[Poems by Drake in] The life and works of Joseph Rodman Drake (1795-1820)

Yes, faint was my applause and cold my praise,
Though soul was glowing in each polished line;
But nobler subjects claim the poet's lays,
A brighter glory waits a muse like thine.

194

Let amorous fools in lovesick measure pine;
Let Strangford whimper on, in fancied pain,
And leave to Moore his rose leaves and his vine;
Be thine the task a higher crown to gain,
The envied wreath that decks the patriot's holy strain.

II

Yet not in proud triumphal song alone,
Or martial ode, or sad sepulchral dirge,
There needs no voice to make our glories known;
There needs no voice the warrior's soul to urge
To tread the bounds of nature's stormy verge;
Columbia still shall win the battle's prize;
But be it thine to bid her mind emerge
To strike her harp, until its soul arise
From the neglected shade, where low in dust it lies.

III

Are there no scenes to touch the poet's soul?
No deeds of arms to wake the lordly strain?
Shall Hudson's billows unregarded roll?
Has Warren fought, has Montgomery died in vain?
Shame! that while every mountain, stream, and plain
Hath theme for truth's proud voice or fancy's wand,

195

No native bard the patriot harp hath ta'en,
But left to minstrel of a foreign strand
To sing the beauteous scenes of nature's loveliest land.

IV

Oh! for a seat on Appalachia's brow,
That I might scan the glorious prospect round,
Wild waving woods, and rolling floods below,
Smooth level glades and fields with grain embrown'd,
High heaving hills with tufted forests crown'd,
Rearing their tall tops to the heaven's blue dome,
And emerald isles, like banners green unwound,
Float o'er the lengthened lake, while round them roam
Bright helms of billowy blue and plumes of dancing foam.

V

'Tis true, no fairies haunt our verdant meads,
No grinning imps deform our blazing hearth;
Beneath the kelpie's fang no traveller bleeds,
Nor gory vampire taints our holy earth,
Nor spectres stalk to frighten harmless mirth,
Nor tortured demon howls adown the gale;

196

Fair reason checks these monsters in the birth;
Yet have we lay of love and horrid tale
Would dim the manliest eye and make the bravest pale.

VI

Where is the stony eye that hath not shed
Compassion's heart-drops o'er the sweet McCrea?
Through midnight wilds by savage bandits led,
“Her heart is sad—her love is far away!”
Elate that lover waits the promised day
When he shall clasp his blooming bride again!
Shine on, sweet visions! dreams of rapture, play!
Soon the cold corse of her he loved in vain
Shall blight his withered heart and fire his frenzied brain.

VII

Romantic Wyoming! should none be found
Of all that rove thy Eden groves among,
To wake a native harp's untutored sound,
And give thy tale of woe the voice of song?
Oh! if description's cold and nerveless tongue
From stranger harps such hallowed strains could call,
How doubly sweet the descant wild had rung,

197

From one who, lingering o'er the ruined wall,
Had plucked thy mourning flowers and wept thy timeless fall.

VIII

The Huron chief escaped from foeman nigh,
His frail bark launched on Niagara's tides,
“Pride in his port, defiance in his eye,”
Singing his song of death the warrior glides;
In vain they yell along the river sides,
In vain the arrow from its sheaf is torn,
Calm to his doom the willing victim rides,
And, till adown the roaring torrent borne,
Mocks them with gesture proud, and laughs their rage to scorn.

IX

But if the charms of daisied hill and vale,
And rolling flood, and towering rock sublime,
If warrior deed or peasant's lowly tale
Of love or woe should fail to wake the rhyme,
If to the wildest heights of song you climb,
(Though some who know you less, might cry, beware!)
Onward! I say—your strains shall conquer time;
Give your bright genius wing, and hope to share
Imagination's worlds—the ocean, earth, and air.

X

Arouse, my friend, let vivid fancy soar,
Look with creative eye on nature's face,

198

Bid airy sprites in wild Niagara roar,
And view in every field a fairy race.
Spur thy good Pacolet to speed apace,
And spread a train of nymphs on every shore;
Or if thy muse would woo a ruder grace,
The Indian's evil manitous explore,
And rear the wondrous tale of legendary lore.

XI

Away! to Susquehannah's utmost springs,
Where, throned in mountain mist, Areouski reigns,
Shrouding in lurid clouds his plumeless wings,
And sternly sorrowing o'er his tribe's remains;
His was the arm, like comet ere it wanes
That tore the streamy lightnings from the skies,
And smote the mammoth of the southern plains;
Wild with dismay the Creek affrighted flies,
While in triumphant pride Kanawa's eagles rise.

XII

Or westward far, where dark Miami wends,
Seek that fair spot as yet to fame unknown;
Where, when the vesper dew of heaven descends,
Soft music breathes in many a melting tone,
At times so sadly sweet it seems the moan

199

Of some poor Ariel penanced in the rock;
Anon a louder burst—a scream! a groan!
And now amid the tempest's reeling shock,
Gibber, and shriek, and wail—and fiend-like laugh and mock.

XIII

Or climb the Pallisado's lofty brows,
Where dark Omana waged the war of hell,
Till, waked to wrath, the mighty spirit rose
And pent the demons in their prison cell;
Full on their head the uprooted mountain fell,
Enclosing all within its horrid womb
Straight from the teeming earth the waters swell,
And pillared rocks arise in cheerless gloom
Around the drear abode—their last eternal tomb!

XIV

Be these your hours of ease, but ne'er resign
The soul of song to laud your lady's eyes;
Go! kneel a worshipper at nature's shrine!
For you her fields are green, and fair her skies!

200

For you her rivers flow, her hills arise!
And will you scorn them all, to pour forth tame
And heartless lays of forced or fancied sighs?
Still will you cloud the muse? nor blush for shame
To cast away renown, and hide your face from fame?

XV

Come! shake these trammels off—let fools rehearse
Their loves and raptures in unmeaning chime;
Cram close their rude conceits [in] mawkish verse,
And torture hackneyed thoughts in timeless rhyme.
But thou shalt soar in glorious flight sublime,
With heavenly voice of music, strength, and fire,
Waft wide the wonders of your native clime,
With patriot pride and patriot heart inspire,
Till wondering Europe hear Columbia's matchless lyre.

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