tho' dim at times may be
The lamp beside our nuptial bed,
We will not weep; for we
Have better light around our bower,
The moonbeam smiles within it;
There love will linger many an hour,
And deem them but a minute.
And should the moonbeam melt away,
There still are stars above;
And were they gone, the firefly's ray
Is bright enough for love;
Even in the dark his wing will wear
Unseen, its purple hue,
And but to dream he hovers there
Be bliss for me and you.
There still are stars above;
And were they gone, the firefly's ray
Is bright enough for love;
Even in the dark his wing will wear
Unseen, its purple hue,
And but to dream he hovers there
Be bliss for me and you.
| [Poems by Halleck in] Fitz-Greene Halleck : An Early Knickerbocker Wit and Poet | |